#time keeps passing oddly

[novaimperia]

★ asking roommate!sukuna to give you some space. literally.

“don’t you think if i could, i would have by now?” he fires back in a drawl, rolling his eyes. 

right now, you two are squished together in a dark supply closet in the campus atrium, bodies pressed so tightly there’s barely any room to breathe. you keep hushed, listening out for any shuffling less than a metre from where you are holed up with your roommate; the door’s locked and there’d be no reason to suspect you’re both in here but neither of you want to take the chance.

because, outside the door, is a girl with a furious appetite for revenge. she had seen you in the hallway around the corner and questioned you. apparently, your roommate owed her a date on friday night but he hadn’t turned up. that was the third time he’d made a promise to her he didn’t keep. not one for the drama, you were intent on keeping yourself out of it, but because the universe hates you, she narrowed her eyes and said that her friends saw you and him coming out of a movie theatre that very evening. 

of course she didn’t listen when you stammered that you didn’t plan to be there with him. you just wanted to be dropped off because it was late but then, for reasons you can’t really imagine, he chose to stay. she didn’t believe you. a ping went off. distracted with her phone for a moment, you skedaddled out of there, wanting to keep your head on your shoulders for a little longer. in comical fashion, when turning the corner, you saw the second person she has on her kill list. 

things quickly got out of hand after that. 

he didn’t fight very much when you yanked him in here nor did he seem very surprised to hear that a girl was out to get him. 

“ugh, where did she go?” the scorned woman screeches. “i’m gonna beat that whore up, i swear. she totally stole sukuna from me.”

‘stolen’ man huffs in amusement. you smack his chest.

she must be on the phone. briefly, you wonder how many people are building up hatred for you on campus by the simple virtue of living with the pink haired promise-breaker. guess his reputation is contagious. crossing your figures, you hope this won’t be a regular occurrence. and, showing no signs of leaving, if the frustrated stomping of feet pacing the hallway is anything to go by, your head slumps against sukuna’s chest in defeat. innocent of all charges, you’re not sure why you felt the need to hide, much less with him when he should be facing the consequences of his actions on his own. 

it’s not as if he deserves your protection – the stubborn bastard won’t move back just an inch even though he obviously knows he’s threatening to flatten you out like a bug against the wall with his towering body.

“just text her an apology or something,” you hiss. 

you can’t see it but you do feel his pierced brow quirk up. “i’m not gonna apologise ‘cause she can’t take a fucking hint. woman’s been hounding me since forever.”

“well, maybe you shouldn’t be asking her out and then flaking. ever thought of that?” mumbling against his shirt, you’re forced to breathe him in. he smells of burnt wood, the leather strap of a guitar, and nicotine. it’s both exhilarating and calming; you’re gonna fall asleep at this rate. 

something gentle and calloused brushes your hair away from your face. it lulls you deeper into slumber. his words vibrate against your cheek, a little aggressive with a tinge of vulnerability. “i didn’t. she made those plans on her own. don’t wanna go on a date with her.”

“oh.”

minutes pass. you can’t hear anything outside anymore. neither of you rush out. despite how cramped the fit is, it’s oddly comfortable. on second thoughts, maybe you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day here. with him. 

“quit fucking moving; you’re practically humping me a like a dog.”

never mind. 

you flick his nipple in retaliation and yelp when metal meets fingernail. he snorts. a little embarrassed, you retort, “you have a boner pressed right up against my stomach – who’s really the dog here, s’kuna?”

shoving him away, you emerge from the storage closet and take a deep inhale of relatively fresh air. she’s not here anymore. good. hopefully you won’t run into her for a while. you look back. your roommate doesn’t step out, instead he flexes his jaw and rolls his shoulder back, avoiding your eye. the tips of his ears are pink. gruffly, he mutters, “go ahead. wait by my car. i’ll be out in a sec.”

blink. blink.

a sponge smacks into your face when you laugh like a madwoman.

[xoxojisu]

CLINGY!

synopsis: in your relationship with rin, you've always been the affectionate one. the touchy one. the clingy one. so one day, you pull back from touching him so much, and it kills him.

notes: "jisu isnt this idea oddly similar to this katsuki fic you just wrote? BOY SYBAU MY BLOG I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.

you always touch first.

you’re the one who loops your arms around him from behind. the one who squishes his cheeks in your hands and calls him pretty. the one who laces your fingers with his while he’s mid-sentence like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

rin calls you clingy.

he says it with a sigh, with a roll of his eyes, with a “god, again?” when you kiss the tip of his nose.

he grumbles and looks to the side, but he never pulls away.

so you thought it was okay.

until you start wondering. what if he’s just tolerating it? what if he just doesn’t know how to tell you to stop?

you don’t bring it up. you just… stop. quietly.

no more casual touches. no more kisses on the cheek. no more spontaneous hand-holding or forehead pokes or clinging to his arm while he scrolls his phone or as you walk.

at first, rin doesn’t notice. not really. he thinks maybe you’re just tired. maybe you’re distracted.

but two days pass.

then three.

and then he realizes something’s wrong.

you still smile at him the same way. still talk to him, still text, still sit beside him on the couch.

but you keep your hands to yourself. you don’t lean on him when you laugh. you don’t reach for him. at all.

and it’s driving him crazy.

he’s sitting next to you now, knees barely brushing, and he’s sweating. his hands twitch in his lap. he glances at you from the corner of his eye and you’re looking down at your phone, legs tucked up under yourself, completely unaware of the war he’s waging inside.

he wants to touch you so bad he feels nauseous.

goddamnit, he feels so.. needy. but he can't even bring himself to care much.

he wants to feel you. in any way, shape, or form. just wants to feel your warmth against his.

but he’s never had to be the one to start it. he doesn’t know how. what if you pull away? what if you don’t want it anymore?

his throat’s dry. his heartbeat’s stupid.

he gives in.

“…are you mad at me?”

you blink up at him. “what?”

he looks away instantly. cheeks dusted pink. “you’re not… doing your usual.. stuff. it's weird. so i figured you were mad.”

you frown a little. “you mean the clingy stuff?”

his eyes flick to you, then away. “…yeah.”

you’re quiet for a second too long.

he panics.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly. “i didn’t..! i-it's not annoying. i don’t want you to stop.” the words tumble out like he's been holding them in his whole life.

you look at him, surprised. “you don’t?”

he groans softly, dragging a hand over his face like he’s peeling it off. “i just say that because i've never really had it before. but i like it. i just don’t know how to ask for it. okay? i don’t know how to do that stuff. but you do, and i got used to it, and now you’re not doing it and it’s-” he cuts himself off, looking everywhere but at you. “…i miss it.”

you stare at him.

he looks miserable.

“…you miss me being clingy?” you say slowly.

he mutters, “don’t call it that,” but he’s blushing so hard now.

you try to hold back your smile. really, you do, but you can’t.

“so you like when i hang off you all the time.”

he groans again, turning his face into the couch cushion. “shut up.”

"aweeee, did my rinnie misssss me? he wants to be held?"

"shut up!" his face is on fire. he can't bring himself to look anywhere near your eyes.

you scoot closer. he tenses.

you lean in gently and press your forehead to his temple.

“i thought i was annoying you.”

he breathes in, shaky. “never.”

“so i can be clingy again?”

his answer is immediate.

“yes.”

but then, after a beat:

“but let me try, too.”

you blink. “try what?”

he reaches out with a hand that’s awkward, hesitant, and gently laces your pinkies together.

he won’t look at you. his ears are so red.

you smile so softly it hurts.

and you squeeze his hand back.

he sighs, relieved, and rests his head on your shoulder like he’s finally home.

(he is)

masterlist

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 1 ▷ || play next song?

summary : After another horny stream, you drop the bomb: fuck-a-fan fridays—seven weeks, seven fans, seven filthy videos. masks on, faces hidden, just you and one lucky subscriber tangled up on camera each week. All they have to do? strip down, get hard, and show you why it should be them. Auditions start now.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men

A/N : and so it starts!!! is everyone ready to see the submissions from your favorite horndogs? :) (also i hope you can tell whose who hehehe) i'm trying to keep the writing inclusive for every sort of female presenting person so let me know how i've done!

The next few weeks passed in a blur of lace, lube, and direct deposits that made your head spin. What had started as a desperate half-joke had morphed into a full-blown empire - your empire. The girl who once contemplated selling her underwear for gas money was now clearing rent, tuition, groceries, and still had enough left over to drop serious coin on clothes and silk bed sheets.

You’d gone to the next level. Your friends were of course benefitting from your suspiciously newfound wealth, you casually said you had found a better part-time job, never letting them know the truth when you decided to take them shopping. Not yet at least.

Private requests were your bread and butter. You weren’t just good anymore - you were a professional tease, a digital siren with a library of toys, outfits, and vocal tones that could bring grown men to their knees. They paid for everything; soft whispers, rough talk, slow stroking, filthy roleplays. Some just oddly wanted to hear your moans on loop. Others wanted personalized videos where you called them by username and told them exactly what you’d do if they ever had the balls to show up in person.

You were making big bank. Like “accidental tax bracket change” big. Like “should probably consult a financial advisor” big.

And the men?

Oh, the men were obsessed.

Especially the regulars. Their usernames lit up your screen night after night, tipping with reckless abandon, flooding the chat with unfiltered thirst. You didn’t know who they were in real life, yet, but their personalities bled through the screen in such vivid, chaotic little ways.

EmoWithaBoner was yearning. Desperate in a way that made your chest clench and your thighs twitch. His messages were usually soft, almost sweet - You deserve everything, You looked so beautiful tonight - until something cracked open inside him mid-message and he’d type something crazy like: I would lick your cunt until you beg me to stop. Now that had gotten a small “Oh.” out of you. He wanted to worship you and ruin you all at once.

SixEyesOnly was a fucking menace. Flirty, cocky, constantly sending emojis that were way too smug for someone probably watching with only one hand available. His tips were ridiculous, like, spend $300 just to watch you eat grapes in a bad wig slowly sort of ridiculous, and his messages read like he was trying to fluster you on purpose. You assumed it was some sort of control thing with him, throwing money at people and getting them to do it. No complaints from you.

TempleOfSin was smooth, a little poetic, a little filthy. He asked for long, descriptive videos where you described what you were wearing, how you’d touch him, how you'd taste. He liked to also order roleplay videos where you pretended to worship him like he was some sort of God. Sometimes he called you his loyal little follower. You didn’t ask questions.

daddyissuez was feral. No other word for it. His requests were blunt, primal, always toeing the line of what the platform allowed and your own, now lacking, self-control. He liked spit, degradation, and power games. His tipping was sporadic and a lot less compared to the others, though, it was enough to keep him in your attention.

OfficeAfterHours was different. Polite. Polished. His messages came like little business memos laced with innuendo. “You looked stunning tonight. That color suits you,” followed by a $200 tip telling you to buy more in the same color. Never crude, always composed. It made him stand out more, somehow. Like a man who didn’t need to beg. A man who expected what he wanted, and always got it.

And then there was KingOfRot.

Unpredictable. Crude. Arrogant. He dropped tips like they were nothing. $500 just because you looked at the camera in a way he said was like a ‘deer in the headlights’. Odd, but $500 was a good amount to keep your mouth shut. He called you “pet,” “whore,” “delicious little thing.” You should’ve blocked him. Instead, you kept reading his messages twice over with your jaw unhinged and in wonderment whether or not he actually said that. His energy was intense and you hated how hot that was.

Which brings us to tonight.

You were perched in your new silk sheets, ring light warm against your skin, wearing your most transparent slip where your nipples were clearly on display and a smug little smirk behind that now iconic mask of yours. You’d hyped this stream for days - teased it on your feed, hinted at it in DMs. The chat was already on fire and you hadn’t even said a word yet. Tonight was a big one.

EmoWithaBoner: god ur so fucking hot tonight SixEyesOnly: i logged in 15 minutes early and i still feel late :(( OfficeAfterHours: You’ve outdone yourself this evening. KingOfRot: Come on, get to the fucking point, girl.

You grinned, slow and lethal, dragging your fingers along your inner thigh and ignoring KingOfRot.

“Well,” you purred, “I figured since you’ve all been very generous lately… it’s time I give something back.”

SixEyesOnly: oh fuck You licked your lips, loving the short little power trip it gave you. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, voice sweet and dangerous. “Maybe it’s time to start a little… tradition.”

You paused for dramatic effect.

“Fuck-a-Fan Fridays.” You bit your lip. Boom. Chat detonation. SixEyesOnly had sent you $200 just for the phrase.

EmoWithaBoner: you’re joking SixEyesOnly: oh shit baby TempleOfSin: Perfect. KingOfRot: You say when and where, pet. daddyissuez: i’ll be first. fuck the line OfficeAfterHours: I trust you've thought this through..

You leaned in close. OfficeAfterHours was cute in the way he was concerned for you. “I mean, why stop at one, right?” You giggled, cheeks burning behind your mask as you kicked your feet a little bit out of the view of your webcam. “I was gonna keep it casual, but um… yeah. What if I made it a thing? Like, a series?”

Another pause. You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried heat.

“One fan. Every Friday. For seven weeks.”

You crossed your bare legs over one another, your slip rising on your thighs as you did so. “Seven Fridays. Seven people. Seven chances to fuck the brains out of a very nervous, very willing woman who cannot believe she’s actually saying this live right now.”

You sat up again, brushing the slip back into place like your nipples weren’t clearly on display.

“I mean..obviously, we’ll keep it anonymous. Like, we’re not stupid here. Masks. No faces. Just hands. Bodies. And my camera.” The chat was still in full meltdown, comments stacking so fast the shitty platform could barely keep up. Your heart was pounding, your skin warm and tingling from the high of it all—of watching them fall apart just from your voice, your words, the soft shift of silk and skin. You hadn’t even done anything explicit yet, and they were on their knees.

God, it was addictive.

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft sigh, the movement pulling your slip just high enough to tease your hips. A final little gift before the curtain dropped.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” you said with a giggle, feigning innocence even as your gaze sparkled with something much dirtier. “You guys are gonna give me a heart attack.” SixEyesOnly: no no no don’t leave yettt!! :(( KingOfRot: You owe me for the buildup, woman. You tilted your head, lips curving into a sweet little smile as you leaned forward, giving them just one more generous view of your tits before the curtains closed.

“But before I go…” you said, voice slipping into something quieter, softer, like a secret you didn’t mean to share. “If you’re serious about Fuck-a-Fan Fridays… I want you to show me.”

The pause that followed had its own kind of weight. You watched the chat stall for half a second. The anticipation was thick enough to choke on.

“Send me a message,” you murmured, “with a picture. No face. Just your body, and cock, obviously.”

You let your fingers trail down your own torso, to your hips, your thighs, hinting at what you wanted to see. “Let me see what I’d be touching.. What I’ll be fucked braindead by.” EmoWithaBoner: fuck i’ll take a hundred SixEyesOnly: don’t lose your mind too much baby KingOfRot: It’ll be mine you dream about when you touch yourself. OfficeAfterHours: Submission will follow shortly. No face. Clean framing. High quality.

You had to laugh—giddy and a little breathless. You honestly didn’t think they’d go this feral.

“Think of it as an audition,” you said, tucking your knees to your chest, playing sweet again. “Show me what you’re offering. How you’d fit against me. In me.”

You smoothed your hand up your own thigh, lazily now, teasing.

“And just so you know,” you added with a little grin, “I’m only really looking at the ones who’ve tipped enough to keep my attention. You know who you are.”

Oh, they most definitely did.

The seven of them were already scrambling—photos incoming, tips rolling, blood leaving their brains. You didn’t need names. Their usernames were burned into your memory. Their obsessions with you were paying your bills.

“Goodnight, boys,” you whispered. “Impress me.” The second you ended the stream, you collapsed backward into your pillows with a dazed little laugh, limbs spread like you’d just run a marathon and won a gold medal in filth. The glow from your laptop cast a soft haze across your legs, the screen already lighting up with the chaos you’d left behind—tips still pouring in, messages stacking, your inbox begging for attention.

And the photos?

