#its been nice to just rest and sit and draw

[dollyzdaydreamz]

supernatural x little sister! reader fluff

its my car, jackass!

description: with the flu plaguing you and the impala broken down, dean is left no choice but to set his masculinity aside to drive your fur lined and bedazzled car to the next motel. along the way, sam recalls the time you almost drove off a cliff when dean attempted to give you a driving lesson in the impala.

warnings: none, just fluff and dean being bullied.

word count: 2.5k

spn masterlist

The crunch of tires on the snow blanketed pavement was soft, and the silence inside the car was comforting.

You were in the backseat, curled up under one of Sam’s huge winter coats. The scent of his hypoallergenic laundry soap, the one that you and Dean usually gave him shit for, wrapped around you in a cocoon.

It was nice given all that had happened in the past week.

You’d been fighting off a nasty flu, so the boys had to go on the most recent hunt without you. Then the impala broke down, so now Dean was using yours to drive to the next motel.

No one ever drove this car besides you, but it was still used to store extra equipment since it was so unsuspecting, especially since you were so keen on decorating every square inch of it with rhinestones and fur.

You leaned against the side door with a tissue box tucked under one arm and your flaming forehead pressed to the cool fogged window.

Even with medication, between the fever and the congestion, you dangled on the edge of delirium, unable to sit upright long enough to drive the car yourself.

So when Dean climbed into the car, adjusting the seat back so his legs could fit, he took one look at the interior and sighed.

He fumbled with your lanyard, searching through all your little keychains with furrowed brows to find the key to start the ignition.

“Christ,” He mumbled. Just as he was about to peel the fur steering wheel cover off, you leaned forward,

“No! Keep it on,” You rasped from the backseat.

“Hey, easy,” Sam placed a hand on you to keep you from lurching at him.

“Seriously?” Dean deadpanned, motioning to the wheel, “You're gonna make me drive with this thing?”

“It’s my car, jackass!” you coughed, “Not yours.”

On any other day, you’d watch your tone, but you supposed the haze of the fever had you making bolder choices.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam shot him a hard look.

“Fine.”

From your place in the backseat, you smirked as you caught a glimpse of Dean’s death grip on the wheel, the pale fur cover squished between his fingers.

“You sure you don’t wanna drive?” he asked, glancing at Sam.

Sam didn’t even bother looking up from the map in his lap. “You’re already driving.”

The dangling white Hello Kitty air freshener swung mockingly at him from the rearview mirror, ticking back and forth with every bump in the road.

“You know, maybe it’s a good thing Baby’s broken down,” Your voice rang out, scratchy, but cheeky nonetheless. “My car suits you better anyway.”

Dean shot you a side-eye in the mirror. “Shut up and sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” you mumbled, grabbing another tissue.

Sam shook his head, before glancing back at you. “You okay?”

You shifted slightly, “I feel dizzy.”

“You wanna sit up front? Might help.”

You nodded and sat up slowly, the movement making your vision wobble. As you reached for the seatbelt, Sam reached over from the passenger side to help. “Wait, I’ll help”

You groaned. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said simply, already climbing out as Dean pulled over on the shoulder.

After helping you unbuckle, he reached out and rested a hand against your forehead. You froze for a second, waiting for the verdict.

“Still burning up,” he murmured, brows drawing slightly together.

Well crap.

“Here,” He brought a water bottle to your lips. “Drink some more water.”

“I’m not a baby,” You shrugged away, grimacing a little. “I can drink it myself.”

Sam rolled his eyes before handing it to you.

He held your elbow to steady you as you hopped out and slid into the front seat, shivering a little as you buckled in. Dean side-eyed you again, a little less grumpily this time.

“Better?” He asked as he merged back onto the road.

“Yup,” You sighed, settling in.

A few minutes later, you reached for the radio and turned it on.

Dean visibly twitched.

Sam raised a brow from the backseat, clearly enjoying Dean's irritation along with you.

“You like my playlist Dean?” You snicker, “It’s comprised of the finest pop icons. Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Kesha…”

“I’m gonna crash this thing on purpose.”

“Oh please,” you sniffled, “I bet deep down, you like it.”

Dean didn’t answer. But he didn’t turn the radio off either.

As the car rolled to a stop at a red light, Dean's eyes tracked someone on the sidewalk. A woman in her mid-twenties, walking her dog, denim jacket, nice hair.

You clocked his line of sight,

“She’s pretty,” you grinned.

Then you turned up the music just loud enough to drown out the subtle purr of the engine and rolled your window all the way down.

“Heyy!” you called out.

She blinked and looked over.

Dean shot you a glare that said, don’t you dare.

“You’re beautiful!” you grinned, giving her a thumbs up.

The girl giggled, clearly flattered. “Thanks!”

He untensed a little, but not for long.

“And my BROTHER here?” You gestured to him, “He thinks you’re HOT—”

You were cut off as the car lurched forward like it had been electrocuted. You and Sam erupted into laughter as Dean scowled at the road,

“If you weren’t so sick I’d kill you.”

“Oh sure,” you chuckled. It trailed off into a coughing fit, a harsh, dry sound that had Dean glancing over instinctively.

Though his face was still a mask of irritation, a deft hand shot out to zip your jacket up higher, then fumble around a little to roughly tug the hood over your head.

You pulled the hood back in annoyance and slouched. As much as you needed to keep warm, you hated the stuffy feel of being trapped in your winter coat.

You were hot, but if you took your coat off, you’d be freezing.

If you didn’t blow your nose, you couldn’t breathe. If you did, your sinuses would ache from the exertion.

You hated the flu.

A few moments of silence later, you heard Sam in the backseat chuckling a little,

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s so funny?” You asked.

He shook his head, shoulders shaking as he hunched over to clutch his stomach.

“What’s wrong with you?” You turned in your seat, unable to help the little chuckle escaping you at his hysterics.

“Probably the cheap cupcake fumes getting to his head,” Dean huffed. His eyes scrunched at the dangling Hello Kitty air freshener, before he knocked it out of the way.

Sam caught his breath and leaned forward, “Dean, you remember the first time you let Y/N drive? She was what—like 15?”

Dean snorted. “You mean that time she almost killed us all?”

You gasped, sitting up straighter, “Hey! That was your fault!”

“My fault?” Dean scoffed, “Last I remember it wasn’t my hands on the steering wheel, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, cause they were practically at my throat,” Sam shot back.

“Exactly,” you huffed, “I needed help but you were too busy arguing with him.”

“He was trying to provoke me!”

“Provoke you?”

As you tuned out their voices, the memory came back to you.

You were furious that your Dad was out on a hunting trip the day he promised to give you driving lessons.

Dean had been leaning against the doorway, waiting to take you and Sam to school.

He pushed off the frame and grinned, trying to meet your downcast gaze as he watched you walk past him toward the front steps.

He shrugged, worth a try.

It wasn’t a secret Dean had a soft spot for both you and Sam, but something about seeing his baby sister get turned away gnawed at something deep inside him. So when Dad said no to something, he was the one who got it for you anyway.

Sometimes with charm, sometimes with a crowbar.

He’d never forget the time he had to chat up a pretty cashier while he stuffed a for-display Barbie doll into his jacket that one Christmas.

Or the time Dad was out on a hunting trip and forgot to leave spare change. You padded over to him as you rubbed your stomach through your shirt, so he snagged a few snacks from the motel corner store and let you and Sam have at it.

Dad came back that same night and needless to say, he had a hard time explaining why you and Sam were buzzing around and jumping from one piece of furniture to the other with chocolate all over your mouths.

So when school let out a few days later and he turned down the usual route, Sam immediately narrowed his eyes from the backseat,

“Dean, you missed the turn.”

Dean didn’t answer until he pulled the Impala into an old, cracked parking lot behind an abandoned mall.

He threw the gear shift into park and turned to you with that familiar, lopsided smirk.

“C’mon, switch seats.”

You blinked, “Why?”

“You’re driving.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—seriously?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” he drawled, though he sort of did, green eyes twinkling and brows raised.

You beamed, “So you’re actually gonna teach me?”

“Why not?” Dean shrugged.

You never thought this day would come. Hell, Dean didn’t even let you look at the impala for too long.

Sam sighed in the back. “She doesn’t even know how to start the car, Dean.”

“Shut up, Sam.” You bristled. The last thing you wanted was that nerd planting seeds of doubt into his mind.

Luckily for you, Dean ignored him, sliding out of the car and gesturing for you to take the wheel. You practically bounced over the center console and plopped into the driver’s seat.

Dean stood outside a second longer than necessary, looking at the Impala like he was about to hand over his child to a toddler.

Then, sighing dramatically, he climbed into the passenger seat.

Sam, already pale in the backseat, yanked the belt across his chest like it was a lifeline. “You know this thing’s a manual, right?”

You shrugged, “Yeah. And that means...?”

“Are you serious–”

“Doesn’t matter what it means, I’ll teach her,” Dean cut in.

Sam sputtered, “Doesn’t matter?”

Dean shot him a glare before he leaned closer, pointing at the pedals. “Left foot on the clutch, right on the brake.”

“Okay…”

“Good, now ease into first gear. Don’t pop it. Smooth, like flirting.”

“I don’t think anyone flirts with their feet,” you mumbled, following his instructions anyway.

Dean chuckled, “You’d be surprised–”

The car jolted forward and stalled.

Sam visibly flinched.

“Okay, not terrible…” Dean said, gripping the doorframe. “Give it another go.”

You tried again. And again.

You groan,

“Dean, I don’t think I can drive this piece of shi–”

“Yes, you can. Just take your time.” Dean said.

You sighed, “Alright then.”

Then, miraculously, the Impala rumbled forward.

“Yes!” you grinned, “I got it!”

Dean jolted forward, eyes wide and slightly panicked, he wasn’t expecting you to actually get anywhere,

“Alright–okay, you’re moving. Now ease on the gas.”

You did not ease. You zoomed.

“She’s going forty-five!” Sam yelped, grabbing the back of Dean’s seat.

“Fifty,” Dean chuckled through clenched teeth, “In a twenty-five…Kid’s got guts.”

“We’re so gonna get pulled over,” Sam groaned.

You grinned wildly, watching the trees whir past, “I’m not going any faster than Dean does.”

“Since when has Dean been a good example?” Sam scoffed.

Dean raised a brow, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act surprised.”

Dean turned back, offended. “I happen to be an excellent driver.”

“You jumped a median to avoid a school zone.”

“That was tactical maneuvering!”

“God, where does this road even lead to?” You murmur as you begin to see less and less road signs and a hell of a lot more forest.

“Your bitching about my driving meanwhile I’m the one who has to drive your ass around everywhere–”

“I would drive if you would at least let me touch the steering wheel!”

As they bickered, you squinted ahead.

“It’s my car, jackass! I decide who drives it and who doesn’t.”

It seemed like you guys were on some sort of elevated terrain, but you weren’t sure yet if the road continued or if it was just messing with your depth perception.

“Guys?”

No response.

“Dean?”

“I don’t need your clammy hands on the steer–”

“Guys!”

Their shouting match came to an abrupt stop as they whipped their heads to you,

“WHAT?!”

You yelped as the Impala screeched to a halt, tires screaming as you stopped mere feet from a jagged drop-off.

Only the soft tick of the cooling engine, the window rustle of dry leaves from outside, and laboured breaths filled the cabin. Your heart was lurching out of your chest and your ears rang from the adrenaline.

Dean slowly turned to look at you.

You slowly turned to look at him.

The car may not have dropped, but his stomach sure as hell did at your expression.

It screamed ‘this was your fault’ along with a few other profanities he didn’t want to put a name to.

He gave you a sheepish smile. “Look, in my defense—”

You glared at him.

“...Okay. No defense.”

After a few seconds of pin drop silence and him glancing nervously at you from the corner of his eye, he spoke again.

“Y’know what? You don’t gotta to learn how to drive anyway.”

You raised a brow.

“I’ll always be here to drive you around, you know?...” He rambled.

“I’ll be like you’re…what’s the word I’m thinking of?”

Sam raised a brow, “—Chauffeur?”

“Yeah, your chauffeur.” He grinned, “Your knight in shining Chevy armor?”

You and Sam stared at him in silence, both equally as exasperated as you were confused.

He sighed, “Don’t tell Dad.”

You chuckled at the memory. Thank God your car was automatic.

You slowly leaned against the window, eyelids feeling heavier and heavier before they fluttered shut, the car’s movement lulling you to sleep.

In your haze of sleep, you were vaguely aware of arms lifting you out of the passenger seat.

“Don’t wake her,” Sam whispered.

“I know,” Dean replied under his breath, carefully shutting the door.

You felt the shift in temperature as the motel room door creaked open and warm air met your scarlet face.

You stirred just a little.

“Shh, I gotcha’,” Dean murmured.

You weren’t fully awake, but his tone echoed in your mind. It was familiar and comforting.

It was that tone he used when you were a kid. After nightmares, when you were sick and couldn’t sleep, or when you asked if Dad was coming back tonight and the answer was yet again, no.

He laid you on one of the beds and pulled the blankets over your shoulders.

Dean plopped the keys on the nightstand, “Sure she’s gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just needs rest.”

Dean ran a hand down his face. “Good. I’m never driving that thing again. Felt like I was losing testosterone by the mile.”

Sam stood, clapping him on the back as he started toward the bathroom, “Guess it’s payback for making her drive manual.”

what do we think y’all?

the flu freaking sucks yo. I remember I got covid that AND that shit within the same year (T_T)

thank you to @spideys-nse for the request !!

[akrophobic]

heart racing

[symbiomancy]

mirror —ghost

—summary: The summer heat has you slipping between sleep and reality. Something not-so corporeal helps you cool off.

—warnings: ghost x human, monsterfucking, piv sex, mirror sex (technically), creampie, dubcon/somnophilia.

—word count: 1,3k

—a/n: no thoughts just horny. also on AO3

The best thing about living alone, you’ve come to realize, is the privacy. You’re free to do whatever: take your time in the bathroom in the morning or whenever you want, spend an eternity soaking in the claw-footed tub this house came with, walk around your home in the skimpiest clothing imaginable (not only does it help to beat the summer heat, it also (technically) leaves you less laundry to do), splay out on your king-sized bed in a starfish position, limbs akimbo, drag the full-length mirror in your bedroom in front of your bed and stare at the way any dildos you own get swallowed up by your greedy cunt.

No point in wondering why the last owner was in such a rush to get rid of it; so much so that he accepted well below market price for a freshly renovated, fully-furnished house with a moderate backyard in a relatively safe neighborhood.

The longer this heatwave lasts, the skimpier your clothes get. There’s barely any fabric to cling to your constantly sweat-slick skin by this point, just a tiny skirt hiked so far up your bare skin touches the wooden chairs when you sit and a shirt that’s more spaghetti straps than torso. The huge, double-door fridge is a reprieve, cool air billowing out and caressing your heated skin. It almost feels like a genuine caress, like someone’s cool hands sliding down your body.

Seriously, you need to get out of the house and meet people instead of fantasizing about the cool touch of your fridge. But the outside is infinitely hotter than the inside.

You kick the bedsheet away from your body, grumbling at the lingering day heat. You’d stripped the sheet from the duvet the moment spring chill had plunged into summer heat and stuffed the latter into the closet until fall. Even then, you tend to wake up without the sheet in the morning, finding it crumbled on the floor. Yesterday was another sweltering day. It has left the air stuffy and the fans only push the warm, stale heat around without providing any relief. You unplug them in a fit of frustration and cringe at the feeling of moisture when you lay against your pillow again.

Sleep doesn’t completely evade you but you’re not fully asleep, either. You think so, at least. There are moments of brief blackouts, where you open your eyes and turn to look at the time only to find not even an hour has passed. Your eyelids feel heavy.

Then, there are the hands on your body. Caressing, petting, groping. They’ve been there for some time now, just touching, feeling. They’re not cold, just cool enough to feel pleasant against your heated skin and inject some relief into your sluggish thoughts of sun and heat. A sigh escapes your lips at the sensation. Fingertips trance the expanse of your skin, draw constellations between your moles and freckles. The other hand moves to rest on your breast. It kneads the soft flesh, gently pinches your nipple between its fingers, runs a thumb over it.

You inhale sharply, heart thrumming in your chest, pressing your thighs together. It does little to quell the desire for friction, or touch. The hand tracing its fingertips down your body reaches your hip, then skirts across your flesh to rest on the inside of your thigh. You blink languidly; the heat is stifling, your head feels thick.

Cool fingers dip between your legs, press against your clit like — like they’re what? Testing the waters. You stifle the half-baked moan in the back of your throat.

The hands leave you all at once and you croak out a sound that doesn’t even sound like you, desperate and needy. They’re back not even a moment later, though, heavy on your hips as if they’re trying to guide you. You reach for a pillow and prop it under yourself. It’s a nice dream, you don’t need it to end because it forces you into an uncomfortable position that drives home the realization that it’s a dream. Because then you’ll wake up, alone again.

Something thick and heavy rests on your pelvis. Maybe this makes you a bad sex partner in this brief dream but you don’t want to reach out and touch it, guide it. If it’s your dream, your partner should know the where and how. The cool hands planted firmly on your hips pull you forward just slightly and the weight from your pelvis disappears. It rests against your entrance, but doesn’t push forward just yet. One hand leaves you and the tip of its cock drags through your slick folds, bumps against your clit.

“Please,” you croak, staring at the ceiling. Your throat is dry.

The stranger’s cock angles itself against your entrance and pushes in carefully. You take a slow, deep breath in, try to relax around the pleasant intrusion. The hands — under your knees now, guiding your legs apart. A body presses against your thighs. Whoever it is, stops, pauses for a moment. You clench around the cock buried in your cunt. A cold, shuddering breath hits you. Goosebumps rise on your skin. The hands push your knees further apart until there’s an ache in your muscles, and then they depart, one finding a spot on your waist, the other your breast.

It moves, then. The cock nestled deep within you sharply pulls back and thrusts in again. You scramble for anchor, to grab onto something but all you come up with is sheet that tugs loose. Their pace is dizzying, thighs slapping against yours, cock plunging into your wet cunt. The sound is so wet and lewd and goddamned loud in the still silence of your home. You go to stifle the half-moan half-groan in your throat but— wait, it’s your house, your dream, who gives a fuck about the neighbors? The cock in your cunt pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts in again and hits that spot, so good, dragging against your slick walls and you swear you feel every groove and dip, every goddamn vein. Your moan slips out involuntarily, and whoever it is here with you, seems invigorated.

The hand on your breast leaves, a forearm rests around your thigh, pulling it up and — fuck, their cock drives in so incredibly deep you nearly choke on your own spit. You scramble upwards, resting your weight on your elbows to look at your partner —

There’s no one there. Your bedroom is empty. But there’s a hand on your torso, cool fingers digging into your flesh and a forearm supporting your thigh and the shape of someone’s shoulder against your Achilles’ tendon. There’s a cock plunging into your cunt and you hear someone’s labored breathing.

