#teasing!reader

[shawtuzi]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw include: oral f receiving, multiple orgasms, praise ….oh and you have two bfs in this!!

“i-i can’t do it! s’too much i’m too sensitive,” you tugged at suguru’s bun, making it more disarrayed than it already was. your toes curled when you felt eren leave wet kisses on your neck, his tatted hands moving from your hips to your chest, now tweaking at your nipples.

eren licked from your jaw to the lobe of your ear, nibbling ever so softly on it. “maybe you should give her a break sugu, poor thing said she’s sensitive,” now eren wasn’t serious of course—the sadist in him wanted to see you ruined just as much as suguru. suguru hummed against your pussy, his tongue flicking at your clit one last time before coming up for air.

“you say that yet…. you’re holding her legs back even more. ‘oughta be ashamed of yourself…ain’t that right sweet thing,” suguru asked, kissing the fat of your thigh before biting the soft skin, making you jolt. sugu had pulled two orgasms out of you so far and normally you’d be able to handle at least three maybe even four! but unfortunately you spent the day with eren and that man is as insatiable as they come.

“y-you’re both fuckin’ terrible,” you sniffled, pussy clenching around nothing when you felt suguru nudge your swollen clit with his nose. eren pinched your nipples, grunting a soft ‘watch your mouth’. suguru was quick to latch onto your left nipple, the metal ball from his tongue piercing making you mewel.

between the two men surprisingly suguru the softest one for you. even when he had to punish you at times for being a brat he’d make up for it with sweet kisses to your trembling lips while three of his fingers stuffed your soaked pussy. eren on the other hand….lets just say you’ve never acted up in front of him since the first time he reprimanded you, but that’s a story for another time.

suguru trailed his tongue from your chest to your neck, nipping at the sweet smelling skin. “lemme make you cum one more time sweetness then i’ll be done, i promise,” he whispered the last part directly in your ear, reveling in the way your body shivered at his words. eren craned his neck to speak to you in your other ear, now whispering words of encouragement. “you can do it baby, i know how tired that lil pussy is from me wearing her out but you can give sugu another one right? he didn’t have you all to himself today the way i did”

“c’mon sweetness i know you got another one in you.”

“you’re such a good girl, i know you’ll say yes and make your boyfriends proud right?”

oh you were in a treacherously long night.

[seiwas]

just thought about stepdad bakugo being caught off guard the first time your teenage son calls him “dad” 🥺

it’s after years of being with you. their relationship isn’t bad by any means—it’s okay; it’s good. but your son has called him katsuki for the longest time, and he was happy with that, perfectly content even (at least, he thought he was).

it was enough that your boy dubbed his cooking “the best in the entire universe and beyond”; it was enough that your boy trusted him enough with a few harmless secrets that you may never know. it was enough that you’d both welcomed him into your home, into your lives, in a way that’s made him feel like he belongs.

it was enough (at least, he thought it was), until your kid comes home with a group of friends one day and they ask him, “who’s the guy in your backyard?”

between the scrapes of soil against his gardening shovel and mild hearing problems, katsuki shouldn’t have been able to hear anything—but he hears this loud and clear.

your kid tells his friends, “oh, that’s just my dad,” like it’s the most obvious, natural thing in the world and it hits katsuki square in the chest.

the next thing he knows, he’s smiling, eyes a little wet but not yet crying (—is what he’ll tell you later). it’s a small curve of his lips, but it stays plastered on until the moment you come home.

you wonder, when the three of you are cleaning up after dinner, “what’s got you all smiley today?”

he looks at you, back a little straighter and chest puffed out just a bit more. then, he glances at your son just an earshot away, wiping the table clean; he turns to you, mumbling, “tell ya ‘bout it later.”

(like he’s got all the pride in the world, like he’s got all the love in the world).

[sttoru]

clan leader!satoru, whose smile isn’t actually a. . . smile. it serves as a gentle (yet not-so-gentle) threat to whomever it is dedicated to. a lot of the gojo clan members, as well as members from other noble clans, have heard of that infamous smile and know of its true meaning.

ever since marrying you, that smile often finds its way onto his lips. it’s not because of you, but rather because of the ones interacting with you. satoru didn’t ever expect to feel so possessive about someone he initially didn’t care for.

a marriage of convenience is all that your relationship was for. it purely existed for the sake of a connection between two famous families. your first weeks together have been awkward. any form of affection - any touches or loving words - were for the sake of his image.

however that all was fated to change: satoru eventually found himself falling for his wife.

your kind personality, your subtle smiles, the embarrassed expression on your face whenever he teased you in front of others even if it was all a faux display- an act of being all lovey-dovey. your inner and outer beauty was slowly becoming more apparent to the white-haired man.

you don’t know when it started. you can’t recall why satoru is suddenly acting affectionate even behind closed doors. usually, he’d drop the act the second you’re in your chambers. now he continues to compliment you, pepper you with chaste kisses as long as you allowed him to�� even refer to you as his ‘dear’, ‘pretty girl’ or ‘sweetheart’ to your face like it’s nothing.

you shrug off your own guards and maids when they curiously inform you about their lord’s sudden change of personality, which was supposedly all because of you.

“ah, my wife,” satoru’s voice echoes above the loud chatter in the main hall. you turn your head and find your heart racing for some reason as he addresses you in that gentle tone.

he makes his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving your face, even as other important figures try to catch his attention to talk business. “i was greatly worried about you,” your husband sighs.

a gloved hand cups your face and satoru leans in, his glossy lips inches from yours. you’d think this was part of the fake arrangement, but there’s this genuine hint of adoration behind his cerulean eyes that you cannot ignore.

“i— my apologies,” you murmur softly, eyes darting around the room while you try to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “i was simply talking to one of the guards,” you explain and nod your head to the bulky man standing next to you.

the guard respectfully bows to satoru the second you introduce him. your husband doesn’t respond for a single second, his fingers twitching lightly at his side. he can’t stand the thought of you talking to another man while he isn’t around.

is it for your own safety? or is it because he’s jealous and immediately wants to get rid of any man who dares speak to his precious wife? perhaps it’s a mixture of both.

“i see,” satoru replies. his eyes darken for a second before he catches himself. the corners of his lips curl upwards, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

that familiar sight makes you nervous. you’ve seen it before, when your husband would subtly threaten others for whatever reason, while hiding his true feelings behind that smile.

“well,” satoru continues, his arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you against his side and places a kiss on top of your head while glaring at the guard through his white eyelashes.

“thank you for keeping my wife safe,” the clan leader says through that tight smile, trying to keep it as ‘genuine’ looking as possible. he has a reputation and image to uphold after all.

you’re about to say something, but are cut off as satoru adds another comment. “i’m here now, so you can return to your post.”

it isn’t a suggestion. it is an order— a command. a disguised threat.

the guard immediately picks up on the subtle hint and nods without saying a word before walking back to his spot at the doors. you can hear the faint whispers from others as they also seem to recognise that change in satoru’s demeanour.

it’s not like you’re totally oblivious to what’s happening either. you look up at satoru and place a hand on his chest, trying to catch his attention. “satoru,” you whisper his name.

the white-haired man immediately snaps out of it and excitedly shoots you that boyish smile of his instead of the fake, cold one he wore on his face just a second ago.

“you called, my dear?” satoru tilts his head, bringing a hand to rest over yours on his chest. your eyes widen a bit at the way he seems to relax and look at you with that same devoted gaze.

you don’t think it’s an act anymore. the words die on your tongue and you can’t recall what you wanted to say anymore. those sparkling blue eyes and charming smile have you rendered speechless.

“…it’s nothing,” you mutter under your breath. you have no clue how you’ve managed to turn that once, cocky, overly confident and cold-hearted ruler into a total softie for you. it’s something you still need to process yourself.

satoru doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, glaring at the men who pass by, shooting them that fake, threatening smile if they looked like they desired to converse with you.

you’re his wife, and that’s that. he silently wonders when you’ll realise that he actually fell for you. perhaps you are already aware of it, but hide it from him on purpose.

whatever the case is, satoru will make sure that you know his true feelings for you. one day he will tell you those three words explicitly— if it wasn’t obvious enough through his sudden change of behavior.

[melodiesz]

sukunas need to be around you‪‪

⊹₊⟡⋆ In which you confront him about his little habit again, and he finally admits to it.

Getting the Sukuna Ryomen to admit that he had a tendency he couldn’t control was a strong feat, but your victory was short-lived. cause just as easily as Sukuna shed an old habit, he formed a brand new one.

This new habit? He had to be in the same room as you at all times. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter when, you’ll always turn to see Sukuna lurking somewhere nearby.

And yet as soon as you spot him he’d look away, clearly still butt-hurt you’d teased his little (huge) staring problem. Acting as if it was your fault he had to stop, and not because of his massive ego.

whether you minded him following you around like a stray dog or not didn’t matter since he had no intention of stopping. In his logic, you couldn’t point it out if you had no proof it was happening!

There were times where he did make his presence purposefully obvious, but only when he could play it off as having nothing to do with you—always denying your claims.

“tch, following you? Don’t kid yourself, I’m simply admiring my gardens.” he claimed, but flushed and stormed off when you questioned why he had to walk right beside you to do so.

Painting? Screw that flower pot, he’s a much better muse.

You’re trying to shower in peace? Make room, suddenly he’s filthy.

Catching up with friends? He’s lurking in the background, pretending to be busy as if his holes-in-newspaper type setup could really fool you.

It’s a kind of clingy you don't understand, especially since he continues the act of being annoyed with you as if he isn’t making you play a daily game of Where’s-Waldo.

And it wasn't an overbearing presence, just a confusing one. since every time you'd spot him (which was nearly every time, he had the stealth of a bull equipped with a foghorn.), he would flee like you were the strange one.

Now Sukuna trying to hide his massive form was like a bear attempting to hide behind a lamp post. He was obvious, and you knew the humiliation of it was killing him, so you granted him the gift of pretending not to notice.

Just like with the staring, you quickly got used to this little quirk of his and embraced it. It confused you that he tried to hide, since he knew just how much you enjoyed being around him, but you shrugged it off as Sukuna just being Sukuna.

Little did you know, he was secretly worried you'd point it out like you had his incessant staring, and out of pure overbearing embarrassment and pride he'd be forced to stop his favourite pastime ‹/𝟹.

a/n: yes I did make the header and I’m think I’m so funny 😋 pls leave a comment if you enjoyed or want more Sukuna !! Thank you ❤︎

pt.1 : his staring problem <3 pt.3 :can’t beat them? Join em’!

[killerplink]

CONSEQUENCES

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: You knew teasing Jason while he was on patrol would have consequences. You just didn't expect him to come home early and ruin you over the kitchen counter.

Words: 8,5k

A/N: For the bestie who wanted Jason to put reader in a chokehold and the one who suggested teasing him with pics while he's on patrol—this one's for you 👀

Jason exhales sharply, the sound muffled beneath the thick material of the Red Hood mask, his gloved fingers tightening around his phone. The dim glow of the screen is the only source of light against the pitch black Gotham skyline, the city stretched out beneath him, flickering in the distance with neon signs and dull streetlights. But he's not looking at the city. Not looking at the gang of low level fuck ups he's been tailing for weeks.

He's looking at you.

You, sprawled out in bed, wearing nothing but his shirt—his fucking shirt—riding up just enough to show him that perfect, pretty little pussy, already dripping, already making a mess of your thighs.

You, spreading yourself open with your fingers, so wet you're practically glistening under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, teasing him with the sight of your slick, swollen clit.

And Christ, you, grinding down on that stupid fucking hot pink dildo he's been clowning on since the day he found it buried in your nightstand, taking it so deep, your lips parted in a breathless moan, your brows knit together in pure, desperate need.

It's almost funny, really, how goddamn insatiable you are. He fucked you stupid just hours ago, left you whimpering, shaking, with his cum still leaking out of you, and yet, here you are. So fucking needy you couldn't even wait for him to get back home.

And Jason should be focused. He should be watching the five assholes below, the ones dealing weapons out of the back of a shitty, beat up sedan in an abandoned parking lot. He should be getting ready to make a move, should be handling business like he planned.

He exhales sharply, dragging a gloved hand down his mask as he adjusts himself again, teeth clenched behind the red helmet. His dick is straining against his tactical pants, twitching every time his mind flashes back to those pictures, to the slick mess between your legs, to the way you spread yourself open like a fucking invitation.

And he knows you. Knows you knew exactly what you were doing, knows you probably thought he'd just finish patrol and come home like normal, that you'd be asleep, all innocent and sweet, as if you didn't just send him those sinful fucking pictures knowing full well what they'd do to him.

But nah. Not tonight.

Tonight, he's handling business as quickly as possible so he can get back home and fuck the bratty attitude right out of you.

So with one last exhale, he focuses back on the losers below, his muscles tense, his mind already running through the fastest way to deal with them. Quick and dirty, no theatrics. Just a couple of broken noses, some shattered ribs, and a reminder that they're not welcome in his city.

And once he's done? Once his hands are free of the night's work? He's going straight home. Straight to you. Because you wanna be a tease? You wanna play games? Fine. But you better be ready to take what's coming to you.

Meanwhile, back home, you sigh as you rinse off your dildo, running warm water and soap over the smooth silicone. It's still slick, still sticky with your cum, and you bite your lip, fighting the embarrassing heat that flares in your belly as you finish cleaning it and grabbing a paper towel to dry it.

Because you're still wet. Still aching. You've already made yourself cum twice. Twice. And it's still not enough.

But it's not like you prefer your toys over Jason. Not anymore. Not since you got together. Because nothing—nothing—feels as good as him. Not his hands, not his fingers, not his tongue, not his lips, not a single fucking thing compares to the way his thick, heavy cock stretches you open, the way he fucks you so deep you feel him for days.

You groan, almost slapping yourself as your pussy has the audacity to clench again, a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. It's ridiculous, really.

You shake your head, shove the dildo back into its bag, and stuff it into your drawer, trying to push past the lingering frustration. Maybe some tea will help. Maybe a snack. Maybe sinking into the couch and putting something on the TV until Jason gets home.

Yeah. That should do it. Because surely, after cumming six fucking times today, you'll be satisfied enough to sit still.

You're in the kitchen, one hand lazily pushing through the fridge, your other gripping the edge of the door as you scan the shelves for something quick and easy. You're still warm, still buzzing, still throbbing faintly between your legs even after a shower and the fresh pair of panties you slipped on. But at least your stomach is grumbling loud enough to distract you.

Until you hear it. The jingle of keys. The click of the lock turning. The heavy thud of boots against the floor. Your head snaps up so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

No fucking way. You have to be hearing things. Jason went out not even two hours ago. He should still be on patrol, still handling whatever mess he had planned for the night.

He barely gets his helmet off before he's on you, gloved fingers biting into your waist, the other reaching past you to shove the fridge door closed with a dull thud. Your breath hitches, your body jerking at the sudden movement, but before you can so much as blink, he's spinning you into him, caging you between the counter and the solid wall of his body.

And then he's kissing you—kissing you like he's starving, like he can't get enough, like he's already decided exactly how this night is gonna go.

It's hungry, rough, all tongue and teeth and heat, stealing the breath straight from your lungs as his gloved hands slide down, groping at your ass, gripping handfuls of soft flesh like he owns it. You moan into his mouth, your fingers curling into the hard plates of his suit, nails scraping against the reinforced armor covering his chest. He's still dressed in his gear, the sharp scent of leather clinging to him, mixing with the faint gunpowder that always lingers in the air when he gets home from patrol.

And God, you feel him.

Thick, heavy, rock fucking hard, pressing right against your stomach, the heat of him seeping through his pants, through your thin t-shirt, making your thighs squeeze together, making your head spin.

Jason groans, low and deep, like he already knows exactly what kind of mess you're turning into, and then he yanks you closer, his grip tightening as he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how worked up he is.

You whimper, thighs trembling, your cunt pulsing between your legs.

He tears his mouth from yours just long enough to breathe, and you barely manage a stuttering, "J-Jay—" before he growls, a sharp crack echoing through the kitchen as his palm smacks against your bare ass.

You gasp, your body jolting at the sting, at the way his fingers squeeze the soft flesh right after, rubbing over the heated imprint of his palm.

"What the fuck you think you're doin', huh?" he rasps, his voice thick, rough, dripping with something dark and dangerous.

Your lips part, but no words come out. Just a shallow, shaky breath, your brain short circuiting under the weight of his stare. Because you know that look on his face.

And it means you're in trouble.

"I was j-just—"

Another sharp slap lands on your ass, making you gasp, cutting your words off instantly.

"You were just what, huh?" Jason growls, his voice thick with frustration, his grip tightening. "Sendin' me all those pics, makin' me hard as fuck on patrol? You know I had to fight with a fuckin' boner, baby? You know how fuckin' distractin' that was?"

You bite your lip, trying so hard not to let the smug little smirk tug at the corners of your mouth, because honestly? Yeah, you do know. That was kind of the point. But you'll never admit it, not out loud.

Not when he looks like this.

Before you can so much as think of a response, Jason grabs you—big hands gripping your thighs, your body weight nothing to him as he lifts you onto the kitchen counter. Your breath stutters, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, but he doesn't give you a second to catch up.

Because the second your ass touches the counter, he's ripping your t-shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Your soaked panties.

His eyes drop instantly, and fuck, the groan he lets out—deep, rough, vibrating against your skin—makes your stomach flip, makes your cunt clench around nothing, makes your pulse pound between your legs.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby," he mutters, running a gloved hand down your side, gripping your hip, fingers curling into your soft skin.

And then he spreads your legs wider. Your breath catches, your thighs trembling as he steps between them, crowding into you, and before you can process any of it, he's grinding against your cunt. Hard. But the pressure is perfect.

Your panties stick to you, the friction hitting your clit just right, his cock thick and heavy, straining against his pants as he drags it against you, rubbing over your aching pussy. You let out a sharp little gasp, your nails digging into the Kevlar covering his shoulders, your body jerking at the overwhelming sensation, at the heat of him.

You want to say something, want to throw back a smartass remark, maybe tell him it's his fault for leaving you all needy in the first place, but you don't get the chance.

Because Jason's hand is already wrapping around the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your face up, and then his mouth is on yours again.

Hot. Messy. All tongue and teeth and Fuck, baby, you're so goddamn wet for me.

And the whole time, he keeps grinding against you, his free hand pinning you in place, the cool leather of his glove pressing into your hip, keeping you right where he wants you as he ruts against your dripping cunt.

You're soaking through your panties, through the lacy fabric right onto his pants, leaving a damp little patch over his bulge, and he groans into your mouth, feeling it, knowing exactly what he's doing to you.

Jason rips his mouth from yours, his breath hot against your lips, and before you can catch up, before you can so much as blink, you hear it before you feel it—the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.