Oh, they were already flooding in, from people you didn’t want, but it was there regardless - upping your activity.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin resting in your palm as you clicked open the first one with a half-curious, half-unhinged smile.

No face, just like you asked. Neck down. The guy was standing in front of a mirror, one hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other lifting his hoodie to show off his chest. His abs were flexed. His cock hard enough to cast a shadow.

You blinked. Let out a slow breath.

“…Damn.”

Another one came in. Different guy, different vibe—tattoos on his hips, hand slick and stroking himself in a dimly lit bathroom, captioned: Fridays look good on me. Want to see how I look underneath you?

“Oh my god,” you whispered, laughing as you pulled your legs up behind you. “This is real. I’m really doing this.”

And you were. One fan. Every Friday. Seven weeks. Seven videos. Each one getting posted to your feed, available for your hundreds of subscribers to watch, rewatch, tip on, comment under, and probably break their dicks to.

It wasn’t just a hookup. It was content. Premium content.

Still riding the rush, you opened your messaging panel and started typing.

New Mass Message Sent to All Subscribers:

Hey babes— If you missed the stream tonight (rip to you), here’s your official invite.

Fuck-a-Fan Fridays is happening. Starting next week, I’ll be choosing seven of you to spend one very intimate night with me. Every Friday for the next seven weeks, I’ll be posting a new video. One fan. One full-length scene. Just me… and whoever impresses me the most.

How to audition:- Send me a photo. - Neck down only. No faces. Masks will be worn on camera, so full anonymity will be protected. But I need to see everything. Cock out. Hard. Your body. Your vibe. The way you'd look on camera—underneath me, on top of me, behind me, inside me.

Show off a little. Or a lot.

Make me want it. Let the auditions begin.

xoxo,

—Your girl

taglist : @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @syubseokie

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a pipe-dreaming wannabe sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm so great, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[bywons]

SKINCARE ROUTINE 、 psh

𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄， 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒

❪ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❫ ｡ 𝗉𝗌𝗁 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1OOO────── fluff ✿‎ kissing 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 贅沢 𖥔 req

REBLOG ◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ FOR KISSES

sunghoon loves jay.

not in any big, sentimental way—just in the understated comfort of knowing someone who gives solid advice.

like that time, sprawled across the velvet couch of their hotel suite, jay had been halfway through a mouthful of chicken when he said, “talk about your skin. just mention it like it’s nothing. tilt your face a little. girls notice stuff like that.”

sunghoon had laughed. “that’s your big secret?”

jay had shrugged. “works.”

truthfully, sunghoon doesn’t need it. you kiss him all the time. sometimes without looking. sometimes without thinking. you kiss him in passing—on the cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, mid-sentence. like muscle memory.

but still. the idea sticks with him.

he tries it once.

you’re curled up in the armchair near the hotel window, city lights spilling across your bare legs, robe soft and loose around you. you’re scrolling through something, shoulders tucked in, phone lighting up your face.

sunghoon walks over, hair damp, shirt sticking just slightly to his chest. he leans against the frame of the window, chin tilted.

“my skin looks good tonight,” he says, like he just realized it.

you glance up, take him in—his flushed cheeks, the soft glow of moisturizer, how clean and new he looks post-shower.

your eyes linger. “yeah,” you murmur, trying not to sound too excited. “it does.”

he shifts slightly, a small, almost imperceptible tilt of his head.

you smile, set your phone aside, and walk over to him. you kiss his cheek once. then again, closer to his mouth. your arms wrap around his waist like they belong there.

and just like that—it works.

he keeps doing it. never too often, never too obvious. just enough to feel like a quiet game between the two of you.

“pretty clear today,” he says one evening while slipping into bed.

“almost glowing,” he notes while adjusting his collar in the mirror.

and without fail, you lean in—press your lips to his skin, always soft, always sure.

until one night, you don’t.

he comes out of the bathroom in his robe, face freshly washed, bangs damp, the scent of lavender still clinging to him. his skin is practically lit up under the warm hotel lights, smooth and calm and clearly well cared for.

you’re sitting on the bed, his shirt on you, scrolling through your phone like usual.

“hey,” he says, voice light. “look at my skin.”

you glance up. “looks good.” then look back down, because you see it everyday don’t you? and you have soon picked up his pattern, the same one to receive a kiss.

he pauses.

“that’s it?” he asks after a moment. you nod without looking. “nice and clear.”

sunghoon stands still for a moment, blinking.

he walks over and sits beside you on the bed, robe parting slightly at the thigh. his voice is quieter now, tinged with confusion. “i did everything tonight. the full routine. the mask, the serum—”

“i can tell,” you say simply. your tone isn’t unkind. but you don’t lean in. don’t reach for him.

he exhales softly, then lays back without another word. arms resting by his sides. eyes on the ceiling like he’s rethinking everything.

you peek over. he looks oddly solemn for someone just denied a kiss. not angry—just slightly adrift. your chest warms.

you put your phone down, then crawl toward him, knees sinking into the mattress. the robe shifts as you settle above him, hands light on his ribs.

his gaze moves to you, searching your expression, waiting to see if you’re teasing him or serious.

“i noticed your trick a while ago,” you murmur. “and i think it’s cute. i just wanted to see if you’d sulk.”

he doesn’t speak right away. but something in his face relaxes, like he’s been given permission to be ridiculous.

“i did sulk,” he says eventually.

“i know.”

he reaches up then, pulling you down to kiss you—real, steady, lingering. his hands splay across your back like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. like something in him eases when you’re this close.

your mouth moves against his slowly, comfortably, as his hands curl around your hips. he holds you like he’s afraid you might disappear. like the kiss itself is a reassurance he didn’t realize he needed until now.

his breath stutters softly when you shift closer, pressing deeper. your hand slides to the side of his neck, thumb brushing just below his ear.

he kisses you again, more deliberately now, heat pooling between you. there’s no urgency—just weight. gravity. affection packed in like something sacred.

when you pull back, your noses bump lightly. his eyes stay closed a moment longer.

“you don’t have to trick me, you know,” you say, voice low. “you’re such a baby,”

he swallows, then shrugs. “i guess, when you kiss me like that, it feels like you’re not thinking about it. like it’s just what you do.”

you trace his collarbone with your fingertip. “that’s exactly what it is.”

he hums, tugs you down until you’re resting against him, your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm snug around your waist.

you settle into him, cheek pressed to his chest, and he wraps his arms around you without a word. you lie there like that for a while—tangled, warm, the world muted outside the window.

he presses a kiss to your shoulder. his fingers trace shapes across your stomach. and when you fall asleep, his kiss still lingers faintly on your mouth, and the curve of your body fits easily into his.

and he leans in again, despite of his very extreme and expensive skincare routine, he presses his cheeks to yours, slowly.

“i love you,” he breaths out.

스루 ܃ thanks to my only irl friend who knows im bywons, for helping me with this 🍀 this was too cute ><

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[forthelorewick]

Another one couldn’t hurt…. right? Pt. 2

WC 7.5k - daddy joel, but not in that way… is very persistent in his pursuit to get what he wants.

NSFW 18+ MDI !!!

- Warnings / content: explicit sexual content, no outbreak!au, husband!joel x wife!reader, domestic fluff, smut, pwp, unprotected p-in-v sex, breeding kink/ pregnancy kink/ impregnation kink, soft dom!joel, size kink, praise kink, possessiveness, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mentions of going off of birth control, mild mention of a itty bitty lactation kink… after care, fluff, established relationship (reader & Joel are married), age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is late 40s), mentions of past pregnancy, results of pregnancy, etc.

pt 1 | pt 3

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

It’s been about a month since you and Joel started trying again, a month of him keeping you filled to the brim every moment he had you alone, and oddly enough… it seemed to be happening more and more.

Since the birth of your first, you’d both made a promise, spoken late one night over the soft snoring of a newborn tucked between you. A promise to choose each other, again and again, not just as parents, but as husband and wife, best friends and lovers. So every second Friday of every month, you carved out time to be just that. To have dinner alone, touch base, breathe each other in without any distractions and the ability to unapologetically be all over each other. Whether the kids stayed with your parents, your sister, or Tommy… who’d moved back in with Joel’s dad after their mom passed, it was your ritual now. Your rhythm.

Lately, though? It had become every Friday. Joel started arranging the hand-offs himself, and the moment the house was empty, he’d have you in his arms… pulling you close, whispering promises into your skin, leading you out the door with his hand low on your back.

He’d take you to dinner, always somewhere dim and romantic, with candles and wine… but recently only mocktails for both of you, and that look in his eye. The one that made your whole body ache with anticipation. The one that said, ‘You’re mine, and I’ll never get enough of you.’

He was never this intense about the other pregnancies. Never this deliberate. You figure it’s because you both know it’ll be the last. So now… it’s different. You swear the dinner’s just foreplay. Not in the way that it’s only the means to an end, but in the way that he uses it to tease you and work you up in a place where you can’t do a thing about it.

The restaurant is dimly lit, the kind of place with soft jazz playing under the low hum of conversation. It smells like rosemary and something slow-cooked. Joel’s thumb rubs lazy circles against your hand across the table, your fingers loosely threaded as he watches you with that infuriatingly smug, endlessly soft look on his face.

You roll your eyes at him, though your smile gives you away. “You gonna eat that steak or just make heart eyes at me the whole time?”

Joel doesn’t flinch, “Can’t do both?”

“You’re the worst.” You don’t mean that in any true sense of the word, and he knows that.

He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles slow and deliberate like he’s got all the time in the world to worship you in tiny touches. “Well, you’re wearin’ that dress, so that’s on you.”

Your stomach flutters, heat pooling low in your belly.

Every Friday, it’s the same game. The same sly glances, the same brush of his shoe against your ankle, the same way his eyes dip to your lips when you lick butter off your fingertip. The way his eyes drink you in every moment you’re preoccupied with your food or taking a sip of your drink. The way he tilts his head, and the low hum in his throat when your knee brushes his.

“You’re just mad I order better than you,” you murmur, lifting your fork to steal a bite from his plate anyway.

Joel watches you chew with a grin that you think he does just to show off his dimples which drive you mad, “You touch my potatoes, you get consequences later.”

You click your tongue thoughtfully and return a lopsided grin, “Promises, promises.”

He groans quietly and shakes his head, like he’s physically restraining himself from hauling you to the bathroom right that moment, “You’re a goddamn menace.”

You sip your drink, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve known that since you bought me that coffee on that fateful morning,” You bite your bottom lip and stifle a laugh at the thought of it.

He leans back in his chair and chuckles deeply in kind, you loved reminiscing over your life together. On how it all came to be. “You were such a young thing… so eager, y’just couldn’t help yourself. Had me wrapped around your finger from the moment I met ya,” his gaze travels over you, to describe it as him ‘drinking you in’ wouldn’t be too far-fetched. Not with the way you see his tongue peeking out to moisten his lips as if in anticipation of tasting you… you could see that look in his eyes where he was mapping out exactly how he’ll do it.

You have to snap yourself out of that thought as he tilts his head and clocks your body language immediately. But he doesn’t push, he just lets it simmer. But just like you knew him… he knows you. Somehow, likely, even more.

“And I’d do it all again. Every side eye in public, every dollar I spent on coffee from that overpriced café… to every sleepless night with the kiddos, every goddamn blowout, every tantrum… Just to end up right here.” He presses his finger onto the table between you to emphasize his point.

A life chosen and never regretted. Every version of you and every version of him, every turn and every choice that led to this. Joel never says anything he doesn’t mean, when he gives you something, it’s because he needs you to know it. And that’s what makes every word of his so impactful and that hazy arousal caused by just him such an issue on a daily basis. But he loved it, loved the game of getting you all worked up over seemingly nothing, but he always knows exactly what he’s doing.

You press your napkin to your mouth, not to wipe it, but just to give yourself a second to breathe, the man was so well-versed with you and you with him, but he still never failed to take your breath away, to make you so desperate for more of him in every way.

You knew you’d never tire of him, of the way he makes you feel, of just everything about him. You loved him so much that the anticipation of him coming home every day felt like you were only half awake until he wrapped those strong arms around you and planted his lips on yours.

You settle into the heat of his gaze, let it wrap around you like the warm candlelight dancing in his big, brown eyes.

And then you say it, too casual for what it means, but with your heart pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it across the table, “I missed my period.”

Joel stills mid-bite, fork suspended, “Yeah?”

You nod, slow. “Wasn’t sure at first. Thought it might just be late. But… there was some light bleeding last week. Not like a period. Just… spotting.”

His jaw ticks, eyes narrowing just a little in focus, “Implantation?”

“Could be.”

There’s a long pause like the air itself is holding its breath.

Joel sets his fork down gently, like he’s grounding himself. Then he exhales through his nose and gives you a look so full of love and want and need… like you hung the moon and he’s already cradling the possibility in his hands. It makes your ribs ache.

“Well, holy shit,” he says softly, his breath shakes for a singular inhale, then evens out again, “Guess I better keep doin’ what I’m doin’.” A flash of heat flickers in his eyes as his eyes slowly trail down your body and settle on the place a baby, your baby, his baby could be growing right that very second. It’s like the moment is suspended, his breath is slow and shallow like he’s really letting it settle.

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “You’re not gonna say anything else?”

He tilts his head, eyes locked on yours again like he’s seeing straight through to every part of you, heart, body, and soul. “You want me to say somethin’ other than I fuckin’ love you? That I want this?” He shrugs slightly, eyes going soft and dark all at once. “’Cause I do. And I just… I’m trying to process it but goddamn, this is big news.”

Your throat tightens, “I know,” you say quietly.

And you do. Because even across the table, even after years and kids and everything life has thrown your way, Joel Miller still looks at you like he’s choosing you for the first time.

You reach across the table again and trace his wrist with your fingertips, “You ready to not sleep for who knows how many more years?”

Joel’s lip twitches. He sets his drink down without looking away from you, “I wasn’t gonna sleep anyway. s’what coffee’s for, darlin’.” He eyes you up and down again as if imagining the changes already, “Worth it to see you all swollen and glowin’ again and I’ll be too goddamn gone for you. I’ll be at your every beck and call.”

You watch him for a beat, the curve of his forearms under rolled sleeves, tan and strong. The way the fabric strains just a little where it buttons over his chest.

He looks back at you, head tilted, “What?” he asks, his eyes studying yours, a toothy grin on that handsome face of his.

You shake your head, “Nothing. I just really like you.”

Joel’s smile deepens, but there’s something shy in it now, boyish almost. “Yeah?”

You rest your chin in your hand and nod, “Yeah. Like a lot. Think I’m falling in love all over again.”

He lets out a quiet exhale, like he can’t quite handle that, like no matter how long he’s been yours, you still catch him off guard too, “Think I’d say the same happens to me nearly every day.” His foot shifts under the table, nudging yours again.

You look at him with those doey eyes you never realize you’re doing until he points them out.

Joel clocks it immediately, and you see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his fingers tighten slightly around the base of his water glass like he needs to ground himself.

“There they are,” he murmurs, a little dazed, a little wrecked. “Those damn eyes.”

You open your mouth to play dumb, but he just leans forward, elbows on the table now, voice low and reverent.

“You look at me like that, baby, I start thinkin’ about forever all over again.”

The words settle between you like silk, weightless but impossibly thick with meaning. The air grows warmer, heavier, humming with something unspoken and ancient and so sure. That love that doesn’t need proving, just noticing.

You reach for his hand again, and he lets you lace your fingers through his like it’s instinct. Like it’s muscle memory. His thumb rubs along yours, slow, steady, and then he brings your hand to his mouth again, kissing the inside of your wrist this time.

“You nervous?” he asks, more serious now.

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek, “Not really nervous. Just… aware. Like I’m scared to get too hopeful too fast, y’know?”

Joel nods slowly. “I get it.” He leans forward again, his voice soft. “But I’m already hopin’, baby. Been really hopin’ since I came inside you that first week you went off your birth control.”

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, “Jesus.”

“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me, you knew what you were doin’,” he grins, those brown eyes lighting up and sending butterflies through your chest then… straight down, “You bent over the dryer that time, I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

You pull your lip between your teeth as you smiled, a blush spreading on your cheeks.