The full-length mirror skids across the laminated floor and stops in front of your bed. Something invisible is thrusting into your pussy, gaping back at you in the reflection. Your face burns — your whole body burns. You can’t look away from the debauchery staring back at you. Whoever — whatever — it is, thrusts harshly, cold hands pulling you against their body. Your thighs are wet and sticky, slamming against theirs, your hole gaping back at you, being abused by something you can’t see. It sends you hurtling over the edge.

You come around the phantom cock with something reminiscent of a shriek and a moan and terror and pleasure all combined. Your cunt clenches around the thing your muscles sore and sweat beading on your skin. The cock plunges into you again and again and again and you blink back the tears and the fear and the overwhelming pleasure. The fingers on your body dig into your flesh and the cock nestled in you buries deep, thighs pressing against your own, and spills. It’s so warm, so pleasant. The mirror skids closer, right until it touches the edge of the bed.

Your cunt is forced wide open. Stuffed. The pearlescent cum coats your walls, oozes out from inside you, dribbles onto your bedsheets. The cock in you stays there but the body moves.

A small fogged patch, like warm breath, appears on the mirror, and then, letters.

Hi :)

Oh. So that's why this place was so cheap.

banners by @/cafekitsune

[alexiroflife]

"babysitting"

fluff, crack

Synopsis: that time you were babysitting your niece when sukuna came home...

to sum it up: sukuna is such a dad but doesn't know it yet

WC: 1,218

Warning(s): none

“What the fuck is that?”

You look up to see Sukuna standing in the doorway, a twisted snarl on his face as he glares harshly at the object within your grasp. You raise your brows, momentarily surprised by his arrival, and give him a soft smile. 

“Hi, Kuna,” you greet happily, ignoring his question. “I didn’t know you were gonna be back so soon.”

“Answer my question, woman,” he growls, looking almost disgusted by the sight before him. “What is that?”

He points one of his burly arms to you, and you look down at the cooing seven-month-old in your embrace, bouncing up on your knee as you sit on the floor just before Sukuna’s large bed. The baby gargles, hand stuffed into her mouth as drool dribbles down her fist, a thoughtless smile rising onto her small lips.

“She’s my niece,” you tell him, smoothing your thumb lovingly over the baby’s shirt, inspiring a small giggle and a senseless babble. You smile. “Isn’t she so cute?”

“It’s vile,” Sukuna grimaces and you frown. “Why is that beast in my temple?”

“Sukuna, be nice,” you roll your eyes. “She’s just a baby, and my sister needed some help looking after her for a few hours.”

“And you felt prompted to bring it here?”  he scrunches his nose. 

“Her, and where else would I be?” 

“As long as you’re carrying that creature, you must be anywhere else but here,” he grumbles, turning dismissively to leave the room. “I want it gone.”

“What?!” you exclaim, moving to stand with the baby resting on your hip. You walk over to your boyfriend, touching your soft hand to his large back to keep him from leaving. Sukuna peers over his shoulder angrily, four eyes squinting down at the two of you. “Come on, Sukuna! At least admit how adorable she is. Look at this precious little face.”

You squish gently at the baby’s cheeks and her fist falls from her mouth, big round eyes scrunching as a giddy beam rises to her rosy cheeks. All Sukuna can see, however, is the slobber shining over her chin and on her hand. “I do not understand what you are requesting of me,” he says coldly, eying the child as though she carries the plague. “Is it incapable of keeping its saliva inside of its mouth?”

“She’s teething,” you say flatly.

“What?”

“Her teeth are coming in soon, it stimulates drooling.”

Sukuna’s face of disgust grows more exaggerated, leaning his head back with curled lips. “Like an animal?”

Your face drops as you stare at him boredly. “Yes, Sukuna. Like an animal. All humans did it at one point.”

“Do you mean to inform me that you engaged in such a disgusting act when you were in this stage of life?”

“...Yes?”

He clicks his tongue, now eying you with an air of suspicion. “Good to know,” he says rather judgmentally.

The thought crosses your mind to point at that your boyfriend was at some point a human too, but you decide against it.

“Sukuna,” you groan. “Aside from the drool, she’s such a precious little thing. You have to agree, right?” you coo. You look down at the baby to grin childishly at her, tucking your finger under her chin and tapping her slightly, hardly tickling at her body but arising a few more giggles nonetheless. You babble meaningless sounds, speaking to her in a playful voice that Sukuna has never heard from you before.

Though still thoroughly confounded as to why you want him to take interest in this little animal, his eyes catch the way you soften for the child, how your eyes light and a sense of maternity takes you as you speak to the baby as though you know just what to say, drawing out toothless grins and thrilled gibberish. His brow twitches involuntarily, something within him almost enjoying the sight before him. You’re so good with this creature. Have you always been like this?

“What language are you speaking with it?” he suddenly asks gruffly, causing you to pause and look up at him as your niece reaches her small hands up to your cheek. 

“With her,” you correct again. “And I’m not speaking any language, I’m just playing around,” you chuckle slightly. Sukuna stares harshly now, examining the movements of the half developed human in your arms as she curiously taps against your face.

Suddenly catching wind of his presence, the baby’s head turns to him and her eyes grow bigger. She cries out excitedly, reaching her arms out to Sukuna with grasping tiny fingers. Sukuna falters, confused.

“What is she doing?” he asks urgently, and you laugh.

“She wants you to hold her,” you say softly.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Kuna,” you pout. “Please? Just for two seconds.”

“I said no, you brat.”

“Pleaseeeee? Pretty pretty please, my king?”

You give him the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster, and when he looks between the two of you, your expressions almost match. Sukuna feels something in his resolve crumble, incapable of truly denying you though he tries his best to still appear as though you give him a hard time. 

With an agitated sigh, he reaches his upper set of arms to grab the child as you lift her up and hand her to him. “Two seconds,” he growls and your eyes sparkle with anticipation.

He holds the baby up before him, watching as her little feet dangle and kick around in her onesie as he grasps her from under her arms. His hands practically consume her entire frame, her fingers still reaching out to him curiously, joyfully.

The king of curses continues to glare, brow cocked while he tries to decide what is so special about it. Perhaps he can understand what you find to be “cute.” The baby’s got big chubby cheeks and huge doe eyes that almost remind him of you, and she’s so comically tiny it makes him want to laugh. 

He grunts softly as he pulls the baby in closer, complying with her unspoken request displayed by her constant reaching. She touches her little slobber-less hand on his forehead, touching softly at the plate structure on the right side of his face. Sukuna imagined himself to be a bit more perturbed by the contact, but finds himself unbothered, allowing the child to trace his features with innocent exploration.

You watch with your hands to your mouth, hiding your bright smile. The sight before you is just so adorable, you wish you could take a picture but you know that Sukuna would be quick to crush your phone in an instant if he caught you.

Sukuna finally pulls the child away, watching her grin happily. He hands her back to you and crosses his arms. “What is her purpose?” he questions, and you give him a strange look, adjusting the baby back on your hip as she plays with your hair. 

“She has no purpose. She’s a baby.”

“She is too young to work? To serve?”

“Wh- yes?!”

“Very well,” he nods. “She may stay for another hour.”

“...But my sister isn’t free for another two hours.”

“Two hours, and if she isn’t gone by then, tell her in her native tongue that I will be eating her fingers for dinner.”

[sailornymph]

Uchiha with pregnant s/o please?

oh my love; uchiha men

synopsis — the uchiha men with a pregnant s/o

♡ madara uchiha

— you were in an arranged marriage with madara, who didn’t care too much to even be married because he had other matters to worry about. however, one night you cooked dinner, the both of you had too many drinks, and you woke up in bed with him

— you find out you’re pregnant when you are too sick to leave your room, so madara calls for a doctor to visit, who immediately tells you both, you are pregnant

— surprising to you, madara is very happy, hugging you, before going to tell the clan you were carrying his heir

— he is very protective of you and in a way, your pregnancy brings the two of you closer. he gets jealous when other men speak to you and annoyed when the women stop you. he just wants to keep you to himself to watch in amazement as your child grows. he also notices a glow on your face he has never seen before

— he tries to be very involved, but misses some events due to missions, but for the most part, he is very much present in every milestone of the pregnancy

— if your pregnancy happens during izuna’s passing, he will have you surrounded by security. everywhere you go, you will always have the best of the best uchiha shinobi accompanying you, if he is too busy

— he speaks to your belly every day, it is a part of his routine, as if the child is already here, he talks to them, telling them what he did, is doing, plans to do, and so on, and he doesn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment

— going into labor during your morning stroll, you give birth to a baby boy, naming him hiroshi

approaching his large home, he could see you sitting outside. his heart fluttered at the sight, he never thought he would see the day he felt so weak for you. your skin glowing, womb swollen with his heir, you were fragile, but he found himself accepting your weakness, especially in this current state.

“what are you doing out here so early?” he asked, as you ate the apple slices, sitting on the porch.

“i couldn't sleep, and the weather is nice,” you shrugged, as he approached, helping you stand.

“then i came at a perfect time, come, your rest is vital,” he said.

“your son won't allow me to rest,” you told him, as he walked you into the house. he couldn't help but smirk, he had been over the moon at the new that you were having a son.

“he’s ready to come out, aren't you son? you have a clan of people waiting for you specifically to be born,” he spoke rubbing your stomach.

“i can’t wait until you’re here either, so we can have our talks, without your mother’s ears, but she can stay for now since she helps you so much,” he shrugged, as you sat down together, still speaking to your tummy.

“excuse m-

“don't worry about what we’re talking about, get your rest,” he told you, laying your head on his shoulder, and rubbing your belly.

♡ itachi uchiha

♡ indra ōtsutsuki

— having indra’s first child and hagoromo’s first grandchild will be a very big deal

— unlike the rest of the women his father brought to him, for an arranged marriage, he found you tolerable. you didn’t chase after him and you weren’t completely weak and defenseless. he somehow found himself actively pursuing you

— you find out during a large feast amongst the clan when you go to reach for the sake bottle, and hagoromo stops you, saying how you shouldn’t drink for the next nine months, making indra choke on his food

— announcing to the clan, while the fetus was still in its very early stages, you were pregnant with his first grandchild

— you and indra hardly have alone time anymore, as your days are constantly filled with different clan members coming in and out of your home, treating you, offering decorations, gifts, congratulations

— indra prefers solidarity over being around his clan too much, but there are times when you both are alone, he will rub your tummy, speaking to the baby growing inside

— as your due date draws near, he puts his foot down and doesn’t allow any more visitors, other than his father or the doctor. you needed your rest and he would make sure you had it

— going into labor in the middle of the night, you welcome a baby girl, naming her sana

entering his home, indra furrowed his eyebrows, seeing the guest bowing at your feet, asura standing beside you. you were exhausted, hiding it behind a smile, as you told the clan members they didn’t have to bow to you.

“out, all of you, out” he said, activating his eyes.

“no need to be aggressive brother, they only wanted to congratulate you both,” asura said, as the clan members hurriedly left.

“didn't i say no guests, look at her, she's exhausted, but that doesn't matter to you, as long as you can please the people, get out,” indra said.

“that's not true, i didn't realize how tired she was-

“stay away from her, you're not welcome back until the baby is born,” indra said harshly.

“indra, honey, he didn't mean any harm-

“it doesn't matter what he meant, you can hardly sit up straight,” he told you.

“he's right y/n, i apologize for overstepping brother and i am sorry y/n, i should've been more conscious of your current condition,” he said, leaving the house.

“you didn't have to be so mean to him, you clearly hurt his feelings”

“his feelings aren't important, but yours and the baby’s health are,” he said, picking you up, and carrying you to your bedroom, laying you on your fluffy futon.

“he's your brother and your daughter's uncle”

“daughter?” he repeated.

“surprise, are you happy?”

“i would be satisfied with either, as long as they are well,” he kissed your belly, the baby immediately kicking.

“ugh, she's starting since she knows you're home,” you groaned, making him grin.

“hi princess, your mother and i can't wait until you're here. i can't wait to hold you. you will always be loved and protected as long as you have me. you and your mother,” he said, interlocking his fingers with yours.

“apologize to asura, she should have a bond with you and her uncle, i agreed to let the clansmen inside,” you told him.

“fine, tomorrow, i am busy, i have many things i'd like to say to my princess,” he said, as you felt another kick.

“see, asura has to wait, and princess, be kind to your mother’s body,” he said. smiling, you were happy he was enjoying this, acting like his old self, before asura was chosen over him by his father.

♡ obito uchiha

— you find out about the pregnancy about five months before the fourth ninja war

— he is ecstatic, he didn’t have anyone growing up, but now that he had a child of his own, he planned to love them with every breath in his body

— while he isn’t able to be present during doctor visits, he likes to hear every detail about what happened

— will have long conversations with your tummy, as if the baby is responding to him

— leading up to the war, he becomes much more protective, he tries to keep his life as a criminal hidden from you, but it is becoming impossible

— he makes sure to have plenty of resources put away for you and his child if he were to not return. hugging you tightly, he kissed your tummy a million times, before he left

— kakashi, his former friend he told you about, is the one to show up at your doorstep. his eyes widening at your huge belly, to give you the news that he passed, and how in the end, he chose what was right

— kakashi takes on the role of godfather, helping out whenever he can, when you finally give birth to a baby boy who looks like the spitting image of his father, and so he is named obito

“what’s the matter?” obito asked, as he entered your bedroom. you were stretching, an uncomfortable expression on your face.

“the baby is very active and won’t give me a break,” you whined, as he climbed in bed with you, his large hand rubbing your belly.

“what are you doing, little guy?”

“how do you know it’s a boy, it could be a girl,” you smiled.

“it’s like i can sense him, he reminds me of me, when i was a boy, and i was a handful,” he said, making you laugh.

“you can’t hurt your mother’s body, she is helping you grow, so that you can become strong. when you are out, you can bother me as much as you want, okay? i can take it, but your mother, she is fragile”

“we love you, and can’t wait to meet you, but you have to promise me that you won’t hurt your mother. you are already so strong and i know that you’re ready to be here, however, be patient, i’ve learned that good things come to those who wait. true strength comes with time, not overnight son, you will have your chance,” he continued, kissing your belly.

much to your surprise, the pressure lessened, as you stared at him with shocked eyes.

“they stopped,” you said, becoming emotional.

“i told you, he loves his father and i love him,” he told you, going to hold your belly once again.

♡ sasuke uchiha

— you become pregnant during your first mission together, since he came back to konoha. you began dating as genin, but he dumped you, leaving to join orochimaru. you tried to fight for him, alongside naruto and sakura, but he seemed like a lost cause. since he has been back, naruto and even lord sixth, kakashi, have been forcing the two of you to work together

— after awkwardly traveling for hours, you finally opened up to each other and he apologized for hurting you. the last thing you expected to happen was to end up in bed with him, as he held you close, asking you if you would be his girlfriend again

— however, when you are back in konoha, he is sent away on another mission, leaving you to find out the news on your own, after you pass out during your training

— returning home to visit you, the last thing he excepted was to see kakashi leaving from visiting you, and you tell him that you were two months pregnant. he immediately asks you to marry him and before the end of the week is over, the two of you have a very small wedding, with only the closest people to you invited.

— he is not home the entire pregnancy, he is picking up mission after mission, especially knowing that he now has a wife and child to take care of

— he finally returns about two or three weeks before you go into labor, completely stunned by how swollen your belly was

— he is very shy when it comes to interacting with your bump. he doesn't want to hurt you, what could he say to the baby? will they end up like him? will they even like him?

— he stays home until you finally give birth to your daughter sarada

making his way to the small house he shared with you, he gulped. you were probably angry with him, the fact that he hadn't reached out in over four months. he regretted taking the mission, not realizing how far and how long it would take. looking for the spare key, he opened the door, surprised by how nicely the house was decorated.

“stupid instructions,” you groaned, making him follow your voice. you sat on the floor in the nursery, the instructions to build the crib on the floor, alongside all of the needed tools.

“i can take care of this,” he spoke, making you look over, gasping. struggling to stand, he rushed over, quickly assisting you. as you stood tall, his eyes went to your bump. it wasn't nearly as developed the last time he had seen you. had he really missed so much?

taking his hand, you placed it onto your belly, he could feel their chakra, the movements of their small body.

“we’re having a girl,” you told him.

“a…daughter,” he said, completely shocked. feeling himself becoming lightheaded, he looked around the nursery, going to sit in the rocking chair, as you followed behind.

pulling you into his lap, he continued to hold your belly, staring in amazement.

“how is she growing?”

“she is healthy and very active,” you laughed.

“talk to her,” you encouraged, smiling as he looked nervous.

“hi,” his voice slightly cracked, as he glanced at you, when suddenly you felt a kick.

“she likes your voice, keep going,” you said, as he rubbed your belly, before exhaling.

“hi peanut, i’m your father and i can’t wait to meet you. i apologize for not coming to you sooner,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows as he struggled to form his thoughts into words.

[zlut4rina]

I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS ON BOTTOM GISELLE

This but she's also fucking around with her best friend :P and the bsf is also g!p

Parirings: Giselle x G!p!Femreader

Warnings: Drugs and Alcohol use, unprotected sex, slight oral mention, holy plot 💔, Uh yea 👅

___________________________________________

You and giselle met in uni. You both had mutual friends, and one day, they decided to all group up and hang out. You were quite the shy and reserved person, so speaking to a new group of people was like a death wish. Giselle approached you first, drink in hand, and a big smile on her face. She reeked of alcohol, and was that maybe a hint of weed? Who knows? Honestly, you could hardly remember what happened that night, especially after meeting her. You were too intoxicated to even comprehend what happened the next morning, still hungover. After that night, you both grew closer. You told each other any and everything. Your mutual friend would make silly remakes about how connecting you two was a bad idea.

And to be honest, it was. You guys went everywhere together, you did everything together, and you two were like the ideal friendship everyone wished that they had. Despite her chic and bad girl demeanor and style, she was a completely different person when it came to sex. You two told each other about your sex stories all the time. You didn't have much since you never really liked socializing. But giselle practically had bedtime stories for you every night. At some point, she stopped doing that. She stopped fucking around, it's been a while since you heard one of her outrageous sex stories. Anytime you'd ask her about it, she'd brush you off, saying, "It's just not my style anymore" or how she needs to focus on other things.

Her true reason being was because of you. She couldn't stop herself from having disgusting lewd thoughts about you, especially after she found out about you little 'secret'. The day you told her you had a dick flipped a switch in her brain. That was all she could think about that night. Even though she hooked up with some guy, she could only imagine how yours felt. You were so oblivious to this that it actually turned her on sometimes. The way she would purposely sit in your lap a certain way, just to fulfill a small part of her fantasies. The way she would grind on your lap just a little, masking it as her 'Trying to get comfortable'.

Your stupidity brought her to her breaking point. One night in your doorm, you two were played up cuddling, watching some drama on your laptop. A random surge of boldness ignited in her, her hand that was rested on your chest slowly made its way down under the covers cupping your bulge. You both were only in your underwear. You both established that it was fine to be dressed like that since you're so close.