Your breath catches, your thighs twitching as the cool air of the kitchen hits your soaked cunt, the remnants of your panties dangling from Jason's fingers, the delicate lace snapped like it was nothing.

You gasp, barely processing it before his sharp, wicked little smirk takes over his face, his eyes dropping between your legs.

"Fuck," he mutters, low and rough, his gaze locked on the way a thin, glistening string of your slick clings to the ruined panties before snapping.

He lets out a deep chuckle, tossing them aside like they're useless to him now. He lifts one hand, gripping the edge of his glove with his teeth, tugging it off in one smooth motion, exposing his bare fingers—long, thick, skilled.

The next thing you know, two of them are buried inside your cunt.

"Oh—fuck—" you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders, your body arching as his fingers plunge into you, stretching you open, curling just right.

He works them deep, fucking them into you in slow, firm strokes, the wet, obscene sounds of your pussy filling the room, and shit, you're still so sensitive.

And his other hand—the gloved one—is already working his belt, working the buttons and the zipper, his knuckles bumping against your inner thigh as he frees his cock.

"Jay—w-wait—" you murmur, breath hitching, your legs trembling around his waist.

But he just laughs. Dark, knowing.

"What's the matter, huh?" he drawls, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers still fucking into you, still dragging slick sounds from your dripping cunt. "Don't tell me you're too sensitive to take my dick right now."

You shake your head so fast, so desperate to deny it, but fuck, you're already so overstimulated, already so close again, and he knows it. He can feel it.

So he drags his fingers out of you in one slow, slick pull, making you whine, your cunt clenching around nothing, but before you can complain, before you can beg, he's already gripping his dick.

Already fisting it, dragging your wetness over the thick, flushed length, mixing it with the pearly precum beading at his tip, groaning under his breath.

"Fuck, baby, you're so messy," he mutters, his voice wrecked, his hand moving slow, firm, teasing.

You can barely breathe, your eyes locked on the way his dick looks in his fist, slick with you, with him, flushed and aching and ready to split you open.

His free hand grips your waist, drags you closer to the edge of the counter, his strength making you feel so small, so helpless, like you have no say in it, like he's going to take what he wants from you. And he is, because he knows you're gonna let him.

And then he's back between your legs, slapping your clit with his cock.

Your whole body jerks, a high, needy whimper ripping from your throat as the heavy weight of it lands against your sensitive bundle of nerves, over and over, each hit making your thighs twitch, making your cunt pulse with need.

"Jay—" you whimper, squirming, gripping his arms, but he just shushes you, his hand sliding up from your hip, up your side, until it's wrapped around the back of your neck again.

He grips you there, firm, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him, his lips barely brushing yours, his cock still slapping against your clit, making your legs twitch, your breath hitching in quick, shallow gasps.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, taunting purr. "Was it worth behavin' like a little slut tonight?"

And you don't know what has gotten into you, don't know if it's the way he's looking at you, don't know if it's the way he's got you all pinned in place, your whole body under his control, but you nod.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his smirk growing, his cock still slapping against your clit, sending jolts of overstimulation through your body.

You nod. Again. Even though you know what's coming. Even though you know he's about to fuck you stupid.

And before you can even think about saying, "I was just kidding"—not that it would save you now—his thick, aching cock is pushing in.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, your whole body going rigid, your fingers digging into his arms as he splits you open, stretching you wide, forcing you to take every thick, pulsing inch.

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open, a helpless, needy whimper slipping past your lips, and Jason groans under his breath, watching the way your tight little cunt struggles to take him, the way you clamp down, so fucking hot and wet and slippery for him.

"You wanna be a fuckin' brat, huh?" he growls, gripping your waist harder, pulling you onto his cock as he drives forward, forcing more of himself inside. "Guess I gotta fuck it out of you."

And he doesn't even bother bottoming out before he starts fucking you. Hard. Fast. Brutal.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the kitchen, your moans breaking into helpless little gasps each time he slams forward, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs. The gun holster strapped to his thigh digs into your skin, pressing, the leather rough against your soft, sensitive flesh, a constant reminder of just how fucked you are.

His hand moves from the back of your neck to the front, his gloved fingers wrapping around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your breath catch, just enough to make your pussy clench around him.

"Fuck—" Jason swears, his grip tightening just slightly, enough to make your head feel light, enough to make every nerve in your body tingle. "You like that, huh? You like bein' choked while I ruin this little pussy?"

And you can't speak, can't breathe, can't think. All you can do is nod, your moans breaking into choked little whimpers as he pounds into you, each brutal thrust driving him deeper, making your walls spasm around his thick cock.

And when your mouth falls open on another desperate moan, Jason leans in, his breath hot against your lips, his gloved fingers still tight around your throat.

"Yeah, baby," he murmurs, his voice wrecked, his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you so full you can feel every vein, every pulse. "Take it. Fuckin' take it."

And then, his tongue slides into your mouth. Hot, wet, dominating, tasting every gasp, every moan, swallowing down every desperate little noise you make as he fucks you senseless. Your head spins, your whole body trembling, heat coiling tight in your belly, your climax building fast, dangerously close.

And Jason knows it.

"You gonna cum already, baby?" he purrs against your lips, his fingers flexing around your throat, his cock still slamming into you, pushing you closer, closer, closer. "Go on. Fuckin' cum for me."

He slams into you, again and again, his cock driving so deep, so hard, it's all you can do to hold on, to breathe through it, to take every brutal, punishing thrust as he fucks you open, stretches you so wide around him you don't know how you're still coherent.

Your nails sink into the thick material of his suit, your whole body shaking, legs trembling where they wrap around his waist, your toes curling with every sharp, unrelenting snap of his hips.

You can feel it. The heat twisting low in your belly, coiling tight, electric and overwhelming, your orgasm rushing toward you, unstoppable, devastating, making your walls flutter and clench so tight around his cock he groans, his hand tightening around your throat.

You love this. You live for this. The way his gloved fingers press against your skin, firm but careful, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, to make you dizzy, to make every pulse of pleasure more intense.

And you trust him. You trust him with everything, with this, because you know—you know he'd never hurt you, never push you too far.

"C'mon, baby," Jason groans against your lips, his fingers flexing around your throat as his dick pounds into you, his pace brutal, relentless, fucking you so deep you swear he's in your fucking womb. "You gonna cum for me? Gonna make a fuckin' mess all over my dick?"

You try to say something—try to answer—but the words get lost in a broken, desperate whimper, your mouth falling open, almost drooling with how fucked out and wrecked you are.

"That's it," Jason growls, his free hand gripping your waist tight, slamming you onto his cock as he drives into you, giving you exactly what you need, what you crave. "Fuckin' take it."

Your orgasm crashes over you, blinding and overwhelming, your whole body tensing as wave after wave of white hot pleasure ripples through you, so fucking intense it leaves you shaking, clenching, soaking his cock with slick as you cum hard around him.

Jason groans, his hand dropping from your throat to your hip as he fucks you through it, fucking you harder, deeper, dragging out every sharp, shuddering pulse of your release until your cunt is twitching around him, sensitive, overstimulated, your whimpers breaking into helpless, pathetic cries.

"Good fuckin' girl," he grits out, leaning in, swallowing your moans with his mouth, his tongue sliding into yours, hot and wet, claiming every sound, every sharp little gasp. "So fuckin' pretty when you cum on my dick, baby—fuck—"

He's so close, he can feel it. His whole body tense, his dick throbbing, straining inside your tight, soaking wet heat, every little clench of your overstimulated pussy making his stomach coil, making his hips stutter.

"Shit—" he grits out, his hands tightening on your body, his rhythm turning desperate, frantic, fucking you fast, hard, chasing it, so fucking worked up he can't even hold back.

With a sharp, wrecked groan, his hips snap forward one last time, his cock driving deep, pulsing as thick ropes of hot cum spill into your tight little pussy, painting your insides, filling you up until you're dripping, leaking all over the counter. But he doesn't stop.

He fucks it deeper, fucks you through it, milking every last drop, his fingers bruising against your skin as he holds you still, grinding against you until his cock is twitching, until you're both a wrecked, sweaty mess of slick and cum and breathless desperation.

And when he finally pulls back, finally looks down—Christ.

His cum is already leaking out of you, creamy and white, spilling out of you, coating your puffy, overstimulated lips, slicking up his cock as he groans, watching it drip.

"Shit," he rasps, his fingers sliding through the mess, making you whimper, your whole body twitching from the overstimulation. "So fuckin' pretty like this, baby."

You're panting, gasping for breath, your whole body shuddering as Jason keeps grinding into you, his cock still rock fucking hard inside your wrecked little pussy, throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm, spurting the last drops of hot cum deep inside you.

And then—fuck—he crashes his lips over yours.

It's hungry, messy, his mouth claiming yours, his tongue licking into you, sweeping over yours, deep and wet and so possessive it makes your knees go weak.

His free hand grips your tits, squeezing rough, fingers rolling your sensitive nipple as he devours you, making you whimper into his mouth, making your overstimulated cunt flutter tight around his still hard cock.

"Fuck," he groans, his teeth catching your bottom lip, pulling, his hips grinding up, his dick pressing so deep it makes your whole body tremble.

He pulls back, his hand sliding down your body, gripping your waist as his dick finally slides out. His cum trickles out instantly, thick and creamy, dripping from your wrecked, fucked open pussy, sliding down your inner thighs, slicking up the mess between your legs.

Jason smirks, his eyes locked on the filthy sight, one gloved hand reaching down, dragging his fingers through the slick, spreading it around, making you whimper as your sensitive little clit twitches.

But before you can even think about what's next, he grabs you. Lifts you off the counter, spins you around, and bends you over. Your hands slap against the cool marble, your breath hitching as Jason shoves you down, pressing your tits flush against the countertop, keeping you pinned.

"Jay—" you gasp, trying to push up, but his hand is already gripping your back, keeping you in place.

"If you think we're done here," he grits out, his cock pressing back against your dripping pussy, smearing his cum all over your folds, "you're fuckin' wrong, doll."

And then, he slams back in.

"Fuck—" you choke on the word, your body lurching forward as his cock buries deep, stretching you all over again, the angle so perfect, so brutal, it knocks the breath from your lungs.

One hand stays on your back, keeping you bent over, keeping you pressed down, while the other grips your thigh, lifting your leg, spreading you wider for him as he fucks into you.

And the angle? Jesus Christ, this angle is insane. Every sharp, unrelenting thrust drives right into that perfect spot, making your legs tremble, your whole body shudder as your eyes roll back. Jason pounds you into the counter, the sloppy sounds of wet skin slapping filling the kitchen.

"Yeah, baby," he groans, his grip on your leg tight, spreading you wider, letting him go deeper, letting him hit all the spots that make you fucking see stars. "You wanna act like a slut? Then be one. Fuckin' take it."

You try—really, you try—but all you can do is moan, broken little cries spilling from your lips, drool pooling against the marble, your mind going blank from how fucking good it feels.

"Think bein' bratty was worth it, huh?" Jason taunts, his breath hot against your back, his pace relentless, his cock slamming into you, the sounds of your soaking wet pussy obscene as he ruins you.

You can't answer. You can only take it. And Jason knows. Knows you're too fucked out to speak, too wrecked to do anything but clench around him, your tight little pussy gripping his cock.

"Yeah," he grits out, his voice rough, his thrusts turning harder, his hand leaving your back to tangle in your hair, yanking your head up so he can hear every broken, helpless whimper that spills from your lips. "That's what I fuckin' thought."

Jason's a rough man. He always has been. His whole life has been one long fight—against the world, against himself, against the people who've tried to control him, break him, kill him.

But he's rarely like this. Because you changed him. Not all the way—he's still him, still sharp edges and rough hands and a body built for war. But he's softer, just a little. The kind of soft that lets you cling to him after patrol, lets you tug him into the shower, lets him let you love him, even when he's got no fucking clue how he deserves it.

And he loves you too much to be as brutal as he used to be. Loves you too much to fuck you like you're just another warm body, another hookup to use and leave. But right now, none of that softness is here.

Right now, you wouldn't want him soft. Right now, you love him like this.

Love how he cages you in, his broad frame looming over you, his tactical gear rough against your bare, overheated skin, the hard plastic of his gun holster still digging into your side as he pounds into you from behind.

Love how his cock stretches you wide, the fat head dragging against your sweet spot with every brutal thrust, slicked up with his cum, with your cum, with the mix of everything he's fucked out of you.

Love how his voice is wrecked, low and gravelly in your ear as he grunts, "God, baby—fuckin' love this pussy."

The slick, obscene noise of your dripping wet cunt, squelching as he fucks you, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, his gritted curses, your helpless little whimpers—it's filthy.

And God, his hand. His big hand slides from your hair to your throat again. That thick, gloved hand, wrapping tight around your neck, tilting your chin up, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And you fucking love it. Not because you're some mindless little thing who lets him do whatever he wants—okay, maybe a little— but because you trust him. Because you know he'd never hurt you.

Because you know that after this, he's gonna carry you to the shower, wash you with slow, gentle hands, let you curl up against him in bed, his lips pressed to your hair as he murmurs how much he loves you.

But right now? Right now, he's got you bent over, wrecking you like he's got a point to prove.

"Open," Jason orders, his grip tightening, his gloved thumb pressing just right against the side of your throat, making you shudder.

You barely process the command, your head spinning, pleasure thrumming through your entire body as he fucks you deep, relentless. But then he tilts your face higher, and you know exactly what he wants. You whimper, body trembling, and you obey, your lips parting, tongue slipping out just slightly.

Jason leans down, lets his saliva pool into your mouth, slow and filthy, his eyes locked onto you, watching as it drips down your tongue. You swear you could cum just from that alone, from the way he's looking at you, from the snarl on his lips, from the way his hand is still tight around your throat.

"Swallow it," he growls.

And you do. He groans when you do, when he feels your throat contract beneath his palm, when he sees the way you fucking love it.

"That's my girl," he grits out, his other hand gripping your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he drives into you harder, fucking you so deep you can feel him in your fucking gut.

His good fucking girl, even when you're a brat. Even when you push his buttons, test his patience, send those filthy little pictures to fuck with his head while he's on patrol, you still take it. Take his dick, take his rough hands, take the way he ruins you like you need it.

He watches you—watches the way your tits brush against the cool marble with every thrust, the way they bounce from the sheer force of his fucking, the way your skin is hot, damp with sweat, your pussy an absolute mess between your legs, his cum and your slick dripping down your thighs, down to the floor tiles beneath you.

And yet, you still take it, just like he knew you would.

"Put your leg up, baby," he rasps, grabbing your thigh and hooking it up onto the counter, spreading you wider for him, letting him sink deeper into your cunt.

You moan, legs trembling as he bottoms out, dick pulsing, the thick head pressing right against your cervix.

"Keep it there," he orders, voice rough as he ruts into you, every thrust sharp, his grip on you tight enough to leave bruises.

And you listen, even though your body is shaking, even though your pussy is so fucking overstimulated, so wrecked from his pace, because you can't do anything else but obey him at this point.

"Look at you," Jason grunts, watching your body rock against the counter, "so fuckin' messy, baby, got my cum drippin' outta you, but you still want more, huh?"

You whimper, back arching, hands gripping the edges of the marble as he fucks you, relentless and rough, cock splitting your pussy open, stretching you wide.

"Was it worth bein' a brat tonight, huh? Can't even fuckin' answer a simple question," he taunts, one hand slipping down your stomach, sliding between your legs.

The second his fingers find your clit, you cry out, the sound breaking into a series of gasping, choked moans. You can't even form words, just desperate little whimpers, hips jerking, body twitching as he rubs quick, hard, matching the brutal rhythm of his fucking, rolling the swollen bud in firm, tight circles.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jason groans, feeling the way your cunt flutters around him, feeling how wrecked you already are. "Still so fuckin' sensitive, but you just couldn't wait, could you? Had to send me those pictures, had to make me fuckin' ruin you, baby, Jesus fuck—"

And you're gone, you can barely think, your entire world narrowing to the feeling of his cock, his hands, his voice, the way he's owning you, the way he's fucking you stupid.

"J-Jay—b-baby, fuck, more—moremoremore—"

Your voice is wrecked, stuttering through the words, barely making sense as you push back against him, as you take everything he gives you, as you chase your next orgasm like you need it to breathe.

Jason groans, his dick throbbing at the sound, at the way you're babbling for him, your pussy so swollen, so raw from how hard he's been fucking you, but you don't care.

Because you need it. You need him to fuck you through another orgasm. You need him to fill you up again.

"Jesus fuck," Jason grits, snapping his hips forward, sinking deep into you, his cock sliding into your wrecked little cunt so easily, so smooth with your slick and his cum.

It's loud—the wet, filthy squelching of your pussy swallowing him down, the thick slap of skin on skin as he pounds into you, the sounds of your ragged, desperate moans.

"So fuckin' needy," Jason grunts, "so fuckin' desperate for it, baby, Jesus—"

His pace changes, from deep, dragging thrusts that have his cock pressing into every swollen, sensitive spot inside you, to sharp, shallow ones. The thick head rubs right against your sweet spot, the sensation intense, making you sob, making your whole body shake from how badly you need to cum.

His fingers on your clit are relentless, rubbing it quick, fast, rolling it in tight circles, making your thighs shake, your mouth fall open, a wrecked, desperate sob breaking from your lips.

"That's it, baby," Jason growls, "fuckin' take it, let me feel you cum, c'mon, be a good girl, fuckin' cum—"

You break, your whole body tensing, your cunt pulsing around him, squeezing his cock in hard, tight waves. So fucking tight that Jason swears, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. He keeps rubbing your clit, keeps fucking you, dragging out your orgasm until you're sobbing from how good it feels, from how overwhelming it is. Until your pussy's gushing around him, soaking his cock, soaking his pants, soaking his hand.

Jason can barely think.

His body is a mess, his back soaked with sweat under his gear, his thighs burning, his skin sticky, and he doesn't give a fuck. He can feel sweat dripping down his nose, feels it fall onto your bare back, sees it mix with the sheen on your skin, and it just makes him crazier.

Because you're a wreck, too, your body slack, trembling from how many times he's fucked you into the counter, your tits bouncing, your skin flushed, covered in goosebumps. Your pussy is a wet, sloppy mess around his cock, soaking his pants, coating his thighs, and he swears he's never been this fucking hard in his life.

"Jesus fuckin'—"

His hand grips your throat again, tugging you back against him, making you arch, your body pressing flush to his, his chest heaving against your spine. And the angle—

"Ohhh—fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Your moan is wrecked, wild and desperate, your fingers clawing at his wrist as his cock slams into you from this new angle, hitting so deep, so fucking good that you almost black out.

Jason groans, deep and gritted, his fingers flexing around your throat, his dick throbbing, aching, his whole body tense and burning because he's so fucking close.

"Fuck, baby, I'm—"

His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt, and he breaks.