“Knew it…”

You break into quiet laughter, warm and completely at ease. “Okay, fair.”

He lets the moment breathe, then reaches across the table again, hand warm over yours.

“We’ll be okay,” his eyes flicker in the candlight, almost golden. “However this turns out. You and me, we always figure it out.”

You nod, squeezing his hand, thumb brushing over the calluses that showed just how hard he works to provide for his family, for you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The restaurant hums around you, soft clinks of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, the gentle flicker of candlelight casting amber shadows across Joel’s face. He’s watching you the way he always does, like you’re a sunset, a firelight glow he can’t stop reaching for.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, then leans back slightly, just enough to really look at you. He takes his time, he always does. His eyes trace your face, every angle, every familiar shift of expression, “I just… I feel lucky, y’know? That we still get to do this. That we want to. That I look at you and know with everything I am that I want you, that I need you, and that you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

The tone shift sends a shiver down your spine as his grip on your hand tightens and that flicker in his eyes darkens.

You see it hit him again, the possibility and the reality that you might be carrying his child. You see the realization in the tick of his jaw and how his thumb brushes against the back of your hand like he’s memorizing the rhythm of your pulse. He’s watching you, studying you as if he’s trying to comprehend it, to let it settle deeper, and you can tell the thought is consuming him by the way his tongue glides across the front of his teeth, a telltale sign he’s deep in thought.

You swallow, pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips.

His eyes dip to your stomach with a hungry, awed sort of longing. Like he’s picturing it, picturing the swell and the glow again.

And when his eyes return to yours, there’s no mistaking what’s behind them. You see his eyes flare with possession and devotion, with the unmistakable glimmer of ferality.

“You alright, baby?”

Joel shifts in his seat, shoulders tense like he’s holding something back, he nods once. “Can’t fuckin’ think about anything else right now, sweetheart.”

He leans forward again, eyes flicking to your lips. “Want you round and glowy and needy again. Want to take care of you every minute. Rub your back, kiss your belly, hold you at night with my hand right where the baby’s growin’.”

Your throat goes dry.

He huffs a quiet breath, shakes his head, “Ain’t right how bad I wish I could just keep ya pregnant, just round and full of my babies forever.”

But the way he’s looking at you says he doesn’t care if it’s right or not, because it’s real. And it’s clear to you that the moment he gets you home, he’s not going to be able to hold back. He never can and you truly hope he never does.

—

By the time you make it home and the front door clicks shut behind you, you’re already pinned.

Your back hits it with a soft thud, and Joel’s mouth is on yours before you can even catch your breath. His hands bracket your hips, possessive and warm, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress like he’s seconds from tearing it in half.

You moan into his mouth, and he swallows it whole.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” his voice is frayed at the edges. His thigh presses between yours, forcing your legs apart, rocking into you like he can’t get close enough. “All fuckin’ night I was sittin’ across from you, starin’ at your mouth, your fuckin’ eyes, thinkin’ about you soakin’ and needy for me, thinkin’ about you pregnant again…”

“I know… I was there..” you tease him as your fingers find purchase in his soft, greying curls at the nape of his neck. “You know what you do to me?”

He stills for a beat, his chest rising fast, eyes locked on yours like he’s clinging to every breath you take.

“What do I do to you?” he asks, his voice a rasp in your ear, wrecked and reverent all at once. His lips brush your cheekbone as he speaks, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a groan, and his hips jerk forward slightly like he needs the friction, needs your answer just to hold it together.

“You make me ache,” you whisper, breath warm against his jaw. “All day. All the time. You walk past me, and I forget what I was doing. I watch you roll up your sleeves and I’m wet. I hear your voice and I’m, god, Joel, I’m fucking gone for you.”

He exhales hard and his forehead drops to yours, and for a moment he’s still again, just holding you like he’s trying to regain some composure that was rapidly slipping away.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost a plea. “Can’t get enough of ya.”

Then his mouth crashes into yours hungrily again and he walks you backward toward the couch without letting go of you for even a second.

“Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth trails down your neck, biting gently into the soft flesh there, marking you as if you could be anymore his. “We should, we should go to bed…”

“Nuh-uh,” He lays you down like he’s handling something fragile, even as his body covers yours with a need that’s anything but gentle. His palm splays over your stomach again, whispering something indiscernible to himself, “Can’t wait, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he presses you into the couch, his weight settling above you, heat and need emanating from him.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail higher, pushing your dress up and over your hips, then off entirely as you lift accordingly to assist him in his task, he’s quick to undo and discard your bra on the floor next to the couch. His knuckles brush your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

“Gotta be careful,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Gotta be careful so I don’t—But I need, fuck, I need…” you don’t know what the hell he was trying to say, or maybe you did, but what you really knew was that you needed him inside of as soon as humanly possible and you couldn’t have that beautiful brain of his thinking too hard right now.

You tug him down to kiss you, one hand in his hair, the other already fumbling with his belt.

Joel groans low and deep like it’s being torn from his chest, his mouth finding yours again as he shucks his pants down just far enough and basically rips your panties off. His cock is hot and heavy, already leaking at the tip as he presses the length of it against your core, sliding through your slick with a sound that makes you both groan.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, forehead pressed to yours, voice rough but trembling. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, the scruff of his jaw. “Always. Forever. I want all of you.”

Joel presses in slow, deep, and careful… but the grip he has on your hips is bruising, and his breath betrays the need that thrums beneath his skin as he pants against your skin, groaning softly when he finally bottoms out.

He stays there for a moment, buried inside you, one hand cupping your face, the other still gripping your hip in desperation.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs. “You, carryin’ my baby… Gonna take care of you. Gonna fuckin’ worship you forever.”

His words melt into your skin, heat and promise wrapped in every syllable.

You moan, soft and broken beneath him, your arms curling around his shoulders like you could somehow hold him closer than this. “Joel,” you breathe, “Please move.”

His hips snap forward, deep and steady, and you cry out, nails digging into the fabric covering his back. He groans again, louder this time, a sound that rumbles in his chest and spills into your mouth as he kisses you hard and messy and desperate. Every thrust is deliberate, full of something wild and possessive, like he’s branding this into both of you.

“I think about it all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, thrusting harder now, hand sliding up to cradle your head like you’re breakable even when he’s fucking you like he’s starving. “You round with my baby again. Knowin’ I did that. An’ everybody who looks at’cha will know I’m the one who fucked a baby into you again. The only one who ever will.”

“Joel…” You gasp his name, voice cracking on it, your thighs trembling around his hips.

He groans and shifts, angling deeper until you sob, his name the only word you remember. “Yeah, that’s it. Take it for me, sweetheart.”

His forehead drops to yours again, you can feel the slight dampness to his skin as he perspires. The heat of your bodies literally melting you together.

His hips begin stuttering with every squeeze of your pussy around him, “can feel ya squeezin’ me, sweetheart… gonna cum for me?”

Your body is unraveling around him, every nerve lit up and frayed. You nod, unable to speak, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it. You reach for him blindly, your fingers tangling in the damp curls at the nape of his neck, grounding yourself in the only thing that feels real.

Joel moans like the sound’s been punched out of him, his hips faltering for half a second before slamming back in even harder. “C’mon, baby,” he pleads, voice wrecked. “Need you to cum on me. Wanna feel you break on me.”

You let out a gasp that turns into a cry as you cum, your legs locking tight around him, walls clenching down so hard on his cock it forces a growl from his throat. His mouth crashing against yours, swallowing your moans like he needed to feel it in his bones. Then he’s picking up his pace again, breaking the kiss and panting hot against your skin.

“That’s it,” he breathes against your temple. “Goddamn, that’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.”

You’re still shaking when he presses in deep and stills, his own release hitting him like a wave, his hips jerk once, twice, and then he’s spilling into you with a broken groan, muttering your name like a prayer. One hand grips your hip so tight you know you’ll have an array of bruises to admire later, his other hand slides protectively over your belly again.

When he finally stills, when the tremors ease and his breathing steadies, he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder, his beard dragging rough over your skin leaving it flushed and raw. His hand grips your thigh, keeping your legs wrapped tight around him.

“Goddamn,” he rasps, voice low and trembling. “You fuckin’ ruin me.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s already moving again slow, instinctual thrusts that make you gasp and arch, oversensitive but needy still. He’s only half-hard inside of you as he comes down from his high, but you know he’s just making a point of fucking his spend deeper inside as if he needed to really solidify your potential pregnancy, as if it would change a damn thing if you already were.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his nose brushing yours. “How full you are? That’s all mine, baby. I’m the only one that gets to do this to you.”

You pull his head back gently by the nape of his neck, eager to just look at him. You’ve always been obsessed by the way he looks after sex, that sleepy, dreamy look when he gets what he wants.

“You really think you’re pregnant?” He’s coming back to earth now, and you can see it in his eyes and the way they’re searching yours.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth again and nod.

He watches with apt attention, and you know how he reacts when you do certain things. Even when they weren’t always intentional on your part, you’re always aware of what you’re doing by his reaction.

“Goddamn, hun… can’t fuckin’ believe you’re makin’ me a daddy again,” his eyes light up in the way you’d known they would when he finally let it settle in his mind.

“A whole other person growin’ inside ya, darlin’, you’re a goddess… creatin’ life.”

“You’re part of this whole thing too, you know.” You run your fingers through his hair and he hums in approval.

“Thanks for the credit, baby, but I’m just the guy who got to fuck you raw until it took.”

You shake your head and laugh lightly, “a little underselling yourself, no?”

He just shrugs and gives you that toothy grin you never tire of, “just happy to be here.”

You smooth the back of your fingers down his cheekbone and cradle his face in your hands, memorizing this moment.

“I’ll be the best daddy and doting husband as I can be.”

“You already are. I'm so lucky to have your babies, I’d have a million of ‘em if I could.”

He peppers your faces with kisses and groans as you knead your fingers into the tight muscles of his back, “You spoil me, y’know that right?”

You grin and simply pull him into another kiss. He hums against you again and you feel a twitch of his cock which was still inside you. You squeeze around him in acknowledgement and he groans.

“Dammit, darlin..”

“What?”

He just shakes his head and smooths the hand that was gripping your hip up your body until it’s cupping one of your tits.

Joel’s voice is hoarse, reverent even as he mouths at your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. He leaves marks all over your neck, you can feel the sting of his beard over raw skin, it makes you whimper beneath him but he’s not done, he’s never done… “Been thinkin’ about your tits bein’ full again,” he rasps, breath fanning hot over your skin. “Leakin’ through your shirt, swollen and sore… mine to touch, mine to take care of. You, feedin’ our baby in the middle of the night while I hold you… rub your back… kiss that sweet neck, ease the ache of this needy pussy whenever you need it, alright?”

You whimper, arching into his touch as he palms your breast, thumb grazing your nipple, and he groans like he’s starving for you again.

“Fuck, look at ya,” he mutters, gaze flicking between your face and where his hand works your body then drags all the way down your body to look at where you and him are still joined, “You’re all flushed, still squeezin’ me tight inside like you want it again already.”

He rocks into you, slow and deliberate, just enough to tease, to feel that wet slide of his once again hardened cock still buried deep.

You gasp, the overstimulation starting to blur into need all over again, hips instinctively tilting toward him. “Joel, please.”

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “You spoil me so fuckin much. Every day you give me everything. Your body, your time, our babies, your love… you’re a fuckin’ gift, that’s what you are.”

You breathe his name like it’s holy, his words, his hands… his cock, you could’ve sworn you were in heaven. Your body and brain felt elevated like the only thing keeping you down on this earth was his body pressed into yours and his cock rocking in and out.

His hands keep you pressed into the couch cushions, the bead of sweat dripping down his neck and you pull him in, pressing his face to your neck so you have access to his, dragging your tongue up his pulse point like you’d been dying to do all night.

He groans and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, enough to leave a mark, he lavishes your skin with his tongue in what he calls “scenting you”. You’re a mess of moans and sweat-slicked bodies and his shirt being on still is driving you fucking crazy, you need his skin against yours, you need to absorb him into you.

He can sense your urgency as you finally unbutton his shirt and he chuckles, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Something you need, darlin? Use your words.”

Oh, he was a goddamn menace. All you could do was whimper as he rolls his hips against yours again, the coarse hair above the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit.

“Cmon, baby, tell me what you need.”

You look up at him and his eyes are dark and intense as they look down at your desperation.

“Need to feel you… please.”

He laughs, and it sounds so maniacal to you, like he’s drunk on your body and your need, the slick heat of you wrapped around him. Like he knows exactly how fucking desperate you are and he’s savoring every second of it.

“All that whimperin’,” he grits out, hips still rolling slow and mean, “and you tellin’ me you need me? Baby, I’m already inside you.”

You squirm beneath him, breath hitching on a sound that’s not quite a sob, not quite a plea. “Joel,” you whisper, your voice breaking like you’re right on the edge, “your shirt… please..”

His jaw flexes and that little muscle ticks in his jaw as he stares down at you. His hands release your wrists but only so he can sit up and shove the shirt off like it’s offending him. His chest is flushed and heaving, and the moment it’s bare, he falls right back into you, finally giving his sweat-slicked body to your hungry eyes.

“Christ,” he breathes as his chest meets yours, skin to skin now, your nipples brushing his chest hair, your legs locked around his hips like you never wanna let him go. “You’re fuckin’ insatiable.”

You whimper again, nails dragging down his now-bare back like you’ve been waiting all night to do it. “You make me crazy,” you gasp. “I swear to god, Joel, you—”

“Yeah?” he cuts in, voice ragged and so full of affection it hurts. He presses a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, your temple, one hand tangling in your hair to keep your mouth near his. “Been sittin’ across from you all damn night thinkin’ about this… about how warm you are inside, how you fuckin’ grab at me when you’re close, how you look when I fill you up.”

You cry out as he thrusts again, somehow even deeper now, sweat slicking your skin and your bodies sliding together with every movement.

“Wanted to fuck you in that dress, baby,” he groans. “Was thinkin’ about tearin’ the damned thing in half.”

“You should’ve,” you rasp, clenching around him, trembling now as that wave builds again, heat flooding through your core. “Should’ve ruined me in the parking lot.”

Joel grins into your neck, voice low and wrecked, “Don’t tempt me, darlin’. I ain’t above makin’ a scene for my wife.”

“Maybe next week,” you say, breathlessly, and that causes him to lift his head from where it was resting in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” his grip tightens on your hips as he continues his relentless pace, a curl of his grey hair falling in his face and your fingers can’t help but bury themselves in the damp curls. Your hands move to cradle his face between your palms, your thumbs trace the sharp edges of his cheekbones and his jawline.

His eyes meet yours dark and intense, with his pupils blown wide. There’s something feral beneath the softness, something possessive that flickers hotter every time you gasp, every time you tighten around him.

“Yeah,” you whisper again, weaker this time, and your voice catches when he shifts his hips just slightly, hitting that spot inside you that makes you clench and cry out.

Soon enough you felt that white heat building at the base of your spine and low in your belly, that simmering heat that has you arching into him involuntarily.

Joel groans, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “You say that like I ain’t gonna spend the whole goddamn week thinkin’ about it. Thinkin’ about bendin’ you over every surface in that house while the kids are outta earshot.” His lips brush yours and it’s barely a kiss, more of a taunt.

You whimper, fingers tightening in his hair again, and he growls as he slams into you harder, gritting his teeth as your back arches.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “you’re squeezin’ me so tight, baby. Can feel you gettin’ close.”

You nod, unable to form words, mouth parted and panting, completely wrecked beneath him. He’s everywhere, inside you, over you, looking at you like he owns you. Like he’s going to keep doing this until the goddamn stars fall.

Your eyes roll back as he thrusts deep again, and this time it hits that spot, that devastating angle, and your whole body tightens.

“J-Joel…” you stutter, voice strangled and high, your legs beginning to tremble. “I… I can’t—”

“Yes, y’can,” he growls, hips pistoning now, relentless and so fucking deep. “Cum for me, baby… That’s it—my good girl, takin’ it like such a good fuckin’ girl.”