And you know, one thing led to another. And here she is, back arching for you, face buried deep into the pillow soaked of her tears and the drool from her mouth. You never thought this day would come. Honestly, I mean, you dreamed about it sure, but for it to actually come true was insane. Take this opportunity to fuck her raw without a condom, only cause she asked so nicely. Your fingers digging into the flesh on her hips. Trying to keep as quiet as you could, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other. By the time you both were completely fucked out, you both looked like you survived some sort of war. Both of you bitten and bruised, the sheets drenched in mixed fluids. After that night fucking your best friend become such a normal thing, obviously you couldn't tell anyone about it though. But of course some of your friends got a little suspicious.

"You two always go home so early. It's like your dating or something."

You weren't necessarily dating, nor were you necessarily NOT dating. It was complicated, but in a good way. You didn't mind getting to fuck the pretties girl on campus whenever you wanted. Having her all to yourself was like a dream you never wanted to wake from. Giselle would wear skimpy, slutty outfits when going out just for you to ruin her in.

"So that's why you wore this, huh? Just for my attention?" You were balls deep inside her. A handful of her hair in your grasp, as you pounded her from behind. "You're so dirty, baby." You whispered into her ear, nipping at it. Giselle is a backshot warrior. Like omfg, the first couple of times you twocdid it, she would always want you to bend her over. You loved it too, the sight of her back angled so perfectly for you, ugh to die for. The way she whines into the pillow when you hit 'that spot' repeatedly. Her nails would be scattered all over your bed with how hard she was gripping the sheets. Her makeup stained your pillow once again.

Everyone thinks she's such a badass and takes the lead with everything she does, just not in all casses. The second she's with you behind closed doors, she's like putty. She's immediately on her knees, ready for her instructions on how to please you. Sucking you off with the prettiest hooded eyes. Her lipstick smudged on her lips as mascara ran down her face. She'd stick her tongue out and place it on the bottom on your tip as you shoot loads into her mouth, some of it hitting her nose and teeth. You weren't usually rough with her unless she'd as or she'd done something to rile that up in you. Spitting in her mouth and pulling her head back by her hair, demanding she swallow it. gulp

She absolutely loved it when you're rough with her, too. Making you upset at an outing, and the only way to calm you down is if she's bent over and taking your full length. Crying your name out as you handle her body roughly. Saying she deserves this for being bad and how she wanted this. "Don't tell me you can't handle it, princess." Meanwhile, she's literally struggling to even breathe against the soaked pillow. Her hair is a complete mess, sticking to her face from all the sweat. So, of course, you have to help her out. Taking a handle full of it and pulling her head back. While saying the dirtiest things to each other all night.

That's usually how most of your nights went. Bending her over or having her on her knees, you got whatever you wanted out of her. She's your best friend, that's what best friends do, right? They take care of each other's needs.

___________________________________________

[kurooh]

WICKED GAMES !

⊹₊˚. DESC — hawks is stuck at a dumpy strip club with dabi until you come along to help him in more ways than one. / or, hawks’ initiation and corruption, all at once.

wc. 8.8k

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, stripper / strip club au, threesome, manipulation, spit roasting, oral [m/f rec], unprotected sex, public-ish sex, degradation, some alcohol, pussy slaps, creampie, rough sex.

hawks has better things to do than sit around with dabi, wasting his time in a dumpy strip club somewhere deep in the brightly lit maze of kabukicho. it didn’t surprise him in the least that he’d been dragged out this way, but it stresses him out, makes his feathers quiver with unease. he’s in too deep with the league, risking his public image just to appease someone who he considers half friend, half enemy. 

strip clubs are meant to be hot, enjoyable places; patrons are not typically agitated, unable to stop twitching in their seats. despite looking like it’s closing down from the outside, the club surprisingly booms with some life, including that of japan’s number two hero.

“throwing a tantrum, hero? as i recall, you agreed to come here if you lost the bet.”

dabi just likes to rub his luck into hawks’ face, electric blue eyes following each movement of his twitchy wings. he tends to write off all the movement, assuming that it’s just something that comes along with the quirk, just like his resistance to colder temperatures. feeling like he’s being pinned down by that sneer, hawks draws his wings in close to his back, shooting a golden glare at his snarky co-conspirator.

dabi couldn’t begin to understand any of the hero’s concerns about reputation and the press, or anything positive concerning the fickle public eye. all hawks needs are a few negative news reports and his cover as a two-timer is completely blown, leaving the public safety commission and the rest of the country in limbo. 

“you switched it up on me, dabi,” he purses his lips, miffed. “if i were in my right mind, i’d be gone by now.”

“too bad you’re in your left. you agreed to stay an hour, and you’re going to,” dabi smirks, pleased by any opportunity to get under hawks’ skin. he’s always got something to say, and he’s endlessly amusing—so damn easy to piss off or tease. a scarred arm is happily thrown around hawks’ shoulders, only aggravating him all the more. “now, loosen up and enjoy the fucking show.”

it’s uncomfortably hot in this establishment, all too humid for his liking. too many people are packed into the tiny club at once, and a miasma of sweat and sex hangs in the air, practically emanating from the shoddy walls. raunchy posters plastered around the club peel halfway off the walls and add nothing nice to the atmosphere, only making it look all the more trashy. fading bass booms out through the speakers, either because the song is coming to an end or because the speakers need to be replaced. not to mention, dabi’s like a bloodhound: picking up on traces of discomfort or annoyance and exploiting it in ways that will bring him the most entertainment. hawks rudely shrugs off the weight and tries not to act too sour, planning to block out his surroundings for the fifty five minutes he has left.

it’s bad in here, with every little noise making his wings tingle urgently—he can hear the pants of onstage strippers, the groans of men getting lapdances in the back, and footsteps in every single direction.

he lifts his drink with a small sigh, appreciating the cool burn that the alcohol leaves in its wake. the strippers on the stage shake some more ass to the fleeting beat before stuffing bills into their thongs and slipping off the stage to mingle with customers. hawks steals a glance toward dabi, searching his face for any interest in the scene unfolding before them. lazily leaning back in his chair, a foot propped up on the edge of the table, dabi swishes his whiskey around in the glass and regards the stage with an unreadable look.

god, this is so fucking annoying. hawks was dragged here and threatened, only for his abductor to not even end up enjoying himself. sulkily, he recounts the events of his relationship with dabi, finally able to focus now that all the noise starts to hush as an air of quiet settles over the club. dabi could be interested in corrupting him, leading him into a life full of nightly visits to strip clubs and shared cigarettes on public sidewalks; dabi also could’ve just taken him here because hawks had unintentionally admitted that he’d never been to a strip club over beers with the league. 

red stage lights melt into a mix of pink and purple. dabi sniffs, tipping back the rest of his whiskey and setting the glass down onto the table. at least the electrical system’s running well.

a quieter, darker song begins to play, melodic vocals flowing through the speaker. this is certainly a far cry from what had just been reverberating through the club, and some of the tension ebbs away from his tense shoulders. hawks isn’t familiar with this song; he hasn’t heard it through his feathers when heading down the streets beside endeavor, and doesn’t quite recognize the artist.

the barest expressions of awe are written across the faces of many of the club’s patrons, something that definitely piques his interest—sharp gold eyes flick over to dabi, just in time to catch the unmistakable lifting of the villain’s scarred lips. after spending so much time around him, hawks has come to memorize some of dabi’s many facial expressions; this isn’t his usual smarmy smirk or scowl he wears around his colleagues. 

of course he’d brighten up in a place like this! hawks has never seen that much appreciation when he goes out of his way to snag a bag of pretzels for that goddamn ingrate.

an annoyed huff slips out of him, and he looks toward the stage, chin propped up on his fist.

i left my girl back home, i don’t love her no more / and she’ll never fucking know that

a shadowy figure can be seen at the far back of the stage; draped in lace, you step out into the glow of the colorful lights, skin illuminated by hues of pinks and purples. you sway to the music, hooking a leg around the pole and giving a sultry spin that actually impresses hawks. each movement is purposeful and punctuated with an elegance he didn’t expect to see in a place like this. he gasps quietly, then covers it up with a hacking cough before dabi can look over, earning himself some unnecessary glares from nearby patrons.

the lace snugly hugs the curves and slopes of your body, standing out against your skin while your heels catch and reflect the overhead stage lights. through lidded eyes, you look out into the audience, allowing yourself to sway and swing against the pole in a way that is more tantalizing than it should be. you’re someone he’s never met, but judging by the way you carry yourself, you’re not just anyone—certainly not to the people in the club, who look on, just as entranced as he is. through his feathers, he can hear the bartender’s rag against a glass stop moving as they pause to watch you.

like a shooting star across the night sky, your eyes are twinkling as you skim over everyone in the sea of faces. it’s a clear sign of enjoyment, and your head tips forward to his table. a small smile tugs at your glossy lips when your eyes land on him, and warmth simmers under the skin of his cheeks. hawks’ charm is a practiced, polished facade, but he knows when someone’s checking him out, understands why they are. flattered, his red feathers puff out behind him.

bring your love, baby, i could bring my shame / bring the drugs, baby, i could bring my pain

hawks is suddenly grateful for dabi’s insistence to sit so close to the stage. he’d never admit it, but if he gets to finish watching this magnetic dance, this will have been his most successful trip to a strip club in his entire life. you’re not even finished and he already knows that nothing could ever top this; it’s hard not to look so damn starstruck, and as if dabi can hear his thoughts, he scoffs, shaking his head like he’s just thought of something funny.

bills are tossed onto the stage from all directions, floating in the air and drifting toward the floor like autumnal leaves. praise is given in the forms of drunken cheers, shrill wolf whistles, and money—none of it impedes your rhythm, heels clicking with each graceful step. another playful grind against the pole, and you’re strutting to the edge of the stage, hands set on your swaying hips. you’re close, close enough for hawks to catch a whiff of sweet perfume and steal a glance at the intricate lace adorning the edge of your panties. 

you’re some kind of angel, too alluring to be just human. everything about you is too graceful to have been learned, too fucking perfect to be normal. he notices that he’s breathless, feathers absorbing the sounds of your soft breaths and delicate footwork across the floor.

just let me motherfuckin’ love you / listen, ma, i’ll give you all i got / get me off of this

for a moment, you bask in the limelight, chest rising and falling just enough for him to notice. hawks reaches for his glass, covering up the lower half of his face with the wide rim to hide the flush high on his cheekbones. you turn, heading back to the pole, but you make sure to throw him a heated look over your shoulder. it’s as if you’re both clued in on a secret, and the idea of sharing anything with you makes him sick with desire. a drink, a handshake, a kiss—he inhales sharply, wanting to focus on the rest of your dance.

you drop into a squat, glossy lips parting for breath as your thighs spread open widely, panties threatening to tug too far to the side. once you’ve allowed the visual to sink in longer than necessary, only inviting more tips and cheers, you sway to each side to bring your knees closer, a giggle slipping out of you when you’re pulling yourself to your feet. it doesn’t last for long; the air is practically punched out of hawks’ lungs when you swish your hips to the music, curling a leg around the pole to perform an impressive whirl around.

so tell me you love me, only for tonight / only for the night / even though you don’t love me

his wings are tingling by the time you slide to the floor with an arch of your back, something bittersweet rising on his tongue. he’s frustrated, so frustrated—he wants to talk to you, get to know you better in a private room in the back. talking would be better than a dance, but he definitely wouldn’t turn you down if you offered. 

by the time the dance inevitably ends, hawks feels like he’s crashing back down to earth like a meteor, blood running hot and thrumming hard in his ears. if he could, he’d keep watching, soaking in the sight of you and letting it dominate his thoughts. it’s unusual that he’s so bothered by something like this, something of dabi’s doing; he’d allow himself to think further into it if he wasn’t so busy focusing on the swing of your hips as you head down the little steps at the corner of the stage. you’re looking at him like he’s a bullseye you’re aiming for with a bow and arrow, eyes set on him as you ignore the advances and conversation starters of other patrons.

hawks is caught in your orbit, wanting nothing more than to spin closer in ways that would likely spoil some, if not all of his reputation as the no. 2 hero of japan. out of his control, a few pesky feathers start to twitch noticeably as you come closer, the soft sound of your footsteps becoming louder against the booming club music. what will he say to you? how can he come off in the best way possible, make himself look a little better than he is? his mind is racing with deliberations, so many coming all at once that he doesn’t quite notice the way you step past him until it’s too late.

his head swivels to the side, where he takes in the scene with indignance and disappointment flaring hotly in his chest. the angel of the club—his nickname for you, since he doesn’t know your name yet—is fraternizing with dabi! hawks blanches, all the color draining from his face. don’t tell me, he thinks desperately, you were looking at dabi the whole time. it feels like he’d been swinging high and happily on a swing, and the chains have just broken, sending him catapaulting to the ground. he wants to shriek in embarrassment, frustration practically seeping through his pores as he struggles to haul his jaw up and off the floor.

“look what the cat dragged in,” you say, voice lilting teasingly; it pulls him back to reality, and hawks is suddenly aware of how long he’d been spacing out. “you two must be good friends, if he got you to come down here.”

dabi, the ‘he’ in question, lets out a huff and nudges the tip of his boot against an empty seat at the table. “we’re not friends, and he lost a bet.”

“i lost a bet,” hawks echoes, trying to shake life back into his droopy feathers. “sunshine over here threatened to incinerate me, so i couldn’t get out of it.”

you look toward his wings, admiring them unabashedly. it’s an odd feeling, having the no. 2 hero of japan this close to you—and in a strip club, no less. it’d be a shame to see something so beautiful be reduced to ash, all over some kind of stupid bet. hawks doesn’t miss the frown you direct toward his colleague, lips tugging downwards in disapproval. 

dabi grunts, tone derisive. “you’d feel the same if you were stuck with this chicken all day.”

hawks lets the jab slide, clearing his throat as though he never heard it at all. “i’ve never seen so many people quiet down when a dancer gets on the stage.” you offer him a little smile, noticing the barely concealed awe in his voice. 

“you’ve never seen the inside of a strip club, birdbrain,” dabi’s quick remark is like a sharp needle, sticking right into a vein in his forehead. obviously, he’s trying to make hawks look stupid in front of you, because you’re friends or lovers, something he hasn’t distinguished quite yet. the vein throbs, inspiring a headache that dabi’s entirely at fault for. hawks’ nose whistles softly when he breathes in, an apologetic grin splitting across his face. he’s not sure what he’s trying to apologize for—how awkward he is, or dabi’s rudeness that you’re probably familiar with.

he plays it off with a breezy laugh. “should’ve taken me sooner, dabi.”

this gets the villain’s attention. his head lifts up and off the backing of the chair, electric blue eyes pinning hawks down, searching his face intently—searching for a shred of sincerity or truth. dabi’s unable to believe it, smirking as the cogs in his brain function, certainly coming up with some kind of competition. “oh, don’t tell me,” he starts, a scornful cackle bursting out of him, “you’re tired of toeing the line, hero?”

with a raise of his brows, hawks slips back into his casual charm. he may not wear anything but a visor on his face, but this is his mask; unlike the material of heroes’ costumes, this one rarely comes off. he looks at dabi, gold meeting turquoise as he challenges the villain right back. “yeah. i have been, since before i got involved with the league, dabi.”

back and forth.

push and pull.

this is simply how it is. their dynamic is not practiced or understood in either black or white; you’re lucky to witness it in all its intensity, and the air warms with what is undoubtedly dabi’s quirk. their staring match lasts until dabi slams his hands down on the table, a manic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. hawks doesn’t even look startled, his expression cool and open, as if to welcome whatever challenge dabi’s come up with.

a drunken passerby burps into your face, fingertips brushing against your shoulder for less than a millisecond before you’re swept away by hawks. his reflexes are as fast as the papers say.

“want—wanna dance,” he slurs, offering you 150 yen clutched between stubby fingers. 

dabi’s on his feet, palms sparking with flashes of blue flames. he’s in the guy’s face, but doesn’t have to say anything to make him stumble off toward his obnoxious group of friends. hawks takes a step away from you, giving you some space as he starts to sit down again, but he is unceremoniously yanked away from the chair by a strong, scarred hand. 

“you’re tired of playing hero, huh?” his voice rumbles in his throat, intimidating. “fucking prove it.”

hawks’ nose crinkles. dabi’s palms grow warm, gripping tighter around a jacketed forearm. 

“private room. now.”

you lead the venture to the back of the strip club, passing closed doors on either side until you finally arrive at the room at the very end of the hallway. dabi’s simmering, wound up too tight by the time you get inside; hawks watches as you lock the door behind you, likely questioning how common this practice is. 

carelessly, dabi throws himself onto the couch, just barely spreading his knees. 

hawks is first to break the silence. “so, dabi? we’re all here now, what’s your master plan?”

“why, you scared?” dabi flashes him a wily smile as his eyes meet yours. this back and forth isn’t quite apart of your typical routine, but you step past hawks, skin brushing lightly against his feathers. he tenses, body rippling slightly as he tries to muffle something like a shudder; for someone so composed, he seems to struggle with controlling some of his physical reactions to different stimuli.

no wonder dabi’s always toying with him.

hawks scoffs, choosing not to dignify dabi’s vitriol with a clear response. “i’m thinking about heading out. we agreed on this earlier, i don’t have to stay longer than an hour.” for further effect, he tilts up his chin, but he just looks petulant.

you take your seat on dabi’s lap, facing his colleague with doe eyes and lips jutted out in a pout. as expected, he bristles, willing himself to resist; he’s the sole captain of the skies, all day, every day—seeing him squirm as the knowledge that he isn’t control washes over his face ignites a wicked delight in your chest.

“i was hoping you’d stick around, number two,” you barely arch your back, and the band of lace sitting beneath your tits hikes up a few precarious inches. “aw, i haven’t even given you a dance yet.”

dabi emanates unnatural heat through his pants, temperature soaring as you egg hawks on. it’s clear that he’s jealous, a little possessive—but this is all apart of the game. as a hero, he needs to prove himself, show how he can endure the mildest fall from grace; mingling with dabi, at a strip club, is barely scratching the surface.

“it’s considered bad form to leave a strip club without at least one dance, hawks.”

it’s the way you say his name, the way you’re able to almost hypnotize him with the simplest of movements; this serves as the final blow in a sequence of needling attacks, finally breaking away the first wall. his ears tinge pink at the tips as he comes forward, taking a cautious seat beside dabi.

you turn around, moving further up dabi’s thighs and facing him although your eyes settle on hawks. each movement is just as perfect as it was on stage, much closer and all the more mesmerizing now that you’re finally gracing him with your attention. 

“keep watching her and you’ll wait twenty minutes longer,” dabi grouses, although he makes no move to impose the same sort of restriction onto you. “i’ll fuckin’ make sure of it, birdie.”

hawks’ gold eyes move from you to dabi, who he observes rather obviously. it’s hard to pretend he doesn’t want you to be entirely focused on him, but he’ll be damned if he takes these ridiculous demands lying down. he’s a bird, not a dog. 