A wrecked groan rips from his chest as his orgasm hits, his body shuddering, his thighs flexing as he fills you up, thick ropes of hot, sticky cum pumping deep into your pussy, spilling against your cervix.

And the second you feel it, the warmth flooding you, coating your walls—

"Ohh, fuck—J-Jay—"

Your whole body locks up, back arching hard against his chest, your mouth falling open in a wrecked, helpless sob. Your nipples are so hard they ache, goosebumps ripple over your skin, your legs shaking so bad you swear you're gonna collapse, but you can't stop.

Because you're cumming, too. Hard.

Your cunt pulses around him, tight and needy, milking his cock, making his hips jerk, making his whole body shudder against you as he groans into your hair, his dick throbbing inside your soaked, wrecked pussy.

You whimper, body shaking, your clit aching from how hard he fucked you, how good he filled you. Jason groans, keeping you close, feeling his cum spill out, thick and white, coating your swollen, fucked out little pussy.

You're shaking, your whole body wrecked, overstimulated and soaked, your legs barely able to hold you up, and Jason can feel it.

His arms are around you before you can collapse, a strong, steady hold keeping you upright, his chest heaving against your back as he tries to catch his breath. His dick is still buried inside you, so thick and hot, and you sob, pleasure pulsing through you in aftershocks, your body still shuddering from the intensity of it all.

"Shh, baby," Jason breathes, his voice wrecked, panting, thick with heat and something softer, something that makes your chest ache. "I got you. 'M right here, pretty girl."

You whimper, boneless and exhausted, your hands reaching up to grasp at his arms, fingers curling into his sweat dampened sleeves, and Jason hums, pressing a warm, messy kiss against your temple.

"Jesus, doll..." He nuzzles into your hair, lets his hands smooth over your skin, rubbing slow, gentle circles along your sides. "Fucked you so good, made you all dumb on my dick— fuck—look at you, baby, still shakin'."

His voice is low, soothing, his lips ghosting over your temple, your cheek, your neck, the words melting sweet and hot into your skin. And even though he's still panting, still wrecked, there's a tenderness there—something soft, even as his fingers tighten just a little when you whimper.

Because you're a brat, you're a fucking menace, teasing him with those pictures while he was on patrol, making him fight with a raging hard on, and he should be mad every time you pull that shit. But goddamn, he can't even be mad when you're this perfect.

"You okay, baby?"

His voice dips a little softer, lower, his nose brushing along the curve of your shoulder as he squeezes you a little tighter, anchoring you, making sure you're still here with him.

And when you nod, still catching your breath, still soaked in sweat, still whimpering, he just smirks against your skin, presses one last, lazy kiss to the side of your neck.

"That's my girl."

You keep sniffling, little aftershocks making your body tremble against his, and Jason just soothes you like he always does when he's been this rough with you. His hands are gentle, rubbing slow, soothing circles down your belly, along your hips, his touch warm and steady even as you're still so wrecked.

"Shh, baby," he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing soft against your damp temple. "Breathe for me, yeah? I've got you."

You whimper when he pulls out, your whole body tensing at the sudden loss, the stretch of him leaving you making your breath hitch. Your legs immediately give out, completely spent, but he's already catching you, lifting you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

You melt into him the second he picks you up, arms clinging around his neck, face burrowing into his chest, not even caring that his tactical gear is in the way. You just need to be closer, need to feel him, need the solid, safe weight of him keeping you grounded.

"Jesus, baby," Jason huffs, but he smirks, his breath ruffling your hair as he presses a kiss against your forehead. "Fucked you that good, huh?"

You nod faintly, fingers clinging to the fabric of his sleeves, and he chuckles, shifting you in his arms as he starts walking, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor.

"C'mon, doll," he murmurs, voice still low and warm, tinged with the last traces of roughness. "Let's take a bath, yeah?"

You nod, barely more than a little, dazed tilt of your head against him, and he smirks, adjusting his grip before carrying you effortlessly through the apartment. You're still clinging to him when he steps into the bathroom, reluctant to let go even as he starts to set you down.

"Nooo," you whine, arms tightening around his neck, making zero effort to let him go.

Jason laughs, low and fond, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Shhh, I'm not goin' anywhere."

You peer up at him, your eyes still glassy, still so thoroughly fucked out, lips slightly puffed from all his kisses, and you pout. "No?"

"Nah, baby," he reassures, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "Took care of business for tonight. I'm all yours."

That makes you smile, your whole body melting against him, soaking in the warmth of him, the solidness, the safety, and you nuzzle right back into his chest, sighing as he strokes a hand through your hair. He reaches over with his other hand, turning on the water, the steady stream filling the tub as he drops the plug in.

And then he's wrapping his arms around you again, holding you tight, his palm smoothing slow, soothing strokes up and down your back as the water pours into the tub.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs against your hair, voice low, gravelly, but so damn soft. "I've got you."

Once the tub is filled, Jason reaches over, twisting the faucet off, and then he's lifting you again, hands firm under your thighs as he gently lowers you into the warm water. The heat makes your spent muscles immediately relax, and you let out a soft, content sigh, sinking into it, your head resting against the edge of the tub.

Your eyes are heavy, but you still watch him, all sleepy and soft, as he starts stripping out of his gear. His vest comes first, then his glove, each movement slow, unhurried. His shirt follows, baring his sweat slicked chest, the scars and tattoos across his body catching in the dim bathroom light. Your lashes flutter as you take him in, still entranced by the sight of him, no matter how many times you've seen him like this.

And then he pulls down his pants, the fabric sticking slightly to his thighs, and you giggle when you see the obvious stain of his cum on them.

Jason raises an eyebrow, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. "Somethin' funny, doll?"

You just grin, innocent, eyes sparkling as you look up at him, and he shakes his head before stepping closer. "C'mon, brat, make me some room."

You do, scooting forward a little, letting him step in behind you. The moment he settles into the water, his legs spread wide, caging you between them, he pulls you back against him. His chest is warm, solid, his arms coming to wrap around your middle, holding you close.

You melt into him, your head nestling into the crook of his shoulder, your body fitting perfectly against his. You reach for one of his hands, bringing it up to your cheek, nuzzling into his palm, your lips brushing over his roughened skin.

Jason chuckles, his breath warm against your hair. "Already in sleepy cat mode?"

You nod, pressing a soft kiss to his palm before tilting your head up to look at him, lips pouting slightly as you murmur, "I'm hungry..."

Jason snorts. "I bet."

You whine softly, rubbing your cheek against his hand again, making him laugh before he relents. "I'll make you somethin' after we finish here, yeah?"

"I want cheesy chicken nuggets and fries," you say, your voice soft, almost dreamy, as if you're already thinking about the food.

"Yeah, yeah," he murmurs, lips pressing soft to your temple. "I'll throw some in the air fryer."

That makes you happy, your whole body perking up as you hum, wiggling a little in his lap to get more comfortable.

But the second your ass presses back against his lap, Jason groans, fingers tightening on your hips. "Careful, baby, or I'll fuck you again."

You freeze for a second, but then you giggle, wiggling just a little more, just to tease him.

Jason grunts, his breath shaky, and his hands flex around your waist. "Brat."

You just grin, settling back against him, feeling warm and safe as he holds you close.

For a few long, quiet minutes, Jason just holds you, the heat of the water soaking into his muscles, easing away the tension in his shoulders, his back. You're soft against him, warm and pliant, your fingers tracing idle little patterns over his forearm where it rests over your stomach. He lets out a long breath, pressing his lips to your temple, lingering there for a second before he shifts, reaching for the bottle of body wash.

His hand is gentle as he leathers it up between his palms, and you hum when he starts gliding it over your arms, your shoulders, down your back. He lingers there, just a little, kneading at the muscles, working out any lingering soreness.

And he can't help it—his lips find your shoulder, pressing soft, slow kisses along your damp skin. Then up, to the curve of your neck, to the spot just below your ear. He can feel you smiling, can feel the way your body relaxes against him.

He keeps going, washing you with slow, careful strokes, rinsing away the sweat and the remnants of what you just did. And when he moves up to your hair, you let out a happy little sigh, tilting your head back as he starts working the shampoo into your scalp.

You hum, all soft and content, and Jason finds himself grinning like an idiot the entire time.

It's always like this, ever since you got together. Before you, he never thought he'd feel this kind of happiness, never thought he'd have moments like these—where love wasn't just something distant, something out of reach, but something real. Something warm.

He never thought he'd have someone who knew every jagged piece of him and didn't flinch, who didn't try to smooth out his rough edges but traced them with careful fingers instead, holding them like they were something precious.

He was always too much. Too broken. Too rough around the edges. He thought he wasn't made for soft things, for gentle things. He told himself that for so long it started to feel like truth, like something carved into his bones. But then you came along. And suddenly, softness wasn't something fragile anymore.

It wasn't something that could be taken from him, something he had to keep at arm's length. It was you, curled up against him, fitting so perfectly in his arms, hands running slow over his skin like you were memorizing every inch of him. It was in the way you looked at him like he wasn't something broken, but something worth loving.

And now? Now, he doesn't have to wonder what it feels like to be held, to be wanted. Now, he knows.

He keeps rubbing small circles into your scalp, massaging the tension away, and you let out another little happy sound, and yeah, he's fucking gone for you.

He takes his time, gently massaging your scalp, lathering your hair with shampoo and making sure it's washed thoroughly, all the while being soft and slow, making sure you feel taken care of.

After a few more minutes of soaking in the warmth, he helps you rinse off, his hands still steady, still gentle as he cups the water, running it through your hair until it's completely clean. Then, once your hair's thoroughly washed, he rinses it one final time, ensuring all the soap's gone.

He stands, stepping out first before reaching for a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders as he helps you up.

You shiver a little as the cooler air hits your damp skin, but Jason doesn't let you linger in it. He tugs you close, rubbing your arms through the towel before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Sit tight for a sec, baby," he murmurs, giving you a squeeze before letting you go.

You nod sleepily, leaning against the sink, the warm towel still wrapped around you as you watch him step back into the tub.

Even though you're exhausted, your limbs heavy with post orgasm haze, you can't help but admire him—broad shoulders, sculpted arms, the scars and tattoos that map across his body, each one a story, a reminder of everything he's been through. His hands move efficiently, lathering the soap over his chest, his arms, down to his abs, and then... lower.

You bite your lip, watching as he strokes a hand down his thick thighs, washing away the sweat and the grime, half from fucking you, the other half from patrol. His dick is soft, but still impressive, flushed from earlier, streaks of soap washing down the drain as he rinses himself off.

"See somethin' you like, pretty girl?" he murmurs, smirking as he slicks his wet hair back.

You pout, cheeks heating as you pull your towel tighter around yourself, mumbling, "Maybe."

Jason chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches for the shampoo, running his fingers through his hair as the lather builds. He rinses quickly, shaking the water from his head before turning off the faucet.

Then he grabs a towel, rubbing it over his head, water dripping down his back, his chest. You can't help but sigh dreamily, still admiring the way his muscles flex, the way he moves.

Jason notices—of course he does—and before you can react, he's stepping forward, cupping your jaw, tilting your head up so you have to look at him.

"You keep eye fuckin' me like that, and I'm gonna forget about aftercare," he murmurs, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You shiver, thighs clenching on instinct, and Jason just grins, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to your lips before letting go.

"C'mon, let's get you dressed before you catch a cold."

You don't bother dressing in anything fancy, just grabbing a comfy shirt—his, obviously—and slipping on some underwear. As you pull it on, you glance over to see him pulling on a pair of shorts, the fabric settling low on his hips. The sight makes your chest flutter, but you push the thought aside, smiling at him as you finish getting dressed. The moment you're done, you beam up at him before skipping toward the kitchen.

Jason watches you go, a smirk tugging at his lips as he follows, his bare feet thudding against the floor.

As promised, he pulls out a bag of frozen cheesy chicken nuggets and fries, tossing them into the air fryer while you grab your tea, getting to finally make it after he'd thoroughly ruined you earlier.

He watches you from the corner of his eye, the way you happily hum to yourself as you prepare your drink, and he shakes his head fondly, grabbing a beer from the fridge before leaning against the counter.

A few minutes later, the food is ready, and you grab the plates, eagerly bouncing to the couch, practically dragging him down with you.

Jason doesn't protest, just lets himself get pulled into the cushions, and you barely give him a second to sit before you're reaching for him, arms stretching toward him with a sleepy little whine.

"So fuckin' clingy," he teases, but he's already pulling you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

With the TV playing softly in the background, plates balanced on your laps, he takes a sip of his beer, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you munch on your nuggets, still warm, still content, snuggling into his side like it's where you belong. And maybe it is.

[lovesoome]

THE AUDACITY OMG I WANT HIM SO BAD

[snail-day]

Geto is such an acts of service husband. Not just a boyfriend - a husband. This man doesn’t date casually; he dates to marry, to commit. That’s why, after a long, exhausting day, he’s already waiting for you, warm towel in hand, ushering you into the shower before you can protest. He doesn’t say much, just murmurs something about how you need to relax, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he nudges you toward the warm water. When you emerge, skin damp and sleep already tugging at your strained eyes, he’s there. Sitting at the edge of the bed, patting the mattress in that gentle, expectant way of his.

"Lay down," soft murmured words from that sweet voice of his "Tummy first"

The moment you do, his big, warm hands are on you - pressing, kneading, smoothing out every bit of tension that settled into your muscles throughout the day. His touch remains firm yet careful, working through every knot with ease. You can feel the heat of his palms sinking deep, lulling you into something hazy, something safe.

The whole time, he talks to you. Soft murmurs as he applies more lotion to your skin. Asking about your day, about the little things. Did you eat enough? Did you drink enough water? Humming at each answer, thumbs pressing into the small of your back just right, lips curling when you melt beneath him.

"You really need to start stretching with me in the mornings," he mutters at one point, voice low, warm, teasing. "It’d help, you know."

But the words become background noise at this point, fading in and out as sleep drags you under. You barely register the last few strokes of his fingers over your back, the way his touch softens, the press of his lips against your shoulder before he finally pulls the blankets over you. As you drift off, barely clinging to consciousness, you hear it - his voice, soft and tender.

"Good girl. Sleep - I’ll be here when you wake up."

[enhaflixer]

Enhypen's reaction when you ask them to run an errand, but they refuse because they’re cuddling you (or just horny )

cw: suggestive, physical touch, nsfw-ish, domestic au, clingy bfs, light possessiveness, makeout session down bad bfs, playful banter, skinship

wc: 1.2K

AN: LEMME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK!

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

Heeseung is half-asleep, his head resting on your stomach, one arm draped lazily over your waist while his fingers skim absentmindedly up and down your thigh.

You hesitate for a second, watching his slow, relaxed breathing, before deciding to just get it over with.

"Babe," you whisper. "Can you run to the store and grab some milk?"

Heeseung lets out the longest, most dramatic groan, snuggling deeper into your stomach like a lazy cat.

"Noooooo," he whines. "I’m too comfy. My body is one with the bed."

"It’s just a quick trip—"

"Babe," he peeks up at you, his voice low and raspy with sleep. "Would you really make me get up right now? Look at me. I’m so comfortable. So warm. So soft."

You blink. "Did you just describe yourself like a heated blanket?"

"I did. And you love it."

You roll your eyes, threading your fingers through his hair, and he hums in complete bliss, smiling sleepily as he presses a kiss against your stomach.

"Mmm. That’s right. Keep doing that. Forget about the milk."

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

His lips are hot and demanding against yours, hands gripping your waist so firmly that your body melts into him with every passing second. His tongue slides against yours, his body pressing you deeper into the couch, heat rolling off him in waves as his fingers trace fire across your skin.

You sigh against his lips, your mind foggy, your body buzzing—

"Babe," you murmur. "Did you remember to grab the eggs?"

Jay freezes.

Pulls back just enough to blink down at you, his expression so bewildered you’d think you just said you were leaving him for his best friend.

"Did I—what?"

You blink up at him, breathless. "The eggs. From the store."

There’s a long silence. Jay stares at you, his hands still firm on your waist, his lips swollen from kissing you senseless—and then he just laughs.

A disbelieving, almost offended laugh.

"Baby, I have you pinned under me, sporting a boner, about to eat you out, and you’re thinking about eggs?"

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already shaking his head, leaning back in to press a teasing, open-mouthed kiss against your jaw.

"You’re lucky you’re cute," he murmurs against your skin, trailing kisses down your throat, nipping playfully just to remind you of what you almost ruined.

The eggs can wait.

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake is practically glued to you, his arms locked around your waist, his lips pressing slow, lazy kisses along your jaw.

"Babe," you murmur, trying not to get distracted. "Can you grab the package from the mailroom?"

Jake freezes mid-kiss, then groans dramatically, burying his face in your neck.

"Ughhhhh. No. My body stopped working. I'm paralyzed."

"Jake—"

"Shhh," he cuts you off, pressing another kiss to your skin, softer this time. "Just let me love you."

You ignore him.

Jake pauses. Then kisses you again—slower, warmer, needier.

You ignore that too.

He pulls back slightly, pouting. "Are you seriously thinking about the mailroom right now?"

You bite back a smile. "Yes."

Jake gasps, full offense activated. "I am literally kissing you and you’re thinking about a package??"

He flops onto his back, dragging you on top of him, sighing dramatically. "Fine. I’ll go. But when I come back, you owe me."

You laugh, finally leaning down to kiss him. He smiles against your lips, victorious.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

"Hoon, can you run to the store real quick?"

Sunghoon doesn’t even look up from his phone. Instead, he just pulls you onto his lap, his arms sliding effortlessly around your waist, his cold fingers slipping under your shirt as he tugs you flush against him.

"Mm. No."

You shiver, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles along your spine.

"Babe," you exhale, already losing focus as he leans in, lazily pressing his lips against your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—

"Shhh," he murmurs, his voice smooth, low, distracting. "Why would I go anywhere when I have you right here?"

His hands roam lower, slower, his lips trailing soft, teasing kisses along your collarbone, smirking when he feels you tense under his touch.

"The store’s not going anywhere," he mutters against your skin, his lips grazing just beneath your ear. "And neither are you."

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

"Sunoo, babe, can you go buy some dish soap?"

Sunoo gasps. Loudly. Like you just asked him to walk barefoot across a field of glass.

"Wow. So you’re sending me out into the cruel world while you stay here, warm and comfortable?"

You blink. "The store is literally down the street."

"ANYTHING could happen!" He throws himself dramatically onto your lap, clutching his chest. "What if I get lost? What if I get kidnapped? What if I trip and fall, and no one ever finds me?"

You roll your eyes, pushing at his shoulders. "Baby, please—"

"No, no. It’s fine. I’ll go. Just… if I don’t come back, tell my story. Make sure they know I was a loving boyfriend, taken too soon—"

"SUNOO."