Your body breaks apart beneath him, a guttural moan ripping from your chest as the orgasm slams into you. It’s white-hot, full-body, and you go limp for a moment, spasming around him, legs twitching as your back arches into the air.

He watches it hit you, feels it in the clench of your body, the cry of his name from your lips, and he loses it.

“Fuck, baby…. fuck yes,” he pants, and then he’s gripping your hips tight enough to bruise again, holding you still as he pounds into you once, twice more, then buries himself deep and continues gently rocking his hips into yours, chest pressing you into the mattress as he spills inside you with a deep, broken groan into your shoulder. With a few more thrusts of his hips to really fuck his cum as deep as it will go, you feel the throb of his cock inside you as he empties himself.

His weight crushes you in the best way, heat rolling off his skin.

Finally, after a moment, he pushes himself up on his forearms again, studying your face as he slowly slips out of you.

You whimper at the loss of him, and he lets out a quiet hiss as his softening cock loses its warm sheath of pure bliss.

“So beautiful, darlin’.” He leans back, his big hands swallowing your frame as he massages the muscles of your hips and upper thighs, “My fuckin wife.”

You blush under his gaze as if he wasn’t just emptying his balls inside of you, as if this moment wasn’t something people usually got used to. Every time was like the first time with him, his heat simmered just as hot as that day he kissed you for the very first time.

Your hands find the hair on his firm chest, the sensation was one of your favorites, and you know you can’t keep saying that because everything about him was one of your very favorite things in the whole world.

His eyes met yours again, the deep brown settling from its darkened state, softening at the edges as he looks at you.

“I love you,” his hands come up to cradle your face, rough palms and calloused thumbs brushing across your flushed cheeks with featherlight care. You melt beneath him, aching and full and blissfully undone.

“I love you too,” you knew that with every fiber of your being you loved this man. From his morning coffee breath and the way he leaves socks on the floor, to the way he holds you and your little ones, to the way he loves with everything he is and holds nothing back. And for a million things about the man you’re lucky enough to call yours.

He hovers there for just a second longer, then leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead first, then your nose, one kiss on each cheek. And finally… finally… he presses his lips to yours again.

It starts soft, the kind of kiss that feels like coming home. His mouth moves against yours with a hum of satisfaction, deep and lazy, the kind of kiss you feel all the way down to your toes. Your lips part for him automatically, and when his tongue slides against yours, it’s slower this time, like you’re both savoring the taste of each other.

You sigh into it, one of your hands sliding up the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the damp, soft hair at his nape. His body stays pressed to yours, chest to chest, skin to skin. You can feel the stickiness between your legs and the feel of his spend spilling back out.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss for just a moment, drinking in every small sound you make. His nose brushes yours, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again.

“I’ll never get enough of ya,” he breathes, barely more than a rasp of air against your lips.

You run your hands over his back, feeling every dip and line of him, mapping him with your fingertips as if you hadn’t already memorized every inch of him, your hands find his strong shoulders and trail your fingers up his neck and to the back of his head again, “I’m having your baby again, Joel.” As if you needed to remind yourself of the very real reality that neither of you could stop thinking about.

Joel lets out this soft, broken sound… half laugh of disbelief, half sigh… and presses another kiss to your lips, slower this time. Like he’s trying to write his love into you with nothing but his mouth and his hands and the way he keeps holding you like you’re something sacred.

His fingers trace the side of your neck, then down over your shoulder, slipping lazily along your ribs like he wants to touch every inch of you all over again.

Somehow, eventually, you both find the willpower to move.

Joel helps you up with steady hands, his touch still slow and lingering, like he hates letting you go even for a second. You’re both laughing softly, half-drunk on love and endorphins as you stumble your way to the bathroom.

The water runs hot and full, steam curling in the air as he sinks down behind you in the tub, pulling you between his legs like you belong there, because you do. His arms drape across your waist, his chest warm against your back, and you lean into him.

He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, then another, then another, lips trailing wet warmth across your skin as you hum in contentment.

You close your eyes as he pours warm water over your shoulders, his hands massaging your skin with gentle, soapy circles. Every now and then, he sneaks kisses on your neck, your temple, behind your ear.

You stay there like that for a while, tangled in heat and soft laughter, letting the water rinse away the sweat and the ache, but never the closeness.

When you finally climb out, toweling off and slipping into something comfortable, Joel’s pulling on a clean pair of boxers and getting the bed ready for the two of you to climb into.

“Gotta say it, I miss our munchkins,” you say softly as you climb beneath the sheets.

“Me too, darlin’. I’ll go get them first thing, okay?”

You nod your head sleepily, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as his arm wraps around you and pulls you in closer, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your arm. You hum softly against his skin, letting yourself melt into the weight and heat of him. His scent. soap and sweat and Joel, fills your nose and surrounds you in a blissful haze of him, grounding you in a way nothing else ever could.

“Think they’re drivin’ Tommy and your dad crazy yet?” you murmur, smiling against his neck.

Joel chuckles, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Oh, no doubt. Bet they’re running the whole show.”

You grin sleepily at that, your fingers tracing lazy shapes over his chest. “They’re good kids.”

“Yeah they sure are, darlin’,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and I make good kids. Can’t wait to see what this one becomes.” His hand slides protectively over your lower belly and you can’t help but sniffle and fight back a tear starting to form in your eye. Not from sadness, no, from the surreality that you get to have another little him growing inside of you. Knowing he’ll be there, right next to you through everything. Once again, you were reminded how damn lucky the two of you were to have found this love and to feel it so fully and so completely.

He pulls you closer and leaves a lingering kiss on your temple, his fingers trailing gently over the soft skin of your stomach.

For a while, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the fan in the corner and the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“First thing in the morning,” he says again, his voice already fading into that low, sleepy timbre. “Gonna go pick ‘em up… bring our babies home.”

You smile against him, already half-asleep yourself. “Can’t wait.”

Joel tightens his arm around you, holding you close, and you both drift off like that, wrapped up in each other, warm and safe and full of everything you’ve built together.

Tomorrow would be noisy and sticky and full of little feet and laughter, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The morning sun filters in slow and golden, the birds chirp outside, the same ones who greeted you and your family every morning.

Joel stirs first, he always does, his arms tightening around you like instinct before he even opens his eyes. You hum at the feeling, half-asleep, nuzzling deeper into his chest.

For a while, neither of you says anything. Just slow breathing, tangled legs, and the kind of heavy, warm stillness that only comes after loving someone so thoroughly they’re written into your muscles.

“Think it’s late enough to go get ‘em?” he finally murmurs, voice still thick with sleep, lips brushing your hairline.

You smile against his neck. “It’s barely seven.”

“Still late,” he says, stretching slow, muscles rippling under your cheek. “Feels like I been missin’ ‘em for days.”

You chuckle, tilting your head back to look at him. “Didn’t you say you wanted just one quiet morning for once?”

Joel grins, eyes still sleepy and soft. “Yeah… and I got it. Now I want my kids back.”

You lean up to kiss him, slow and sweet and full of that same aching affection that’s been burning in both of you since you met.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both dressed—Joel in jeans and one of his old, soft t-shirts, you in a loose sweater and leggings, hair still a little damp from your quick rinse in the bathroom.

The drive to Tommy and their dad’s place is full of soft country radio and Joel’s hand rests on your thigh the whole way there.

When you pull into the gravel drive, you can already hear faint giggles through the screen door.

Joel’s barely out of the truck before Tommy’s opening the front door, standing on the porch with his coffee in hand and a grin way too wide for this early in the morning.

“Well look who’s here,” Tommy calls, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flick between you and Joel, lingering just long enough to let the meaning settle, “have a good Friday night, kids?”

Joel shoots him a warning glare, but there’s no heat behind it, “Knock it off.”

Tommy just smirks. “Hey, I’m not sayin’ nothin’. Just sayin’ you’re lookin’ about ten years younger this morning, big brother.”

You snort, trying to cover your laugh with a cough, and Joel immediately reaches behind him to swat your hip, muttering, “Traitor.”

Before you can retaliate, there’s a loud shriek from inside, “Daddy!!!” and then all three of your kids come barreling out the door, socks sliding on the wood floors, feet pounding the porch as they rush straight for Joel.

He barely has time to kneel before they’re on him. Sarah clinging to his neck, Artie talking a mile a minute, Ellie squealing and trying to crawl up onto his lap.

And god… the way Joel holds them, the way he laughs low and bright like they’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, because you know they are to him… you swear your heart could burst.

You watch from the steps, smiling soft and full, and when his eyes find yours over their heads, warm and tired and still so full of love, you swear you fall for him all over again.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

I couldn’t stop myself, I’ve got some angst to write! I gotta balance myself out 😭

The baby fever is going crazy though thank god for my IUD or else i’d be making terrible decisions🙏🏼 that’s all I gotta say.

[narnian-neverlander]

Jason Todd, in all his 6’ 1’’ and 220 lbs glory, who likes to throw his weight around - quite literally, to your absolute dismay.

Jason Todd, who will put things on shelves just outta your reach, simply so he can offer to get them down for you, gentleman that he is, with a smug grin on his face - but only if you ask nicely, of course.

Jason Todd, who, completely out of the blue, will decide to use you as a support, like he’s just casually leaning against a wall, and not his significant other who barely manages to stay upright; arms crossed over his broad chest as he asks if something’s the matter in a chipper tone, while you struggle not to go down.

Jason Todd, who will just flop himself down on top of you when you’re curled up on the bed or couch, big arms locking around you to keep you trapped, no matter how many times you complain that his dumb ass is squishing you. You swear he makes himself heavier on purpose when he does this, but of course you can’t prove that.

Jason Todd, who uses his height and weight to be a menace and pester you from time to time, cause he thinks you’re adorable when you’re annoyed.

And then there’s the times when it isn’t about the teasing.

The times when a mission went south and he couldn’t safe someone. When he got hurt beyond just the regular bruises and cuts you’ve come to expect after almost every patrol. When a spat with his family turned into something more bitter and vile. When the damn heater in your old apartment is out yet again and the cold from Gotham’s freezing winters comes creeping in through the cracks.

The times when he’s reminded of your childhood: curled up with you under newspapers in some back alley, old soggy cardboard beneath you both, trying to keep some semblance of warmth, knuckles raw and scabbed from his last fight and stomach so empty it stings almost as bad the cold.

During those times, there’s no snarky comments or mischievous glint in his green eyes, just slumped shoulders and a shadow over his handsome face and everything about him screams defeat and weariness. It’s in the way he doesn’t actually drop himself on purpose, but instead collapses on top of you more than anything else, an invisible weight weighing heavily on him. In the way his arms come around you, tighter than usual, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise as he hides his face in the crook of your neck.

Somehow, oddly, sadly enough, those moments are easier to handle than his teasing. Because some things never change: after everything you’ve both been through, after all the time that’s passed, he still needs you as much as you need him. And it’s oh so obvious in the way he clings to you in those moments, it makes your heart ache and swell all at once, and it’s like you barely feel his weight on top of you and his nails digging into your skin.

And it never takes much, never takes long; some whispered, hushed assurances and quiet declarations of love, coupled with lazy patterns drawn into his back, and then his grip loosens, calloused fingers gently smoothing over forming crescent indents in apology, shuffling about until he shifts most of his weight off you, but never fully letting go, mumbling thanks into your skin, interspersed by little kisses scattered everywhere he can reach without moving.

Jason Todd, who sometimes genuinely forgets he’s no longer that small, scrawny, malnourished boy struggling to survive and simply wants - needs - to be as close as possible to his favorite person, his safe haven, his home.

[moonstruckme]

i don’t know if ur taking request right now, but I love ur writing so much!! I was wondering if you could do something with poly!marauders x reader? Where reader gives blood for the first time and the marauders either work there (maybe emt!marauders?) or are just there with her and reader is almost finish when she says that she isn’t feeling well and she almost passes out?? 👀 and then they all panic and comfort her??

Thanks for requesting angel!

cw: mention of blood, needle, basically everything you'd expect at a blood donation clinic + nausea and fainting

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“First time?” Sirius asks as he ties a rubber tourniquet around your arm. 

You blink, looking away from the rows of chairs laid out beside you and back to him. “Sorry?” 

“Is this your first time donating?” 

“Oh. Yeah. How did you know?” 

Sirius—he told you to call him Sirius when you sat down, though at first you thought he meant the word serious—grins at you. He has dark hair tied in a messy yet startlingly chic chignon at the back of his head, his face seems chiseled from marble, and he’s one of the few people working the clinic today in paramedic uniforms instead of nurse’s scrubs. His attractiveness intimidates you, but his demeanor sets you at ease; it’s a real trial for your nervous system altogether. 

“You look a bit nervy,” he says.

“I don’t know why I am,” you laugh, nervously. “I’m not squeamish or anything, I just…haven’t done this before.” 

“That’s perfectly alright. A lot of first-timers are a bit antsy.” Sirius’ gloved finger begins prodding at the crook of your elbow, but his eyes are on you. “Get comfortable, darling. You’ll be grand.” 

You aren’t sure how, exactly, to get comfortable, but you try to settle into the plasticky chair. Sirius’ cheek apples like he appreciates the effort. He looks down at your arm. It feels oddly vulnerable, like he’s staring at the softest, most delicate part of you. You try not to think about it. 

“Alright, here we are.” He grabs his supplies from the table beside him, gaze flickering to you again. “You want to close your eyes, sweetness? I know you’ve said you’re not squeamish, but just in case.” 

You close your eyes, thinking that you’re more likely to anxiously vomit from him calling you sweetness than anything else. 

“Perfect. Okay, you might feel a little poke.” 

It is little, so little you barely feel it at all, but that doesn’t keep your stomach from hopping up into your throat. You take in a breath through your nose. 

“Doing alright?” 

“Mhm. Sorry, yeah.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for, gorgeous. Just let me know if you start to feel funny or anything.” 

Funny might describe the state of your head right now. Sounds seem to fade in and out, your focus slipping. You feel sure Sirius can see the sweat beading on your upper lip. 

But you stick it out, breathe steadily in and out your nose, and soon Sirius is telling you, You’re doing beautifully. Almost done.

Unfortunately, the next breath in comes with a rush of nausea. You feel like you should tell him. 

“Um,” you mumble, eyes still closed. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not…feeling…” 

The last couple of words get all tangled up in your tongue on their way out. 

“Hey. Hey, babe, you okay? Can you open your eyes for me?” 

You try. It’s like looking through fuzz. 

“James!”

You want to pick your head up and see what’s turned Sirius’ voice so urgent all of a sudden, but you don’t have the strength.

“Here she comes. You’re alright, love.” 

You make a small, humiliating sound as you rouse, made all the more humiliating by the way the voice shushes you gently. You remember where you are instantly, and wonder why you’re lying flat on your back on cool tile rather than sitting in the chair. 

The shushing voice isn’t Sirius’, either. 

“Can you open your eyes, please?” it asks. 

You do, somewhat reluctantly, subjecting your corneas to cruel fluorescent lights and the stare of the man above you. It’s a rather kind stare, really. Hardly fair to say you’re being subjected to it. 

“Hi there,” he says. “How are you feeling?” 

“Hi.” You look down your body, to where another man is sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding both of your ankles on his shoulder. “I’m…okay. What…?”

“You’re at the blood donation clinic,” the first one tells you. “You fainted.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

The man at your feet laughs. “That’s alright, babe. All in a day’s work, you know.” 

Not long ago, you remember feeling like all the blood was draining from your body. Now, you’re quite sure it’s returning to your face with vigor. 

“How long was I out?” 

“Not long,” the man by your head reassures you. “We only just managed to get you lying down when—” 

“Oh, good!” Sirius startles you, coming up from behind your head without warning. “You gave me a fright, gorgeous. I did tell you to say if you started feeling funny, didn’t I? I thought we had a repartee. How are you feeling now? Is Remus taking good care of you?” 

You blink. It appears your brain is still functioning at somewhat less than peak performance, and you struggle to keep up with all his questions. “I’m fine. I…I did try to say…” 

“It’s not your fault, love,” Remus says, covering the top of your head almost protectively with his hand. He gives Sirius a dry look. “We’re supposed to ask beforehand if you have a history of fainting.” 