“you’re so rude, dabi,” you giggle, playfully sticking your tongue out as you push yourself up and off of his lap. the villain is affronted, clearly bothered by your sudden absence and uncharacteristic focus on someone else. “this is my room, don’t forget that.”

pressed back against the couch, hawks’ sensitive feathers puff up, indicating his smug triumph. you’ve chosen him over dabi, for the first time tonight—he’s too excited to concern himself with how long he’ll have your favor. it takes everything he has to bite his tongue and avoid making a quip, for fear of dabi possibly taking it to heart and burning down the strip club just to make a point.

there are two major differences that distinguish the lapdance you were giving dabi and the one that you are currently giving hawks. first, you’re seated atop his crotch and pressing your chest against his. second, you’re giving him your full attention and even going so far as to nudge at or under his jaw. this is his seventh heaven, and dabi’s second circle of hell. 

“oh, i—” hawks begins softly, already struggling to form a coherent sentence with you grinding all over his lap to the low music flowing into the room. it’s a smooth, sensual song much like the one you’d performed to earlier, and it only amplifies the experience more. “i didn’t quite catch your name.” 

dabi snorts loudly, knee knocking into his. then, not so quietly, he mutters, “dumbass.”

you’re completely unfazed. “i didn’t get yours either.”

“hawks,” he tries, cheeks starting to burn under your gaze. “but you already know that.”

“that’s not your real name, hero,” it doesn’t take long for him to understand what you’re playing at. eye for an eye, quid pro quo. “tell me yours and i’ll tell you mine.”

you half expect him to actually do it. anyone could see how infatuated hawks is with you—they could also see the way you’re playing him like a violin, pausing in between notes to make it a little less obvious. you learned from the best, after all; many of dabi’s tricks make up your arsenal.

he chews his lip, blood rushing between his legs as he devises a way to hedge around the demand. “another time, then?”

it makes you laugh, but the sound is not as derisive as dabi’s. hawks is cute, too new to the strip club for his own good, and so damn naive. this is the last place for someone seeking honesty or connection to come to, especially this far out in kabukicho. 

you’re not as much of a stranger as hawks believes you are. you’ve heard everything about him from dabi, whispered low and honest in the privacy of dark alleyways or this very room over a shared cigarette after sex. his breezy, casual demeanor is just as it was described to you, and his tendency to fluster when razzed enough is not at all an exaggeration.

“see, that’s the thing about strip clubs,” you say, gently skimming a manicured nail over his cheek, “you’re supposed to embrace the fantasy, hawks. being a hero or a villain means nothing here.”

hawks can no longer hear through his feathers, and is finding it difficult just to hear over his own heartbeat. blood pounds in his ears, sounding something like a beating drum as it blocks out dabi’s annoyed comments and the impatient tapping of his boot on the floor. the day’s tension slowly filters out of his muscles, and his body’s a little less rigid under yours, anxiety tapering away all thanks to you.

rolling your hips against his and settling both hands on his chest, right above his heart, you lean in purposefully. to give him a kiss, tell him a secret, or maybe even share a meaningful silence with him—he doesn’t expect you to do almost everything, all at once.

“you ought to come here more often,” you murmur, dangerously close to the shell of his ear. “i’d take care of you like this any time.”

if it wasn’t for this infiltration mission, hawks would drop everything and come whenever his feathers tingled at the thought of you. however, it is crucial that he is careful not to attract negative attention or do anything too out of the ordinary; frustrated, his teeth dig into his lower lip.

“i can’t just come here whenever i want.”

“hawks,” just saying his name commands his undivided attention. in an instant, his surroundings become an unimportant blur and he’s only focusing on you. “you’re always in control, aren’t you? hasn’t the thought of temporarily letting go ever crossed your mind, pretty bird?”

here we go, he thinks, although warmth flares in his chest. it’s already enough that dabi doesn’t ever stop with the bird nicknames, and now you’re starting up the same kind of thing. 

your nose brushes against his neck, and your voice softens to a volume intended for his ears only. “doesn’t it feel good to be something other than perfect?”

god, yes. 

his memories and thoughts become hazy at the corners when he’s in your presence, and hawks is losing the sight of the lines he’s drawn in the sand. maybe you’re right; maybe he can shed his learned, polished persona in exchange for something more real here with you.

sweet perfume curls in the air when your head moves up and away from his neck, something daring flashing across your face. it’s the kind of look that tells him you don’t expect him to say or do much, although you clearly want him to—he’s leaning in, preparing to prove you wrong, and everything’s beginning to fall into place all at once.

you are promptly tugged away, and his lips drag along your cheek, having missed the kiss.

“kissing him before me?” dabi tuts, easily seating you on his lap and guiding you toward his mouth with a rough grip on your chin. “thought i told you how much i hate being betrayed, baby.”

hawks stares. he stares so hard his eyeballs grow dry, begging him to blink or at the very least turn away from such a terrible sight.

dabi snickers against your mouth; you moan into his, eyelids fluttering shut as his hands skim the expanse of your back, fingernails grazing against soft skin. for a moment, heat simmers dangerously below the surface, desperately seeking to release ultrahot steam. 

hawks’ hand finds dabi’s thigh, and he makes sure to dig into the covered flesh, squeezing hard. the villain pulls away with a laugh, a glossy string of spit connecting your lips to his. his fingers slip under the lacy band of your underwear, allowing him to shamelessly grope your ass.

dabi reads hawks like a picture book, a smarmy smirk tugging at his mouth. “shit, you’re out of your goddamn mind if you thought you’d be her first kiss.”

“what happened to proving myself?” hawks asks, defensiveness creeping into his voice. “this whole thing was such a joke.”

“take her from me,” dabi goads, tugging a hand out of your underwear to land a sharp slap across your ass. the impact makes you squeal in surprise, hips wiggling against his own. “go ahead and fuckin’ take her from me, hawks.”

and he does just that, accepting the challenge without a shred of hesitation.

hawks kisses you hard, a gloved hand rising to the back of your neck to gingerly hold on while the tip of his tongue swipes at your lower lip. it’s fast, and the kiss spirals quickly; it was never chaste to begin with, but damn—he’s probably doing all of this just to royally piss off dabi. teeth clink against teeth, but it doesn’t deter him in the least, not when he’s already thrown caution to the wind.

your tongue swirls with his and you moan, dragging your hips over the obvious bulge in dabi’s pants. it catches nicely against the thin material of your panties, and heat burns its way through your body, pooling right in your gut. even when hawks groans, pushing closer, dabi doesn’t interfere just yet. they’re simply testing each other, seeing how far they can go before the other snaps; it’s expected from their natural rivalry.

you’re dizzy by the time you part for air, lips slick with spit and skin tingling from the scratch of his stubble. dabi regards his colleague with a face that’s half impressed, half pissed—this is the only way he expresses approval with hawks. 

“didn’t think you had it in you, birdie,” dabi’s words are dripping with condescension as he hooks his fingers under the band of lace again. without being asked, you lift your hips off of his lap, wet arousal soaking through the fabric and clinging to your cunt in sticky tendrils as he slides the material down your thighs. the garment is carelessly tossed to the floor. “so fuckin’ messy for me, baby.”

he swipes a finger through your folds and sticks it into his mouth, making a show of swirling his tongue around it. hawks’ face is beautifully flushed, strokes of pink on his cheeks slowly spreading to his neck; his eyes gleam hungrily as he watches dabi, too interested to pull away. his pupils are large, expanding splotches of black against molten honey; his eyes are glazing over with something primal, characteristic of a bird of prey.

dabi gestures indiscriminately, a hand flipping to the side. you adjust yourself, still sitting on dabi’s lap but in a way that allows hawks to directly see the mess between your legs.

“i – dabi, please,” a whimper tumbles forth from your lips, voice soft and desperate. hawks is rock hard. “i want—i need you.”

the simple correction gets hawks’ heart racing faster than it should. you’re not even talking to him, but everything about your plea is fucking delicious. it’s the spread of your plush thighs, the excited rise and fall of your chest, the slickness of your eager cunt, and the way your eyes are lidded with desire. to be wanted—needed, by one person and on such an intimate level, is something he wouldn’t mind in the least.

dabi’s rough fingertips ghost along the tender skin of your inner thighs and he barks out a low laugh. “is this all for me?”

of course it isn’t, and he knows that. hawks had a hand in this too, after all.

his fingers are so close to where you need them to be, and you nod urgently, not wanting to risk losing his touch when you’ve almost got it. but he smacks your cunt instead, tightly holding you against his chest when a sob tears out of you, whole body thrashing in response to the unexpected impact.

“why don’t you ask hawks to get you off, huh?”

fresh tears gleam in your eyes, threatening to spill over and cascade down your cheeks. hawks feels a twinge of both pride and sympathy in his chest when you raise your chin, looking at him like you’re desperate to be wrecked by his hand. sitting up on your elbows, you spread your thighs once more, bra hiking up an inch to expose a sliver of the lower half of your tits.

“hawks,” you begin imploringly, cheeks quickly growing hot, “p-please, put your mouth on me.”

“i got you,” he coos, trying to sound smooth although the pitch of his voice betrays him. hawks adjusts himself appropriately, bends forward for you; his wings twitch as he works himself between your legs, pausing to fully take you in. there are still traces of your sweet perfume, wafting through the air and telling him you’d sprayed some right between your legs.

he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the swollen bud experimentally at first. despite his reputation, hawks hasn’t been with that many women—he’s still new to sex in some ways, but he’s seen enough porn, hasn’t he? technique matters, he thinks, but an eagerness to both learn and please should be more important, right? you gasp sharply, breath hitching in your throat when he finally gives you that long-awaited bliss you’ve been dying for since stepping out onto the stage.

the whole time, you’d been performing a flawless dance to dabi’s favorite song. it’s a sacred ritual, implicitly understood between the two of you; to patrons, it is simply another show for cash.

your fingers push through blond curls, tugging nicely when hawks’ spit-slicked fingers slide into you. he can feel the sticky ripple of your walls, gummy and hot as you bear down around him; it’s impossible not to imagine what this would feel like around his cock. you’re panting now, hips weakly thrusting upwards as you push his face further into your pussy, each stroke of his tongue scratching a lustful itch in your brain.

an irritated sigh slips out of you when he pulls up for air, bushy brows tugging in concern. it’s not like you’re verbally guiding him, so he’s not sure if he’s doing this the way you want him to. 

“is this how you want—”

hawks is unable to finish his sentence, because dabi interferes, once again. he cups the back of the hero’s head, careful not to snag any staples, and slams him down hard enough to nearly break his nose. 

this bitch, hawks thinks, already predicting the shape of a nasty bruise in the center of his face. 

“can’t even follow a simple order,” dabi goads, a self satisfied grin stretching across his face. “she told you to put your fucking mouth on her pussy, birdbrain.”

hawks’ fingers curl, pressing right into your sweet spot. he supposes that perhaps this isn’t the time to ask any clarifying questions; clearly, neither you nor dabi have the patience or interest to answer. this room isn’t a place for tenderness, and despite your allure, the sex is entirely meaningless. he remembers where he is—a shabby strip club somewhere in the district of kabukicho, a place where morals are left at the door like shoes—and hardens.

dabi’s hand remains where it is, and listening to hawks’ gasps for breath every now and then doesn’t seem to phase him in the least. you shudder as he eats your pussy, heels digging into his shoulders as a litany of moans spill out from your lips. euphoria shoots through your veins, curling through your limbs in a way that is thoroughly intoxicating; from what you can see of hawks’ face, his cheeks are glossy with your slick. his nose is red, probably still throbbing from when it was smashed against your pubic bone.

he continues to drink you in thirstily, as if he’s been without water for days. 

“hawks,” you gasp, whimpering around his name, “fuck, you’re so good. oh my god—yeah, yes, right fucking there.”

curses just keep falling from your lips, a wayward praise embedded in each word. you’re twisting in dabi’s lap and using hawks solely to get off through little humps of your hips against his face or by grinding into his fingers. he doesn’t even notice the embarrassing way he’s been rutting against the couch cushions until he shifts and feels a growing wet spot in his boxers; all the more reason to shed all of his clothes and let them join your panties on the floor.

another curl and flex of his fingers before he draws them back, beginning to scissor them in and out of your fluttering cunt.

the wet, squelching sounds are amplified through his feathers. they fill the room, his ears, and his entire head. hawks is able to acutely hear the pounding of all three hearts, the heaviness in his own breathing, and the silent creaking of the couch beneath all the weight. if the three of you were to end up fucking on top of the junky piece of furniture, it’d end up giving out pretty quickly into the endeavor.

one tear pours down your cheek and is swiftly followed by many more. “nghhh, oh my god, ‘m gonna cum, please don’t stop—”

your back arches off the couch and dabi’s lap, hips jerking erratically as all the euphoria hits you at once. hawks’ fingers are pushed out of you as you cum hard, whole body trembling as you ride out the pleasant wave; his face is shoved deeper into your cunt, and yet he still makes quick work of everything you have to offer him. after all, it’s the polite thing to do when treated to a meal.

dabi only lets him up when you start to whine, rearing your hips away from all the overstimulation. hawks raises his head, breathless and sputtering for air; he fixes his colleague with a teary-eyed glare. “what, dabi? trying to kill me now?”

the prominent bulge between his thighs speaks volumes otherwise. chest heaving, hawks scoots back, the lower half of his face shiny with your cum. it’s a lewd sight, the kind that makes your cheeks burn as you realize just how empty your pussy is—and how much you want to be stuffed full.

“not just yet, birdie,” dabi smiles dangerously, tilting his head to the side with an almost predatory gleam in his striking turquoise eyes. “looks like someone still wants you around.”

you mewl when his palm lightly smacks against your sensitive clit, sparks of both pain and pleasure shooting up your spine. slowly, you sit up on your knees to look at hawks with such need in your eyes he feels himself melting inside. “come here, hawks.”

oh, fuck. you’re so goddamn pretty, and although your words were framed as a request, there wasn’t much of a choice for him—he’d be out of his mind to deny you.

he comes closer, letting his eyelids fall shut as you pull him into a kiss, manicured nails lightly raking along his jaw and against his stubble. the personification of unattainable, you’re dabi’s favorite sin—and yet you kiss someone else so gently, as if you’ve been waking up by his side day in and day out. hawks doesn’t register or react to an unbuckling belt, or the slam of the metal against the floor.

rough palms stroke over your back, fingertips faintly pressing into the dimples there. dabi only laughs when you gasp into hawks’ mouth, the sound muted against his tongue; he continues to venture on, slipping his hands past your sides until he splays his fingers against your thighs. you’re feeling up hawks, pressing your hands to the hard lines of clear cut abs and wispy hair trailing up his stomach.

“you’re such a slut,” dabi leans in, sucking the tender skin of your neck between his teeth as his voice drops into a low growl. “just so goddamn greedy for dick, baby.”

why is he talking to you like that? hawks can’t help but feel indignant, close enough to smell the smoke and petroleum jelly on dabi’s skin. once, he mentioned using it before he goes to bed—something about moisturizing the staples so they don’t tear his skin as easily. hawks, heroic at heart, is ready to pull back and question dabi, until he feels and hears your responding moan against his lips. 

you allow dabi to push you forward onto all fours, lips falling away from hawks’ despite being still connected with a sticky string of spit. he thumbs it away while dabi spits onto his own cock and teasingly rubs the tip between your ass cheeks—when did he take his dick out?—some kind of warm up to get you begging.

“dabi, come on,” you’re just so easy that hawks actually starts to understand dabi’s degrading comment, the dynamic between you and him. it’s something like his own, except there’s the sex and strip clubs. “i can’t – oh my god, jus’ fuck me already.”

just for that demanding, bratty tone, dabi heats up his palm and smacks it against your ass, nodding to himself when you shriek, unintentionally jerking back against his cock. 

“always fuckin’ talking too much.”

“fuck you,” you bite out rudely, while hawks divests himself of his boxers. he swallows as his cock bobs in the warm air, not sure what to think when you look at it with this unreadable expression on your face. hawks is supposed to be a people person, the kind that can understand body language and the particular tells that every single person has, too natural to hide.

if he focuses hard on his feathers, spreading out his wings, he can almost discern the sound of wetness in your mouth. saliva slicks up your tongue and throat, and he realizes that you’re not judging the leftward curve of his cock, but instead sizing it up and getting ready for it.

“yeah, i’m trying to,” dabi grunts, cursing under his breath. “god, fuck.”

then he notices the unusual quiver of hawks’ vermilion wings, the puffing of his feathers, and the bright flush high on his cheeks. it’s pretty much spread to the hero’s chest and dabi just wonders how embarrassed his colleague must be. out of his depth in a place he’d never voluntarily go to, about to fuck someone he’s hasn’t formally met or introduced himself to, and with dabi of all people on the other side, directly facing him. dabi’s eyes meet his, the look lasting as long as the flash of a digital camera, and a smugness swells in his chest.

hawks hasn’t quite proved himself yet, but he will. 

you complain again, although your heart-filled eyes are glued to hawks’ cock.

he inhales sharply through his nose, feeling the metal piercings grow warm with his aggravation. “just shut her up already, hawks.”

hawks slips his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up so he can look at you; desire swims in pools of gold, his eyes pouring into yours. “guess you’re the boss. open wide for me, baby.”

the head of his thick cock is leaking with sticky precum that gets onto your lips when he nudges his hips forward, a sigh escaping him at the contact. you do open wide, practically drooling by the time his heavy cock is sitting against your tongue; it’s a tight fit, but goddamn is it worth the stretch—a few stray feathers fall away from his wings, littering the floor. his head tips back, and the rosy column of his throat gleams with sweat under the light; the number two hero of japan looks nothing less than appetizing.

despite the gagging and sting of tears in your eyes, you power through, pushing further and further. each inch is one step closer to heaven, which he finally reaches at the back of your throat. hawks’ cock throbs, and he shakily pushes a hand through his hair, shoving it out of his face.

“isn’t she just impressive?”

you start to choke, teary lashes fluttering, when dabi finally presses his own cock inside of you. it’s long, fraught with veins, and big enough to leave you feeling full for days afterward—body and mind. an obscene mixture of hawks’ spit and your slick gathers on dabi’s cock as he grips your hips and pushes in, the heated silver spheres along his length dragging deliciously against your walls. 

in the beginning, when you’d first seen dabi’s cock, both worry and excitement coursed through you. the ladder of silver piercings embedded along the underside of his cock was nothing short of intimidating; in retrospect, there wasn’t much point in worrying. he still split you open and fucked you until you forgot your name; the piercings are only a lucky addition to the package.

“she likes havin’ her throat fucked,” dabi rasps, sneering, “give her what she needs instead of sitting around, birdbrain.”

“shut the fuck up, dabi,” hawks rolls his hips forward, breath catching once he feels the squeezing and tightening of your throat around him. it’s . . better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, silky smooth and gripping him like a vice. “oh my god—hah, s-so pretty like this.”

another experimental roll of his hips, and you let him slip a little deeper.

while hawks develops a sloppy, rough-at-the-edges pace into your throat, dabi is keenly aware of his colleague’s disappointing performance. because he’s an asshole, he points it out.