"Ugh, fine." He sits up, sighing dramatically, then leans in to kiss your cheek. "But only because I love you. And because we need dish soap."

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

Jungwon has you completely trapped under him, one leg draped over yours, his arms locked around your waist, and his face tucked into the curve of your neck like a human-sized koala. His soft breaths tickle your skin, warm and steady, his entire body molded against yours as if you’re his personal pillow.

You hesitate for a second, feeling a little guilty for disturbing him, but you really need him to run a quick errand.

"Babe?" you whisper, brushing his hair out of his face.

He hums sleepily, tightening his arms around you, pressing himself even closer if that were even possible.

"Can you pick up the dry cleaning?" you try, running your fingers through his hair in hopes of softening the blow.

Jungwon makes a small grumbling noise, nuzzling into your neck.

"No," he mumbles against your skin.

"Jungwon."

"Nope. Can’t. Physically impossible."

"Babe, it’s literally five minutes away."

"That’s five minutes too far from you," he murmurs, pressing tiny, sleepy kisses along your shoulder, his fingers slipping under your shirt to trace lazy circles against your spine.

You sigh, heart melting at how ridiculously clingy he is. He hums in satisfaction, his lips ghosting over your collarbone, fingers still drawing slow, soothing shapes on your back.

"See?" he whispers, kissing his way up your jaw. "Just stay here. With me. Forever."

You’re never getting that dry cleaning.

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

"Riki, can you go buy some batteries?"

Silence.

You glance over. He’s sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, completely ignoring you.

"Riki."

Nothing.

You nudge his leg. "I know you can hear me."

Without looking away, he grabs your wrist and pulls you down next to him, locking an arm around your waist.

"Shhh. Important scene."

"Okay, but after this—"

"Mmm."

"That’s not an answer."

He nods absently, still not listening.

Frustrated, you grab the remote and pause the movie.

Riki slowly turns his head, eyes narrowing. "You did not just do that."

"I did. Now, about the—HEY!"

Before you can finish, he grabs you, drags you onto his lap, and unpauses the movie, trapping you against him.

"Nope. You made your choice. Now we’re both watching."

taglist: @naurwayyyyy

[seumyo]

malleus likes your lipstick very much.

NOTE. Fem!Reader a teensy bitsy suggestive <33

Malleus was not a fae easily enchanted by the mundane. But for some bizarre reason, he liked your lip products very much. More so than he’d like to admit.

It was ridiculous; he knew that. A thing so small, so utterly insignificant by the standards of the world he ruled. Lipstick, lip gloss, lip oil—there was a lot he still had to learn about your cosmetics, but he’s doing his best. Such trivial cosmetics. Meant to stain lips, leaving fleeting color and fleeting impressions. But on you? On you? It became something else entirely. It became a brand—a seal of ownership you didn’t even realize you were placing upon him.

And Malleus… Malleus was addicted.

And for all he knew, this encounter had been sudden, unscheduled. He’d come across you in the palace garden at dusk, fireflies beginning to float in slow arcs between the hydrangeas and tall ornamental grasses. You sat on the stone bench under the arching willow tree, humming to yourself, completely unaware of how the fading sunlight gilded you like a painting brought to life.

You were absolutely divine.

He wanted to devour you, lovingly, of course.

And when you turned at his approach, he saw it. That shine. That familiar glimmer on your lips, slick and soft and just a little bit too inviting.

“You’re late,” you teased, rising to your feet. “I waited a whole five minutes.”

“An eternity,” he replied smoothly, though his throat felt tight. “Pardon me for my tardiness, beloved. Allow me to make it up to you.”

You raised a brow, quite curious as to where this was leading. You’ve always known Malleus as someone with a taste for the peculiar. “With a gift? Chocolate? An ancient relic? Perhaps your eternal devotion?”

He took your hands, drawing you close. And Malleus thinks that this is nice, having someone close without them cowering under his mere presence. So this is what it feels like—to love someone so dearly.

“Something sweeter.”

And then he kissed you. No hesitation this time, not like the first kiss you two shared, where you had taken the lead. No gentle testing of the waters. He kissed you with the full weight of all the nights he’d dreamed of your mouth and all the mornings he’d woken wanting it. Your lips were warm and pliant beneath his, tasting delightfully sweet with the kind of joy he hadn’t known existed before you.

You gasped softly against him, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting his head, feeling the way your hands fisted gently in the front of his coat. And Malleus was right, as always; you tasted divine—the kind that he’ll never grow tired of. If this is how the normal mortals share their passion for one another, then he’ll gladly do it over and over again until you plead for him to stop.

“Mmph! Malleus…”

“Forgive me,” he murmured, already pressing more kisses along the line of your jaw. “I cannot seem to stop.”

You laughed, breathless and golden in the dying light. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

“It might be,” Malleus said solemnly, before licking his lips and tasting your gloss again. “I may be addicted.”

“Oh,” you rolled your eyes, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Let me see—oh my god, Malleus, you’re covered in it.”

He blinked at you, dazed.

“Am I?”

He dares to ask, as if he didn’t have the most smug and contented smile on his face.

“Look,” you said, pulling a small mirror from your pocket and holding it up to his face.

He saw himself: normally regal and composed, and now… now he looked utterly loved. His lips were a mess of smudged gloss, shiny and tinged pink. There was even a faint streak across his jaw where your mouth must’ve dragged in the heat of his embrace and the eager fever to have you this close to him.

“Beautiful,” he said, still breathless.

You sputtered. “Beautiful? You look like someone attacked you with a cosmetics counter.”

He didn’t answer. He was staring at you again, eyes fixed on your lips, still gleaming and slightly panting from the force of your kiss.

“You’re doing it again,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I can’t help it. It’s that lipstick.”

You laughed and took a half-step back, trying to straighten your clothes, only to realize his arms were still around you. “Alright, alright, I’m reapplying it. But if you ruin it again, I will make you carry my bag through the entire academic procession next week.”

“I would carry ten of them,” he said earnestly, “if it meant I could do this again.”

“You helpless sap,” you replied fondly, and kissed him once more—just a soft peck, but enough to freshen the smear of gloss on his mouth.

-

So, Malleus was absolutely wrecked to let you go. But he had to, for he and you both have responsibilities before getting some sleep.

But he still hadn’t wiped his lips; the glossy, shimmering stain that had a sweeter aftertaste was still evident. He didn’t try to hide the evidence. He simply walked, dreamy and unhurried, and basically floated—because there was no other word for it—floated back to his tower chambers like a man possessed. Everything was a blur to him.

He barely noticed the occasional startled glances from guards or the aghast stare of Sebek, who nearly dropped a scroll upon seeing the normally stoic prince wander by with flushed cheeks and pink-glossed lips.

“Lord Malleus!” Sebek barked, scandalized. “You have… there is… your face is—!”

Malleus didn’t break stride. “She kissed me.”

“I—Yes, but—your appearance—!”

“She kissed me,” Malleus repeated and continued walking, unbothered.

When he finally reached the quiet of his room, he sat on the edge of his vast bed in utter silence for a long moment. The fire in the hearth crackled softly as per his usual request, but he didn’t even notice. His fingers ghosted over his mouth. Still sticky. Still sweet. He leaned back slowly, resting against the pillows like a man struck by lightning and only just realizing it.

“My beloved,” he murmured aloud, reverent. “What have you done to me?”

No courtly intrigue, no diplomatic meeting, and no threat to the kingdom had ever unraveled him like this. Not like the trail of strawberry gloss pressed to his skin. Not like the giggle of his beloved, who kissed him and teased him and unknowingly marked him as yours in every smudged kiss.

He lay there for a while, completely dazed, utterly in love, and positively glowing—still wearing your lipstick like a crown.

So he likes your lipstick and kissing you, so what?

[lacobus]

[ nsfw ] fun and games

tags: groping and teasing + mark using his strength to his advantage and your entertainment

☆ ... biting off more than you can chew is always fun with mark.

it's a lazy afternoon. mark hasn’t heard from cecil in hours, and he intends to take advantage of the radio silence while it lasts.

he lets himself drift in and out of shallow sleep. feeling the high noon sun fall over one of his outstretched legs. only barely hanging off the edge of his mattress and deliciously warm.

you’ve effectively glued yourself to him without much effort. clinging to his side and murmuring about something he can’t quite understand. your stories usually reel him in, but because of the precarious (lazy and cozy) circumstances, he finds himself compelled to close his eyes and lie so still he can feel the earth rotating on its axis.

whenever he closes his eyes for too long, you run your hands across his body. squeezing and groping the sinew of his muscles— playful and ridiculously endearing.

mark doesn’t think much of your hands and the way they roam his body. featherlight and curious as you appraise every part of him. his biceps first, then his pecs and then down to his abs.

he jolts when he feels one of your featherlight hands skim across the edge of his boxers. a finger tracing a line over his waist back and forth. coyly lifting up the garter band before letting it snap down.

he catches your offending hand, “whatcha doin’ ?”

you purse your lips, trying not to smile but failing. a lip splitting grin spreading across your face as his hand only tightens around yours.

“just exploring,” you sheepishly smile up at him.

he snorts, bringing up his free hand to rub the short lived sleep from his eyes. “totally nothing you haven’t felt or seen, yeah?”

“oh shut up grayson,” you wriggle to get even closer like you aren’t plastered to his side.

he still hasn’t let go of your hand, and you aren’t exactly backing down either. your free hand attempts to continue fiddling with the garter of his boxers but he easily engulfs your hand with his again.

“yeah,” he smirks at you with half lidded eyes. “two can play at this game too.”

with little effort he flips both of you so that you’re totally flat on the mattress.

“mark!” you exclaim when you feel his hands cup the figure of your waist.

he doesn’t look back up at you, instead he slides his thumbs into your shorts and hooks them into your underwear. teasingly tugging downward which makes you squirm.

“hey i’m just playing along,” he laughs in your face. “isn’t this what you wanted?”

you stick out your tongue, “well you aren’t really playing fair are you?“

he shakes his head, but shifts upward to kiss you on the forehead and then on your lips. “nah, but it’s fun isn’t it?”

mark only laughs— an incredibly sweet noise —when you let him take off your shorts and underwear in one fluid motion. only then does he let you fully dip your hand into his boxers.

[tessasturns]

…SIMON MAKING SHY!READER BEG

simon ‘ghost’ riley x shy!reader, begging, teasing, f receiving oral, smut smut smut, protected p in v, aftercare, swearing, pure filth, porn with no big plot, dirty talk, sex in missionary

(masterlist) (nav)

you ached for it, and simon knew that.

you had never really initiated sex with him, not in an unwitting way, you were just shy when it came to that topic.

it usually started with a subtle touch of his arm, then an ‘accidental’ hand brushing over his crotch, and then slowly putting your legs on his lap until he followed through with your tendencies. that’s how it usually was, until simon started catching onto your little game.

he started by taking longer to cave, but now it was him just not giving in.

it was a slow night, the two of you just watching a tim burton movie in the quiet home. no matter how many times you tried to get closer to him, even ‘accidentally’ spilling water on his lap and wiping it up, he didn’t cave. it drove you insane.

“si” you whisper softly, moving your hips to sit on his lap. he still stares straight at the t.v., not moving an inch. “simon!” you whine, blocking his face.

“yes, love?” he smiles like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. the heat between your legs just grows as you look into his beautiful eyes. you don’t say anything, just give him a pleading look.

“what is it darling?” he smiles, loving every second of your struggle. you just whine, your shyness taking over, and boy does he know it. “please?” you tilt your head, looking up at his face.

“please what?” he furrows his brows like he can’t feel a wet spot growing on his pants from your cunt. “use your words.” he commands, his gruff voice only making your ‘situation’ worse.

“you know… what i want” you say, ever so slightly grinding down on him. you could feel a bulge as you did so, knowing the feelings were mutual.

“i don’t know. is there something i can help you with?” he questions, playing dumb. “please simon… i need you..” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“need me where?” he says, acting clueless. that was your last straw. he knew what you needed, but decided to just be annoying about it.

you grab his hand and guide it down your pyjama shorts, then into your panties. “here.” you say, softly grinding against his fingers. “so what are you asking?” simon said, just being flat out cocky.

“fuck simon! i need you to fuck me! i’ve been trying to make it clear all night but you’re just a jerk-“ you try to finish your rant, but you’re cut short when simon flips you onto your back, pinning you down.

he kisses you, softly at first, but getting more and more hungry. “that’s all you had to say, precious” he smiles, taking his lips down your neck.

he leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone whilst slowly sliding his hand up your shirt.

within a few seconds, simons shirt is off and so are your pants. he’s sat on the floor, in between your legs as he kisses your inner thighs. he teasingly licks small stripes all along your body, only making you more and more impatient.

“simon please” you breathed out. “i need you to just… i don’t know just something!” he chuckled at your pleas.

“atta girl, using your words.” you breathed out another moan as he licked your clit. the sudden touch made you shake slightly, to which he put his hands on your hips.

he continues the motion, making you squirm. he licks up and down your pussy, pace increasing as he does so. his tongue laps in circles over your heat, making you go crazy.

“fuck si… i’m- gonna cum” you exclaim, back arching. you cum all over his face, making a mess of the couch cushion. you breathe out heavily, being worn out.

“shit- thank you simon” you say. “you think i’m done?” his words slice through the thick air. “wha-“ you attempt to stutter out something, anything, but he’s already holding your hips, licking your cunt again.

you grab a fistful of his hair, thighs squeezing his head. “mmh… you fucking like that doll, hm?” he asks, looking up at you. you nod profusely, not trusting your voice.

he spits on your clit, staring you deep in the eyes as he does so. your hips aren’t even on the couch anymore, back is arched, head is flung back, yet he’s still going for more.

not only did he care about your pleasure and how you felt, but loved eating you out just for the pure taste and pleasure he got from watching you.

your second orgasm crushes you, hips jerking to meet simons eager face. you were on edge, your body being sensitive and fragile.

simon gets up off the couch, reaching into a bag of some sort. you lay there, completely fucked out, staring at the ceiling. the soft hum of the t.v. washes through your brain as you hear the sound of a belt coming off, then hitting the floor. you turn to your left, and sure enough, simon is standing there in nothing but his boxers.

“you said you needed me to fuck you, yeah love?” he clarifies. “si… can’t” you manage to say. “you know the word, and until you say it, i don’t plan on us stopping.” he says, pulling down his boxers.

you’re perched on your elbows, watching his cock spring out. you notice a small amount of precum dripping from his tip, only making you wetter.

he slides the condom he grabbed onto his cock, pumping himself in the process. he places you on the long part of your L couch, lining his member up to your needy entrance. he doesn’t move a muscle from there, it’s simply just his tip barely touching your heat.

“simon!” you whine, uncomfortably squirming. you needed him, and he knew that. “yes darlin’?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours.

“ugh- don’t be a prick! please just fuck me!” you groan, anger bubbling in your throat. “stop being a tease.”

he chuckles at the words you add softly, and follows through with his plan. his cock just slides in because of your wetness, but shit was it tight. he starts with a few slow thrusts, finding a rhythmic pace.

“please si” you moan out. “faster” he follows your command, snapping his hips to meet yours much faster. your words are now incoherent babbles, attempts made to speak just being disregarded.

“fuck i’m so close” you warn, head flying back into the cushion. “mph me too” simon groans out as his thrusts become sloppier. “shit ‘m- cumming-!” you squeal as you feel a warm liquid pool inside the condom.

you release all over his dick as he rides out his high. he pulls out, discarding the condom. simon grabs you by your waist and lays you down in a more comfortable position while he cleans the couch, cleaning you as well.

he lays by your side as you rest your head against his beating heart. the two of you lie skin to skin in a comforting silence, sweat and sex filling the air.

“is that what you needed?” simon says after a few moments of heavy breathing.

“fuck you”

“already done love”

tessa’s notes… hi guys!! sorry for my absence:( alsooo new writing style??? i died my hair all day today and messed it up so bad im dyinggg

taglist… @emely9274 @baileysturnz @sllutty-sturniolo @chrisspussygang @ivysturnss @evansturn @sturniolosluttt @kisschriss @sheluvsthesturniolos @sparklybtch @mothstvrnz @slvt4subchratt @csturnioloswifey @moond0llie @chrissleftshoe @sweetheartsangel @sophand4n4 @sturrrrnslvt @sturnsfavxo @wh0remikasas

comment to be added or removed.

© tessasturns

[klausysworld]

I absolutely NEED a one shot where klaus like always gets a hard 0n when Yn around or he thinks of her

His family teases him and Yn doesn’t have clue about his crush on her

Helpless

Klaus couldn't help the way his body reacted to her. It wasn't his fault that she was always so perfect.

In fact, Klaus blamed Rebekah.

She had been the one to befriend Y/N, they met at Mystical Falls High School when Rebekah tried out for the cheerleaders. Caroline had been salty about it but Y/N was happy to invite new people in.

Rebekah took a liking to her in an instant and ended up inviting her round.

That's how Klaus met her. Finding an unknown girl stood in his kitchen in only a tiny little skort and what could barely be called a top. Y/N only smiled at him and introduced herself as Rebekah's friend.

The idea of his younger sister making a friend so easily would have amused him but his thoughts had quickly ran away from him as he took her in. His viewing was cut short when Rebekah shoved him out the way.

"Sorry Y/N, that's Nik." She mumbled as she opened the cupboard to look for something for Y/N to eat. "Damn. We'll have to order something, come on." She shrugged and grabbed Y/N's hand, pulling her back upstairs.

Y/N was over often and Klaus had become accustomed to seeing her in her cheer outfit but that didn't mean he didn't feel anything.

Rebekah had only noticed it when she saw him pull a pillow over his lap part way through a movie. She knew that Klaus had a little crush on Y/N, that wasn't hard to realise with how often he looked at her and how easily his lips upturned in her presence but realising the extent made her smirk.

Rebekah would start 'lending' clothes to Y/N the day after a sleepover, having her dress in tight little shorts and tube tops. Convincing her that she didn't need to wear a bra round the house.

Klaus was almost drooling.

His fingers dug into the couch when she sat beside him after Rebekah had spread herself out across the other sofa. Klaus was too focused on not staring at Y/N's nipples to notice Rebekah's obvious game play.

When it had gotten late and Y/N started getting tired but the film wasn't finished Rebekah decided to push it. "You can always lay down. Nik doesn't mind, he even has a pillow. Just rest on his lap." Her words sounded to passive and innocent that Y/N just glanced to Klaus who, no matter how badly he knew he should've said no, nodded his head and adjusted the pillow.

Before he knew it his fingers were stroking her hair, his hips desperately holding back when she made small sounds on contempt.

Once she was asleep he couldn't help but touch her face, trace each feature. Bekah had gone to the bathroom, leaving him alone with her and his thoughts. He couldn't help but stroke her bottom lip with his thumb. As soon as he heard the door shut his hands were pulled away and he was sat back against the cushions but Rebekah knew what he wanted.