“There’s no history to be had!” Sirius defends himself. “It’s her first time. Luckily, I have catlike reflexes in terms of sounding the alarm, and James was quick enough to catch her before she toppled out of the chair.” 

“Oh, first time.” The one who must be James gives you a sympathetic look. His thumb rubs over your ankle bone as though to comfort you. “I hope this hasn’t spoiled it for you, lovely. I’m sure it’s scary.” 

This doesn’t feel like the sort of thing you’re meant to reply to, but when both Remus and Sirius look at you with similar pitying expressions, you squeeze out a meek, “I’m okay.” 

“We’ll try to make sure you leave without too awful of an impression.” Sirius grins at you, squatting by your side. “We’re just gonna take it nice and slow, babe. How about sitting up to have a drink?” 

When you nod, Remus slips a hand behind your back, supporting you upright. James sets your legs down as he does. 

“Alright, any preferences?” Sirius begins lining up plastic bottles on the floor beside you. “Our bar is stocked with apple, orange, and grape juice and water.” 

“Ooh, he must really like you,” says James. “Normally he hoards the grape juice for himself.���

Sirius shoots his friend a nasty look, but he doesn’t deny it. 

[reveriebae]

Sugar-coated Sin

pairing(s) : Choi San x reader

word count : 8383

summary : A harmless cookie, a hidden crush, and a night of no return.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Explicit sexual content, aphrodisiac use, desperation, begging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slight corruption kink, switch!San, submissive reader, rough and messy oral, mild dub-con due to aphrodisiac effects, fluids everywhere, slight degradation, heavy praise, cock-drunk reader, love confessions in the heat of the moment. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : Maybe...just maybe, this one is the filthiest fic I've ever written :>

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

The glow of the TV screen flickered across the dimly lit living room, casting soft shadows on the walls. The movie played on, but neither of you was really watching. San sat comfortably on the couch beside you, legs spread lazily, one arm slung over the backrest while his other hand rested on his thigh. You had invited him over under the pretense of a casual movie night, a friendly hangout between neighbors. But the truth? You’d been harboring a quiet, desperate crush on him for months, watching him through your window when he left for the gym, catching glimpses of his toned arms whenever he wore sleeveless shirts, and hearing his deep, sleepy voice whenever he greeted you in the morning.

Tonight, he was so close, sitting right beside you, his scent—a mix of fresh laundry and something unmistakably San—lingering in the air. Your heart raced, but you kept your cool, tucking your legs beneath you as you reached for a handful of popcorn.

The coffee table in front of you was littered with snacks—half a bag of chips, an open pack of gummies, and a single, unopened box of purple cookies. It had been there since the beginning of the night, untouched, yet its unusual color stood out among the rest.

San’s sharp eyes landed on it after a while. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the box as he leaned forward to grab his drink.

You blinked, feigning curiosity as you followed his gaze. “Hmm?”

“The cookies. They’re purple.” His brows furrowed slightly as he picked up the box, turning it in his hands. “Where’d you get these?”

You shrugged, acting completely indifferent. “I dunno. Maybe my friend left them here last time. Probably blueberry or something.” You popped another piece of popcorn into your mouth, keeping your expression perfectly neutral.

San hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He opened the box with a crinkle of plastic, pulling out a cookie. It was a deep shade of violet, oddly smooth, and smelled faintly sweet—almost floral. He gave it a brief sniff before shrugging and taking a bite.

It took barely a second before he hummed in appreciation. “Oh, these are good,” he muttered through a mouthful.

You glanced at him, watching as he chewed slowly, his jaw flexing with every movement. “Yeah?”

“Mmh,” he nodded, already reaching for another. “They’re soft, kind of sweet but not too much. You really never tried them?”

You shook your head, hiding your smirk behind the rim of your glass as you sipped your drink. “Nope.”

San, completely unaware, continued eating. One cookie turned into two. Then three. Then four. You watched as he absentmindedly finished the fifth, licking a stray crumb off his thumb before grabbing a sixth without thinking. He was completely at ease, eyes flicking back to the screen as the movie droned on, paying no attention to the way his fingers twitched slightly against his thigh.

It started subtly.

The first thing you noticed was the way he shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off an odd sensation. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his brows knitted together briefly before he relaxed again. You pretended not to see it, keeping your gaze trained on the screen even as you observed him from the corner of your eye.

Minutes passed, and San’s breathing grew a little heavier. Not noticeably so—but you caught it. His chest rose and fell just a fraction quicker than before. His fingers twitched again, flexing briefly before he balled them into a loose fist.

Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose.

You turned to him, feigning curiosity. “You okay?”

San tensed at your voice, his head snapping toward you. His pupils were slightly blown, his lips parted as if he was about to say something—but he hesitated. His jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You blinked, tilting your head innocently. “You sure? You look kinda… hot.”

San inhaled deeply through his nose. His fingers dug into his thigh, gripping the fabric of his sweatpants as he forced out a chuckle. “M’fine.”

But he wasn’t.

The flush creeping up his neck told a different story. His body was heating up, slow and unbearable, a warmth that started in his stomach and trickled downward, pooling between his legs. He shifted again, subtly this time, pressing his thighs together as if that would help. His cock twitched, and he bit the inside of his cheek, willing it to calm down.

Not now. Not here.

But fuck—he could feel everything. The way his clothes clung to his skin, the way the air suddenly felt too thick, the way his heartbeat pounded just a little too hard in his ears. And then there was you.

You, sitting beside him, completely oblivious. Looking so fucking innocent.

San let out a slow breath, gripping his knee to steady himself. He could feel his body reacting against his will, heat rushing straight to his groin as a dull ache settled low in his stomach. He swallowed thickly, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

It had to be the cookies.

He glanced at the empty wrappers on the table, realization dawning—but it was too late. His body was already betraying him.

And the worst part? You weren’t even helping.

You shifted slightly, your thigh brushing against his just barely, and San had to suppress the whimper threatening to escape his lips. Fuck. He was too aware, too sensitive, too turned on, and you weren’t even doing anything.

Or maybe you were.

Maybe it was the way you leaned closer to grab your drink, your scent hitting him in full force. Maybe it was the way your lips parted slightly when you took a sip, or the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed. Maybe it was the way your fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shorts, completely unaware of the hell you were putting him through.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was the way you turned to him, brows furrowed in faux concern as you murmured, “San, are you sure you’re okay? You look really flustered.”

His breath hitched.

You were too good at this. Too good at acting clueless.

And fuck, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.

San swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus—on anything but the unbearable heat coursing through his veins. But every second that passed made it worse. His skin felt too tight, his sweatpants suddenly too restrictive, and his cock throbbed in his boxers, demanding attention he couldn’t give it.

Not in front of you. Not when you looked at him like that—so wide-eyed, so innocent, like you had no idea what you’d just done to him.

You shifted closer, your hand grazing his arm as you peered at him in mock concern. “San…?”

His breath came out shaky. His fingers twitched against his thigh. His jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse, strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

You blinked. “Don’t what?”

San exhaled sharply, his grip on his knee tightening. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

His nostrils flared. His body jerked when you shifted again, your knee brushing against his thigh, and this time—this time—it was too much. His cock twitched violently in his pants, straining against the fabric, and he felt it—the way the pulse of need shot straight through him, leaving him aching.

“Fuck—” he hissed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

You stared at him, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The way his fingers dug into his thigh, white-knuckled, as he fought against whatever was happening to him. And then, ever so sweetly, you asked—

“San… what’s wrong?”

His eyes snapped open.

Oh, you were good.

Too fucking good.

San turned his head slowly, fixing you with a look so dark, so desperate, it sent a shiver down your spine. His pupils were completely blown now, his face flushed, his chest rising and falling just a bit too quickly.

And then—his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and fuck, it was almost shy the way he whispered—

“I need you to leave.”

Your brows lifted. “Huh?”

His jaw clenched. “I need you to leave. Now.”

You blinked at him, feigning confusion. “Why? This is my house”

San exhaled hard through his nose, shifting again, trying so desperately not to move his hips—but it was useless. He was already hard. Painfully so. His cock pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants, aching, and every little movement sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through him.

And you—

You sat there, looking at him like you didn’t just wreck him completely.

His fingers flexed against his knee. His tongue flicked out again, wetting his lips. He was holding back—barely—but the cracks were starting to show.

And then, you said it.

Soft, sweet, and utterly devastating.

“…San, do you need help?”

His entire body froze.

Silence. Thick, heavy silence. The only sound was the low hum of the TV, the flickering light casting faint shadows across his face.

San didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

You watched him carefully, noting the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers flexed just slightly.

He turned his head, gaze locking onto yours, dark and unreadable.

“…What did you just say?” His voice was low. Dangerously low.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I asked if you need help. You look really uncomfo—”

San let out a sharp breath, a broken, frustrated laugh leaving his lips as he leaned forward, pressing his elbows to his knees. His hands threaded through his hair, gripping at the strands, his shoulders heaving.

“You—” He exhaled shakily, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t even know what you’re doing right now, do you?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

San let out another laugh, but this one was strained, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His legs spread just slightly, enough that you could see the outline of his problem if you were looking.

Which you were.

His voice dropped even lower, rough and needy.

“Baby, if you don’t leave right now…”

A pause. A breath.

And then—

“…I won’t be able to stop myself.”

The room felt unbearably hot, the space between you crackling with something thick, something dangerous. San sat there, legs spread just enough for you to see the bulge in his sweatpants, his fingers gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles were white. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his tongue darting out—again—to wet his lips.

He was trying so hard to keep himself in check.

But you weren’t making it easy for him.

You sat there, all wide-eyed and sweet, your lips barely parted in faux confusion, your body angled ever so slightly toward him. You were playing your part perfectly, pretending to be clueless, pretending you didn’t see the way his cock strained against his sweatpants, thick and aching.

San let out another shaky breath, his fingers flexing, nails digging into the fabric of his pants. His entire body was tense, trembling with restraint, his mind a mess of heat and hunger.

“I’m serious,” he gritted out, voice dangerously low. “You need to go.”

But you didn’t move.

Instead, you shifted closer, your knee brushing against his, and—

Fuck.

San’s entire body jerked, a low, strangled noise catching in his throat. His hands flew to his thighs, gripping them so hard it was almost painful. His lips parted as he sucked in a sharp breath, his head tilting back against the couch, his jaw tight.

Oh.

You bit the inside of your cheek, watching the way his chest heaved, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His skin was flushed, a deep, burning red creeping up his neck, his hair slightly damp with sweat.

“…San?” Your voice was soft, so innocent.

His fingers twitched. His nostrils flared.

And then—he turned to you.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

His pupils were completely blown now, his lips slightly swollen from how hard he was biting them. His expression was wrecked—half desperate, half pained—but beneath it all, there was something else.

Something dark.

Something hungry.

“…You’re fucking with me.” His voice was hoarse, dripping with frustration.

You blinked. “I’m not.”

His jaw clenched. “Yes, you are.”

“I really don’t—”

“Baby.”

You froze.

San’s hand suddenly shot out, fingers curling around your wrist—not rough, not forceful, but firm. His grip was warm, burning, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling the way it jumped beneath his touch.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He felt it.

And fuck—his lips curled into something almost dangerous.

“…You like this, don’t you?” His voice was a whisper, low and intense.

You swallowed. “San—”

“You like watching me like this.” His thumb stroked against your wrist, slow and deliberate. “You like seeing me hold myself back. You like seeing me suffer.”

You opened your mouth—to deny it, to keep up the act—but then San’s grip tightened, just slightly, just enough to make you feel it.

Your breath hitched.

San exhaled sharply, his eyes flicking down—to your lips, to your throat, to the way your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. His own breathing was shaky, his entire body trembling with the effort to keep himself from snapping.

He was holding on by a thread.

And then—

“…You really shouldn’t have let me eat those cookies, baby.”

San was unraveling.

His grip on your wrist tightened for a brief moment before he let go—only to move faster than you could react. One second, he was sitting beside you, barely holding himself together, and the next—

You were on your back.

Your body sank into the couch, your breath punched out of you as San hovered above, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you could feel the heat of his palms through your shorts. His pupils were blown, his lips parted, his chest heaving as he stared down at you like he was about to devour you whole.

“San—”

“Shh,” he rasped, shaking his head, his thumbs stroking against your skin. “No more talking.”

His voice was ruined—wrecked with frustration, with need, with the unbearable ache that had been building inside him since the moment he ate those damn cookies.

And then—

Rip.

Your breath hitched as your shorts and panties were suddenly yanked down in one go, the cool air hitting your bare skin. Your thighs clenched together on instinct, but San didn’t let you close them—his hands pushed them apart, his fingers digging into your flesh as he spread you open wide for him.

“Fucking finally,” he groaned, almost in relief.

Heat flared through your body, your stomach twisting into a tight knot as you felt his breath—warm and heavy—ghost over your exposed skin.

“S-San—”

“I don’t wanna hear a fucking word,” he cut you off, his voice dropping into something dark, something dangerous. His hands tightened on your thighs, his fingers pressing deep into the flesh. “You’ve been sitting there all fucking innocent, acting like you don’t know what you’re doing to me—”

He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, his head dropping for a second. Then—he lifted it, eyes locking onto yours, dark and unreadable.

“You wanna act clueless?” His voice was quiet, deadly. “Fine. I’ll make you understand.”

And then—

His mouth latched onto you.

A sharp, broken moan ripped out of your throat as his tongue flattened against your pussy, broad and hot and hungry. The first stroke was messy—desperate—his lips parting as he sucked at your clit, his nose pressing against your skin as he buried himself between your legs.

Your entire body jerked at the sudden intensity, your fingers flying to grip the cushions as a choked gasp left your lips. “S-San—!”

But he didn’t let up.

He was starving.

His tongue moved sloppy and wet, flicking against your clit before dragging down, tasting every inch of you. His groan was deep—needy—his hands tight on your thighs as he pushed them further apart, forcing you to take everything he was giving.

“Fuck,” he growled against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. “Taste so good, baby—fuck—”

His tongue delved into you, deep, his lips moving in frantic, desperate kisses against your heat. His nose nudged against your clit with every movement, sending sharp shocks of pleasure racing up your spine.

Your legs trembled, your hands flying to grip his hair, trying to pull him away—but he didn’t budge. If anything—

He groaned, his hands flying up to grab your wrists, pinning them to your stomach.

“Oh, no,” he murmured, voice wrecked, his lips dragging against your soaked skin. “You’re not stopping me.”

You whined, your hips jerking as his tongue circled your clit before sucking it hard into his mouth. Your vision blurred, a broken sob leaving your lips as pleasure shot through you, hot and searing.

“S-San—! Oh, fuck—”

His grip on your wrists tightened. “That’s what I wanna hear,” he groaned, his tongue pressing against your clit in slow, intentional circles. “Not that fake little innocent act. I wanna hear you beg.”

Your chest heaved, your fingers twitching in his grasp. “P-please—”

San moaned—loud, needy, his hips grinding against the couch as if he was getting off on this just as much as you.

“Fuck,” he panted, his lips dragging against your skin, his tongue dipping deep before flicking back up to circle your clit again. “Say it again.”

Your back arched, your legs shaking in his grasp. “San—please—”

He growled, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking fast—and your entire body convulsed, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as the pleasure crashed through you, sudden and violent.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as your body twitched, even as your thighs trembled, even as your moans turned into desperate, choked whimpers—he kept going.

Over and over and over.

Rough. Messy. Unrelenting.

Your voice cracked, your hands struggling against his grip. “I-I can’t—!”

San moaned against your skin, his hips rolling again, his cock aching in his pants.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, his tongue dragging against your heat, devouring you. “You can. And you will.”

San was a fucking menace.

You had no control anymore—your body was his to ruin, his to wreck, his to make completely fall apart beneath him. His hands were firm on your wrists, keeping you pinned to your own stomach, his tongue relentless as he ate you like a man possessed.

His desperation was palpable—in the way his lips sucked at your clit, in the way his tongue flicked fast and sloppy, in the way his hips kept grinding against the couch as if he was getting just as much pleasure from this as you were.