“forget i said anything, birdie,” and the disappointment is so pronounced in his words that hawks quickly reaches the end of his rope. he’s not one to swear often, but when he does, each word is said with enough weight to reveal how he really feels. dabi and his commission handlers are the only ones who hit the nerve that makes him transform into a sailor.

“what?” he snaps, accidentally thrusting with too much force. it makes you choke loudly, and you suck in air through your nose, eyes stinging with tears. he’s still defensive, but he bends and thumbs it away, murmuring an apology before returning to glare at dabi.

“that,” dabi supplies unhelpfully, languidly rocking his hips against your ass, “fucking like a hero is so goddamn pathetic. do you really think she needs all that sweetness? she’s a slut, so fuck her like one or don’t fuck her at all.”

hawks does pause at this. a glance at your face reveals a depraved greed for more; dabi’s right. you fuck villains, not heroes. you practically told him that earlier, when you were riding his cock through his pants—god, he needs to remember his place here. how many times has he come to this kind of conclusion in the past hour?

gently, as if he’s handling a glass figurine, hawks’ hand cups the back of your head. your heart sinks a little; you thought that dabi’s small speech would knock enough sense into him, but maybe hawks is too much of a hero. old habits die hard, or whatever.

but then, he fills his lungs with air and slams you down. your nose brushes against his pubes, and your arms nearly melt into useless jelly under you. 

“hell yeah,” dabi’s getting serious now, arousal ripping through his body. this is a real tag team.

hawks’ entire demeanor seems to change. muscles ripple under his skin, all of them pulling taut like a bow string as he uses your throat, finally taking hold of the opportunity that’s been presented to him. the commission decides everything for him—how he acts in public or in interviews, how he’ll talk with dabi to extract information about the league, and even what he can or cannot have in his home. 

it’s time to take control for once, he thinks bitterly, thoughts foggy with arousal, this is the one thing that the commission isn’t all over when it comes to their star. hawks’ wings spread out, beating the air and producing a cold breeze that cuts through all of the heat inside this little room. he shudders, forgetting about everything that had concerned him before as he enjoys the moment, no longer acting. it feels so sweet to have some goddamn control for once, especially the kind that doesn’t slip through his fingers as quickly as it got into his hands.

dabi grunts, his hand locating the softness above your pubic bone. it’s already hard to breathe, with hawks shoving his dick down your throat and dabi fucking out all the air you manage to inhale through your nose—dabi just makes it ten times harder, pressing down forcefully.

stars flash across your vision and you moan, throwing your ass back onto him as best you can. being plowed from both ends—double stuffed—is another level of pleasure, as overwhelming as it is. 

with your mouth forced open and your cunt being pounded into oblivion, it doesn’t surprise dabi when you start to slump, tired of holding yourself up. it does, however, piss him off; he didn’t spend all that time stretching out your throat with his dick for nothing, and those marathon sessions weren’t just because he was pent up. he grabs at your hair, wrapping it around his fist and dragging you up, forcing your back into an arch.

“keep that fuckin’ arch, you hear me?” dabi’s demand cuts through the steam filling the room and hawks’ choked groans, too clear to even dare to ignore. there’s nothing to do but nod, a whine slipping out from your bulging throat.

you really are an obedient slut.

“good girl, just like that,” he praises shortly afterward, voice lilting into something almost flattering.

the couch creaks dangerously, yawning under all the weight and movement. it’s an old piece of junk that has finally reached its limit, but nobody hears it. you’re too busy slutting yourself out to hear it; hawks doesn’t care at all; dabi’s inspired to go harder. 

hawks’ orgasm sneaks up on him. heat coils tightly in his gut, and each thrust into your throat makes his tip throb with euphoric sensitivity; he looks at you, noticing the streaks of mascara infused tears running down your cheeks and the drool streaking down your chin, dripping onto the couch. his heart swells in his chest, beating right in his dick, and he knows right then and there that he’s fucking done for.

the final, warning moan is everything but villainous, and he can’t bring himself to care.

“oh, i—” hawks’ abs clench, a few beads of sweat racing down between the ridges of muscle and disappearing in the trimmed hair of his pelvis, “hah, fuck. cumming, baby, please—”

dabi lets go of your hip, fingers searching for your clit. once he finds the swollen, sensitive bud, he pinches it—hard enough to push you right over the edge and into bliss. it’s a messy mix of orgasms, with hawks cumming thick and hot down your throat as you squeeze around dabi’s cock, cunt tremoring from the strength of it.

dabi is last, but seeing you and hawks fall apart was entirely worth the wait. “fuck—” he groans, biting down into his lower lip hard enough to taste the unmistakable tang of blood, “f-fuckin’ take it all, greedy pussy can never get enough.”

he babbles on, muttering unintelligible curses and filth until the euphoria hits him like a high, finally shutting him up. you can feel the smooth metal of his piercings pressing deep as his cock twitches, spilling hot cum against your cervix. it’s the kind of load that’ll prevent you from going back onstage—as if your legs could handle it after this sort of event, damn—soaking through your panties and running down your thighs to show the whole club what you’d just gotten up to. cum pours out from your abused hole, splattering your skin with gooey white as it drips onto the wrecked couch. dabi loves to see you in white—covered either in lace or his own cum.

the stench of sweat and sex hangs in the air, hot and heavy with silence. dabi lets your hair go, making sure to keep his softening cock inside of you as he lounges against the armrest of the couch to catch his breath. hawks carefully pulls away, shaking out his wings and flopping back against the cushions.

“ready to head back to your cage, birdbrain?” dabi pants out, rubbing a hand over your back as you stretch out, exhausted. then his lips pull into a mean smirk. “might wanna rough up your handlers while you’re at it. you’re in.”

hawks’ head spins. he parrots the words back. “i’m in?”

“the league. no turning back now, hawks.”

☆ ☆

hawks still remembers the date and time of what ended up being a two hour long visit at the strip club in kabukicho. he returns a few weeks later, despite being ordered not to hang around these kinds of areas anymore (some reports with photos had been aired online), but he doesn’t give a damn. the thin skin under his eyes is dark with a lack of sleep and too many missions piled onto his back. he never heard anything from dabi about staying away (not that he can recall), so it must be okay.

he makes it right before you get onto the stage, sitting down in a chair heavily. it’s the same singer playing through the speakers, but it’s not the same song as last time. nonetheless, your movements are languid, body flowing like water against the pole. everything is almost the same as his last trip here, except this time, you strut up to him after the performance and seat yourself in his lap, purring into his ear.

“came back to see me, pretty bird?”

“why else would i come here?”

with eyeshadow shimmering under the club lights, you grin as if you know something he doesn’t. “perhaps you’ve developed a penchant for lapdances. who knows what you’ve been up to since the last time we saw one another?”

[tehrevving]

Meeting Dante's Devil Side

Warnings: Suggestive Monster Fucking 😉

The fight had been brutal, it had to have been for Dante to end up like this. Nero hadn’t said much about it though, too busy focused on dragging an unconscious Dante up the stairs of Devil May Cry and to his bedroom. Nero said to just let him rest, to let his magic healing do all the work.

You had decided to wait in the room and watch him, make sure that he was ok. You sat on the heavy chair opposite the bed, reading your book, waiting.

You lost track of time, and lost track of watching Dante until a strange voice pulled you from the pages.

“Our pretty human,” said a voice that sounded like Dante’s, but was just slightly wrong. The sounds were elongated, hissed and rough.

You looked over in alarm to see Dante sitting up on the bed, bare chested with the sheets pooling around his waist. He seems healed but his eyes are glowing red in the dim light of the room. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s run a marathon, but not quite, it’s shallow, he’s breathing more like he doesn’t quite understand how his lungs work.

“Dante?” You call out to him cautiously, a little bit of concern in your voice.

“Dante is sleeping,” he replies, hissed and nonchalantly and, well that’s a bit weird. Before you can react to that though he’s moved, almost too quick for your eyes to follow. Dante flings himself out from under the covers. He sits above them, sort of, he’s sat down but also sort of squatting on his haunches like an animal.

He looks feral, his facial expression not quite right. Red eyes peeking out from behind long hair falling in his face. His eyes are glowing in the dim light of the room.

He speaks again, low and rough, “hello human. Our pretty human.”

“Dante?” You ask again, your voice cracks. You’re a little bit worried now, a little bit scared. You try to back away from the creature in front of you, but you get stuck, unable to move the heavy chair.

The creature wearing Dante’s skin breathes out heavily and hisses again, “we are Dante. Dante is us. We have always been Dante. Dante has always been us. We are Dante’s other. Do not be afraid. Soft human.”

You don’t move, frantically looking around the room trying to find something to use as a weapon.

It speaks again and your eyes snap back to it. Even though you can tell now that it’s not Dante, it’s still his face, and it’s pulling an expression on his face that looks surprisingly hurt at your alarm. “We are there. Always. Behind his eyes. See everything. See chocolate ice cream on the beach. See pizza in bed for breakfast. Many memories. We are friend. Are lover to human. Dante likes you, pretty human. We like you. When Dante thinks about you it makes us warm here,” it gestures to its chest over its heart, “feels fuzzy. Also makes us warm here,” it gestures between its legs and then reaches and palms at its crotch, “this one feels good.”

You’re taken back by what it’s said, by the nice words and the dirty ones; you can’t help the blush that’s formed on your cheeks. You feel yourself becoming less scared of the creature. It seems ridiculous to your conscious mind but to your subconscious one, it’s acting just like Dante without the farce of his humour; lost and scared and unsure. It’s trying to appeal to you, to remind you of memories that it obviously has of the two of you.

You’re still scared but there’s something drawing you to the strange creature that looks like your lover. You stand up, walk towards it. You don’t think it’s going to hurt you.

It lifts it head up to meet your eyes when you stand beside it. It very slowly raises a clawed hand that it then presses gently against your cheek. The touch is warm, soft and familiar, a gesture that Dante does to you often to help you relax, to help you feel safe.

You reach out to this strange beast and brush the hair back from its face, responding to its touch with something that you often do to Dante. You watch as its eyes narrow to glowing pinpricks at your motion as the corners of its eyes crinkle up in a smile, lips twisting into a wild grin as you cup its own cheek.

You watch the creature for a while, not moving. It seems calm and relaxed, rubbing its face against your palm.

Eventually, it breaks the silence.

“Dante will not let us touch fragile human,” it begins to speak in its distorted, hissed voice, “will not let you meet us. Worried we will hurt human.” It takes your hand from its face and holds it in its claws. “But we not hurt soft human. We like human. Want human to have beating heart. Want to give human beating hearts of other devils for gift. Human gives us head scratches and warm holes for our cock. We like soft human. Want to give human only nice things, nice feelings. Make human scream name. Dante says no. But Dante not here. Sleeping. Pretty human here. We here. Want to play with soft human. Human want to play with us?”

The creature is smirking by the time it finishes speaking, the expression so fucking Dante that you’re not sure how to react. It’s obviously aware of what it’s saying, is it trying to seduce you? You don’t want it to be working, but aside from the strange voice and the glowing eyes, it’s still your lover sitting in front of you and dirty talking to you. It’s working.

The creature grins, stretching its lips almost unnaturally. ‘We smell you,” it takes in a deep breath through its nose, “delicious. Good human. Body wants to play even though mind not sure.”

It lifts up off the bed until it’s towering over you almost at Dante’s full height, its clawed hands pressing on your shoulders. “We want to eat soft human. Not bad eat. Good eat. Eat until pretty human scream for us and cover our tongue with cream. Pretty human will like. We have nice tongue. Human say yes.”

You watch as right in front of your face Dante opens his mouth and an impossibly long tongue rolls out of his mouth, it’s dark brown and covered in ridges and bumps. The creature cocks its head and watches you expectantly, sniffing at the air.

You take in a deep breath, terrified but now also aroused. You watch as its eyes glint in the dim light, watch as your lover’s skin starts to darken as glowing veins begin to rise against his skin. Your skin begins to prickle, hair standing on end as the room is suddenly overcome with a surge of energy.

You watch the creature wearing your lover’s skin and smile at it. What’s the worst that could happen? You think as you open your mouth to utter a single word.

“Yes.”

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x F! reader, established relationship, PIV sex, period sex!!! you've been warned. WC: 3.8K

A/N: Still alive. Still writing filth. Well, trying to at least. Finally managed to finish one of these so, enjoy!

His brow furrowed at the same time that his smile deflated to form a frown.

Steve had found you exactly as he had left you – curled up on your side on the couch with your eyes squinting at the TV screen. Your arms are still wound around your stomach boa constrictor tight too, your trembling lips parted enough to let out the occasional groan or shaky whimper.

Though the sight of you like this is enough to make him feel concerned, he's relieved to spot the empty plate dusted with sandwich crumbs resting on the coffee table. Even if it did sit a little too close to the edge for his comfort, it let him know that you'd upheld your promise to eat something while he was away at work.

Taking a few quiet steps closer into the living room, Steve approaches you from behind and leans over the back of the couch to get a better look at you, his shadow stretching long to cloak you from the light coming off the TV.

"Any better?", he asks gently in lieu of a hello, slipping the question between laugh tracks as another episode of The Golden Girls commenced on screen. Your comfort show.

Steve watches patiently as you turn much too slowly and carefully to meet his eye from over your shoulder. That's when he notices how glassy they've become, unshed tears growing fatter and fatter behind your lash line, verging on spilling down your puffy cheeks. A little pout pushes your lightly chapped lips out too, mustering up enough strength to shake your head ‘no’.

Steve’s heart always hung heavy in his chest whenever he saw you like this, all pained and panting. Wanting to be closer to you, he rounds the couch and gladly takes the hand you unwind from around your sore belly and hold out to him, encouraging him to sit beside you.

To the relief of you both, there's no awkward fidgeting or clueless gestures exchanged at this stage of your relationship when Steve takes a seat. Instead, he moves with the quiet confidence of someone whose been through this very situation enough times to know exactly how to soothe you. To begin, he carefully gathers you into his lap, not wanting to trigger any more pinching pain or another cramping crick that might shoot up your back whip crack quick.

Your mood begins to shift for the first time that day, perking up as you let him cradle you, nuzzling into his chest as you settle sideways in his lap. He doesn't even have to question you when he feels your fingers circling his wrist either, letting you pluck his hand and guide it underneath your t-shirt. Steve remembers to spread his warm fingers over as much of the soft skin of your belly as possible, smiling when he sees you sigh with some relief.

He'd sit there all night with you like this if not for the little plastic shopping bag you’re yet to notice still grasped in his other hand. The shifty little sound it makes when he shakes it five minutes later draws your attention once you’ve made yourself comfortable in his lap. You blink your eyes open, curiously squinting at the bag and its familiar logo printed on the front.

"Figured I'd stop by the pharmacy before I headed home. Just to be safe", Steve explains with a kind smile, pretty crescent dimples making impressions on his cheeks. The thoughtful gesture is enough to make your body turn warm with adoration.

"So, I've got pain killers and heating pads and– ‘want me to open one up for you?", Steve offers before he lists the rest and you make sure to match his smile with one of your own that's just as sweet before you politely decline. "Can I use your hands a little longer?", you ask instead, practically purring from the way his large palm rests on you. "It feels so nice".

Once again, you're reminded of how lucky you are to have him when Steve's eyes catch the light and glitter like they always do when he does something you like. Just like a labrador lighting up at the sight of a bone.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course", he answers, so eager to please. He frees his hand by setting the bag down, once again letting you wrap your smaller fingers around his wrist and pull it closer to your chest.

You place it over your left breast and without needing to tell him how, Steve settles into a routine he's pretty much memorized by now. He grasps the shape of your breast under your t-shirt and begins massaging it gently like he’s done so many times before, aware of how sore they get when you're on your period, switching over to the other sensitive breast and then back again to the first for more.

He can tell that he's touching you the right way when he's treated to the sounds you begin to let slip out, contented sighs and soft groans, even that pinched little space between your eyebrows becomes lax enough to turn your face into a picture of bliss.

"Pills didn't do much today did they?", he guesses, earning another shake of your head.

"Neither did the hot water bottle?", he asks when he spies it lying on the carpet by the couch, knowing full well it'd probably been discarded there out of frustration.

"Just made me feel sweaty and gross", you whined back softly in reply.

"Is this helping? what I'm doing?", he asks hopefully.

"Yes, still crampy but It's already better having you hold me", you tell him sincerely, adjusting yourself in his lap so that your lips can reach his cheek and show your gratitude with a quick peck.

The next few minutes that pass with you perched on his lap is the closest you've felt to relief, his hands soothing your sensitive skin and much of the pain you'd dealt with all day.

Though not all of it.

Despite all Steve's done he can't quite snuff the pain out for you through touch alone. Your cramps continue to jab and twist and flare angrily inside you, less frequently but just as unpleasant as they had been this morning.

"Um, so listen", he clears his throat abruptly, noticing your unyielding discomfort.

When you look up at Steve you can almost feel the way his thoughts are stirring rapidly in his head, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip in the same way he does when he's deep in thought.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else I could do?", he asks eventually.

You think on it for a few short moments, shrugging when nothing comes to mind.

" I don't know... like what?"

---

"You really don't think it's gross?", you check for the third time, bare thighs squeezing together as if they were bound under lock and key. "We don't even know if it'll work", you add nervously, afraid of the kind of mess you're making on the towel that's been placed under you. At least the charcoal cotton will hide most of it. You hope.

Steve pops back into sight at the sound of your wavering voice, his hair messily fluffed up in all directions from pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it into a corner of the bedroom floor. He cranes his neck and rests his stubbled chin on your knees as your heels dig deeper into the mattress. "Baby" he sighed, smiling. Loving and reassuring all in one exhale of breath that tickles your perspiring skin. "It's not gross. You know that", he squeezes your thighs reassuringly, climbing over your bent legs to kiss you quick and thaw your inhibitions.

"I just want to make my poor, sore girl feel better".

The way he says it is enough to make you feel your heart beat between your legs.

It's nothing new. Your hormones have always had a nasty habit of kicking your libido up more than a few notches whenever it was your time of the month. But this was new territory for the both of you. As much as you would have liked to in the past, you never let Steve get this far before, never acting on the urge to have him be the one to pleasure you while you bled. You usually saw to that persistent ache on your own, always in private and in the shower without Steve's involvement.

And while it was him who insisted on 'helping' you today, part of you couldn’t stop worrying if he'd really desire you as you are right now. If maybe his sweet intentions to make you feel better had gotten the best of him.

All of that and more swarming thoughts had you questioning if maybe letting him get this far was a mistake. If maybe you ought to stop him now before it’s too late, your mind becoming a winding spiral of uncertainty but that was until you felt it – an unmistakable firmness brushing against your hip while Steve helped you out of your clothes.

It made your cheeks burn hot to know that Steve’s bulge had turned swollen and hard because of you, contained behind his boxers for the time being but still very evident as he tenderly laid you down on your back again, effectively quietening some of the doubts that howled sonorously inside your head.