She started having lollipops on hand, always having one to give to Y/N. Klaus was losing it.

Once or twice she'd forgotten to finish her lolly, leaving it somewhere by accident. Klaus would end up licking her taste fresh from it, his eyes closing as he sucked her flavour down.

He could just about restrain himself from acting on his feelings.

Until all his other siblings were woken and also caught onto the situation. Kol would shamelessly flirt with Y/N, purposefully trying to make Klaus flip out. Even Elijah had picked up on it. He'd clear his throat and glance Klaus down, reminding his brother to cover his arousal with an amused smile on his face when Niklaus would go a beat red and pull a pillow over himself again. Kol had started calling it his 'problem pillow'.

Rebekah was subtle but Kol? Brutal.

"Don't tell me Nik's cum on his pillow again!" He'd call loud enough that it made Klaus shoot up out of his seat in panic that Y/N had heard but not quite loud enough that it would travel up the stairs to where Y/N actually was.

"Someone's in a sticky situation-" He'd jest before a book was lobbed at his head.

"You know Y/N if you're feeling stressed, I'm positive Nik would pound it out of you." He'd grin but Y/N didn't get it; thank god.

Klaus would shove Kol out the room, out the house sometimes and storm up the stairs.

Was it embarrassing? Of course. Was it hilarious for the others? Obviously.

Once Y/N figured it out and joined in on the teasing it was too much to bare.

[aventurineswife]

Hi, can I request reader sitting on a characters’ lap randomly? I’m thinking it would be in an established relationship. (I feel like most characters would mind about their personal bubble.) Dan Heng, Sunday, Aventurine, Kafka, and anyone else that you want to put in!

Make You Feel My Love

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Romance, Intimacy, Tender Moments, Fluff, Established Relationship, Emotional Vulnerability, Comfort, Quiet Moments, Teasing, Lighthearted, Close Proximity, Soft Power Dynamics.

Warnings: Mild Sexual Tension, Suggestive Themes, Mild Innuendo, Personal Space/Boundaries.

Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling

Dan Heng’s usual composure wavers slightly when you suddenly slide onto his lap without warning, your back pressing against his chest. He freezes for a moment, unsure of how to respond, his gaze flickering nervously towards the crew bustling around the Astral Express. His hand instinctively rests on your waist, as if to keep you steady, but there’s an underlying tension in his posture.

“Is something wrong?” you ask softly, resting your hand on his, feeling the subtle tremor in his fingers.

“I… didn’t expect this,” he murmurs, his voice low, eyes darting away as if caught off guard. “You know how I am with… personal space.”

You chuckle, sensing his discomfort but also the warmth in the way his fingers slowly tighten around you. He might not say it, but you can tell he’s not entirely against it.

"You're not bothered, are you?" you tease, leaning in a little closer, relishing the quiet intimacy between you.

Dan Heng sighs, but it's not one of frustration. He’s resigned to the fact that you’ll always find ways to surprise him. "Just be careful. I’ll get distracted."

He doesn’t push you off, though. Instead, he pulls you in closer, resting his chin gently on your shoulder. In that moment, the quietness around you both feels more like home than any distance could.

Sunday's eyes widen in mild surprise when you casually climb onto his lap, making yourself comfortable against his chest. His halo shimmers faintly behind his head, but he doesn’t seem to mind the slight disruption to his usual serenity. Instead, his wings flutter slightly, as if they, too, are a little confused by your sudden shift in proximity.

“You're always so… sudden,” he remarks with a soft, amused chuckle, his fingers resting on your hips, a touch that’s almost tentative. “What’s gotten into you today?”

You settle against him, resting your cheek against his collarbone. The closeness feels natural, as if you've done this a thousand times before.

"I wanted to be close to you," you whisper, pressing your lips to his neck. "Is that okay?"

Sunday's usual detached demeanor falters just a little as his wings flutter nervously. His fingers tighten around you in a silent admission that he feels the same. His voice softens as he speaks, the gentleness in his tone revealing his vulnerability.

"It’s more than okay. You’ve always had a way of making me feel… at peace," he murmurs, his other hand gently brushing through your hair. "But sometimes, I wonder if I’m deserving of such comfort."

His inner turmoil is evident, but in this quiet moment, with you nestled against him, he lets his guard down. The warmth of your presence drowns out his doubts, if only for a while.

Aventurine lets out a low, amused laugh when you suddenly hop onto his lap, settling yourself comfortably as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His eyes gleam with intrigue as he adjusts his posture slightly, giving you a playful smile that doesn’t quite reach the guardedness in his gaze.

“Well, well, someone’s feeling bold today," he teases, his voice smooth as silk. His hands rest casually on your waist, a smile dancing on his lips, but there's a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

He leans back, giving you a teasing, almost exaggerated sigh. "I must admit, I’m a fan of surprises, but you do realize the risks of disrupting the flow of things, don’t you?"

You chuckle, a little mischievous, as you rest your head against his shoulder. "I think you're just enjoying the view, Aventurine."

His fingers graze your skin as he adjusts you on his lap, a smirk playing at his lips. “Perhaps I am,” he says, his voice suddenly low and full of meaning. “But do you truly think you can throw me off balance so easily?”

Aventurine may be a master manipulator, but when it comes to you, he can’t help but soften, the layers of his carefully crafted facade cracking just a little. As much as he feigns indifference, there’s a flicker of genuine warmth in his eyes.

"You always keep me on my toes, don't you?" he murmurs, a smile curling on his lips. "Well, I’ll allow it—for now."

Kafka barely looks up from her work as you slide onto her lap, crossing your arms over her shoulders. She’s seated with one leg casually crossed over the other, her dark sunglasses perched atop her head, her focus remaining on the data screen in front of her. But the moment you settle, a small, almost imperceptible smirk curls at the corner of her lips.

“Well, aren’t you bold today?” she says, her voice smooth and alluring, like she's savoring the moment. Her hand slides around your waist, pulling you in closer without a second thought. "You’re lucky I’ve got other things on my mind."

You can feel the tension of her muscles beneath her gloves as she adjusts you more comfortably, and despite her calm exterior, there’s a flicker of something warmer in her eyes. “Does this mean I’m distracting you, Kafka?”

She leans back just slightly, her free hand reaching to push some stray locks of your hair behind your ear. "I don’t mind the distraction, as long as it’s you,” she murmurs, her voice low with that same hypnotic, teasing quality she’s known for. "Just don’t think you can get away with sitting on me without consequences, though."

Her fingers trace the edge of your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine as she smirks knowingly, her gaze locking with yours. She’s always the one in control, but in this moment, she’s giving you the reins, letting you test the boundaries she’s usually so careful to maintain.

As you lean in, your lips brushing against her ear, she doesn’t pull away, her breath hitching just slightly before she regains her composure. "Careful," she whispers, "I might just make you regret this."

[killerplink]

MELTDOWN

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: A rare sunny day in Gotham, the perfect excuse to lounge around and pick out a book. But with Jason Todd as your man? Yeah, reading was never really in the cards.

The AC hums in the background, cool air washing over your skin, but the heat outside is thick, the kind that clings to your body even indoors. It's rare to get a day this sunny, so you're making the most of it, already daydreaming about curling up in your favorite spot by the window with a book.

Jason, on the other hand, is trying to watch TV. Trying being the keyword.

Because there you are, standing in front of the bookshelf, back to him, wearing the shortest fucking shorts he's ever seen. And you, completely oblivious to the effect you're having on him, are bent over just slightly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you skim through the titles.

You don't even notice how you wiggle your ass when you move, how the fabric of your little shorts rides up with every shift. His eyes track every motion, his fingers twitching against his thigh. He should look away, should focus on the screen, but how the fuck is he supposed to do that when you're standing there looking like that?

You hum softly, fingers trailing along the spines of your books, lost in your own little world. The sunlight streams through the window, catching the smooth line of your legs, the soft curves of your thighs, and Jason's mouth goes dry.

You reach a little higher, stretching, standing on your tiptoes, and the bottom of your shorts rides up more, revealing the curve of your ass, just barely peeking out. Jason groans, low and deep in his chest, shifting on the couch.

He knows you're not doing it on purpose. You're not teasing him, not intentionally torturing him, but that somehow makes it worse. You're just existing, just being, completely unaware of how easy it is to drive him fucking crazy.

His dick throbs in his sweats, already hard, already aching, and he grits his teeth.

You finally find the book you were looking for, pulling it from the shelf with a pleased little noise, completely unaware of the way Jason is sitting behind you, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes dark and hungry, dick hard and throbbing.

And then you move again, wiggling your hips just slightly as you straighten up, and he inhales sharply through his nose. He leans back against the couch, spreading his legs a little, voice low and lazy when he finally calls you over.

"C'mere, doll."

You blink, looking up from your book, and when you turn, he's already watching you. His eyes are darker than before, hooded, and there's something about the way he's sitting—his arms draped over the back of the couch, his legs spread wide—that makes your stomach flutter.

You don't think much of it when you walk over, don't even question it when his hands grip your waist and pull. But instead of landing in his lap like you expect, you land on his thigh, the firm muscle pressing right between your legs.

You giggle, adjusting yourself, setting your book down next to him on the couch before wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Was that on purpose?" you tease.

His hands slide down, gripping your ass, squeezing firmly, pulling you closer. "What do you think?"

And then his mouth is on yours. The kiss is slow at first, but deep, his tongue sliding against yours, teasing, coaxing. He kisses like he fucks—dominant, unrelenting, thorough, and you love it. His fingers flex against your ass as he tilts his head, kissing you deeper, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he's trying to devour you.

A little moan slips from your lips, swallowed up by his mouth, but he hears it. Knows exactly what it means. Knows how easily you fall apart for him, how just kissing him makes you wet. You break the kiss with a breathless little gasp, flustered, and as you try to steady yourself, you accidentally shift, grinding against his thigh.

God. The thick muscle beneath you is so firm, so solid. The fabric of his sweats is a bit rough against your soft little shorts, and it's... good. Jason watches as your breath stutters, as your lashes flutter, as your fingers curl a little tighter into his shoulders.

He knows. His lips curl, his hands gripping your waist as he starts to move you, guiding you back and forth.

"Feel good, baby?"

Your face burns, and you know he can see it—how you're blushing, how flustered you are. You've done plenty of filthy shit with Jason, tried all sorts of things, but this? You've never tried this before. You never even thought about trying this before. And now you don't even understand why because it feels amazing.

His hands keep moving you, dragging you against the hard muscle of his thigh, setting a rhythm. It's effortless for him, his strength making you feel weightless as he rocks you against him, your clit pressing right against the firm muscle every time he pulls you forward. Your arousal already soaks through your panties, the thin lace already damp, and each grind leaves a little wet spot behind, darkening his sweats.

Jason groans, voice rough. "Look at you."

You try to, but your lashes flutter, head tilting back, lost in the slow friction, the way he's making you ride him. His eyes drop lower, watching the way your slick is soaking through, watching the growing wet patch you're leaving behind.

"Fuck," he rasps, "you're drippin', baby."

Your face burns hotter, a little whimper escaping your lips, and then... he stops. You blink, eyes flying open, dazed, confused. Your hips twitch, trying to move yourself, but it's not the same. Not as smooth, not as good.

Jason smirks. "Oh, what's wrong, doll?"

His voice is all teasing, all smug amusement. You pout, shifting, trying again, but you need him to move you, to help you. He just grins, leans back, makes a show of looking completely unbothered.

"You were havin' such a good time," he muses, cocking his head. "What happened?"

You whine softly, squirming, but he doesn't give in, just watches, entertained as you get more and more flustered.

"You want me to help you again?" he murmurs, voice low, gravelly. "Want me to make you cum just from grindin' on my fuckin' thigh?"

You squeeze your thighs, biting your lip, nodding. Jason hums, gripping your ass again, his fingers squeezing, dragging you just once against him. And then he stops again. Your breath hitches, frustration clear in your expression, and he just chuckles, tilting his head.

"Gotta ask real nice, doll."

He smirks, still so damn smug as he grips your hips, keeping you right where he wants you. Not grinding, not moving, just sitting on his thigh, aching and needy. Your whole body is thrumming, restless, desperate for more, and he knows it.

And then he starts bouncing his leg. It's slight, just a subtle movement, but holy fuck, the little jolts send shocks of friction straight to your clit, making you gasp, making you dig your nails into his shoulders.

"Oh?" he taunts, voice thick with amusement. "That feel good?"

Your breath catches, your pussy throbbing as he keeps doing it, that little bounce making your clit rub against his sweatpants over and over, teasing and torturous.

It's too much and not enough at the same time, your slick spreading, soaking into his pants, making your clit extra sensitive with every grind of fabric against your swollen little bud. Your thighs tremble, and he notices, one hand sliding up to grip your waist again, his fingers digging in.

"God, baby," he groans, "you're drippin'. So fuckin' messy."

His thigh is soaked, your slick spreading, making the fabric stick damply to his skin. And you can feel it, the way your folds are all swollen and slick, the way your pussy clenches down every time your clit gets that perfect little jolt of friction.

Your nipples are visible through your thin tank top, pressing against the fabric, aching to be touched, and Jason notices that too.

His other hand moves up, fingers slipping under your top, and before you can even react, he yanks it down. Your tits spill free, nipples pebbling instantly in the cool air, and he groans, his eyes dropping straight to them, dark and hungry.

"Fuck," he rasps, fingers skimming over the swell of your tits before he pinches one stiff nipple between his fingers.

Your body jerks at the contact, the sharp pinch sending another jolt of arousal straight to your clit. Jason chuckles low, dragging his thumb over the tight peak, teasing.

"So fuckin' pretty," he murmurs, squeezing one full, soft breast in his big hand, groaning at the way it fills his palm.

Your breathing is ragged, your head spinning, your whole body hyperaware of everything—his hands, his thigh, the way his fingers are rolling your nipple, making it throb, making your pussy clench.

And the fucker is still bouncing his leg. It's steady, relentless, those little jolts against your clit making you tremble, making your slick spread even more. Your pussy clenches again, a fresh wave of slick drenching your folds, and Jason feels it.

His grip on your waist tightens, his eyes flicking back up to yours. "Shit, pretty girl," he mutters, voice rough, "you're so fuckin' wet."

His thigh is so firm beneath you, strong, all solid muscle, and every bounce rubs your clit just right, sending a little pulse of pleasure through you. You can feel how swollen you are, how slick, your folds puffy and aching as you throb against his thigh. Every movement makes your pussy clench around nothing, makes your clit twitch, needy, so sensitive.

Jason groans, dragging his other hand back to your ass, squeezing, pulling you just a little closer. "You like this, huh?" he murmurs, voice teasing, smug. "Lettin' me use you like this? Rubbin' your sweet little pussy all over me?"

Your whole body burns, your clit pulsing. Jason fucking knows it, and of course, he stops bouncing his leg. You whimper immediately, hips twitching, chasing the friction, but he holds you still, his grip firm, fingers digging in.

"What's wrong, baby?" Jason coos, mock sympathy dripping from his tone, his voice rough with amusement. His thumb brushes over your hip, deceptively gentle, but his grip stays firm, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "Missin' it already?"

You pout, squirming just a little, testing him, but his hands tighten, unmoving, unyielding. Heat prickles along your skin, frustration bubbling up, and you don't even try to hide the needy whimper that escapes your lips.

He smirks, head tilting, dark eyes gleaming as he watches you struggle. "You want more?"

Your nod is immediate, quick, eager, desperate. Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers flex, just enough to remind you who's in charge, just enough to make you crave the pressure of his touch, but not giving it to you.

His voice drops lower, teasing, taunting. "Then beg, doll."

Your breath catches, eyes widening in disbelief. Beg? Like hell you would beg right now. You shake your head, lips parting as if to argue, but instead, your body moves on its own—hips shifting, rolling down against him, dragging your soaked cunt over the firm muscle of his thigh. If he isn't gonna help, fine. You'll take what you needed yourself.

Heat crawls up your neck, your cheeks burning. You know you probably look clumsy, your movements not as fluid as you'd like, but it doesn't fucking matter. Not when the friction makes you shudder, makes your clit throb, makes pleasure lick up your spine.

Jason chuckles, low and amused, his hands resting lazily at his sides like he's got all the time in the world. "Shit, look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with something smug, something downright filthy. "That desperate, huh? Thought you had more pride than this, baby."

"Shut up," you pant, biting down on your lip, refusing to meet his gaze even as your thighs tremble.

He hums, eyes flicking down to where you're grinding against him, slow and messy, his sweats glistening with your slick. "Nah, I don't think I will. You're fuckin' adorable like this. All worked up, gettin' yourself off on my thigh like a needy little thing. Thought you wanted my help?"

Your hands fist in his shirt, and you glare at him, though it holds no real heat, not when your body is already betraying you. "I don't need your help," you shoot back, hips pressing down harder just to prove your point.

He laughs, shaking his head. "Sure you don't."

He watches you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger, his jaw tight as you shift in his lap, your hips rolling down against his thigh harder. He can feel how wet you are, how every little movement leaves more of your slick smeared against his sweats, soaking through the fabric. And you're not even thinking anymore, not strategizing or teasing like you usually do.

No, you're needy, lost in it, panting softly, rocking against him like you need it to fucking breathe. His dick twitches, straining against his sweats, already leaking, the pressure fucking unbearable.

You always make him hard fast, but this? Watching you fuck yourself on his thigh, your tits bouncing, your face all flushed and desperate? He should make you beg. You always beg. That pretty little voice of yours, whining, pleading, desperate. But you don't this time.

You just keep grinding down, moaning, completely fucking lost, your hands clutching at his shoulders like you can't even think beyond how good it feels. Your tank top is still shoved down, tits spilling free, bouncing with every desperate little roll of your hips, your nipples stiff and aching.

Jason drags his hands over your thighs, his fingers curling into your soft flesh, his cock throbbing as he watches you lose yourself.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice rough, strained, "look at you."

You whimper, eyes fluttering shut, grinding harder, dragging your clit over the firm muscle of his thigh, soaking his sweats.

He groans, hands gripping you tighter. "You're makin' a fuckin' mess, baby," he mutters, voice thick with hunger. "So fuckin' sloppy."

Your body trembles, your cunt clenching down on nothing, the heat coiling low in your stomach, your orgasm already close.

You know he's watching, can feel the weight of his stare, can feel the way his fingers twitch against your thighs, like he's barely holding himself back.

You whimper again, shifting forward, arching your back, your tits angling toward his face, practically fucking presenting yourself to him. Jason groans, a low, needy sound, his hands flexing against your skin, his control slipping.

And then you moan, breathless, desperate, so fucking turned on you don't even realize you just said—"Feels so good, Jay—gonna cum—"

He snaps. His hands clamp down on your hips, fingers digging in, holding you still, tearing you away from the edge, making you groan in frustration.