And the worst part?

He was.

“San—fuck—” Your voice was a broken whimper, your head thrown back against the cushions, body jerking with every frantic stroke of his tongue. “T-too much—”

San growled into you, the vibrations shaking through your core. His grip tightened on your wrists, forcing you to stay put as he dove back in, lips wrapping tight around your clit as he sucked hard—

Your vision whited out.

A sharp, guttural cry tore from your throat, your back arching clean off the couch as a second orgasm ripped through you, just as intense as the first.

But San—

San didn’t stop.

“F-fuck, San—!” Your voice was wrecked, your thighs trembling violently as his tongue kept flicking, kept circling, kept fucking devouring you.

He was insatiable.

“Taste so fucking good, baby—” he groaned, his voice wrecked, his mouth messy with you, his lips dragging sloppy kisses over your soaked skin. “Gonna make you cum for me again, yeah? Gonna let me ruin you?”

Your breath came out shaky, a mix of pleasure and overstimulation making your body jerk beneath him.

“C-can’t—” You whined, shaking your head, your fingers twitching in his grip. “San, please—”

San moaned against you, his hips rolling into the couch again, desperate, needy. “Mmm, baby,” he breathed, voice hoarse, lips shining with your slick as he glanced up at you. “You keep saying that, but you’re so fucking wet for me.”

His tongue dragged against your entrance before flicking up again, circling your clit in tight, fast motions. “Your pussy’s begging for me.”

Your body shuddered, a whimper leaving your lips. “S-San—”

His fingers squeezed your wrists, keeping them trapped. His eyes were dark, desperate—his own body trembling with restraint as he devoured you again, his tongue flicking faster, his lips sucking harder.

You were gone.

Pleasure built again, fast and merciless, your thighs shaking as San wrecked you with his mouth.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, tongue swirling sloppy and wet. “Cum for me again. I wanna feel it.”

Your body jerked, your voice breaking as your orgasm slammed into you—so hard, so intense it left you gasping for air, your fingers digging into the couch, your hips jerking against his mouth.

But even then—

San still wasn’t done.

His mouth was still messy against you, his lips still sucking, his tongue still fucking you, his own breath ragged, his cock so painfully hard in his sweatpants he could barely think straight.

His head lifted slightly, his tongue flicking against your clit in slow, precise strokes. And then—his voice, hoarse and wrecked.

“One more.”

You whimpered, your entire body shuddering beneath him.

San pressed a soft, wet kiss to your clit, his voice a rough whisper against your skin.

“I know you can take it.”

San was insatiable.

You were wrecked beneath him—your body trembling, your thighs shaking, your breath coming out in sharp, shallow gasps. Your brain was muddled, your skin burning hot, your core aching from the relentless pleasure he’d already given you.

But San?

San wasn’t done.

He refused to be done.

His mouth pressed another slow, wet kiss against your clit, his tongue flicking just enough to send a sharp jolt through your already sensitive body. Your legs twitched, your breath catching in your throat, a desperate whimper slipping past your lips.

San groaned at the sound, his hands tight on your thighs, keeping them spread as he dragged his tongue through your slick folds again—slow this time, teasing, torturing.

“F-fuck—San—” Your voice was broken, your fingers twitching against your stomach, where he still had them pinned.

San hummed against your skin, his lips curving slightly. His breath was warm, heavy with desire, his own body trembling with restraint. His hips twitched again, his cock so achingly hard beneath his sweatpants that you could feel his frustration radiating off of him.

But he wasn’t relieving himself.

No.

His only focus was you.

“I need one more,” he murmured against you, his lips pressing another sloppy kiss to your clit, his tongue flicking just right. “I need it, baby. I need to feel you break for me again.”

You whined, your head turning to the side, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your body shuddered from the overstimulation.

“S-San—”

His fingers tightened on your thighs.

“You can take it,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. “I know you can.”

And then—

His mouth latched onto your clit again, his tongue flicking fast, his lips sucking hard, his desperation coming out in the way he devoured you like a man starving.

Your body jerked, a sharp cry breaking from your lips as another wave of pure pleasure slammed into you—hot, intense, merciless.

San groaned, his hands shaking as he held you down, his tongue flicking, licking, sucking, taking everything he could—

And your body broke.

Your moan was raw, shattered, your legs trembling violently as the pleasure ripped through you one final time—so strong, so overwhelming that your vision blurred, your entire body going limp beneath him.

And finally—finally—San pulled away.

His breath was heavy, his lips wet, his face completely wrecked as he slowly lifted his head, his fingers still tight on your thighs. His pupils were blown, his skin flushed, his entire body trembling with restraint.

He was desperate.

Needy.

His cock was aching, straining against his sweatpants, his hips twitching with every deep breath he took.

And yet—

His eyes stayed on you.

A slow smirk curled his swollen lips.

“…Now,” he murmured, voice rough, low, dripping with satisfaction. “Be a good girl—”

His hands finally released your wrists, and one of them dragged down your body, warm and possessive, until his fingers pressed against your wrecked heat.

And then—

“And open that pretty little mouth for me.”

And he wasn’t waiting any longer.

His fingers curled around your jaw, his grip firm as he tilted your head up—forcing you to look at him. His eyes were dark, blown wide with lust, his lips parted, his breath coming out ragged.

“Open,” he rasped, his voice wrecked from how much he’d devoured you already.

You barely had a second to react before his thumb pushed against your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open just enough—

And then—

San spit.

A hot, thick glob landed on your tongue, the sensation sending a sharp shock through your system, making your thighs clench, your body shudder beneath him.

San groaned, his grip tightening on your jaw, his cock twitching in his pants at the way you just took it—at the way your tongue glided against your bottom lip as you swallowed.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, his voice shaking with restraint. “You’re so good for me.”

His free hand shoved at his sweatpants, yanking them down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick, leaking, his tip an angry red from how long he’d been holding back.

He couldn’t wait anymore.

He needed your mouth.

“Tongue out,” he murmured, voice low, dark with hunger.

You obeyed without hesitation, your tongue flicking out just enough—

And San groaned, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock as he dragged the tip against your tongue, smearing his precum across it.

“Shit—” His breath shuddered, his hips twitching forward, his patience snapping all at once.

And then—

He pushed in.

Your mouth stretched around him, your throat constricting as he bottomed out in one slow, deep thrust, his cock pressing against the back of your throat, forcing a wet, choked gasp from your lips.

San moaned, his grip on your jaw tightening, his head dropping back for a second before his gaze snapped back down to you—watching as your lips stretched around him, your mouth completely full of his cock.

“Fucking—” His voice was wrecked, his hips trembling. “God, your mouth—so fucking perfect—”

And then—

He started to move.

Slow at first—teasing, dragging his cock out just enough before pushing back in, making sure you could feel every inch, every throb, every pulse of him against your tongue.

But then—

His restraint snapped.

His hips snapped forward, hard and desperate, forcing a wet, choked sound from your throat. His fingers dug into your jaw, holding you in place as he fucked into your mouth, deep, rough, his groans growing louder, needier.

“Fuck, baby—fuck—” he panted, his breath ragged, his hips snapping against your lips with each thrust. “Your mouth—so fucking good—so tight—”

Your throat constricted, your eyes watering from the sheer intensity of it—but San didn’t stop.

If anything—

He got rougher.

His pace quickened, his cock dragging against your tongue before slamming back in, his moans turning into needy, desperate growls. Spit dripped down your chin, your lips swollen, your breath coming out sharp through your nose as you tried to keep up with the way he was using your mouth.

And fuck—

He loved it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his hand fisting your hair now, holding you in place as his cock slid deeper, making you gag around him. “Fucking messy for me. Taking it so good, baby—”

His hips stuttered, his breath hitching, his body tensing as he thrust in deep—

And then—

A low, wrecked moan tore from his throat as his cock pulsed, his cum spilling hot and thick down your throat.

He held you there, deep, making sure you took every drop, his fingers tight in your hair, his breath heavy as he watched you—your eyes teary, your lips puffy, your throat constricting as you swallowed everything he gave you.

San groaned, his entire body shuddering, his cock twitching one last time before he slowly pulled out, watching as a thin strand of spit and cum connected your lips to his tip.

His thumb wiped it away—only to push it back into your mouth, watching as your tongue flicked against the pad of his finger, as you sucked it in.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice shaky, his thumb stroking against your lip. “You’re so fucking good for me.”

His breathing was still ragged, his body still trembling—but even through his post-orgasm haze, even as his cock twitched from the sheer sensitivity—

His fingers dragged up your body again, slow, deliberate.

And then—

He smirked.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous.

“We’re not done yet.”

San’s breath was still shaky, his cock twitching against your skin even as he came down from his high—but fuck, it wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

His fingers twitched against your jaw, his thumb dragging over your spit-slicked lips, his eyes blown wide with hunger as he stared down at you. His body was still on fire, the heat curling deep in his gut, his cock already hardening again despite just having emptied himself down your throat.

His entire body ached with need.

He still wanted more.

And more.

And more.

His breath shuddered as his gaze dropped lower, trailing over your wrecked body, your thighs still trembling from the orgasms he’d already given you. His fingers ghosted over your stomach, down to your dripping heat, his jaw clenching at how soaked you still were.

“You’re so fucking ruined already,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, wrecked.

But his fingers pushed in anyway—two, then three, stretching you open again, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion. Your body arched into him, your breath coming out in a sharp, needy whimper, your walls clenching around his fingers as he started thrusting them in deep, slow.

His free hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wide, his lips parted, his eyes wild as he watched his fingers disappear into you, over and over and over again.

And then—

His cock twitched.

San groaned, his patience snapping all over again.

His fingers left you just as fast as they entered—only to be replaced by his cock, sliding between your folds, the tip smearing his precum along your entrance before he pushed in, slow, deep, stretching you all over again.

A sharp, broken moan tore from your lips, your back arching against the couch, your nails digging into the cushions as he bottomed out in one deep, desperate thrust.

San choked on a moan, his arms trembling as he held himself over you, his head dropping forward, his breath shaky against your skin.

“F-fuck,” he groaned, his voice shaking, his hands tightening on your thighs. “You’re—so tight, baby—so fucking wet—”

And then—

He snapped his hips forward.

A sharp cry ripped from your throat as his cock slammed into you, deep and hard, his grip unrelenting as he held you there, forcing you to take every inch, every pulse of him inside you.

And he didn’t stop.

His pace was brutal, his thrusts fast, his body shuddering with pleasure as he pounded into you, his voice breaking into low, needy moans with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Fucking—shit—” San’s voice was wrecked, his head dropping to your shoulder, his hands gripping your hips so tight they were bound to leave bruises. “Feel so fucking good, baby—feel so tight around me—”

Your moans were shattered, your entire body jerking with the force of his thrusts, your mind already melting from how deep he was, from how ruthlessly he was fucking into you.

And fuck—he was losing himself.

His hands suddenly flipped you, pressing your chest into the couch, his weight caging you beneath him as he thrust back in, his moan ragged, wrecked, completely fucked out.

“You wanted this, huh?” he growled against your ear, his hips snapping against your ass, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you over and over and over again. “Wanted me to fuck you like this? Use you like this?”

Your moan came out choked, your fingers digging into the couch, your body completely fucked out beneath him.

San groaned, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, his body shaking as his cock twitched inside you, his thrusts growing sloppy, desperate.

“Gonna cum—” His voice was wrecked, his hands trembling against your skin, his pace quickening, snapping into you harder, deeper— “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His hips jerked, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, his moan shattered as his body shuddered against yours.

But even then—

Even after he’d emptied himself inside you, even after he’d fucked you to the point of exhaustion—

San didn’t stop.

His cock was still hard. His breath was still shaky.

He was still aching for more.

His arms wrapped around you suddenly, flipping you back onto your back, his lips crashing against yours as his cock thrust back into you—

And he groaned, deep and wrecked, his hands gripping your body, his hips rolling into yours again, his body shuddering from the overstimulation, from the sheer desperation consuming him.

San’s body was burning.

Every inch of him was on fire, his skin too hot, his breath too shaky, his cock still throbbing inside you even after he had already cum so hard his vision had blurred.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, grasping, trembling as they explored every inch of your wrecked, sensitive body. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you up against him, his breath shuddering as he felt just how soaked you still were, how your slick was dripping down his thighs, how your body trembled beneath him.

And fuck—he needed more.

His lips crashed against your neck, sucking, biting, devouring as his hands spread your thighs wide, his hips grinding against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.

“Shit—” His voice was wrecked, his grip tightening on your body. “You’re so fucking wet, baby—so messy for me—”

And then—

His fingers slid between your legs, pressing against your clit, rubbing fast, sloppy, his cock still deep inside you, stretching you so perfectly you could barely breathe.

Your body jerked, a sharp, broken moan tearing from your throat as his fingers played with you, as his cock twitched inside you, as his breath came out in needy, desperate little gasps.

“Gimme—gimme another one, baby—” His voice was pleading, desperate, his pace quickening, his touch growing rougher, sloppier. “Just one more—fuck, just—please—”

And then—

Your body snapped.

A sharp cry tore from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you again, your thighs trembling, your vision blurring as you gushed all over him, soaking his thighs, his cock, his stomach—everything.

San choked on a moan, his head dropping against your shoulder, his body shuddering as he felt you squirt all over him, felt how wrecked you were, how completely ruined you were beneath him.

And fuck—

He still wasn’t done.

His hands dragged down your body, his fingers trembling as they gripped your thighs, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, shaky, needy—

“Baby, I need—” His voice broke, his breath ragged, his cock twitching inside you. “I need you again—”

His hips snapped forward, deep, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands grasping, clutching, desperate as he fucked into you again, as if he hadn’t already ruined you.

His voice was pleading, his hands shaking, his lips trailing down your skin as he whispered, begged—

“Just one more, baby—just—just one more—”

His skin was burning, his body shaking, his cock aching—but fuck, he still wasn’t satisfied. His lips were glossy with spit, his thighs soaked from how many times you’d already squirted all over him, his breath coming out in needy, ragged little moans as he panted against your skin.

And you?

You were just as wrecked.

Your body was limp beneath him, your voice hoarse from how many times you’d already screamed his name, your legs trembling as he pushed them apart yet again, refusing to let you close up, refusing to let you hide from him.

His fingers gripped your thighs, spreading you wide, his breath shuddering at the sight of your dripping, swollen cunt, slick and messy from everything he’d already done to you.

And fuck—he still wanted more.

His cock throbbed, his mouth watering as he lowered himself between your legs again, his hands grasping, clutching at your thighs, his lips brushing against your soaked heat as his voice came out shaky, wrecked—

“Baby, I need—” His voice broke, his breath hot against your skin. “I need to taste you again—”

And before you could even process it—

His tongue was on you.

A sharp, choked gasp tore from your lips as his mouth latched onto you, his tongue sliding between your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit as he sucked, hard.

“San—!” Your voice cracked, your fingers jerking into his hair, tugging, pulling—but he didn’t care. He growled against you, his arms tightening around your thighs, locking you in place as he devoured you, as if he was starving, as if he’d die if he didn’t have you.

And fuck—he was so messy about it.

His tongue was sloppy, wet, licking and lapping at your cunt like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed you more than air itself. Spit and slick were everywhere, coating his lips, dripping down his chin, mixing with the wetness already soaking his thighs.

And fuck, he loved it.

His hands dug into your hips, pulling you against his face, his moans vibrating against your heat, his cock twitching between his legs as he grinded against the couch, so fucking needy, so fucking wrecked just from tasting you.

“San—fuck, fuck—” Your breath was ragged, your fingers clutching at the sheets, your body jerking with every sharp flick of his tongue. “You’re so—so messy—”

San groaned, his hips grinding harder against the couch, his hands shaking as he dragged his tongue down, circling your entrance, his voice coming out slurred, wrecked—

“Can’t—can’t help it, baby—” His tongue pushed in, fucking into you, his moan shattering as he felt you clench around him, as he felt your thighs shake, your body trembling beneath his touch.