It makes your knees tremble next when he places his large hands on each one, gently encouraging you to let him pull them apart and see what lies between your legs.

To you, letting your legs come apart for him feels too much like you’re stepping off the steepest ledge and plummeting into a freefall. Your heart shoots up out of your ribcage and into your narrow throat, your eyes squeezing shut because you can't handle watching how your boyfriend will react.

Your weak, jelly knees make it all the easier for him to peel them apart and once he does, the blood in your veins freezes over when all that elapses is silence. Not one single word out of Steve.

Each second ticks by as painfully as the last, like scraping bone until you try to clamp your legs shut once again but Steve's too quick for you, keeping your legs pried open with his hands placed firmly on your inner thighs.

"Oh sweetheart...", is all you hear him utter, a deep, raspy rumble that curls up and out of his throat like a lazy tendril of smoke. “Just needed a moment to really look at you, pretty thing”

You make a noise too, somewhere between a gasp and a hiccup when you feel his course fingers graze your bloody folds. It's enough to make you force one eye open as he pulls them apart to observe the bleeding between your legs.

Carefully you read every little expression that dawns on his face, relieved when you notice that Steve doesn't wince. He doesn't flinch. And he doesn't turn away from the sight of your blood, completely unblinking and focused. Maybe even a little enamored if you were to guess by the way his lips lift up into another smile.

You feel it’s safe enough to ease both eyes open now and fix them on Steve as he watches you quietly and closely back. This time his silence has the opposite effect on you. Instead of frigid, piercing worry, you shudder warmly with sunny excitement while he explores you.

His gaze descends the length of your body to find a moderate amount of blood on your inner thighs. You know because you can feel the warm, thick stains cooling on your skin, smudged there like wine stains and brush strokes painting your body. It’s what pulls his focus first, his eyes lingering there before they roam between your puffy folds and over to your hole. There he finds you leaking with a glossy crimson mix of blood and slick. Bringing his face closer to it, he's able to tell that your scent's different now too. Sharper. More coppery underneath your usual soft musk. The way his mouth pulls up into a broader smile tells you that he likes it just as much.

"Can't believe we didn't try this sooner", he tells you playfully with a waggle of his eyebrows though you know he's being very sincere as you both recall all the times you’d laid in bed and in pain whenever you were menstruating.

Out of habit you very nearly ask him a fourth time if he's absolutely certain he wants to be intimate with you while you're bleeding but you’re able to stop abruptly before you can get the question past your lips, suddenly hit with a much-needed wave of clarity.

This was Steve. A man no stranger to a little blood. Be it a split lip, a blackened eye or a broken nose among other bones. The same Steve who took a bite out of a writhing demobat and spit its filthy viscera out at his dirty feet, its thick blood tainting his pearly teeth with an angry snarling red.

He's never cowered at the sight of blood before. So why would he start now? why would he when it means getting to be with you in a whole new way? when it means getting to make love to you and give you some much needed relief?

"Looks like my girl's ready now", he winks at you knowingly.

You can feel the pure magnetism practically radiating off of him like puffs of hot steam, shedding his boxers off quickly to join you in the nude. Watching his erection spring free and thwack against his lower stomach makes your tummy flutter and flip especially when you notice the splash of precum it leaves behind on his blushing skin.  

He wanted you, very much and there was no way to deny it, making you feel both eager and a little silly about how you'd fussed earlier so self-consciously.

It made you feel sexy again too. Desirable during a time you didn't consider yourself as such. With your confidence sprouting again your legs make more space for him, inviting him closer before your ankles lock in place behind the small of Steve's back. His rigid shaft settles snugly between your bloody folds as he teases you by rubbing the slick, spongy head of his cock against your swollen clit. He’s satisfied when he gently pulls whine after pretty whine out of you like unravelling a delicate flower bud by hand, petal by petal gently tugged open to reveal the beautiful blossom lying inside.

"Steve?"

"Yeah? this making you feel good?", he looks back up to search your face attentively.

"Can't you tell?", you roll your hips with a giggle, your clit catching on his tip and shaft perfectly though still not enough to quell your cramps and satisfy you.

"I want you to put it inside now. Please"

More than happy to oblige Steve smiles as he reaches between your bodies so he can guide his cock towards your waiting hole. You feel it first when it nudges at your entrance and you hold your breath as you always do when Steve begins to work his cock inside you, the thick tip of it making your hole give way and stretch until it's just about wide enough to let him pop inside.

For Steve It's a whirlpool of gooey warmth and buttery smoothness as he slowly feeds every veiny, throbbing inch inside you. Your silky walls stretch into the familiar shape of his cock, sucking him in and wrapping around him tight like ribbon.

You can't lie, as good as it feels, you can't quite shake one last whispering concern about how it'll look when he pulls back enough to see his cock all red with you – who wouldn’t be worried about that?

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you have a look for yourself, a cold chill spilling down your spine because it's exactly as you feared it would look. A generous coating of deep, dark syrupy red drips from Steve’s pale length but before you can attempt to convince him to please look literally anywhere else while he fucks you, you're pressed deeper back into the mattress as he leans forward to lightly pin you back in place.

"It's okay, baby. 'Can see you getting in your head again", he whispers soothingly, so close his lips brush yours.

"You need to understand that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, okay? you feel how fucking hard I am for you? it's all because of you. Now are you gonna be good for me and let me take care of you?"

For a moment, all you can do is blink back at him like you’re coming out of a daze.

The fuzz of his sweat matted chest hair tickles your nipples when you manage to nod back with a soft 'yes’. Now that your nerves have been settled for good, he leans down to let his tongue lap inside your mouth again, so gentle yet somehow still so ravenous. The kind of kiss that screams how much he wants you.

There's no more room for any doubt to encroach your mind again like a violent thunderstorm. It's clear Steve doesn't think the sight of you both connected like this is gruesome. He slips inside and out with ease and excitement, his cock gliding against your walls in a way that starts to make your head spin in the most delightful way.

"That’s my girl. Nothing better than having a sweet thing like you wrapped around my cock"

And that's how he starts to fuck you. Slow and deep. Push and pull. Your breath becoming shorter. Your eyes staring into his with longing as he begins to fuck into you more firmly when he thinks you’re ready for it, in every spot you cry out for it.

The cramps that plagued you for most of the day are practically being wrung out of your overwhelmed body, a much more pleasurable, pulsing ache taking its place instead. The sticky slap of your bodies meeting echoes within the confines of your shared bedroom, gasps and moans winding around each other like creeping vines as you climb further and further towards the peak of pleasure.

It’s a slower climb for Steve and that’s only because he’s desperately trying to maximize your pleasure before he can even think of his own climax and spilling into you. Your heels stay fixed behind his back, nudging at his spine and your teeth sink into his shoulder which while both a little uncomfortable, he wouldn’t dare dream of asking you to stop, not when the signs of your impending orgasm begin to shadow your face.

Steve delights in watching you trying to fight it off but fail to do so pitifully. Face contorting with arousal, slurring your words as you cry out his name, garbling as the smallest trail of drool leaks out the corner of your mouth. He chuckles into your neck when you fail to keep your eyes from rolling back too, hissing happily when he feels the heat of your nails raking at his biceps and back.

When you cum on Steve’s blood splattered cock your body turns electric, sparks and bolts erupting just like fireworks beneath the thin layer of your soft skin. All the throbbing, all the spasming waves of pain and soreness – gone. Driven out of your writhing body with pang after pang of pleasure, your clit fat and twitching uncontrollably between your legs.

He fucks you through it and when it begins to verge on too much, you will yourself to take the many thrusts that follow as Steve continues to hump into you, taking it like the good girl he keeps moaning that you are, mumbling nearly incoherently into your skin.

“Just a little longer – I know ,baby, I know. Just keep taking me like that, just a little more – yes…yes…yes", Steve grunts before his body starts to quake, shuddering through his own orgasm, shooting hot and sticky all he has to give you deep inside.

The feeling of it all collecting within your pussy is unlike any other that you’ve felt before and you can’t help but linger on it – exactly what your body had been crying out for all day. It’s made easier too because Steve’s body lay draped over yours, the weight of him on top of you is comforting. He keeps you plugged up nice and full with his softening cock still inside you, panting while you gently stroke the damp nape of his neck until you’re able to catch your own breath and thank him with words.

When Steve does finally unsheathe himself from you, he does so a little reluctantly, peppering you with kisses, making silly comments about how he’d rather just stay in you all night than part, have you cockwarm him till the sun comes up. You snicker in response and roll your eyes back at him playfully, eventually coaxing him and convincing him to pull out.

Slowly your combined discharge strings from his cock to your folds and pearly clit like a spider’s web, unable to tell where yours begin and his end. You still feel sensitive there too, the little bundle yet to cease throbbing and swell down after grazing perfectly against the thick hair that grew from Steve’s bellybutton to the base of his scarlet cock.

As more of it begins to leak out of you, you both look on curiously, mesmerized by its deep shade of rosy pink – such a pretty thing made by the two of you.

No longer bashful about the whole thing, you swipe a finger between your folds and closely observe the secretion on the pad of your index finger, wondering why, just an hour ago, you’d been so afraid of giving yourself to Steve like this.

Sure, it’s a mess but you don’t feel the least bit unclean. All the sweat and cum and blood – you're glad for it in fact, turning onto your side and resting your cheek on Steve's chest once he repositions onto his back, wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer.

"Better?", he asks expectantly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Better than better" you assure him, basking in the afterglow with an ever so satiated smile gracing your lips.

Steve’s got one just like it shaping his plump pink lips, placing his hands behind his head as he stares dreamily at the ceiling.

"So, six more days huh? I can get used to this"

[thepitlanepress]

NEVER TOO BUSY FOR YOU –

↳ oscar piastri + gf!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: i like to think im the sweetest person alive so this is written for my girl nadsies while she isnt having the greatest day ever. just a short lil fic bc im working on the smau pt2 and some other ones ;)

you dont like bothering oscar when he's at work. its a weird thing you have, one that oscar's tried getting out of your head on more than one occasion. does it stick? no.

the cramps you had been feeling for the entire day had made it almost impossible to move, so you weren't exactly able to reach your phone to tell oscar either.

that is a fact you use in a later argument. which by the way doesn't work.

so when the door to your apartment swings open and you hear your boyfriend's voice, you nearly flat out start crying. its so nice to hear a comforting sound.

"sweetheart?" oscar calls out for a second time when you don't reply, even talking feels like too much right now. you hear some shuffling around and then the soft footsteps as he walks down the hallway.

"hey, baby," he murmurs when he enters the room, coming to sit next to you on the edge of the bed. his hand comes to rest on your back rubbing slowly through the duvet. "how are you feeling?"

a noncommittal grunt escapes you and you wince in pain as another wave of cramps hit you like a train. fuck periods actually.

oscar sensing your situation quickly, he gets up and places a quick but soft kiss to your forehead before walking back out to the kitchen promising to be back soon. you stay awake for a little while but eventually the sounds of him moving around, and the soft clinking of dishes quickly puts you to sleep.

it was a comfort knowing someone else was home with you.

some time later you feel a dip in the bed beside you, two arms wrap around your waist and pull you into their warmth.

"hey you," you whisper.

"hey you," he whispers back his hand drawing circles on your skin. "are you feeling better after that nap?"

"sort of," you sigh. "mainly im-"

"hungry?" oscar guesses, you can hear the smile in his voice and you slowly sit up, cautiously testing different positions before finding one that doesn't make you feel like you've been shot.

you look over at oscar who has turned away bringing a tray of snacks over from the bedside table. it has all your favourite snacks, chocolates, your phone and a warm cup of tea.

"i called mum, while you were asleep earlier," he said almost nervously. "and asked her what type of tea to use because i was worried and wanted to help and she said to use-"

you shut him up by placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth "its perfect thank you osc," you settle back against the pillows - and him, okay mostly him. his arms are wrapped around you as you soak in the quiet afternoon, the soft sound of the show you had playing on your computer earlier the only noise in the room.

"why didn't you call me?" his voice rumbles through you.

"i didn't want to bother you while you were at work," you look down to the cup of tea in your hands and realise now that you probably won't be winning this conversation. there is no one who cared more about you than the man currently wrapped around you. he would drop anything in a second for you.

hence why you didn't call him. he cant be distracted from work. its so important to you.

but he won't take that as an answer.

"you know i always have time for you, sweetheart, i'm never too busy for you. you're my number one priority. always."

the cramps didn't seem so bad after that.

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[sunnyknight-original]

Dear My Dear -

an @forgettable-au fan-slideshow

At the end of their journey, Sans has remembered everything. And theres only one question on his mind now…

*now what?

Its lore time. omg theres so much-

The way ill organize this…lIll start with the GENERAL thing, before getting more spesific, and explain each slide in way too much detail.

THE BIGGER PICTURE

This is the hypothetical end to their journey. Sans and Papyrus remember what happened, and this is how Sans is handling it. A letter to Wingdings.

I was hesitant to make this at first for obvious reasons- we dont know how its gonna end!!! But I took this more as a “what if ?” scenario. IF they ever remember anything, how would Sans specifically, react? I mean thats gotta be tough.

Because of that though, lot of what happened to lead up to this is kept vague.

ill explain in way more detail how Sans got to the point of writing this letter, and how he feels in the end when I explain each slide individually. But the reason why, the MAIN ISSUE is…

Over the years, hes put so much effort into enjoying what he has. And- nothings even changed!!! So why does he feel so much has? Now that he remembers what he lost…WHO he lost. He cant help but have this voice in the back of his head that says “would it have been better if that never happened? if Papyrus never existed?” and of course he absolutely hates to think that! but the voice gets louder. Writing this letter, is an act of closure. Of laying to rest someone he never got to. Someone he never even really got to do much with.

(Excuse the shitty quality of the images- I promise they’re better. WATCH THE VIDEO)

my dear wingdings,)

Sans says “wingdings” here instead of “brother”. that’s important. Also its on a white void, showing a sorta “heavenly imagery” with the mention of Wingdings. Also Gaster is in a BLACK void, but hes talking about WD here, so, contradictions.

you never came back, and now…after remembering everything everything clearly i understand why.)

Sans and Papyrus are sitting by a fire at night. They are both sorta lost in their own worlds at the moment, but are more or less leaning on one another for comfort and support. They both need each other right now despite each other being the whole reason why they feel the way they do right now-

Papyrus is notably no longer wearing the white coat that somewhat resembles a lab coat. Symbolism! Growth!

(art note: I drew Sans as a lefty in this- cherish it. It was so hard to draw these hands at these angles- CHERISH IT.)

i don’t imagine you’ll receive this letter, but i, nonetheless, must send it. wingdings….oh ‘dings…)

the first part is somewhat of a self aware/sarcastic joke. Sans is writing this letter for himself- he doesn’t imagine Wingdings, the dead man, will ever see it. Nor would Gaster care to read it. Thats another important thing, this is NOT a letter for Gaster. This is a letter for Wingdings. which is for Sans

The star in the sky symbolizes a few different things- the main one being Wingdings ofc. But also Papyrus’ expectations of himself- which mainly come from who he was. He’s looking at it, reflecting, thinking of what Wingdings did, and what Papyrus has done. Who he is NOW, and if he ever was Wingdings.

Or if Wingdings just became him.

A square is a rectangle, but a rectangle isn’t a square type thing.

i was just starting to dream the silliest- the softest of dreams. i miss you. and i will always miss you.)

2 contradictions, what Sans used to think, vs what he knows now. The memories were fuzzy- he couldn’t remember The Royal Scientist, he just feels like he remembers some nice times. Before now knowing everything clearly. And he still misses it- slightly.

The reflections are blacked out at first, before showing their future selves. Before, there was no connection to the present because it wasnt true. It felt like/was 2 completely different things

but i cannot live like that.)

Sans can still tell, even without the rose tinted glasses view he used to have, he cant live missing the past and not living in the present. He always knew that, but repeating it here makes him feel better.

Pictured is Sans and Papyrus hiking up the mountain next to the city as the sun sets. Papyrus is in full view of the light, but is facing away in order to help Sans see it too. Symbolism!

and it seems you cannot live any other way.)

another reference to the fact that Wingdings cant live… at all now. But also an awareness that part of him lives on in Gaster. The thing that killed him.

I doubt hes going to change in any way by the end of the comics, he’s far to obsessive about angels and the player for childish stuff like “growth” and “changing for the better as a human being”

when i was with you, the world made sense. but now that we are apart, i see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape.)

When they were together, they knew what they wanted to be. They wanted to be scientists. But after being apart so long and experiencing so much uncertainty, Sans finds that mindset is unhealthy. Again, a lot of this is stuff he already knew, but is repeating to himself because after remembering everything, he feels as if hes back at square one.

As kids they would test echo flowers, for science purposes! We don’t know yet if WDs voice comes through on them, but I imagine not… maybe. But for this we’re gonna say no. Their speech bubbles are trying so hard to be circles- the scribbles also somewhat resemble stars because I thought that’d be fun.

But the last slide has it shown that he dug them out, also for science purposes!

He took the echo flowers from their roots, much later on in his lab career. That in itself isnt that bad, but it symbolizes that he doesn’t care much for taking things slow. He wants to test with echo flowers? **TAKES EVERY SINGLE ONE WITHIN A 100 MILE RADIUS**

Also the empty holes reflects sort of what happened after he died. All of the underground was left with holes to fill. Sans, a childhood/brother. Alphys, the royal scientist. Those are the main ones but he was THE ROYAL SCIENTIST im sure there were more (smaller) holes that may or may not have been filled.

Ok and the last thing the flowers being taken out represent- he took the ones specifically from when they were kids, and abandoned what was left for the grass to grow tall and the entire area to be, in general, a lot flatter. In his quest to basically never grow up and continue being the thing he KNEW he wanted to be since kindergarten- he’s taken everything and left the rest in the dust. He’s The Royal Scientist now, he “doesn’t need anything else.”

i’m so sorry. for everything. for everything long ago, and for starting up that machine again.

Sans knows he could have been better. He could have done things differently, and that thought messes with him, even before he remembered.

The 2nd image is Sans at Grillbys after another failed attempt to get Wingdings outside. Despite the fact that he could have done things differently, theres no real reason to be “sorry” But still, he cant help but feel like he should be. He could have done things differently- could have tried harder, and gotten Wingdings out more often- or at all.

Im not sure where the machine in Sans’ lab comes into play in this AU, but it worked for the purposes of this audio.

theres a good man within you, wingdings. but he is wrestling with a giant. and the giant WINS time and again.)

Before everything, there was still a good man inside Wingdings that Sans saw. But now that he’s Gaster he just cant see him ever changing... and yknow what hes probably right. Like Papyrus says! Anyone can be a good person if they just try!…Gaster just isnt trying

“Wins” being emphasized here, I enjoy, since its sorta a video gamey term. The giant hes wrestling is that/the player, after all. Also probably his ego

I also had fun with kid Wingdings and what he’s drawing. Ofc its all him and Sans plus silly little stars, but him being finished drawing Sans, but not yet finished drawing himself, symbolizes the fact that at that age he still didn’t really know what he wanted to be, I feel like Wingdings kinda remembers the past wrong. Sure he definitely had science on the mind, but younger kids are often filled with questions, he questions if thats truly where he’d be the happiest.