"That's enough, baby," he growls, his voice low and rough like a warning.

His cock throbs hard, leaking precum into his sweats, so fucking hard it's painful, his control gone. He can feel your pussy dripping through your shorts, through his pants, sticky and hot and so much, and he fucking needs you now.

"Get on my dick," he orders, breathless, his grip tightening.

Your whole body jolts, a sharp whine spilling from your lips as you try to keep moving, try to grind down against him just a little more. You're right there, pleasure coiling tight, your cunt throbbing, so close you can almost taste it.

"Jay, b-but I'm s-so close—"

Your voice stutters, breaking on a desperate little sob, but before you can chase that high, his hand is on your jaw, firm but not forceful, tilting your face until your wide, glassy eyes meet his. His fingers press just enough to make you gasp, to make your lips part, and you barely have a second to register the dark hunger in his gaze before his other hand grips your ass, squeezing rough and possessive.

"You're gonna cum on my dick," he mutters, voice thick with heat, "or not at all."

A needy whimper slips from your throat, your thighs twitching as you try—fucking try—to move against him, but his grip is iron. Unyielding. Holding you still when all you want to do is grind, rub, anything to get yourself off. The frustration, the desperation, it makes you dizzy.

And then he's kissing you.

No, kissing isn't the right word for it. Jason crashes his mouth against yours, taking, devouring, a mess of tongue and teeth and heat. He licks into your mouth, deep and filthy, groaning when you suck on his tongue like you can't get enough, like you're starving for him.

Your fingers tremble as you reach between you, finding the thick length of his cock through his sweats, and he's so fucking hard, the heat of him searing even through the fabric. You palm him, rubbing slow, teasing, smearing his precum into the soft cotton. His breath shudders against your lips, his grip tightening on your ass before he slaps it.

The sharp sting shoots through you, a gasp ripping from your throat as his palm cracks against your ass, hard enough to make you jolt, make you keen, make you feel it even through your shorts. You shudder, fingers tightening around his cock, clenching around nothing, so fucking needy it hurts.

Jason pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, voice dark and thick with authority. "Get up."

You obey without thinking, your body moving before your brain catches up, legs shaky as you push yourself up, and then your eyes drop to his lap.

His sweatpants are ruined, absolutely fucking soaked, the gray fabric darkened with your arousal, clinging to his thigh. The sight sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, makes your pussy clench so hard it's damn near painful.

Jason smirks, fingers ghosting up your thigh, teasing. "Look what you did, pretty girl."

Your whole body burns, heat rushing up your neck, cheeks going pink as you stare at the mess you made of his sweatpants. You're always like this—shy, blushing even after all this time—but Jason fucking loves it. Loves how you can be so desperate one second and so bashful the next, like you don't know exactly what you do to him.

Before you can even stammer out a word, his fingers hook into the waistband of his sweats, and he pulls them down just enough to free his cock. Your breath catches, your thighs pressing together as he fists himself, slow and lazy, his hand gliding over the thick length, smearing precum along his flushed tip.

"C'mere, baby."

The rough rasp of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you step between his spread legs without hesitation. His hands move instantly, gripping both your shorts and panties in one swift motion, yanking them down your legs until they pool at your ankles. You step out of them, your bare skin prickling at the sudden exposure, your cunt so wet you can feel the slick coating your inner thighs.

Jason leans in, hands settling on your ass, pulling you closer until his mouth is right there, his breath hot against your needy, aching pussy. And then, his tongue darts out. Just the very tip, flicking against your clit in a teasing little stroke that has you gasping, hands flying into his hair as your knees threaten to buckle.

"Jay—fuck—"

He hums against you, the vibration making your whole body shudder, his fingers squeezing, kneading your ass as he licks you again, still light, still teasing, knowing it's not nearly enough. And then, a smack.

You whimper, your grip tightening in his hair as his palm lands on your ass again, the sharp sting making you jolt, making your clit throb. You're so fucking wet, so desperate, you can feel your slick dripping, smearing against his lips, his chin. But then he pulls away, leaving you panting, trembling.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark and hungry. "C'mere. Sit on it."

There's no hesitation. You straddle him in an instant, legs spreading wide over his lap, your drenched cunt dragging against his cock, smearing your slick over the hot, thick length of him. He groans low in his throat, his hands gripping your waist as you grind against him, needy and restless, your clit catching on the swollen head of his cock.

Your breath hitches, a sharp little gasp spilling from your lips at the sudden jolt of pleasure, your body tensing, shivering at the sensation of his slick, leaking tip rubbing against your throbbing clit.

Jason curses under his breath, his grip tightening. "Fuck... look at you, baby," he mutters, voice rough, almost strained. "You feel that? How fuckin' wet you are? Shit, you're gonna make a mess all over me before I even get my dick in you."

Your breath is shaky, your whole body trembling as you murmur, "Jay..."

The way you say his name—soft, needy, dripping with desperation—has him hissing through his teeth, his hands flexing against your waist as you grind down against him, your soaked pussy dragging over the length of his cock.

"Yeah, I know," he rasps, voice rough, barely holding onto his control. "I've got you, doll."

One of his hands slides to your thigh, gripping tight, and the other moves to your hip as he lifts you just a little, just enough to position himself right at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your slick, throbbing cunt. And before he can even think, even process anything, you're sinking down.

Slow, because he's big—so fucking big—but you're so goddamn wet, so fucking ready for him, that he slides in with almost no resistance. The stretch has you gasping, your walls molding around him, clinging, gripping, dragging against every inch as he fills you up. It's too much, not enough, the ache deep and delicious as you take him, inch by inch, your pussy opening up for him like it was fucking made for this.

Jason groans, his head tipping back against the couch, his fingers tightening on your hips. "Shit, baby—fuck, you feel so good," he mutters, his voice all rough edges, thick with heat.

You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, but you don't stop. Don't hesitate. You don't even bother taking him all the way before you start to move, lifting your hips just enough to slide back down, taking more of him every time, forcing yourself to stretch around him until you take him to the hilt, his cock bottoming out inside you, the thick head pressing right up against your cervix. The feeling knocks the breath from your lungs, your pussy clamping down on him hard, pulsing, squeezing, making his dick twitch deep inside you.

Jason lets out a low, guttural groan, his fingers digging into your flesh. He shifts just a little, adjusting beneath you, settling into the perfect position, the one that lets him thrust up into you if he wants, fucking you deeper. But you don't wait for him to take over.

You start moving again, rolling your hips, fucking yourself on his cock, letting the stretch turn into pure, dizzying pleasure as you take him over and over, your pussy gripping him tightly. Every drag of his thick length against your walls sends shivers through you, every little shift making your clit throb, making your breath come in soft little pants.

Jason watches you, eyes dark, half lidded, completely fucking wrecked. "Look at you," he mutters, his grip tightening. "Fuckin' yourself on my dick like a desperate little thing."

You whimper, rocking against him harder, needing more, needing everything. And then he leans in, his mouth latching onto your breast, licking, sucking, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he closes his lips around it and sucks.

A broken moan rips from your throat, your head falling back as pleasure slams into you, your walls clenching down around him tighter. The room is filled with the obscene, wet sounds of your slick pussy taking him over and over, every roll of your hips making his cock glisten, coated in your arousal.

Each time you lift yourself, it's slow, dragging, your walls clenching as if trying to keep him inside, and when you drop back down, taking him to the hilt, there's a soft, messy squelch that makes Jason groan, his fingers flexing against your hips.

"Shit," he mutters, his voice thick, nearly slurred. "You're so fuckin' wet, baby. Listen to that—fuckin' dripping all over my dick."

And you are. There's a mess where your bodies meet, slick smeared across his lap, the base of his cock absolutely drenched. Your clit throbs each time you grind down, catching against his pubic bone, making your breath hitch, making your thighs shake.

Jason doesn't stop sucking on your tits, his mouth hot and hungry, his tongue swirling around your nipple before his teeth graze it, making you gasp. He latches on again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his other hand coming up to squeeze the soft flesh, thumb swiping over your pebbled nipple before he moves to the next, biting, licking, leaving messy, dark little bruises all over your skin.

You're fucking yourself stupid on his cock, chasing your high, using him like a toy, grinding, bouncing, moaning with every slick, filthy movement. The pleasure is overwhelming, building too fast, too much, your cunt gripping him, pulsing around his cock, squeezing so tight you can feel every ridge, every vein, the heavy, thick weight of him inside you making you delirious.

And then it hits you. Your moan is sharp, breathless, your whole body going tense as your orgasm crashes over you. Your walls spasm around his cock, clenching and fluttering, squeezing him in rhythmic waves as pleasure washes through you, hot and dizzying, so intense it almost hurts. Your thighs shake, your hands fisting in his hair, your whole body trembling as you cry out, completely undone.

Jason groans, his jaw going tight, his fingers bruising against your skin as he holds you still, pinning you in place. "That's it, baby—fuck, that's it," he rasps, watching you fall apart. "Look at you. Feels good, huh? That's what you needed?"

But he's not done with you. Before you can even catch your breath, his grip tightens, and then he fucks up into you. Hard. Fast. Deep.

The force of it knocks the air from your lungs, your body jolting with every brutal thrust. He's relentless, slamming his dick into you, dragging it against your sensitive, still clenching walls, punching soft little gasps from your throat as he fills you over and over. The stretch, the heat, the way his cock pounds into that sweet spot inside you—it's almost too much, almost overwhelming, your legs trembling from the sheer intensity of it.

"Fuck, baby," Jason growls, his voice rough, nearly wrecked. "You wanted this, yeah? Fuckin' taking me so good—so goddamn tight, still squeezin' me."

Your head tilts back, your body limp in his grip, letting him use you, letting him fuck you the way he wants, the way you both need. Every thrust is deep, hard, his dick splitting you open, dragging against your slick walls, sending aftershocks of pleasure through your overstimulated body.

Jason keeps fucking into you, deep and relentless, his grip firm, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His cock drags against your slick walls, sliding in and out with ease, each thrust forcing little, choked moans from your throat, every slam of his hips making your tits bounce, making the couch creak beneath you. And he fucking teases, the bastard.

"What were you thinkin', pretty girl?" he rasps, breathless but still in control, still completely focused on ruining you. "Wearin' those fuckin' shorts... bendin' over like that..."

You try to respond, you really do, but all that comes out is a whimper, a breathless, desperate moan. Your head is spinning, your body burning, every roll of his hips shoving you further into that heady, fucked out haze.

"Yeah?" Jason huffs out a low chuckle, his thumb stroking over your hip. "That what you wanted, baby? You wanted me to fuck you stupid?"

"Yes—fuck," you gasp, a sharp moan cutting through your words when he shifts, angling his thrusts just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your whole body shudder. "There—baby, please—fuck—"

Your thoughts are scrambled, your brain a mess of heat and pleasure and Jason, Jason, Jason.

Every time his dick sinks into you, you're done for. Because no matter how long you've been together, no matter how many times he's had you like this—wrecked and dripping and stuffed so full of him—it never gets old. He never gets old.

The way he touches you, the way he moves inside you, the way he always makes sure to shift his weight to his elbows, to keep you pinned beneath him without ever crushing you, even when he's fucking you into the mattress like he's losing his goddamn mind. It's never been like this before.

Not for you, and not for him.

He looks down, watches how your pussy swallows his cock, how your greedy little cunt clings to him, sucking him in deep, creaming all over his dick, leaving a messy, wet sheen every time he pulls back. He groans, his grip tightening, his jaw clenching as he watches himself fuck into you, watches the way you take it.

Jason's had his fair share of girls. A past he never tries to hide, never lies about. Before you, he took what he needed from anyone willing, let them warm his bed and spent all his frustration and loneliness inside them, over and over again, until he could pretend for a second that it meant something. And it never did. It never could.

Not until you. Maybe it's the way you let him manhandle you, let him be rough, let him fuck you exactly how he wants, because you know he'd never hurt you. Maybe it's the way your pussy takes him so perfectly, like you were made for him. Or maybe, maybe it's because it's you.

Because he loves you, and it's annoying sometimes, how much he actually loves you, how much he needs you, but it's also the best fucking thing in his life. Jason groans, deep and low, his hips snapping harder, his control slipping. And fuck, that sound drives you insane.

The way he moans, rough and wrecked and desperate, makes your cunt squeeze him tighter, makes you whimper, makes your body move against his without thinking. Your tits bounce with every thrust, your moans getting higher, sharper, and he just keeps fucking into you, deep, filthy, perfect.

You lean in, desperate, catching his mouth in a kiss that's justr as messy, just as filthy as the way he's fucking you. It's all moans and gasps and tongues, wet and hungry, your mouths moving together with the same frenzied rhythm as your bodies. His lips are hot, insistent, his tongue sliding against yours, sucking, licking, groaning into you.

Your breath hitches when his teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging, a sharp little sting before he soothes it with his tongue. It's all so sloppy—spit slick and desperate, barely audible over the wet, obscene sounds of his cock splitting you open.

Because he's still fucking you. Still rolling his hips up into you, still dragging that thick, heavy cock in and out of your dripping cunt, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And you're so close.

Your body is thrumming, tight with heat, every thrust pushing you closer and closer to that edge again. Your pussy clenches around him, gripping him, sucking him in, your walls pulsing around his dick. You can feel perfectly the way he stretches you, the way he fills you, the way he drags against every sensitive spot inside you, pushing deep, so fucking deep.

His breathing is ragged, his rhythm faltering just slightly, his hips jerking up into you with more urgency, more need. His fingers tighten, digging into your skin, his control slipping, his groans rough and wrecked as he watches the way your greedy little cunt keeps sucking him in, taking him, milking him.

"Fuck—" he growls, the sound vibrating against your lips. "You feel that, baby? Feel how fuckin' deep I am?"

You whimper into his mouth, nodding, gasping against his lips when he slams up into you, harder, faster, fucking you like he's losing it. And good God, he is. He's so fucking close, and so are you, and he's gonna make you cum with him.

Every time he bottoms out, his skin slaps against your clit, that little jolt of pressure making you cry out, making your whole body tremble. His dick fucks into you so good, stretching you, filling you, rubbing against every perfect, sensitive spot inside you. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him, soaking him, every thrust dragging wet, filthy sounds from your slick, messy cunt.

And you're right there, right on the edge, so fucking close you can taste it.

You moan against his lips, panting, whimpering, "Baby, I'm so close—"

Jason groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot, uneven. "I know, doll," he rasps, hips snapping up into you, deep and relentless. "C'mon, lemme feel it."

And you do. The moment he slams in again, hitting that perfect spot, his cock stuffing you full, you break. Your orgasm slams into you, so hard it knocks the air from your lungs, your whole body locking up, shuddering, a long, wrecked moan spilling from your lips. Your cunt pulses around him, gripping him, milking him, your slick dripping down his dick, coating his sweats, making a messy, soaked patch right where you're riding him.

And Jason—fuck, Jason's right there with you. The second your pussy clenches down on him, his control shatters. A deep, wrecked groan rumbles from his chest, his arms tightening around you as he fucks up into you, hard, deep, sloppy. His cock twitches, throbbing, and then he's spilling, hot and thick, his cum shooting deep inside you, filling you up, so much it's already leaking out around his cock, smearing between your thighs, dripping down onto his sweats.

He grits his teeth, his hips jerking, his breath ragged as he rides it out, grinding you down onto him, making sure you take every last drop. And you feel the warmth spreading inside you, feel the way his cum drips from your messy, wrecked cunt, mixing with your slick, sticky and obscene.

You shudder, your body weak, legs shaking, a soft whimper slipping from your lips as you lean in, catching his mouth in another kiss. It's slow and deep and lazy, both of you gasping into each other's mouth, completely spent, completely ruined.

Jason loves it. Loves the way you feel, loves the way you taste, loves the way you're still clinging to him, still keeping him deep inside.

Your lips stay on his, slow, lazy in a way that only comes when you're completely wrecked, bodies still tangled together. His cock is still inside you, still so fucking hard, twitching every time your walls flutter around him, overstimulated and messy.

You sigh into his mouth, your body melting, boneless against him, and Jason groans low, his hands dragging up your sides, squeezing at your waist before moving higher, cupping your tits, thumbing at your sensitive nipples. He drinks in the way you whimper against his lips, his tongue flicking against yours, his cock giving a slow, thick throb inside you.

And before you can even process it, he moves. His grip tightens, his muscles flex, and suddenly, your back hits the cushions, a surprised gasp slipping from your lips. Jason just grins, that fucking smirk playing on his lips as he spreads you open, settling between your thighs, his hands gripping the backs of your knees.

"Fuck," he mutters, dark eyes locked on your pussy. "Look at that."

You can feel his cum, warm and sticky, leaking out of you, dripping onto the couch, so much of it, messy and wet. Jason watches, jaw tightening, nostrils flaring, and then his fingers are there, spreading your folds, teasing, dipping into the slick mess between your thighs.

"You tryna waste it, baby?" he murmurs, voice low, rough, teasing. "Nah. Can't have that."

And before you can even think of a response, he pushes back in. Slow, deep, fucking deliberate, his dick stretching you open again, filling you up all over, pushing everything right back where it belongs. You moan, your back arching, your legs trembling, and Jason grins, watching the way your body reacts, watching the way your messy, used pussy takes him.

He stays there for a second, buried to the hilt, letting you feel the way he throbs inside you, and then, he yanks his shirt off. Because he needs you closer. Needs to feel your tits against him, your soft, warm skin pressed to his, your hard nipples dragging against his chest.

His hands slip beneath you, gripping your ass, pulling you even tighter against him, his breath hot against your ear as he groans, "That's better, doll."

It's so different from earlier. Not fast like before, not rough, just deep, slow, deliberate thrusts that sink his thick, still hard cock all the way in, filling you to the fucking brim, stretching you open over and over like he's savoring every second.

Like he's feeling every clench of your walls, the heat of you wrapped around him, sucking him in so greedily that he has to take a breath through his teeth, has to focus just to hold onto his self control.

Your hands clutch at his back, nails digging in, scratching at the muscle there as he sinks in again, slow, pushing deep, stretching you open all over again. His hips press flush against yours, burying himself all the way, his cock twitching inside you before he pulls back, so fucking slow it makes you whimper. He almost slips out completely, just the thick, leaking head inside you, before he pushes in again, making sure you feel every inch of him, making sure you take him.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice low, smug, dripping with satisfaction as he watches you tremble beneath him. "You feel that? Feels good, huh?"

Your moan is shaky, your body arching up into him, desperate for more friction. "So good," you breathe, your fingers tightening against his back, dragging down, leaving marks.

Jason groans, loving the sting of it, the way you claw at him, completely at his mercy, wrecked and desperate and so fucking perfect.

"Yeah, I know," he breathes, his lips brushing over your temple, down your cheek, his voice warm and teasing. "So fuckin' needy, huh? Never get enough of this dick, do you?"