And then—

“Gonna make you squirt again,” he murmured, his breath shaky, his tongue pulling out just to be replaced by his fingers, two—then three, stretching you wide, fucking into you deep, his mouth still latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, ruining you all over again.

Your moans turned shattered, your body jerking, your hands gripping his hair so tight it should’ve hurt—but fuck, he loved it.

And then—

You snapped.

A sharp, choked scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, your body jerking, your back arching as you gushed all over his face, soaking his lips, his chin, his throat.

San moaned, deep and wrecked, his hips twitching, his cock aching as he fucked his fingers into you, forcing more out of you, watching as you dripped down his arms, as your thighs shook, as your entire body gave out beneath him.

But even then—

Even after he had licked you clean, even after he had made you cum so hard you could barely breathe—

San still wasn’t done.

His cock was throbbing, his body aching, his hands gripping your thighs as he flipped you over, his voice ragged, wrecked, pleading—

“Just one more, baby—” His breath was shaky, his cock pressing against your entrance, still soaked with your slick, your juices still dripping down his thighs. “Just—just one more—”

And then—

He slammed into you, hard, deep, his moan breaking as his cock dragged against your oversensitive walls, as your body clenched around him, as he lost himself in you all over again.

And fuck—

He was never stopping.

Your limbs were twitching, your skin burning, your mind completely blank from how many times San had already fucked the breath from your lungs. Your thighs were sticky with slick, your body completely boneless beneath him, your voice hoarse from all the screams he’d already pulled from you.

But San?

San was a wreck.

His body was shaking, his chest heaving, his cock still twitching inside you, still aching, still so desperate for more. His fingers clutched at your waist, trembling, his lips dragging against your cheek, his breath hot and shaky, his voice coming out wrecked, pleading—

“Baby, please—” His voice broke, his hands shaking as they gripped you tighter, his lips feathering over your jaw, your ear, your throat—begging.

You whimpered, barely able to move, barely able to breathe, your body too sensitive, too wrecked to even process the words properly.

“San—I can’t—” Your voice was shaky, barely even a whisper, your hands weakly pressing against his chest, trying to stop him, trying to make him listen. “I—I can’t take anymore—”

San whined.

A deep, desperate, completely wrecked little sound, his entire body shuddering, his hands gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your throat, begging, pleading—

“Baby—please—” His voice was strained, so wrecked that he could barely form words, his body so desperate that he was practically vibrating with need. “I need you—fuck, I need to feel you again—”

His hips jerked, his cock twitching inside you, still so hard, still aching for more, still so needy that it physically hurt.

“Just—just let me, baby—” His voice cracked, his breath hot against your skin, his hands still clutching at you, his body still begging even though he already knew your answer.

And then—

His hips pressed in.

Deep.

Slow.

And you gasped, your body jerking, your thighs trembling as he pushed himself inside you again, his cock stretching your already wrecked, overworked walls, making you feel every inch of him, making you take him whether you could handle it or not.

“San—stop—” Your voice broke, a sharp, shaky gasp leaving your lips as your nails dug into his skin, your body twitching from the overwhelming sensitivity.

He didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

His breath was shaky, his voice cracking, his body shuddering as he buried himself inside you again, whimpering, his hips rolling, his hands gripping your thighs as he forced you to take him.

And fuck—he was crying.

Tears were stinging his eyes, his moans high, wrecked, his body completely losing control as he fucked into you, desperate, starved, whining with every thrust.

“Baby—fuck, I—I can’t stop—” His voice was strained, shaking, his breath ragged as he buried his face into your neck, his hands trembling as he held onto you, as he kept moving, as he kept fucking you even when you were already gone.

Your body jerked, a sharp, choked cry leaving your lips as another orgasm ripped through you, so strong, so shattering that your vision blurred, your body convulsing, your mind blanking out from how fucking wrecked you were.

And he followed right after.

A sharp, wrecked moan broke from his lips as his hips snapped, as his cock throbbed, as he spilled inside you all over again, so deep, so full, his release mixing with the mess already dripping between your thighs.

His entire body shuddered, his breath gasping, his hands clutching at you like he never wanted to let go.

And even after—

Even when his body was completely spent, when he was too wrecked to even move—

San was still inside you.

Still deep, still full, still holding on like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you.

And his voice?

It was weak, whispered, still shaky from everything he had just done.

But it was real.

It was raw.

“Baby…” A deep, shaky breath left him, his lips brushing against your temple, his arms still wrapped around you, still clutching onto you like you were the only thing keeping him sane.

“I—I love you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Your heart was pounding, your breath shaky, your body still aching in the best possible way—but your mind was a fucking mess.

San wasn’t supposed to say that.

This wasn’t supposed to be love.

This was supposed to be a one-time thing, a secret indulgence, something you’d both pretend never happened in the morning.

But now—

Now, San was looking at you like you meant something.

Like you weren’t just the girl next door who had accidentally drugged him with aphrodisiac cookies.

Like you weren’t just someone he fucked senseless on the living room couch.

Like you were his.

And the worst part?

You wanted to be, badly.

“San…” Your voice was weak, your fingers shaky as they traced over his jaw, your heart twisting in your chest as you looked at him—really looked at him.

His eyes were red-rimmed, still glassy from how hard he had come, his lips were kiss-swollen, his hair was a mess, sticking to his damp forehead.

And he looked so fucking beautiful.

So wrecked.

So vulnerable.

So in love.

And it fucking terrified you.

Because if you let yourself believe it—

If you let yourself have him—

You didn’t think you’d ever be able to let him go.

“…Say it again.”

San’s breath hitched.

His fingers tightened on your waist, his lips parting slightly, his eyes widening just a fraction—

And then, in a voice so soft, so reverent, so raw it sent a fucking shiver down your spine—

“I love you.”

His breath was still shaky, his body still pressed against yours, his fingers still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear. His heart was pounding, his lips parted, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

You could feel everything.

The heat of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell against yours, the way his cock was still inside you, still keeping you full, still reminding you exactly what just happened between you.

But none of that compared to the way he was looking at you.

Like he was afraid of what you’d say.

Like he already knew he had ruined everything.

Like he was begging for you to fix it.

And fuck—

You wanted to.

But you were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just about sex anymore.

This was real.

"Baby…” His voice was barely a whisper, his fingers trembling as he reached for your cheek, his touch so gentle, so careful—like he was scared he’d break you. “Please… say something.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your mind still spinning from everything—the way he had taken you, the way he had begged for you, the way he had said those words like they had been burning in his chest for so fucking long.

And maybe they had been.

Maybe you had just been too blind to see it.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath leaving them, your heart twisting as you met his gaze—those deep, desperate brown eyes, searching yours for something, anything to hold onto.

Your fingers curled into his hair, your chest tightening, your voice small as you finally, finally whispered—

“…You love me?”

San’s breath hitched.

His grip on your waist tightened, his lips parting, his entire body trembling as he swallowed hard, his voice so wrecked, so raw when he answered—

“I do.”

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Just San, stripped bare in front of you, exposed, vulnerable, completely yours.

And something inside you fucking snapped.

Because he meant it.

Because you had wanted this for so fucking long, wanted him for so fucking long—and now, he was right here, saying the words you never thought you’d hear, giving himself to you completely.

And you couldn’t stop yourself.

You grabbed him, your lips crashing into his, your fingers clutching at his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, letting him feel everything you couldn’t say yet.

He broke apart in your arms.

A shaky, wrecked moan slipped from his throat as he melted into you, his hands gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him alive, his body pressing you deeper into the couch, his kiss so needy, so desperate, so full of love that it made your chest ache.

And when he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips, his voice still shaking—

“Say it back.”

Your heart stopped.

San’s fingers tightened on your waist, his breath ragged, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered again, this time more pleading, more wrecked—

“Baby, please… say it back.”

And you could feel it—

The way his hands shook, the way his body tensed, the way his eyes were glossy with something he was trying so fucking hard to hold back—

The way he needed this more than anything.

And fuck—

You did too.

Your fingers brushed over his cheek, your lips trembling, your heart pounding as you finally, finally let the words slip out—

“I love you.”

A sharp, shuddering breath left him, his lips crashing into yours again, his hands everywhere—on your face, your waist, your thighs—like he was memorizing you, like he never wanted to let go.

Like he never would.

And maybe, just maybe—

Neither would you.

[oceantornadoo]

tw: evil ex wife stereotypes it’s for the plot trust

sorry this is unedited

captain price, divorcee and extreme dilf.

after a soul crushing mission, the safe house is silent as the team waits for morning exfil. you go outside for a breath of fresh air and find your captain, smoking a cigar and looking at a polaroid photo. “hey, cap.” he sends you a nod, then focuses back to the picture in his hand. you let him have this privacy, closing your eyes and breathing slow.

"smoke?" you open your eyes to his hand in front of you, offering a cigar. funny, how soap's been trying to nab one of cap's cigars for months and here he is, offering it to you. you take it silently, reminding yourself how to use it as you exhale slow. a minor cough eeks out, sending you both chuckling. he takes it back and switches hands, his photograph now on the side you share. his show of trust instills you with enough confidence to ask: "is that them?" two dark-haired little girls smile at you through the photograph, cheesy grins cloaking you with warmth. he hums affirmatively, callused thumb stroking the photo. "forced me t' buy a polaroid so they could model their new dresses." you bet he bought them that camera with a smile on his face. the wedding band tanline on his hand, stark when you met him two years ago, has faded completely like it was never there. "they've got you wrapped around their fingers." he nods, tucking the photo back in his vest to focus on his cigar. you both watch the smoke curl into the midnight air.

"open." you do obidiently, both pairs of eyes zeroed in on how close his hands are to your mouth. they brush your lips (not necessary if he'd adjusted his grip), staying there for a few seconds while you inhale and retreating when you exhale. something grows there, in the space between his body and yours. only once the smoke dissipates do you decide to get some sleep. "goodnight, cap." you back away towards the door, eyes on his. "goodnight, lieutenant." his eyes drop in alarm and that's when you see the red light of a sniper gun on your torso. everything goes to shit after that.

-

your hospital stay comes in flashes. your captain, haggard yet handsome, in that uncomfortable-looking chair next to your bed. a blink and there's two angels instead, bickering at the height of the hospital bed. "daddy said not to wake her!" the taller one argues. the younger one shakes her head, an echo of her father, and pets your limp hand. "daddy also said she has a boo-boo and t' kiss it better!" she kisses your hand with a restrained gentleness you wouldn't expect from a little kid. they keeping arguing, anchoring you to the land of the living for a few minutes. "alrigh' rascals, lets let her sleep. what do we say?" they turn to you with toothy smiles, like the picture, and whisper-yell "feel better!" before getting scooped up by their father.

later, time slipping through your fingers like sand, the doctor explains what happened in practiced words. shot to the torso, passed out because of shock and blood loss. simon haunts the space behind her like the ghost he is and you have to laugh at the gall of your fellow lieutenant. once you hear "a month of recovery," you give in to the weight of your eyelids.

-

a month later.

you knock at his door, then let yourself in. it’s something he lets you get away with, no one else.

price is grumbling into his phone and while usually you wouldn’t care, it seems oddly personal. you try to inch back out, but his sharp blue eyes catch yours before you can. “i told ya i’d need this today. gave you a two day warnin’.” he’s frowning at whatever the other person says (high pitched voice, definitely female). “christ, i’ll figure somethin’ out.” he hangs up before they can get another word in.

“everything ok? i can leave if you need some space?” you ask. he shakes his head, dragging a hand through his beard and readjusting his hat (stupid, why does he wear it indoors) before sitting down in his desk chair. “need t’ pick the girls up but this goddamn report is killin’ me.” it’s an intelligence focused night and while you finally broke through to one of your contacts, the creation of reports and communications with higher ups takes forever. your captain is especially chained to his desk, where his bosses could call at any moment and demand a redo.

"oh." you're not sure what the lines are here. not sure what to say to the loving father of two who sat vigil at your hosptial bed for a week. "their mom's at a dinner an' can't drive 'cause she drank a glass of wine." he bites out, almost to himself. "so her boyfriend can drop her home, but simply can't make a stop on the way to pick up the girls from after school care." you think back to the finished reports on your desk and the lack of plans you have.

"i could pick them up?" you tick the end up as a question, easier for him to deny. he does, of course. "can't ask tha' of you, lieutenant. not in y'r job description." you shrug, moving closer to his desk until you're practically sitting on it. "i'm not medically cleared to the field yet but i can still drive. it's not like i'm getting deployed in the next hour. and i'd be glad to do it." he's still unsure, staring at the laptop in front of him. "i've got to thank the angels that kissed my boo-boos." you break the tension with a laugh and when he looks up, there's a small smile under his beard. "you sure you're good t' drive?" you nod, rounding the table so you're a bit closer. he leans back a bit until his eyes meet yours. "passed the driving requirements last week. can't run out a burning building but i can handle pickup." he lifts his hips, tantalizing and strong, to fish out the keys in his pocket. "little one still needs the booster seat. easier f' ya t' take my car." this show of trust is worse, worming its way into your heart.

he texts you the address and says he'll call them ahead of time since you're not on the list. before you leave, price fishes out a sweatshirt from somewhere under his desk. "so ya don't look like a soldier." you're wearing standard olive green wear, t-shirt and camo pants. the sweatshirt (black, has 'price' on the back, smells like him) dulls the look into something almost publicly acceptable. "i'll keep you updated, cap." you're almost out the door when he says it. "thank you, lieutenant."

-

"hello, lovelies." you squat to get on their level, noting how they're holding hands tightly. "i'm a friend of your daddy. he sent me to take you to your mum." the older one squints at you with suspicion. "are you the lady from the hosp- hosp- hospital?" you nod, telling them your name. "i'm all better now thanks to you two. your kisses really worked." that causes them both to blush, inching towards you. the aftercare supervisor nudges them forward, thanking you with a grateful smile when they finally get towards the car. the fact that it's their father's calms them, settling in easy to their seats as the older one shouts unhelpful instructions as to how to buckle the car seat. you text price an update, then head towards their mother's.

when you get there, though, something's off. john picks up on the first ring. "everything ok?" he pants, hard. "yeah, the girls are fine. i'm at their mom's but i don't think anyone's home? the lights are off." he barks out a curse, and shamefully, it sends a spark straight to your core. "if it's ok, i could take them to get dinner? maybe pizza and ice cream since they had a long day? they only had a snack at the after program." he sighs and you can practically see him nodding in agreement.

"yeah, love. get some food in them, their mom should be home in an hour." love. spoken warmly and fluidly, like it was meant to be there. you bid him goodbye and take a deep breath, locking yourself into babysitter mode with no thoughts of their father. "who wants ice cream?" you ask, and smile when they scream.

-

an hour later, you get back to the house with two sugared-up littles. for all the grief their mom has caused john, you don't particularly care. the lady herself is standing on driveway, arms crossed with a frown. when you let the girls out, they hug-attack their mother, and she earns a few points back with her whispered "hello, my darlings. go wash up, mummy will be in soon."

you're closing the doors when she appears next to you. "so you're john's girlfriend." you frown, shaking your head. "no ma'am, i'm one of his lieutenants." the determined expression on her face doesn't change. "exactly, you're the lieutenant." and then she says your name like it's been memorized, even though you didn't offer it to her. all you can do is nod numbly and make an excuse to get back to base, ruminating on her words the whole time.

-

back in price's office, it's like deja vu with how tired he looks. this time, he greets you at the door, only a singular lamp on in the background. "hi cap-" the words get cut off when you're pulled into a bone crushing hug. it takes you a second to readjust: his hands around your waist, head tucked into the cruck of your neck.

slowly, your own hands wrap around his neck, pulling him in deeper. your fingers thread through his hair, cringing when they knock off his hat. he doesn't seem to care, squeezing you tight before pulling back. "thank you." he murmurs, hands still on your waist. your own drop to your sides, floating. "you told her i'm your girlfriend?" you eek out, unable to hold it back. his relieved expression drops, hands unsure at your waist. "i- she asked who the girls were visitin' at the hospital. was easier that way." your face drops at his response. john has an opposite reaction, stepping closer with a rough grip to your hip.