Thats the good man within him

you’ve broken my soul again, and i fear i have broken yours. and for that i will never forgive myself, but i need to let you go now.)

the star represents, again, Wingdings. And the moon represents Sans, which shines only under the Suns (Papyrus’) light.

The sun is beginning to rise, and Sans and Papyrus are beginning to leave. Sans puts out the fire, closing this chapter of his life.

Because of every reason he needed to relearn/re-reflect on listed here, hes ready to let Wingdings go now. Sans is the one to put out the fire here, and not Papyrus, cause this is from the perspective of how SANS handles putting this issue to rest. Papyrus can have his own fire to put out later

Another thing about putting out the fire, thats just kinda common knowledge to do especially at a public camping spot. Yknow what else is common knowledge to do so you dont disrupt the community?? NOT REPLANTING FLOWERS-

Its not that deep…but still-

i send you the radio you made many years ago when we were kids. not because i dont want it, but… because i care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you.)

CALL BACK!!!!!!

Sans leaves this last memento to Wingdings, the last thing they have that has nothing to do with Papyrus. Because at this point theres no reason to keep it, in Sans’ mind at least. There’s also no reason to destroy it- Like he says, hes not leaving it out of malice, theres just no good that will come from keeping it and holding onto the past.

As the sun rises, here we see the brothers leaving. in contrast to before, Sans is helping Papyrus down. Helping him down from the spotlight, the expectations he’s set upon himself. Another kick that Papyrus still has much more to reflect on and think about, he’s still looking back at that light, at a shooting star, at everything he thought he wanted to be.

i hope one day you will find some kind people who with appreciate you. for it kept me thinking of you all these years.)

GASTER FOLLOWERS!!!

Despite everything, Sans still wants whats left of Wingdings, Gaster, to be happy and find something, anyone, that will give him true happiness. It’s left ambiguous however if they truly do, do that for him. If it’s at all healthy.

cause frankly i have no idea how theyll be included. but just like everything- i cant wait to find out

EDIT: something important (and really wordy-) I just remembered and forgot to mention: the wording change “i hope you will find some kind people who will appreciate you”. I chose this because I think it’s the thing Wingdings and Papyrus just want the most. To be appreciated- to be loved for who they are. Sans is/has been so happy that Papyrus has found those people in Undyne, Toriel, Asgore, and…hopefullllyyy Alphys? And now that Sans remembers Wingdings, and remembers how badly he wanted that, and how he never did. Sans cant help but feel horrible for him, and in turn, Gaster. Sans forgives Wingdings, and loves Papyrus…and….he just wants the best for Gaster. He hopes he can find true happiness in that twisted mind of his…

and i hope by returning it to you, i can finally be free. goodbye.

- your brother

As the sun rises, the star gets smaller and smaller and eventually the sun replaces it. Remember when I said Papyrus represents the sun? SYMBOLISM!!!

Also about that, the star shines brighter than anything, but the Sun is among a lot of clouds, depicting how isolated Wingdings is/was despite shining the brightest, vs Papyrus who also does indeed shine! but isn’t isolated whatsoever.

Now, remember when I said Sans saying “my dear wingdings” instead of “my dear brother” was important? well, he acknowledges that he is still Wingdings’ brother, despite everything. So he signs off as “your brother” but… He’ll always try to remember Wingdings fondly…but…he’s unsure if he considers Wingdings his brother anymore- just because of how much they’ve changed. Thats why the whole thing is called Dear My Dear.

the radio + letter remains there in the end. I briefly played with the idea of having them disappear as the sun came out, implying that Gaster took the radio and reas the letter, but that was before I realized it was much better for this to be for Wingdings specifically, not Gaster/Wingdings/whatever.

FINALE!!! PLUS SOME BEHIND THE SCENES INFO!!!

weeps pitifully this was probably the most fun i’ve had with a project/the most happy i’ve come out of one. Learned lots about my process’ and what works! so thats awesome It took a while to make, so theres a lot of stuff I changed or ideas I scrapped that I find interesting, so im gonna show some of that on my side/shitpost account, @o-sunny-day

also isnt this so awesome???? I got a computer so I got to post more images than just 10, THIS IS SO AWESOME!!!

Have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! Heres to being a bigger, better, and different person this year! except not really because despite everything its still you.

un-unless you…got shattered across time and space…. then you’re-

well I mean that-….. hm…

does that…? hmm, well….

[tsuiioku]

જ⁀➴ ♡ A HEART ONCE BROKEN, NOW HEALED [VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL]

━ VALENTINE'S DAY isn't always for exchanging gifts with those you love. sometimes, it's about remembering those we've lost, and being thankful about those we've gained.

content. gn!reader. slight angst with fluff, cursing, mentions of suicide, slight spice (chuuya), reader is called 'beautiful'. fifteen + stormbringer spoilers (chuuya), dark-era spoilers (dazai). not proofread. 2.9k+ words. ⟶ features osamu dazai + chuuya nakahara (separately). author's note. wanted to do something fun for valentine's! nice to finally be writing again (i say, like this isn't my millionth hiatus).

would you like to see more content? fill out the taglist!

You didn’t expect DAZAI to do anything for Valentine’s Day. He had a certain edge to him as the holiday approached, and as much as you wished to celebrate with him, you decided against it. Perhaps you’d make another day, an ordinary day, memorable instead—a day for just the two of you. At least, that’s what you thought was going to happen.

But, of course, he managed to surprise you.

You had received a voicemail before you even awoke that morning.

You hold your phone to your ear, straining to hear his voice through the rushing wind.

“Hello, gorgeous! I have a super special surprise for you. I’ll text you the details. See you at 3!”

To the untrained ear, one would assume has was planning something sweet for the occasion. But there was this dangerous lilt to his tone—not mischievous or cocky in preparation for a prank.

No.

It was the same tone that told you he’d be standing on the side of a bridge.

You race there the moment you set the phone down.

If he’s planning something self-destructive, you’ll be there to stop him.

Arriving at a graveyard does nothing to soothe your nerves.

You pace along its pathways with no idea where he could be. It’s only through sheer luck that you spot tufts of brown hair hidden behind an isolated headstone.

“Dazai,” you pant, bending down to catch your breath.

He doesn’t bother to turn around, resting his eyes as he leans back against the grave, not flinching when you sit beside him.

You’d think he was dead if you didn’t know any better.

“Do you like it?” he mumbles. “The view is truly to die for. One day, I hope I’m buried somewhere just as beautiful.”

“One day that is far in the future.”

But you can’t argue with him.

The view is beautiful. Whoever lays here is cared for deeply, even after death.

The perfect place to house a weary soul.

“Do I have to ask?”

Dazai hums a familiar tune.

It makes your skin crawl.

“Who was he?” Your hands respectfully brush against the stone. “You’ve never been the type to seek out a grave that isn’t your own.”

He chuckles dryly at your not-so-subtle jab but surrenders to defeat. And you don’t know what that defeat means besides understanding that it’s a part of some carefully crafted plan. And you are inclined to believe you’ll not like how this one ends.

His bandaged hand smooths against the headstone’s surface, catching against its roughened texture.

"This is Sakunosuke Oda. He is the reason I left the Port Mafia.”

And he tells you everything. Everything.

The friendship forged between three unlikely men—the inevitable betrayal of one and the predictable demise of another. The only future left up in the air was his own.

But as he describes Oda—his closest friend, he claims—his voice holds a reverence you’ve never heard spoken from his lips. He draws a line between himself and the late man, holding him as a person so pure of intention, even with their shared past of blood.

Unlike him.

Dazai knows he is a monster.

He has committed crimes far more violent than you could imagine, all without an ounce of remorse. He used to revel in the rush of a bloodbath, the actions of his youth forever tainting his soul. He may not belong to the mafia anymore; his former allegiance simply resulted from bored complacency, but one thing remains certain.

He does not deserve someone like you.

Sometimes, you’re hard to look at. You remind him too much of the man buried beneath you, making his hollow heart ache. Neither you nor Oda are perfect people, but you both so earnestly try to be better—it was human.

And he wonders—if you stay with him for any longer, will you eventually become stained by the crimes he’s committed? Or will you end up like Oda, a lesson for him to reflect on in the lonely years to come?

He can’t stand the thought of either.

“You give him far too much credit.”

Like a record scratch, his mind halts, honing in on your voice as it melts into an unfamiliar, somber tone. One that holds so much raw honesty it makes him sick.

“I may not have known him, but if he was truly your closest friend, then it’s impossible he didn’t see what I do.”

He scoffs.

“Oh, really? And what’s that?”

You choose not to mind his sardonic tone. There would be a time.

“That you have potential far beyond what you envision for yourself.”

You take his hand, tracing abstract images in the bandages of his limp palm as you ignore his hardened stare.

“You have a particularly stubborn way of viewing things, even with your intellect,” you muse. “You craft roadblocks that only exist within the confines of your mind, limiting yourself to the future you think you deserve.”

And when you meet his gaze, your eyes sear through him.

“You’re not a good man. But you’re not as bad as you claim to be.”

Flashes of memory, of every life shattered and of every corpse trampled underneath his feet, beg to differ.

“If you knew the extent of what I’ve done, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

And in reply, you flick his forehead.

“You seem pretty set in thinking for me, Osamu.” Your voice is scolding but holds no bite. “I’d be offended if I couldn’t easily see why.”

And a whisper embeds a chill within his bones, seeping through the flesh and tingling down to his fingertips.

“Do you really think I’ll turn tail and run the second you revert to your old ways?”

His slackened hand seizes your wrist, almost bruising. Almost.

“You should if you know what’s good for you.”

He hopes to scare you.

To shake your unwavering resolve.

To fracture the foundation of those beliefs that lead you to foolishly place your trust in him.

But you laugh.

He tries to pull back, but you hold him there tighter.

“You truly don’t see how much you’ve changed. God, you are stubborn.”

His breath catches—you’re at once calamitous, the wild embodiment of a zephyr with no reins.

“But unluckily for you, so am I.”

Frosted flurries linger in the tresses of your hair, untamed strands framing the electrifying expression that pulses in the upturn of your lips and the brightness of your eyes. So wonderfully unpredictable, so woefully disastrous for a soul he never believes he deserves.

Only in this world is a snowstorm the key to thawing his frozen heart.

“I can’t deny I would’ve loved to meet him.” You lean against the stiffened curve of his shoulder. “Anyone who can manage to change your mind must've been remarkable.”

Every inch of him feels aflame, but he can’t bring himself to move.

“In life, people are categorized as one thing or another, and in death, their actions are simplified to an anecdote or forgotten entirely,” you say, an undeniable somberness returning with a softness as you let frost nip at your skin. “The best that can be done is to watch the results of their influence when they’re no longer here.”

And, for the first time, his hand responds to your repetitive ministrations with a subtle squeeze.

You smile.

He pauses at the deafened sound of a sniffle, lost in the sight of the tears that roll down your cheeks without a word.

“But I want to know everything.”

Your arm intertwines with his, fearing he’ll run at the first chance.

“Every sin that stains your soul mafia black, every mistake that convinces you that you can only be who you once were.”

He has made hundreds, thousands of mistakes—a running list tallied in his mind, repeated over and over on his worst days and subtly whispering reminders on his best.

How can he possibly taint you with even the mention of such things?

Your voice echoes in a whisper, only for him to hear.

“I want the chance to look at you, all of you, and still love you the same.”

He is stubborn, but so are you.

He allows himself to press one kiss against the top of your head, but he should’ve known. Indulging once only leads him to indulge again, and again, and again—he pulls you closer, dotting reverent, blistering kisses across your cold, heated skin. His lips trace the apples of your cheeks, marking the pathway of your tears with the devotion to soothe them.

“He would’ve loved you as much as I do.”

His voice breaks, but you say nothing.

Content to remain in his arms, comforted in the knowledge that you’ll always be one of the few who can change his mind.

Out of all the proposed plans for the day, you didn’t expect CHUUYA to ask you to meet somewhere far outside the city. It was weird waking up alone in bed with only a text on the phone with an address and time. But you went with it, not knowing what to expect.

You would’ve never guessed a graveyard.

It sits on a cliffside, enclosed by a canopy of trees that gives the sight a sense of privacy. The graves aren’t neat or well-kept, but for some reason, you have a feeling that is a measure of how loved the place is.

And there is Chuuya, sitting on top of a gravestone.

“Isn’t that a bit disrespectful?”

Chuuya’s attention darts away from the setting sun.

“Not like it matters,” he scoffs, jumping off of it. “Deserves it for being such a pain in the ass.”

But he doesn’t move to come near you, so you settle for glancing at the graves around you, full of unfamiliar names you are sure he recognizes. Some are far more recent than you assumed, but that brings you back to reality.

“Why’d you call me here?” Your face shifts into an awkward smile. “Not that I mind the scenery, but a graveyard isn’t quite the first thing that comes to mind when I think of a date.”

But you falter once you note the downtrodden look on his face.

You’re not stupid, far from it. You know him well enough to know when he has something to say—the way he fiddles with his fists as they’re tucked into his pockets, how his foot taps against the ground at an irregular tempo. Someone less knowledgeable would assume he is just agitated.

But you know better.

“Is everything alright?”

Your voice is soft—not hesitant, calming like a balm over a wound. It carefully treads through as you try to dissect the reason behind his demeanor.

He sighs.

“There’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”

And you don’t prod, simply nodding at him.

“Then let’s sit down.”

You find yourself with the perfect view of the sunset. Despite your earlier jest, this would be a beautiful date spot, but you don’t linger on the thought for long. You don’t want to be nervous but can’t help it. There’s a key difference between his normal stoicism and genuine seriousness.

And he is serious.

You fiddle with the grass beneath your fingers, trying not to overthink it.

Chuuya is careful as he sits down, not completely next to you, but close enough that he can see enough of your face. He feels the words clogged in his throat, instead taking in the sight of you in the glow of the setting sun. The most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on. He watches for another fleeting moment as the ocean breeze tussles your hair.

But sunsets aren’t meant to last.

So, he delves into the details of this place—its significance in creating the man he is today. But he quickly skips the more unimportant details. These are stories he can tell you with ease. Some are a pain in his heart, yes, but it is a pain he trusts you with. One he knows you can handle—and pain he allows to be shared, even if momentarily.

The origins of his ability are a different story.

Those are more complicated than petty betrayals and mafia rivalries.

The descriptions of experiments are enough to chill you to the core, forcing you to swallow your nausea at the thought of them being conducted on the very man you love.

“Once that power is unleashed, my body is no longer under my control.”

He removes his hat, his gloved fingers straining around its edges.

“I become a beast hellbent on destruction.” His voice dips with an irritated edge, and you can guess the next few keywords before he says them. “And I’m forced to rely on Dazai to nullify it. That bastard enjoys showing up at the worst possible moment just to toy with me.”

You laugh a little, but he doesn’t have the heart for your usual back and forth.

“But without him, anyone in my path is in danger.”

That laughter fades into something silent, contemplative.

“And even if that doesn’t happen, there are many who would gladly give anything for a fraction of the power I possess, to the point that they would use anyone under my care as leverage. I couldn’t possibly keep count of how many die simply for being my subordinates, much less…”

He cuts himself off.

You are smart enough to know the rest.

So he waits, and he doesn’t truly know what for. He just knows what you should do. You should run far away from him and anything he touches. If you run fast and far enough, you can save yourself from the danger of being his.

His eyes catch the way your hands fidget, nervous, and he can’t help but feel the same.

“I don’t think I say it enough…” Chuuya’s eyes dart to the outline of your lips, a breath of cold air escaping them. “But you truly are the most resilient man I’ve ever met.”

He huffs.

He knows that stubborn tone of voice anywhere. But this isn’t some stupid argument over the best type of wine or an attempt to stop him from splurging on new clothes—he’ll shoot your stubborn attitude down for your own good.

“But you’re such a hypocrite.”

What.

He can barely hide his shock, and your fond, cheeky smile begins to sour.

“Do you honestly believe I wouldn’t brave that danger?” you sneer, your voice hot with anger. “I know you would if it were me!”

You whip your head around, your brows furrowed, and your lips curled into the beginnings of a snarl.

“So why the hell do you think I wouldn’t do the same?!”

He can’t quite come up with a response.

You are right.

If your roles were reversed, he wouldn’t leave. It wouldn’t matter to him if he lived or died as long as you were together. But this isn’t your reality, and you are in danger.

And he won’t stand for it.

“You’re in danger.” His voice is low, scolding. “If those bastards find out you’re with me, they’ll do whatever it takes to end your life. If something happens to you, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Do you regret them?”

He pauses, frowning.

“Who?”

“Them. Your friends.”

You level his gaze.

“Do you regret them?”

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Think about them.

He can still see them, or at least the flashes of what remains of them. Shells of the vibrant people they once were snuffed out with ease.

“If it wasn’t for me, they’d still be alive today.”

“That’s not what I asked,” you reply, the coolness of your voice raising goosebumps on his arms. “Do you regret them? Were those bonds not worth the grief that followed their passing?”

“Of course not!” he exclaims, his frustration palpable. “But that’s not the point.”

“Do you think they’d regret you?”

His mouth goes dry at the look you give him.

You are like an ephemeral, deadly storm. Your eyes match his in force and shine with the knowledge that you have him cornered.

And he cannot look away.

You are always beautiful to him—it amazes him how someone can be so breathtaking. But you have never been as radiant as you are now.

You take his hand into your own, holding it tight.

“Do you think I could ever regret you?”

He freezes.

Your fingertips are like fire as they trace the exposed skin of his wrist.

“You don’t consider the agency of the people you care for.”

He shudders as your lips brush his skin, your thumb inching beneath the fabric of his glove.

“Risk is a guarantee for every interaction we have. Especially when it comes to those we hold closest.”

You slip the glove off.

“But that risk is a two-way street.” You smile. “And if those friends are anything like me, then they’d agree with one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

His response is without power, and there is no fight left within him.

Your hand overlaps his own as it cups your face.

You squeeze gently, leading him to truly look at you.

“You’re worth that risk.”

He doesn’t know who leans in first, but before he knows it, his lips are on yours. You cannot be close enough, even as he pulls you onto his lap, groaning at the delicate touch of your fingers in his hair.

In this moment, he allows himself to forget.

The danger. The risk.

He allows the storm to weather him.

And as you part, heavy breaths passing between you both, he is forced to surrender.

“I hope you’re the last sight I ever see.”

If it is for you, it is worth the risk.

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© TSUIIOKU 2025 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[andy-15-07]

How about some joel x reader where reader has insomnia ? Like what would joel do?

Insomnia

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1007| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You lie awake again, staring at the cracked ceiling boards above your bed. Jackson is quiet at this houronly the low hum of generators and the distant bark of Amos’s dog breaking the calm. You shift under the thin blanket, mind racing with ghosts: past survivors, every narrow escape, and the constant weight of the world you live in now. Sleep feels impossible.