You shake your head, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, but he doesn't let you rush it. He moves at his own pace, slow, steady, dragging it out, making you feel every stretch, every slide, every inch of his thick, leaking dick splitting you open.

And God, this is rare because he rarely fucks you like this, taking his time, making it last. Usually, Jason loses it the second he's inside you, fucking you rough, desperate, starving. But when he does this? When he fucks you slow, deep, teasing? It's a different kind of ruin.

Your thoughts are a mess, a hazy, fucked out spiral of Yes, more, please, and Fuck, I love this man, because you do. You love everything about him—his mouth, his hands, his fucking dick, the way he's so big compared to you, muscles hard under your fingertips, his broad frame caging you in.

But no matter how big he is, how strong, he never crushes you, always mindful of his weight, of the way he holds you, of how he makes you feel. Even when he's wrecking you, fucking you into the mattress or bending you over the nearest surface, he always makes sure you can take it, always makes sure you're okay.

And Jason? Jason is fucking losing it.

You're so fucking tight, so wet, so warm, clenching around him with every slow thrust, dragging him deeper, sucking him back in every time he pulls out. He watches your face, the way your lips part, the way your brows furrow, the way your cheeks are flushed with heat. You're so fucking pretty, all messy and sweaty, pupils blown wide, wrecked just for him.

"Fuck," he breathes, gripping your waist, his thumbs pressing into your hips. "Look at you. Always so fuckin' perfect, huh?"

His eyes drop down, watching the way your pussy takes him, greedy and desperate, stretched wide around his thick cock. Watching how every slow, deep thrust makes more cum spill out, soaking his dick, his thighs, the couch.

He groans, low and deep, his jaw clenching as he pulls out again, until just his tip is inside, teasing your entrance, and then he gives it to you. All of it. One long, slow thrust, sinking in deep, filling you up, making you feel it.

And you do.

Jason's hips roll, smooth and slow, fucking you deep, stretching you all over again. His cum makes everything wetter, messier, and every time he sinks in, you feel it—hot, thick, dripping out around his cock, probably soaking into the couch, but it's not like it's the first time.

And then he kisses you. Deep, sloppy, tongues sliding together, hot and wet and desperate, little moans spilling into his mouth as he fucks into your soaked, puffy cunt, never stopping, never slowing, making you feel every inch, every drag of his thick cock against your walls.

You whimper against his lips when he bottoms out, when his hips press flush against yours, grinding his pelvis against your clit, forcing another moan from your throat.

"Yeah," he murmurs against your mouth, his voice low, satisfied, loving the way you react to him, the way your pussy flutters around his dick, your moans getting higher, needier. "That's the spot, huh? Feel good, baby?"

You nod, words escaping you, lost in the slow, steady grind of his cock, the deep, intense pleasure that builds every time he presses in, presses deep, rubbing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Jason groans, pulling back, sitting upright, needing to watch because he's obsessed with you, but your pussy? That's a close second.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open wider, watching his dick slide in and out, coated in slick and cum, so wet it makes little squelching sounds every time he thrusts in, so slow, so deep.

"Fuck," he breathes, eyes heavy-lidded, watching the mess between your legs. "Look at you. Such a pretty little pussy, baby. Always takes me so well."

His thumb drags across the base of his cock, catching some of the cum that's leaking out, and then he smears it onto your puffy, sensitive clit, making you gasp, your whole body jerking as your pussy clenches down on him.

"Jay, no," you whimper, head thrashing against the couch cushions, overstimulated, heat prickling up your spine.

But Jason just shushes you, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your clit as he keeps fucking you, deep, torturous, his voice a warm, teasing hum.

"Shhh," he murmurs, eyes flicking up to your face, drinking in the way your lips part, the way your brows furrow, the way your whole body trembles underneath him. "I know you can handle more."

His thrusts stay slow, controlled, but his thumb doesn't stop, teasing your clit, drawing soft little circles, every touch making your cunt flutter around him, dragging him deeper, making him groan.

"There you go, baby," he coaxes, his voice thick with praise, low and warm. "That's my good girl."

And fuck, you want to protest, want to tell him you can't, that it's too much, but you can't speak, can't do anything but moan, your whole body trembling as he works you open all over again, coaxing another orgasm out of you.

Jason keeps it slow, steady, every deep stroke making you feel every thick inch of him, every drag of his cock against your swollen, sensitive walls. And his thumb? Torturous. Pressing, rubbing, working your clit in those teasing little circles that keep you right there, trembling, on the edge of something intense, something overwhelming.

Your hands claw at his arms, his shoulders, needing something to hold onto, nails biting into his skin as your breath stutters. "J—Jay, fuck—"

He groans, loving the way you stutter, the way you whimper as your cunt flutters around him, trying so hard to pull him even deeper.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, low and rough, watching you with that sharp, hungry gaze, his thumb never stopping. "Take it. Lemme feel you cum again."

"I—I can't—" your voice is high, desperate, your body trembling beneath him, pinned open and at his mercy.

Jason chuckles, breathless, because he knows you can. He can feel the way your thighs twitch, the way your pussy squeezes him, the way your moans turn into little gasps, little pleas.

"Yeah, you can," he coaxes, voice dark with satisfaction, with praise. "You're my good girl, aren't you? Always take my dick so fuckin' good, baby."

Your head tips back, mouth open on a silent moan as your whole body locks up, that heat in your belly snapping, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, so intense you can't breathe.

Your pussy clamps down, hard, pulsing around him, and Jason grits his teeth, a sharp groan tearing from his throat as he feels it, as you milk his cock, your walls squeezing him in a tight, rhythmic pulse.

"Fuck, there you go," he groans, his hands tightening on your thighs, pinning you in place as you writhe, as your legs shake, as your back arches. "Fuck, baby, just like that—God, you're so tight when you cum—"

Your moans are high, whimpering, breathless, your whole body shuddering as the pleasure crashes over you in waves, rolling through your limbs, leaving you shaking, wrecked, soaking his cock in your release, dripping down between your thighs, making an absolute mess on him, on the couch, on everything.

Jason groans, head tipping back for a second, jaw clenched, trying to hold onto his own control, because you feel too good, too tight, too perfect around him.

"Fuck," he grits out, a shudder rolling down his spine as you shift your hips, still fluttering around him, still riding that high, oversensitive, overstimulated, but still wanting more.

"Greedy little thing," he huffs, pressing a hand to your lower belly, pinning you down as he pulls back just enough, then thrusts in again, slow, deep, making sure you feel every thick inch of him pressing back into your still pulsing cunt.

"Jay—" your voice is a gasp, back arching, nails digging deeper into his arms, his back.

"You like that?" he teases, voice rough, teasing, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. "Thought you were done, baby. Thought you couldn't take anymore."

Your answer is a whimper, your hips rolling, pussy desperate, still throbbing around him. And Jason grins, dark and satisfied, watching you, taking in the way you squirm, the way your messy, fucked out expression makes his dick twitch deep inside you.

"Nah," he murmurs, deep, his thumb slipping back down to your clit, making you jerk against him. "We're not done yet, pretty girl."

And he starts moving again. Jason keeps it slow, keeps it deep, never really pulling out, just grinding into you with those shallow, teasing thrusts that have your whole body shaking, that make your toes curl every time the thick head of his cock drags right against that spot that makes your vision go white.

And his thumb? Fucking lazy, the slowest little circles on your swollen clit, just enough to keep you moaning, to keep your body locked in that unbearable, delicious tension, just on the edge of something that keeps slipping away.

"Jay—" you whimper, thighs trembling, voice barely above a gasp. "Kiss me—"

And he doesn't hesitate. His hand leaves your clit, gives you a second of relief, but his dick? That's still fucking into you, thick and hot, every inch of him stretching you open, keeping you full.

Jason braces himself on his elbows, pressing down, caging you beneath him, his chest flush against yours, his skin hot, damp, his weight pinning you in place. Your arms wrap around his neck, one hand fisting into his hair, tugging him down, and when your lips crash together, it's not even a kiss. It's a mess.

All tongue, all heat, all desperation. His mouth moves rough against yours, teeth catching your bottom lip, pulling, making you gasp, and he growls into it before licking into your mouth, deep, filthy, hungry.

You whimper, clutching at him, hips rolling up, meeting his slow, shallow thrusts with your own, and he moans into your mouth, deep and gritty, swallowing every little sound you make, like he can't get enough of them.

Your tongues slide together, wet and messy, lips parting just enough for breathless little gasps, for soft, slick noises, the sound of your desperate, open mouthed kisses barely audible over the steady slap of his cock driving into you.

Jason sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping, soothing it with his tongue before diving back in, kissing you stupid, like he's starving for you, like he needs to be as deep inside your mouth as he is inside your cunt.

His hips stutter, just a little, just enough for him to groan, and he pulls back just enough to mutter against your lips, voice wrecked, rough, low.

"Fuck, baby," he pants. "You kiss me like that, and I'm gonna fuckin' lose it."

And then he fucks into you again. But this time, it's harder. Jason grips your thigh, fingers digging in as he wrenches it up, spinning it against his side, forcing you open, spreading you wide so he can fuck you deeper.

And fuck, he does. The next thrust has you crying out, his cock slamming into you, thick and hot and so fucking deep it feels like he's in your gut.

"Yes, baby," you moan, voice breathless, needy, "please—fuck, Jay, harder, please—"

And something in him just fucking snaps.

"Shit—" Jason groans, hips snapping forward, grip tightening on your thigh as he pounds into you, fast, hard, fucking relentless, grinding deep with every thrust, forcing your body to take it.

And you do, pussy gripping him so fucking tight, so fucking wet, squeezing down every time he drags out, making it harder for him to fucking breathe, let alone think.

You yank him down, kissing him again, sucking on his tongue, gasping into his mouth, swallowing every moan he can't fucking hold back, because he never means to make noise, but you always fucking drag it out of him.

And the sounds, God, the sounds. The filthy, slick noises of your pussy, soaking fucking wet, clenching around his cock, mixed with the deep, rhythmic slap of skin against skin as he wrecks you. It's fucking obscene.

And Jason? He's gone.

Every time you beg for it like that, every time you moan his name in that breathy, fucked out little voice, his whole fucking brain goes feral. Like he has to give it to you. Like he has to fuck you harder, deeper, until you can't think, until you're just a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him, gripping onto him like you need him.

And the way you take it, the way your body just gives under him, the way your pussy stretches around his dick, milking him every time he pulls back, the way you're already so fucking soaked he can see your slick smeared all over his cock, dripping down onto the fucking couch. It's perfect.

And you? You never thought rough sex was for you. Because your exes? Fucking awful at it. Too rough in the wrong ways, not even caring if it hurt, just chasing their own pleasure with no fucking clue how to make it feel good for you.

But Jason? Jason ruined you. Because with him, it's never too much, it's never bad, it's just fucking perfect. Every fucking time. Because he knows exactly what you need, exactly how to fuck you, exactly how to make you soaking wet with just his fucking kisses.

And when he fucks you like this? When he's all rough edges and barely contained hunger, obsessed with making you fall apart on his dick, making you moan for him? You can't help but fucking love it.

You can't stop kissing him. It's desperate, messy, all open mouths and tangling tongues, gasps and moans swallowed between the obscene slap of his hips against yours.

Jason's fucking you hard, sweat slicking his skin, dripping down his chest, his arms, his forehead, but he doesn't slow down. Not for a second. His hand cups the top of your head, fingers slipping into your damp hair, tilting you up, controlling the kiss as he moves.

And fuck, every time he thrusts into you, your tits rub against his chest, nipples aching, so fucking sensitive, making you whimper against his mouth.

Jason groans—deep, guttural—because he feels it. Feels your hard little nipples dragging against his sweaty skin, feels the way your whole fucking body responds to him, the way you arch, the way you fucking shake every time he grinds deep.

His lips move slower, deeper, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, biting, making you fucking whimper before licking back into you, wet and messy, all slick tongues and panting gasps, completely fucking filthy.

And his dick—fuck, his dick. It's fucking throbbing inside you, fucking into your swollen, wrecked little cunt, stretching you out over and over again, grinding in so deep. And he loves it. Loves how fucking ruined you are beneath him.

Loves how wet, how hot, how fucking tight your pussy is, squeezing down on him every time he moves, milking his cock, making it so much fucking harder to keep from cumming, but he's not stopping until you're a fucking mess for him. Not until you can't stop moaning his name, not until you're completely fucking gone for him.

Jason breaks the kiss, lips wet and swollen, a string of spit still connecting your mouths before it snaps, breaking over your chin as he groans against your cheek.

And then, his mouth is on you again. Licking a hot, wet stripe down your jaw, sucking just beneath it, dragging his teeth across your pulse, biting, hard enough to make you whimper, make you shudder beneath him, make your cunt squeeze down around his thick cock so tight that he fucking moans against your skin.

"Yeah, that's my girl," he mutters, voice rough, heavy, wrecked, his tongue soothing over the bruise blooming beneath your skin before moving lower, kissing over your throat, your collarbone, sucking little red and purple marks into every inch of bare skin he can find. "My pretty fuckin' girl."

His hands grip your thighs, his breath hot against your sweat slick skin as he fucks you deep, thick cock stretching your swollen, puffy cunt open, slick and hot and dripping around him as he thrusts in hard, fast, grinding deep enough that his swollen tip kisses your cervix, sending sharp little sparks of pleasure up your spine every time his hips snap forward.

And it's so much. Too much. Your legs start to shake, and you try to push at his arms, whimpering, a little gasp of, "J-Jay—s'too—too much—" slipping past your lips, but Jason just shushes you, one big palm pressing flat against your belly, pushing down, making you feel every inch of his dick as he grinds deeper.

"Nah, baby, you can take it," he murmurs, lips dragging along the shell of your ear, his voice all syrupy sweet, like he isn't fucking you brainless. "You're my good girl, right?"

A particularly hard thrust makes you jolt, your tits bouncing, and Jason moans again, snapping his hips forward again just to watch them move. "Yeah, you are. You're my good fuckin' girl, lettin' me fuck this pretty little pussy the way I need—"

And then you're gone. A broken little cry catches in your throat, your back arching as heat bursts through you, rolling, intense, so fucking deep that it makes your eyes sting, makes your chest shake, makes you sniffle and whimper and tremble beneath him as your cunt clamps down on his cock, gushing all over him, his thighs, the couch, soaking everything, completely fucking ruining him.

"Ohh, fuck, baby—"

He moans, voice deep, guttural, and then his hips stutter, his fingers dig into your thighs, his cock twitches, and he fucking spills.

Hot, thick spurts of cum fill you up, pump into you as he thrusts, slow and deep, like he wants to make sure you feel every drop, like he needs to make sure it stays, and he shudders, breath catching as he moans against your throat, pressing sloppy little kisses there as he fucks it all back into you, slow and deep, completely fucking wrecking your swollen, sensitive little pussy.

"Jesus, baby," he gasps, voice all rough, shaky, as he grinds deep, like he just can't stop, like he needs to fuck you soft, sweet, long after you've both cum, just to feel it, just to keep it there. "So fuckin' good for me. So fuckin' perfect."

And even when he stops moving, when he just stays there, buried deep inside you, keeping his cum warm in your soaked, wrecked little cunt, he still doesn't pull out.

You're both panting, bodies slick with sweat, chests rising and falling against each other as you try to catch your breath. Jason is still inside you, cock still buried balls deep, his last few slow pulses spilling the very last of his cum into you.

And he stays there. Just stays, his hands smoothing over your sides, rubbing slow, lazy circles into your heated skin, so gentle despite his rough hands, despite the way he'd been fucking you minutes ago, like he wanted to fuck you apart.

But now? Now he's soft. Tender. Sweet.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, your nose, your jaw, anywhere his lips can reach, whispering a soft, "Jesus, pretty girl," as he trails his mouth over your skin.

And then he kisses you. Slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to savor you, taste you, keep you, his lips moving against yours. Easy, affectionate, his tongue slipping past your parted lips to lick into your mouth, coaxing little moans from your throat as you kiss him back.

It's deep, wet, warm, every little sound you make swallowed up by him, every shaky breath shared between you, his hands still rubbing over your sides, grounding you, keeping you close.

But of course he can't help himself.

His mouth drags down your jaw, down the column of your throat, over your collarbone, kissing over every bruise he left behind, soothing each one with his tongue, before he moves lower, down to your tits.

And fuck, he's always been obsessed with your tits.

He groans, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling over the pebbled flesh, dragging slow, wet circles around it before he bites, sharp enough to make you gasp, make you arch into his mouth, make your cunt pulse around his cock, still warm and thick inside you.

"Fuck, baby," Jason groans, voice wrecked.

One hand palming your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he sucks at the other, pulling deep little gasps from your lips, from your chest.

A little moan of "Jay—" slips out, making him shiver against you.

And as his mouth moves lower, down the swell of your breast, sucking little bruises along the soft flesh, marking you up all over again.

You whimper when he shifts, his cock still deep inside you, still hard, still filling you up, and Jason shushes you softly, cupping your cheek with one large, calloused hand, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he leans in, pressing the softest kiss to the tip of your nose.

"You did so good, baby," he murmurs, voice all warm and low, lips trailing down to your cheek, kissing you there, too. "So fuckin' good for me."

You sigh, utterly blissed out, your body heavy and warm and hazy with pleasure as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing tiny, sleepy kisses against his lips, one after the other. Soft. Sweet.

Jason laughs against your mouth, lips curling against yours, and you murmur, "I love you so much, baby."

And God, he really feels it. Feels it like a punch to the gut, feels it like it's branding him, like it's sinking into his bones.

"I love you too, doll," he rasps, breath warm against your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

And then you kiss him again because you can't help yourself. Sloppy, hungry, all wet heat and messy tongues, every little moan and gasp swallowed up, shared between you, your lips moving against his in lazy, needy little licks, your fingers tugging at his hair, keeping him there, making him groan into your mouth.

Jason tilts his head, deepening it, licking into you slow, teasing, his teeth catching your bottom lip and tugging, making you whimper before he soothes the sting with his tongue, one hand sliding down side, gripping you like he needs you.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Jason pulls back, breaking the kiss, and your lips chase his on instinct, a whimper escaping as he starts to pull out.

"Jay..."

You barely recognize your own voice, raw and sweet, your body still humming from the aftershocks.

He grins, all lazy and smug, his forehead pressing against yours as his hands hold your hips still. "Shhh, baby, just relax."

His dick drags against your swollen walls, the slow, steady drag making your thighs twitch as he pulls out, his thick head slipping free with an obscene, wet sound.

And then his gaze drops. Jesus Christ. There's a few views Jason loves. You, at any hour, any day. Sleepy, sweet, wrapping yourself around him in bed like a feral little gremlin. You, grinning at him, teasing him, saying you love him, with that look in your eyes like he's your whole world.

And then there's this. You, fucked out. All messy and wrecked, thighs spread open, your flushed, sweaty body still trembling under him, your swollen, puffy little cunt all soaked with his cum.

His jaw tightens, chest heaving, his cock twitching where it rests between your legs, gleaming with your slick and his release. You're so fucking pretty, all flushed and warm and his, your pussy still trying to clench around something that isn't there. It makes him want to spread you open, push every single drop of cum back inside just to watch it spill out again, to hear the little sounds you'd make.

Jason hums, dragging his fingers down your thigh, slow, teasing, before bringing them between your legs.

You whimper, hips twitching as he spreads you open, his thick fingers pressing into your puffy, swollen folds, gathering up the mess he made, his own cum sticky and wet as he smears it back against your pussy, dragging his fingers over your puffy clit, making your entire body jolt.

"Jay—"

Your breath hitches, the overstimulation making your back arch. His fingers stroke over your clit again, lazy, teasing, watching how you drip for him, his cum mixed with yours making everything wetter, sliding down the cleft of your ass. He loves the way your lips tremble, the way your tiny hand suddenly wraps around his wrist, a weak little grip as you try to stop him.

"Jay—it's too much—"

Your voice is all breathless, barely even there, but he hears it, and fuck if it doesn't make him harder. Jason chuckles, deep and satisfied, his fingers slipping down, spreading you apart with both thumbs just to watch as even more of his cum drips out, pearly and thick.

"Shit," he mutters, watching mesmerized, obsessed. "Fuckin' look at you, pretty girl. So messy for me, huh? Can't keep a single drop in that tight little pussy, can you?"

You whimper, pressing your thighs together, trying to hide, but Jason just tsks, shaking his head as he swipes two fingers through your folds again, smearing his release up and around your puffy clit.

"Jay—" you gasp, hips jerking when he strokes you just right, but your hand snaps out, catching his wrist before he can do it again, your fingers curling weakly around him. "Jay, no—it's too much—"

He fucking loves when you get like this, when you're so far gone, so sensitive and spent and desperate all at once, your poor little pussy still clenching around nothing as your voice shakes.

Jason just chuckles, rubbing your clit in slow, maddening circles as he leans down, lips ghosting over yours. "Sorry, doll," he rasps, though he doesn't sound sorry at all, his lips curling into a smirk as he smears more of his cum over you. "I can't help it."

"Jason—" you squirm, hips twitching, body shuddering as he gives one last teasing swirl over your swollen clit before he finally relents, drawing his hand away.

He smirks, bringing his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean, groaning at the taste, before he shifts back, pushing up onto his knees, the heat of him leaving you. You watch through half lidded eyes as he strips off his sweatpants and boxers, the fabric sticking to his thighs from how messy you both got, and he makes a face at the mess before letting them drop to the floor.

"Gotta toss these in the wash anyway," he mutters.

Before you can even think to say anything, he's scooping you up, arms warm and strong around you, and you gasp, then giggle as you snuggle into his chest.

"Jay—" you smile against his skin, pressing your lips to his jaw, your nose nuzzling against his cheek. "you're so warm..."

"Yeah?" he grins, squeezing you just a little, holding you tighter as he stands. "C'mon, I'll clean you up real quick so you can enjoy your book while it's still sunny."

You huff a soft little sound against his skin, burying your nose into his neck. "Will you stay with me?"

Jason chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "On your armchair?"

"Mhmm," you nod against him, arms curling around his neck as you murmur, "I wanna snuggle with you."

"Deal, baby."

He presses a kiss to your hair, voice all soft, so damn fond as he carries you toward the bathroom.

Half an hour later, as promised—though barely, because Jason was this close to fucking you again in the shower—you're curled up with him in your favorite armchair, a place that feels just as much like home as the man holding you.

The chair is big, oversized and plush, made for stretching out, perfect for long reading sessions and lazy afternoons. A fluffy blanket is draped over the back, the same one you always pull over yourself when you get lost in a book, and Jason—huge, warm, always taking up too much space—somehow manages to fit in it with you. Barely. But neither of you care.

Your legs dangle lazily over one armrest, stretched out and relaxed, while your body is snugly pressed against him, your ass perfectly nestled against his dick, because of course it is.

Jason's arms are wrapped around you, holding you close, his large, rough palm resting against your thigh, fingers idly stroking over your bare skin, while his other arm is draped around your back, hand rubbing slow, soothing circles along your arm.

Your head rests against his shoulder, your body practically melting into him, warm and soft and content, your book open in your lap as your eyes lazily scan the pages.

And Jason... well, Jason doesn't even fucking care about the damn book.

Not when you're curled up against him like this, all warm and sweet, your fingers tracing absent little shapes over his forearm. Not when he can smell the faint traces of your body wash and shampoo, his scent lingering on your skin, on his clothes. Not when your soft little ass is pressed right against his lap, snug and perfect against his dick, the heat of you seeping through his sweats.

You sigh against him, shifting slightly to get comfortable, and Jason grits his teeth, his hand squeezing your thigh a little tighter.

Fuck. If you keep squirming like that, he's gonna fuck around and start something again.

He exhales through his nose, forcing himself to focus on anything else, not on how soft your skin is beneath his fingers, or how easily he could slip his hand higher.

"You good, baby?"

You don't even look up from your book, voice soft, teasing, and he can practically hear the smirk in it.

Jason huffs a laugh, shifting slightly, adjusting his grip on your thigh. "M'good, doll."

Liar. Your fingers trace up his arm, slow, lazy, curling around his wrist as you nuzzle into him, your lips brushing against his neck.

"Mhmm," you hum, voice light, mischievous. "You sure?"

"Baby—" Jason groans, low and warning, but you just giggle, pressing another kiss to his skin, and he knows you're about to start trouble.

As you turn another page, your fingers absentmindedly trace over the veins in his forearm, nails grazing over his skin in slow, delicate strokes. He hums, squeezing your thigh in response, the warmth of his palm sinking into you. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath you, but there's that telltale shift—the way his thumb starts rubbing a little slower, a little more deliberately.

He leans in, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple, then your cheek, and when you tilt your head just a little, giving him access, his lips find yours. It starts soft, just the slightest brush, the kind that makes your stomach flutter, but then he deepens it, lazy and teasing, tongue sliding against yours with that same slow, deliberate pace he fucked you with earlier.

You sigh into his mouth, melting further against him, and his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly close. "Love you," he murmurs against your lips, voice low and raspy.

Your heart clenches in that way it always does when he says it. Like this. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. You press another kiss to his lips, and another, and another, soft and fleeting, making him huff out a quiet laugh.

"You're really tryna start somethin' again, huh?"

His voice is rough, teasing, but there's already that edge to it, that heat beneath his tone. His hand squeezes your thigh, fingers twitching like he's already thinking about flipping you over, spreading you open, pumping you full.

You giggle, nuzzling into his neck instead, pressing a kiss right over his pulse. "Nope," you lie, knowing damn well that if he really wanted to, you'd let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to you, again.

[snail-day]

You know how, on birthdays, it’s kind of cute to feed your friend a spoonful of cake? Real sweet, right?

Yeah, well, it’s a lot less cute when Satoru expects you to do it every single time he brings home dessert. (Which is often) Doesn’t matter if it’s his birthday or not.

He’s already tugging you into his lap before you can even say no, arm wrapped around your waist as he wiggles the fork in your face, already loaded with cake he’s definitely taken a bite of first. And he’s grinning. That wicked little grin, baby blue eyes glittering with mischief as he coos, “C’mon, baby, feed me the cake.”

You know what he wants. He wants a repeat of what happened the other night. When you cupped his stupidly handsome jaw and called him your pretty little thing, all mean and teasing while he practically whimpered in your hands.

So you don’t give him cute. No, no. You wrap your hand gently around his throat instead, just enough to feel his pulse flutter against your palm. His breath catches.

“Open wide, pretty boy,” you purr.

And he melts. Back arching just a little, lips parting instantly, tongue out and waiting like the pathetic little dessert-hungry mutt he is. You feed him the cake and he moans around it, like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

You don’t even know if he likes the flavor. He just likes being fed like this. And of course you'll continue to encourage his bratty actions. Because damn it… he's so good when he begs.

(I swear though, he will deep throat the fork)

[neonbonded]

Fatherhood Is a Full-Contact Sport

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: dad!headcanons, domestic chaos, tag-team toddler warfare, sticker abuse, ego injuries, public humiliation (soft), wife-led mischief ♡ a/n: you didn’t mean to start a war… but once your kid picked a target, you had to support them. teamwork makes the dream (dad meltdown) work.

Caleb

It starts with the socks.

You and your kid exchange a look over breakfast—just a slight twitch of the eyebrow, a smirk over toast—and Caleb should have known. He should have.

But he’s got stars in his eyes and jam on his fingers, and he’s too busy cutting your kid’s pancakes into perfect little hexagons to notice you’ve already swapped his socks.

They’re pink. With glitter hearts. And the words “#1 Trophy Husband” stitched in sparkly thread.

He puts them on without looking.

And then?

Operation: Bully Dad begins.

—

Phase One: Language Manipulation. You teach your kid to call him “Captain Cranky.”

Every time he sighs? “Okay, Captain Cranky.”

When he says no to dessert? “Ugh, classic Captain Cranky.”

He stares at you like you betrayed him. You just sip your coffee.

“I am not cranky,” he mutters.

From under the table: “You’re literally pouting right now, Cap.”

—

Phase Two: The Snack Swap. He reaches for his favorite protein bar in the pantry.

Finds a note instead.

"Too slow, Captain Cranky. We needed it more. For… missions"

He spins around.

You and your kid are already on the couch. Sharing it. Making dramatic yum noises.

“I swear to god, you two are a menace.”

You both say it at the same time: “A menace to CRANKY.”

—

Phase Three: The Betrayal. He finally gets a break. He’s lying on the floor with your kid on his chest, playing spaceship noises.

It’s quiet. Peaceful.

Then your kid leans down and whispers: “Mommy says you talk in your sleep. About kissing her toes.”

His eyes FLY OPEN.

You’re across the room, hiding a smile behind a throw pillow. “I said what I said.”

He groans and drags both of you onto the floor with him. “Unbelievable. My own family.”

You grin. “You love it.”

He kisses your temple, then your kid’s forehead. “You have no idea.”

Xavier

It starts with a whisper war in the hallway.

You and your kid peek around the corner like spies on a stakeout—clipboard in hand, checklist ready.

Mission Objective: Tease Daddy Until He Short Circuits.

Xavier is at the kitchen counter, pouring cereal into the mug he always insists is “just more ergonomic than a bowl.” He’s wearing socks with swords on them. A gift from you. He takes them very seriously.

You circle “Target Acquired.”

—

Phase One: The Wrong Name Game. Your kid walks in casually.

“Hey, Xylophone.”

Xavier glances up. “Hello.”

No reaction.

Not even confusion.

So your kid tries again, louder. “I said Xylophone.”

Xavier frowns faintly. “Yes. I heard. Are we experimenting with sound-based naming systems today?”

You lose it from the hallway.

—

Phase Two: Sticker Warfare. This one’s your idea.

While Xavier’s reading on the couch, your kid climbs into his lap with all the innocence in the world—and slowly starts covering him in dinosaur stickers.

One on his cheek.

One on his temple.

A brontosaurus on his neck.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

Finally, he blinks over his book. “Is there a… theme?”

“Jurassic Daddy,” you say sweetly, passing by.

He nods thoughtfully. “Very well.”

Doesn’t even take them off.

—

Phase Three: The Hidden Alarm. Your kid sneaks your phone into Xavier’s jacket pocket.

Sets a timer.

In two minutes, it’ll go off. Loud. In the middle of him doing birdwatching on the balcony.

He’s squinting into the trees, focused and serene—until a digital duck quack blares from his coat.

He freezes.

Then calmly pulls out your phone, stares at it like it’s a new lifeform.

“...Is this my punishment for using your mug?”

You and your kid high-five from the doorway.

—

That night, you’re brushing your teeth when you feel arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile at his reflection. “Even when we bully you?”

He hums. “Especially when you work as a team.”

He’s got a triceratops still stuck to his sleeve.

You leave it.

Rafayel

It starts because Rafayel wouldn’t let your kid put googly eyes on the blender.

A crime, truly.

So now?

You’re at war.

You and your mini-me form an unholy alliance before breakfast. The mission is clear: mess with Rafayel all day. Confuse him. Fluster him. Bring him to his knees (with love, obviously).

—

Phase One: The Sketch Swap He leaves his current canvas in the studio—half-finished, ethereal, probably titled Longing for Lemuria II: A Study in Violet Silence.

You and your kid sneak in.

When he returns, the dreamy mermaid now has a mustache. And laser eyes. And a speech bubble that says “My dad has stinky feet.”

He gasps like you physically struck him.

“You defiled my muse?!”

You shrug. “Consider it a collaboration.”

Your kid adds: “We made it better.”

He puts a hand to his chest. “You’re both going to artist jail.”

—

Phase Two: The Fashion Sabotage He goes to pull on his favorite pants—the flowy, artsy ones with the embroidered moons—and finds they’ve been replaced with hot pink yoga leggings from your drawer.

You: “I think you could rock them.”

Your kid: “Slay, bestie.”

He stares at the pants.

Then stares at you.

Then changes into them like a man on a catwalk.

But he’s muttering the entire time. “This is emotional abuse. I’m filing a glitter-based complaint.”

—

Phase Three: The Cookie Theft He opens the cabinet for his secret stash of lavender shortbread.

Finds an empty tin and a note inside:

“Stolen in the name of justice. Your blender crimes have consequences. —The Chaos Coalition”

He screams. Loudly. Then walks dramatically into the living room and collapses across the couch like a Victorian woman fainting on a chaise.

You toss him a goldfish cracker.

He glares.

Then eats it.

—

That night, he pulls you close in bed, head on your chest.

“I hope you both know,” he whispers, “that I am keeping a list.”

You run your fingers through his hair. “Of what?”

“Every emotional injury I sustained today.”

Your kid peeks in the doorway. “You forgot we replaced your shampoo with whipped cream.”

He gasps.

But honestly?

He’s never felt more loved.

Zayne

It begins when he finds his stethoscope floating in a bowl of cereal.

“Do you have a reason,” Zayne asks slowly, very calmly, “why my hospital equipment is now... infused with oat milk?”

Your child blinks up at him. “It was cold and needed a bath.”

You, from across the kitchen: “Honestly? Sound logic.”

He closes his eyes. Sets the stethoscope on the counter. Says nothing.

That was your warning shot.

—

Phase One: Renaming the Routine

You and your kid refuse to call anything by its normal name.

Zayne walks into the room, setting his laptop down with surgical precision.

You: “Look out. The Ice Cube Cometh.”

Your kid: “All hail Frost Daddy.”

Zayne: “I am literally holding your dental insurance forms.”

You both clap like he told a joke.

He blinks. Once.

“...What’s happening right now?”

—

Phase Two: The Hospital File Swap

He opens his neatly labeled folder before work.

Finds a glittery drawing titled “ME + MOMMY + FROST DAD = BESTIES FOREVER 💖”

Also, you’ve replaced his bio with:

“Zayne: World’s Coldest Softie. Will cry at piano music and is afraid of butterflies.”

He reads it. Stares at the paper.

Puts it back.

And takes it to work anyway.

—

Phase Three: Sticker Surgery

He showers. He gets dressed. He puts on his favorite button-down.

Then glances in the mirror—and freezes.

There’s a little cartoon Band-Aid sticker on his jawline.

Purple. With a smiley face.

You don’t even try to hide your laugh.

His jaw tics.

“I’ve conducted heart transplants with less sabotage than I face in this household.”

You pat his cheek. “And yet, you’re still so lovable.”

“Debatable.”

—

At bedtime, he’s halfway through folding laundry (into immaculate rectangles, obviously), when your kid leans against his side.

“Hey Dad?”

“Yes?”

“We bullied you good today.”

He pauses.

Then quietly nods.

“You did.”

You sit beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“But you liked it.”

“…No comment.”

You kiss the spot beneath his ear. “Tomorrow we’re calling you Doctor Cuddles.”

He exhales. Resigned. But soft.

“…Fine. But only inside this house.”

(You do not respect that boundary.)

Sylus

It starts before 9 a.m.

Sylus—warlord, tactician, red-eyed nightmare of the underground—walks into the living room fully dressed for a meeting with a black-market arms dealer.

Hair slicked. Suit sharp. Brooch in place.

You and your kid are waiting for him.

He stops. Narrow eyes. Tilt of the head. Suspicion.

You smile sweetly.

Your kid lunges forward.

And slaps a bright pink unicorn sticker onto his briefcase.

Dead center.

Sylus just… stands there.

“…Is this meant to be intimidation?”

You: “We’re marking our territory.”

Your kid: “Now the bad guys will know you have backup.”

He looks down at the sticker.

Then at you.

And says absolutely nothing.

But he takes the damn briefcase.

—

Phase One: Name Disrespect

He’s mid-hologram conference when your kid walks in, climbs into his lap, and announces to the entire Onychinus leadership:

“This is Mr. Grumpy Fangs. He doesn’t like it when I boop his nose.”

Sylus doesn’t even flinch.

Keeps talking about supply routes like there isn’t a giggling toddler poking his cheek on live cam.

Later?

He finds out you recorded it.

You send him the clip labeled:

“POV: You’re a villain and your child is your boss.”

He replies with one word:

“Traitor.”

Phase Two: Crow Brooch Chaos

You’re in the middle of folding laundry when your kid comes sprinting in, giggling with something clenched in one hand.

Minutes later, you hear Sylus’s voice—flat, deadly.

“Why… are there googly eyes on my crow?”

You don’t even look up. “Balance. Every villain needs a little whimsy.”

He turns to your kid. “Did you do this?”

“Team effort,” they chirp.

Sylus glares at the glittery-eyed brooch sitting on his chest.

Then sighs.

And doesn’t take it off.

Until hours later.

(He leaves it on his desk. Keeps looking at it.)

Phase Three: Tactical Sabotage

He walks into the war room.

Finds the giant wall map—his map—covered in crayon scribbles.

He blinks.

“Did someone… add butterflies to the Northern quadrant?”

Your kid: “It needed joy.”

You: “And balance.”

He stands there in silence.

Then mutters: “You’ve both become a security threat.”

You blow him a kiss.

That night, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket off, tie loose.

You crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around him. “Did we push you too far today?”

He grumbles something unintelligible.

Then rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him slow. “We know.”

He exhales.

“…You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Nope.”

Your kid shouts from the hallway: “TOMORROW YOU’RE GETTING GLITTER STICKERS!”

He closes his eyes. Bends his head to your shoulder.

And mutters:

“I should’ve stayed in the shadows.”

(He never means it.)