A soft scrape at your door makes you sit up. Joel appears in the doorway, his broad frame backlit by the hallway lamp. He’s carrying two steaming mugs.

“Can’t sleep,” you admit before he even speaks.

He nods, setting one mug on the bedside table. “Figured as much.” He clambers up onto the bed and settles against the headboard, tugging the blanket around his shoulders. “Chamomile tea. Not my favorite, but it’ll calm your nerves.”

You take the mug, hands wrapped around its warmth. “You didn’t have to”

“Don’t start that,” he interrupts, voice soft but firm. “Been where you are. Hell of a way to spend the night.” He glances at your restless fingers drumming the blanket. “Talk to me.”

You sip slowly, letting the warmth spread through you. “I hate lying here, wide awake. Feels like every bad memory’s got front-row seats.”

Joel breathes out, staring at the swirling steam. “You ever think this world’s gonna cut us some slack? Give us nights off?” He chuckles, bitter and low. “Me neither.”

You frown. “I’m sorry. For… dragging you into my mess.”

He shifts, tucking an arm behind you. “You’re not a mess. You’re just” He hesitates, sighs. “You’re dealing with shit no one should. But you’re not alone.”

His hand finds yours. His thumb grazes your knuckles in slow, steady circles. “What’s keepin’ you up tonight? The nightmares again?”

You swallow. “Yeah. Them. I can almost hear the clickers… feel the walls closing in.” You pull your knees up. “Then I wake up here and… it’s safe. Most times. But my mind doesn’t know that.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. He sinks lower, drawing you against his chest. “Let’s do something different.” He pats the bed beside him. “Come on.”

Curious, you follow him into the cramped living room. The lamp’s glow throws long shadows across the chipped wood floor. Joel crosses to the old record player in the corner. He flips through a stack of dusty vinyl, choosing one with a cracked label. He places the needle gently, and the scratchy opening chords of an old folk song drift through the air.

You sink onto the threadbare couch; Joel squats in front of you, balancing the tea. “Music helps sometimes,” he says. “Takes your mind off… other things.”

You settle back, sipping the tea. “What is this?”

“Old world folksomething about moonlight and trouble, fits the mood.” He sits next to you, one arm slung over the couch back. “You want to talk while we listen? Or…I don’t know, just... be quiet.”

The melody is soft, mournful. You close your eyes, letting each note push away a bit of the ache. “Tell me a story,” you say. “Not about the outbreak. Something before all this.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You trust my memory that far back?”

You nudge him. “Try me.”

Joel takes a breath. “Alright. When I was a kid, my old man… he was a handyman. Kept this old guitar in the garagenever played it proper, just strummed around. One summer, I sneaked out at dawn, grabbed that guitar, and wandered over to this creek outside town. Spent hours just playing stupid chords.” He smiles, distant. “Thought I was gonna be some big country star.” He laughs softly. “Didn’t know a damn thing about music.”

You grin. “Bet you sounded awful.”

He shrugs, mock offended. “Maybe. But it was peaceful. No fireflies, no clickers, no hunters chasing us. Just me and that damn creek.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “That sounds… nice.”

Joel’s gaze flicks to you. “You ever tried playing something? Even just air guitar?”

You laugh. “My rhythm’s worse than yours probably.”

He pushes to his feet. “Come on.” Before you can protest, he’s dragging you up. “Stand up, knucklehead.”

Breathless, you follow him to the little bookshelf. He pulls out a battered acoustic guitar. The strings are rusty, but the body still holds its shape.

“Now you,” he insists, shoving the guitar into your hands. “Hold it like this.” His fingers wrap around yours, guiding them to the frets. “Press down here… strum here.” He strums a simple chord; it rings, a bit dull but full of promise.

You try, hitting a sour note. Joel winces theatrically. “Okay, not bad. Needs work though.”

You smack his shoulder. “Hey”

He grins, setting your fingers on a second chord. “C major. Simple. Now together.” He strums again, and you follow. Two clumsy chords, but they echo softly in the room.

You laugh, the sound lighter than you’ve felt in days. “I actually did it.”

Joel steps closer, brushing a stray hair from your face. “See? You just needed a distraction.” He sweeps you into a hug, guitar forgotten. “And you know I’ll always be here to… teach you.”

You rest your head against his chest. “Promise you’ll stay?”

He kisses the top of your head. “Always.” His voice is low, fierce. “Nothing’s getting you tonight.”

Silence falls, the only sound your tangled breath and the fading tail of the record. Joel’s arms are a fortress, and for the first time in weeks, you feel its walls hold fast.

Minutes drift into hours. You don’t notice when the tea runs cold or the record skips back to the beginning. You don’t care. All that matters is the warmth against your skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and the truth that in Jacksonafter everythingyou have someone to fight the darkness with.

When sleep finally finds you, it’s deep, untroubled, and Joel is right there beside youguitar at his feet, record spinning, and a promise wrapped around your soul: no matter the nightmares, you’ll never face them alone.

[whore-ibly-hot]

Answer if you're still in Writers block lol

What if

Y/N sees Jerry's drawings of her??

(Still in a writers block, but thought I'd answer this to try and jump start myself.)

"These are uh-" You swallow, cheeks hot as you look at the scribbled drawings in the worn journal that rests in your hand. "Very detailed? You left your journal at Bill's, I really didn't mean to look but it had kinda fell open when I found it-" You're rambling, but almost none of it makes it's way into Jerry's head.

He's distraught, face red and palms sweaty. Jerry feels like he's on the verge of a heart attack. He's not much of an athlete, but even if he was, he doesn't think his heart would be racing this fast if he was running a fucking marathon. "No." He Kurt's.

"Huh?"

"N-no! It's not you, not you at all. Maybe the resemblance is there, but I promise it isn't supposed to be an illustration of you." He rambles, snatching the journal from you. He feels bad, that felt a bit aggressive, but he didn't want you looking to deep into it.

"Of course, sure!" You nod your head, shrugging. At this point, you just want this over with. Jerry has always been the most normal one in the group, and you want to believe he will continue to be that way. "Coincedence."

"Coincidence." He repeats, looking down as he rocks on his heels. "Um... please don't hate me. I know some of them are kinda- uh- sexual, but its just art." His shoes scuff the floor beneath him. "I mean, artistic nudity is a thing! Like sitting chapel-"

"Sistine." You correct.

He smiles a bit, cracking a grin for the first time during this horrible conversation. "Yeah, sistine." He repeats. "You always know so much stuff."

"I get it, its okay. I mean, it's not like- degrading stuff. And if you say it isn't me I believe you." You assure. "Besides, if I can put up with Pete, I can put up with one of my friends drawing the human form."

Now he breaks into a full on smile. You are always so understanding, so nice. "Yeah, yeah! You get it. Thanks, by the way, for returning my journal. I really don't want the guys finding out about all this. Um- you won't mention it, right?"

You shake your head, and as you wrap up chatting, he watches you walk off, back towards your next destination. His heart has slow in its patter, but its still very obvious. "Close call." He mumbles, turning to his room to drop off his journal. Would it be gay to get one of those girly diary locks?

All in all, this would probably only strengthen Yan!Jerry's obsession. You just get him, you don't ridicule or mock; you try to understand. And... surely a part of you liked it? I mean, you didn't freak out, so you must be kind of into that sort of stuff? He's embarrassed, but this is a minor delusion compared to the other boys, so let him rest in it.

[samkerrworshipper]

warmed - mapi leon x reader

just r cockwarming mapi.. not much more to it lol

ik i keep promising yall angst… its coming… at some stage

warnings: smut 18+

You’re overstimulated.

To the point where your skin is beginning to itch with the want and need that is pooling up in the pit of your stomach, right where you feel so full and so empty at the same time.

You fucked up, you were well aware of it, it wasn’t like you could make up for it now.

This though, this was so rewarding and unrewarding at the same time, you were stuffed full to the very brim which was perfect, but also so unfulfilling at the same time.

“Keep still or we start over.”

Mapi’s words are a brutal reminder of exactly what position you are in, crammed down against her lap, ass flush to her hips whilst you try your very hardest not to grind or jostle against her.

An hour and thirty minutes.

That’s how long you’ve been sitting in Mapi’s lap like this, no pleasure, no release, no relief.

The two of you had to rewatch your game from yesterday anyways, so Maria had set you the task of staying still whilst she analysed the match against Levante.

You were supposed to be analysing it as well, but it was kind of hard to pay attention when you were filled to the brim with 7 inches of silicone cock.

You wished Maria had given you the easy way out, wished she’d spanked you or edged you or done something else that would make you feel something besides mellowed out pressure.

“Maria.”

Your words are whined out for the room to hear, not that there is anybody else in your company.

“Eyes on the screen, carino.”

Your eyes struggle to obey her command, your pupils stuck to your naked bottom half that’s unmoving.

“I won’t say it again, eyes on the screen unless you want a spanking once we’re done.”

Your eyes snap up, what you want once this is done is for Mapi to fuck you senseless, you aren’t sure if you can handle another minute with her just idly sitting inside you.

“Eight more minutes princesa, you think you can hold up for me until then?”

You groan at her, you want to say no, but the words can’t make it past your lips, Maria seems to understand though.

“Tough luck, make it through the eight minutes or else you won’t cum for the rest of the week. I’m sick of your shit attitude and bratty fucking mouth, you have to learn some way.”

Mapi’s voice is gritty, you know that she wanted nothing more than to come back from dinner, cuddle up on the couch and watch the game replay before the two of you went to bed together.

She wanted soft, sweet, tender.

You wanted mean, rough and hard.

You supposed this was the halfway point, it was Maria’s way of punishing you without giving in to what you wanted.

You’d been obtusely bratty and cheeky.

The two of you had been invited out for dinner with Alexia and Olga, a little quaint double date to a cute boutique Italian restaurant in Barcelona’s core.

It was nice, everything had been going well, until you’d made the decision to start teasing Mapi.

It had started with a hand on her exposed thigh, then your fingers drawing patterns up and down, pushing her skirt out of the way as you paved a path through to her panties.

You were out of your mind thinking Mapi would let it slide, she told you as much when she leant over to your ear telling you not to push her. You’d blatantly ignored her, continuing your attempts at one upping the defender. You got as far as the inside edge of her panties before her hand was grabbing yours and shoving it into your lap with a look of so much annoyance that you knew you were in deep shit.

Now you were here, sitting practically speared on her dick, your juices leakingout all over her thighs and your own.

You watched the clock run down, your eyes aimlessly following the ball as it was passed from side to side on the pitch.

Your legs were aching from the position you were being held in, your thighs being put to use to keep you from moving.

“Maria, please.”

You knew that most likely, your begging was going to be pointless, normally Mapi couldn’t of cared less, but it was worth a shot.

“Say one more word and you’ll see just how much worse this can get for you.”

You close your lips, your eyes staying laser focused on the screen as the clock ticks down on the game.

The last thirty seconds are possibly the worst, your legs start to burn and everything is so much more painful.

As soon as the final whistle blows on the game Mapi is turning you around, so you are now face to face with the Spaniard.

“This is how it’s going to go, we’re going to go to bed, I’m going to fuck you how I like, until I’m satisfied, you won’t cum, you won’t move unless you’re told, all you are here for is to be my little slut for my pleasure, not your own, comprendida?”

You can’t do anything beyond nodding your head.

Mapi picks you up with ease, lifting you up and taking you straight to the bedroom.

Just the feeling of her cock jolting inside of you every few seconds has you moaning, Mapi doesn’t care, all she cares about is getting you to where she wants you.

She manhandles and roughouses you onto the bed, pushing you up against the pillows and spreading your legs open before beginning to move inside of you.

Mapi’s pace is nowhere near fast or rigorous enough to satisfy you, when she said that she was searching for her own pleasure you didn’t realise that she would quite literally use your body as a vessel for her orgasm.

There is no doubt in your mind that Mapi has the little vibe insert tucked into the strap.

Her thrusts into you are shallow, hitting none of the spots that you need her to.

It’s crazily unpleasurable, and yet you don’t find yourself minding too much, especially not when Maria is the picture of perfection, her messy bun bopping up and down, her moans echoing out across the room.

You focus on Mapi, completely syncing out of your own mind, trying to imagine how Mapi is feeling.

You know that your supposed ‘punishment’ would have gotten her worked up, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

She’s chasing a built up desire, deep pure pleasure thrumming through her lower limbs.

Maria isn’t a overly loud lover, but you can tell just by the way her eyebrows are scrunched up and her pupils are blown that she is teetering somewhere on the edge, you aren’t quite sure where she’s at until her legs spasm and her whole body jerks.

Mapi cums hard and fast, her body thrusting into yours until the after effects of her orgasm have managed to rid her body and she pulls out.

You feel emptier than you ever have, most likely a result of being stuffed full for hours on end.

Mapi makes quick work of removing the strap, once she does she lies herself down on the bed next to you, letting you breathe through the big feelings that you are experiencing.

“How are you feeling, princesa?”

Mapi’s hands are on your face, twisting the strays hairs out of your face and gently playing with them between her fingers.

“Good, just need a second.”

Your legs feel heavier than a hundred bricks, numb and weighed down to the point where you genuinely wonder whether they’ll be in use tomorrow.

“You want to cum? I think you’ve earned it, you were such a good little girl for me, princesa.”

You do want your own orgasm, you think that your cunt will implode if it doesn’t get to experience some relief, but you need a few minutes to recover from the last hours happenings.

“Just gimme a minute, seeing you like that made me think and feel things I never had.”

Mapi’s smirk was cheeky, cavalier and slightly proud.

“Mm, next time it’ll have to be three hours, hmm? I wonder how crazy that would make you.”

You shake your head at the suggestion immediately, an hour and a half had been pushing it, 3 hours was simply ridiculous.

“How about I promise to never be a brat again?”

Mapi rolls her eyes, her mouth reaching down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“We both know that would be a lie, carino. You’re my bratty girl and I wouldn’t dare have you any other way. Now how about we go get clean in the shower and I let you get off on my thigh, hm? You’ve been good but not good enough to deserve my mouth or fingers, you’ll have to work your way up to that.”

You nod eagerly at Maria, already willing your legs to begin moving so that Mapi can’t take back what she’s just said to you.

When Mapi realises that you need some assistance, she picks you up, gently carrying you towards the bathroom.

[th3cadav3r]

hello, can I have a curly x reader fic where the reader loves putting her face in curly’s tits?

Stress Relief

Curly X Female Reader Smut

summary: you just got home from a long, awful day and you desperately need to cool down. Luckily, your husband Curly can help you do exactly that

content: established relationship, kissing, cuddling, chest/nipple play, unprotected p in v sex, reader has female anatomy

author’s note: yesss I’ve been wanting to write all about Curly’s huge bazongas

Today was the worst. The only thing you could think of while driving home from work was being in your husband’s arms while resting your head on his nice soft chest. You definitely drove a bit faster than usual that night

He greeted you when you got home with a kiss and presented a sweet little dinner for you. You made your way into the bedroom after you ate and bathed, once again greeted by Curly. He was laying on his back watching TV. He smiled when he saw you and opened his arms, prompting you to climb into bed and lay on top of him with your head on his chest. His warmth enveloped you completely. You could’ve fallen asleep in a matter of seconds

“Comfy?” He asks while stroking your hair

“Of course,” you hum contently. You lay face down on his chest inhaling his scent. “I’m on the world’s comfiest pillows”

He chuckles heartily. “Feelin’ cheeky, are we?”

“Maybe” You couldn’t help but give his pec a little squeeze. You had obviously felt them plenty of times before, but it just gets better each time that you do. It’s somehow soft and firm at the same time…perfect for playing with

You mindlessly toy with his chest, squishing one pec while rubbing the other

“Oi,” he says firmly, “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” Despite his tone, he still has smirk on his face

“Nothing” You grin at him, not taking your hands off him for a second. “Just relieving some stress” You bit your lip as your hands squished his tits together. He is wearing a shirt, but you can still see the outline of his nipples underneath. God, you could play with these things all day and never get tired of them

“Well relieve away, then,” he responds. He sighs and rests his head back on the pillow as you continue poking, prodding, and playing with his chest

You were surprised when you felt something hard pressing against your thigh. “Shit…” Curly mutters.

“Awww,” you tease, “you’re getting hard just from this?”

“Can’t help it,” he says with a shy smile. “It feels nice”

You enjoy the sight of your strong, dominant husband reduced to a flustered mess. Though you’ve fondled his chest many times before, you never knew it felt that good for him

Without another word, you lift his shirt up. His huge chest and stomach is covered with curly blonde hair which then forms into a sexy happy trail. He shivers and his nipples harden at the sudden cold that he’s exposed to. You give them a little tug, making him groan softly

“Fuuuck, love”

You sit up with your ass pressing against his boner to get a good view of his body. This was usually done the other way around; it was typically him hovering over you after striping the clothes off your body. But after the horrible day that you just had, you wanted to take control this time

“What happened to being exhausted just a second ago, huh?” he says teasingly

“Shut it,” you snap back. “It’s your fault for having such big, squeezable tits”

He chuckles again as his hand finds its way to your ass, giving it a tap. “Fair enough”

You took your own shirt off as you grinded against his clothed cock. His unoccupied hand grabbed onto your breast almost immediately, groping it gently

“How’s that feeling, huh?” he asks cheekily, satisfied that he’s getting “revenge” for your relentless fondling

“I dunno, you tell me” You reach down and grasp one of his pecs, mimicking his movements. You tug at his nipple again, drawing a loud groan from him. It wasn’t long until you were both completely nude, kissing passionately as you continued to explore his chest. He rolled the both of you over so that you were laying on your back and he was on top of you. The show on TV had gone completely ignored at this point

His cock slid into you after only a few minutes of preparation. It was evident that you two were pent up after a long week of little to no intimacy due to your late night shifts. Curly hovered over you, not taking his eyes off of you once as he pounded into you relentlessly. Your mind went blank, completely forgetting about all your earlier stressors and worries. Your only focus was Curly…and his chest that was hovering so tantalisingly close to your mouth

Without another thought you latch onto his nipple

He fucking whined

His pace instantly quickens, feeling his release coming faster with this added pleasure. You suckle him while squeezing his other pec. It feels like an entirely new form of pleasure for you. You felt yourself getting closer too

“Keep fucking doing that, love–” It’s a strange thing for you to be doing, but in the moment he couldn’t care less. It feels so fucking good. He honestly feels upset that you and him never tried this earlier

“Ah–I’m gonna–” He groans as he cums deep inside you, holding your body flat against his. Your orgasm follows soon after and you moan with his nipple still in your mouth. The buzzing sensation is enough to bring another orgasm crashing down on him like a rough wave landing on the shore

Soon you unlatch from him with a pop, opening your eyes slightly to admire the hickeys that now decorate his chest. He relaxes on top of you, still keeping himself propped up on his elbows so that he doesn’t completely crush you with his weight

“God damn…”was all he could say

“I guess I should do that more often”

“You better,” he says with a grin