"you wanted another answer?" there's nowhere to go under the force of his stare. "maybe." is what you finally spit out. bravely, your hand finds the rough hair of his beard, exploring. it's as simple as a yes.

his kiss is possessive and bruising, pushing you against the door. your other hand tangles in his hair, pulling him in further. one of your legs wraps around his waist and with some encouragement, he gets you to surrender your position fully, your legs in his hands. "christ, ya taste like sherbert." you giggle, folding yourself further into him. "it was, oh fuck." he licks a stripe up your neck before kissing your jaw. "it was mango." he hums appreciatively.

“such a good wife f’ me.” you freeze, pulling back. “i’m not your wife, john.” yet here you are, his face in your hands like it’s yours to hold. “my hoodie.” he kisses your forehead. “pickin’ up my girls.” your cheek. “usin’ my money.” the credit card you found in the hoodie pocket. he shakes you out of your reverie with a nip to the neck.

“tha’s wha’ i thought.” he murmurs when you don’t argue back. you shut him up with a kiss. “i can see why you got divorced, cave man.” and all he does is laugh, moving to set you down on his office table.

john tugs off your layers one by one until you’re in your bra, legs spread on his office. “john.” he hums, fingers exploring the lines of your bra. “can we talk?” he stops suddenly, eyes on yours. the force of it is too much, making you meek and weak-willed. “so…you like me?” he nods, tracing the lines of your skin until he gets to the wound, healing on your torso. “felt like i died too when ya got shot. right in front of me an’ i couldn’t protect you.” you shake your head, pulling him in by the belt buckle until he’s between your legs. “it wasn’t your fault. we cleared the area best we could.” he kisses the scar, soft and sweet. “let me make it up to you?” you nod.

john pulls down a cup of your bra, laving at your tit like he’s trying to draw milk. “right, love. lay back f’ me.” and like always, you do.

-

i wrote this in between classes and it’s unedited. perhaps will come back to edit. anyways.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

juno - spencer reid x afab!reader

reader finds out how good spencer is with kids and can't keep the thoughts from pouring in

requested!

genre: fluff, smut wc: 2179 warnings: established relationship, daydreamer!reader, talk of pregnancy, p in v, unprotected sex(duh), brief breeding kink, i love yous, reader has hair?

my first time ever writing smut!!! keep your pitchforks to yourself please!!!

You've known for a long while of your boyfriend's affinity for the young souls out there. Perhaps he was one of them. Perhaps he was just an overgrown one of them. It was something spoken about early on, his love for kids. He mentioned that he's the godfather of his coworker's little boy and how he's always wanted one of his own. A boy or girl, it doesn't matter. As long as he got to raise one with the fatherly love he never quite received.

That was all fine and well to know until you actually got to see Spencer with a child. Babysitting Henry was supposed to be a way of letting JJ and Will have some fun for once. It turned out to be much more confusing. He was sweet, gentle, and spoke in a soft tone that drove you oddly insane. When he started doing card tricks, you thought your heart would explode.

That's why right now you're sitting in the car completely silent. You've never been one to shut up so it's no surprise that he knows something is off. It's not your fault that you're suddenly lost in an alternate reality in which you're in a large house with a small baby. Maybe two. It's not like you wanted to get started right away. Nonetheless, something about the idea was appealing.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asks softly, eyes narrowed.

Technically, yes, you're fine. Too many thoughts but fine.

"Yeah, of course," you hum. "You were really good with Henry today."

A bright smile breaks out on his lips as he lets out a breath that's just barely a laugh. "You think?" his brows furrow, glancing over at you almost nervously.

You nod, shoulders loosening. "I do." While fiddling with your necklace, you add, possibly with too much meaning, "you'll be a really good dad."

His face turns red and he focuses on the road. Before long, the thoughts swarming in that head of his refuse to stay inside and he speaks gently, "is that what you're thinking about?"

A topic you've talked about—your tendency to daydream. It's not a thing you've kept hidden. In fact, it's your favourite pastime. However, it's a little awkward to tell your boyfriend that you're imagining him getting you pregnant.

But you were never a good liar.

"Yeah," you admit, fingers still at the pendant on your chest, eyes watching the passing scenery and streetlights.

"And?"

To that, you're not sure there's any response that doesn't seem insane.

"And what?" you ask cautiously.

After a quick glance in your direction as if he's testing the waters, he clarifies, "are you opposed?"

"To what?"

"Kids."

Oh. Well, no, not in the least. The idea of raising a family with Spencer is thrilling and you believe it's something you do want. You've always liked kids and kids have always liked you but the thought of seriously settling down has never truly crossed your mind. Until now, you suppose.

You shake your head, eyes lingering on his jawline. "No. You know that," you mutter softly.

"I do... but we've never talked about it. Just because you like children doesn't mean you necessarily want them," Spencer says like it's the most simple thing.

"True." The singular word is almost impossible to hear. You add gently, "but, I do."

He nods, turning his head to look at you in a way slightly different than all the other times. You can't quite place it, though. What you do know is that it definitely caused some major butterflies in your stomach. Then again, that happens a lot. But when his right hand moves from the steering wheel to your thigh, you're sure that look meant something. Something good, you think.

You're even more sure when, the moment you get to his apartment, he kisses you deep, lips parting to make way for his tongue. It's not rough at all. Loving, mostly. Like he's ensuring that you know you're cared for. You smile wide, unable to stop the giggle from leaving. Pulling back with an equally lovesick smile, he laughs, "what?"

Hardly a second later, you place another peck to his still grinning lips before answering with a bright, "what's going on?"

His eyebrows raise. "Nothing... I don't know what you mean," he says in easily a whole octave higher than usual. Your eyes narrow as you search his eyes.

You beg dramatically, "tell me."

He sighs then runs his fingers through his hair, unsure if he wants to bring it up. "About what you said... in the car... you meant it?"

"What I said...? About kids?"

Spencer nods. "Yes."

"I meant it, yes." It's spoken hesitantly. You're not positive where this conversation is heading.

"I just... like the thought," he shrugs, leaving you to walk towards the bedroom.

Really confused and a little intrigued, you follow, watching him start to unbutton his cardigan. "The thought?" you hum, crossing your arms in an attempt at nonchalance.

"Of you... pregnant," he mumbles like he doesn't want you to hear, letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground before picking it up to put it in his laundry bin.

He didn't need to say it like that. He could've said the thought of starting a family, of having a child. You're not a profiler but the way he decided to word the sentence makes you think something bigger has been revealed. Freudian slip or intentional, he's not telling you everything that's on his mind.

"Pregnant. Really?" You picture it and, perhaps it's because you'll be the one carrying it, but all you seem to be able to picture is chubby ankles, morning sickness, and mood swings.

Simply, Spencer nods, eyes finally meeting yours. You smile up at him sweetly as his hands come to cup your face. "There's just—I don't know... something appealing about it. About being the one to..."

Now, you get it.

"Oh. Like—oh! So, that's what...?" you babble purely out of shock.

Who knew Spencer Reid had the fantasy of impregnating you floating around in his brain?

His hands drop to your shoulders, squeezing gently. "Does that make you uncomfortable? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—just forget—"

To his surprise, you cut off the soon-to-be-ramble with your lips on his. It takes a second for him to understand what's happening but he does, mouth moving against yours eagerly, his hands sliding up to your face. While smiling, you drag your hand down his neck and to his tie, tugging it loose. Once he clues in to where you want this to go, his fingers slip under your shirt, gripping your waist firmly. The tie comes off, dropping to the floor and, soon enough, your shirt's gone, too.

He takes a few steps to the bed before lowering you onto it carefully. As if handling glass, he glides his hand down your stomach, to the button of your jeans.

"Can these come off?" he pants against your lips.

Nodding desperately, you whisper, "yeah."

With a nod back, Spencer unbuttons the jeans and pulls them down your legs. His palms slide up your thighs as he presses another kiss to your mouth. "Go lay down?" he suggests softly.

You comply immediately, moving up on the bed and laying your head on the pillows to watch him undo his shirt one button at a time. Next, his belt comes off. And then his pants. When he's left in only boxers, he positions himself above you before kissing down your neck. Your back arches and he uses the opportunity to move his fingers to the clasp of your bra.

You aren't at all unfamiliar with his skill but, every time, it continues to catch you off guard how, in a few minutes, you're at his mercy, willing to do anything he asks of you. Then again, when are you not?

He tosses the bra aside to join the rest of the discarded clothes on his bedroom floor. His attention is, of course, then drawn to your chest, one of his hands grabbing at you while the other suddenly starts small circles over your underwear.

"Spencer, I don't need that," you mutter breathily. You don't really want his hand at the moment.

His head lifts from your neck, placing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Spencer asks quietly, "are you sure?"

There isn't much you're capable of doing at the moment so you nod. He takes the answer and hooks both index fingers into the waistband of your panties. His eyes fall directly to the newly revealed area the same way they always do, adoration spilling out of him at the sight of the collecting wetness. A small smile on your face, your hands drift down to take off his boxers.

With the last barriers removed, your lips connect again and his hand moves to line himself up with you. The kiss breaks when he looks down to watch himself push into you, a whimper leaving you and a shaky breath leaving him. He quickly bottoms out and you whine.

Softly, he murmurs, "you okay?"

"Yeah, just," you laugh, "...full."

Spencer breathily chuckles with you, nodding like he's trying to get himself together. "Right."

After a deep breath, his hips start slowly, letting both of you adjust to the feeling of each other again. No matter how many times you do this, you still always need a minute to get used to him. Your breaths come out in gentle pants and occasional whimpers until he speeds up and you can't contain yourself. Desperate moans of pleasure spill from your lips as he moves.

"Doing so good—feels so good," he mumbles, eyes now screwed shut.

"Really, really good," you nod eagerly, voice soft. Your hands paw at his back in search of anything to hold on to.

The sensation is almost too much you think you might burst. Although, when he starts to whimper, that's when you really lose it. The way he sounds and the way his face scrunches up, it's intoxicating. You need more of it.

You cry with want, "harder... please."

Like always, he attempts to give you everything you need and desire. He nods, hips quickening and lewd sounds coming from your bodies. A small gasp leaves you. Your legs wrap around his waist, allowing him to hit your deepest point. It's a feeling you'll never quite get used to. The moment he reaches that spot, it's never long after that it's over.

Letting out a gasp, you clench around him, causing his movements to falter and become more frantic. A breath quickly leaves him before he's asking, "inside, right?"

You whine, "mhm," dangerously close to slipping off that ledge. Your mind brings you to images of you pregnant, his baby growing inside you. This time not so scary. You imagine this moment in a very different time, when his release will signal a new start and not just an end.

His mouth finds your shoulder, pressing careful kisses to the skin. The hand not holding his body weight finds the sensitive point between your legs, eliciting a loud moan from you. Desperately, you cling to him, arms wrapping around him for any more contact. That familiar feeling builds deep in your gut and you whine, finding your eyes rolling back.

It happens quickly, the finish line getting closer and closer until it's gone and you're in another universe of pleasure. Your hips try to escape but Spencer doesn't let that happen. His hand moves from your center to your hip, holding you down with little force. The fog clears just in time to watch him reach that very same ecstasy. Lips parted against your shoulder, he whimpers, movements becoming even sloppier until they slow.

The odd warmth spills from you. His breaths come heavy as he relaxes against you and pats your head—an interesting choice of affection after sex but somehow suitable. When he pulls out, you sigh shakily, watching him go to the bathroom. Before long, he's back with a damp cloth. He opens your legs again, running the fabric over you with a tenderness you couldn't possibly describe.

He joins you after discarding the cloth. An elbow holds him up so he can look at you, looking so perfect, lips swelled and hair splayed delicately over the plush pillows. He's staring. Mind wandering, he pictures a world in which you're rounder and perhaps with a ring on your finger. You're deep into pregnancy, probably grumpy with him but he doesn't care because you're his. Only his, forever.

Again, not today, not now, but someday. When the funds are appropriate and you know it's the right choice. Not that he ever doubted.

Just above a whisper, he says, "so... that doesn't mean I want—"

"I know. I'm glad," you grin, still quite dazed but completely content.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead and he sighs. "I love you."

"I love you," you mutter back.

As previously stated, Spencer Reid is a man that's good with kids. You presume he's even better with you, though.

[rindreamery]

more than friends?

moments that make you reconsider if you’re really just friends with blue lock men. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, oliver aiku ─ content: can be determined as mostly gn! reader. can count as fluff, but mostly suggestive. mentions of alcohol consumption (aiku), mentions of a dress (kaiser, implied but not stated fem! reader), kaiser is mean

note. haven't made a hc post in a hot minute. situationships hc coming next cus i unfortunately, oddly enough, like situationships LMAOO i also just have too many irl situationship inspo

an almost kiss with itoshi rin.

“rin, can you help me get this?” turning your body to face him, the words die in your throat.

you realize a second too late that he’s standing right behind you, reaching for whatever you asked him to previously— and you almost crash right into his chest. he’s close. so close that you can feel the heat emanating from his skin, despite the blast of the air conditioning above you. that you can practically feel his shallow breaths ghost over your face. 

as he brings his arm down to hand you the book, head tilting down to look at you, you lock eyes. a second passes, or two, before it clicks in his mind what position you’re in. and you both freeze, seemingly frozen in place, and in time. 

rin’s eyes widen, and his breath gets caught in his throat, audibly hitching. but he doesn’t take a step back, nor does he make any move to put some comfortable distance between the two of you. though, to be fair, neither do you— keeping you stuck in whatever weird space the two of you have put yourselves in.  

the first one to break eye contact is you. your eyes flit to his lips, watching as they part to take a breath, before you can even process exactly what you’re doing. you stare a little too long, lingering for a second longer than necessary. before your eyes fly back to his in a panic, only to see that he’s staring at your lips too. 

it feels like you’re blacking out— and maybe, you are. you don’t remember the exact moment when your body started gravitating towards him, or when he started leaning in a little closer too. your bodies seemingly move on their own, listening to your hearts and not your minds, ignoring the blatant alarms going off in your heads. you’re leaning in, just a little, inching slowly and testing for any reaction from him. you can see his adam’s apple bob as he gulps, and you see the exact moment his eyes cloud over, before he’s mirroring you. you think for a second that, maybe, this is really happening. 

his lips are a breath away, and the distance between you is almost nonexistent. you can practically feel his lips on yours— so close, almost there. just a little more and you’ll have a taste. he's closing the gap, your eyes fluttering shut in response, and so does his, in tandem. the rush of excitement you feel is undeniable— the way your nerves fire with sparks under your skin, tingling. 

but then your phone rings.

the shrill sound of your ringtone cuts through the air, snapping the two of you out of your daze. your eyes fly open, and you both jerk back immediately, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible. the moment is effectively ruined; the thick, hazy, palpable tension that once surrounded the two of you is now filled with an awkward, uncertain air. 

as you both pull away, neither of you say anything, too flustered to speak. he’s avoiding looking into your eyes, staring at the ground as if he were wishing it would swallow him whole. and, really, you can’t judge. you’re looking everywhere but rin, trying to calm your heart into something that doesn’t feel like arrhythmia. 

there’s an unspoken agreement that hangs in the air— a silent promise that neither of you will bring this up ever again, too afraid to risk your friendship. but, deep down, you know it’s something neither of you can forget.

receiving jewelry from itoshi sae.

gifts from sae were always unexpected and random. 

in his hand is a simple, and undeniably beautiful necklace— something he knows you like. something he's heard you talk about for months, seen on opened tabs on your laptop as he passes by, heard in conversations with friends during your phone calls. it was always something he’d kept in the back of his mind, always an open tab in his phone. even offering to buy it for you before, in passing, which was met with a hard ‘no’ from you. still, he pushes his hand to you, offering the gift now. 

“sae,” you hesitate, words trailing off as you figure out what to say. speechless would be an understatement. feeling grateful, in awe, and mildly embarrassed all at once. you can feel your cheeks heating up, looking at the necklace in his hands as you avoid his watchful eyes. “i already said you didn’t have to buy it for me. i was going to buy it… eventually.”

“want me to put it on you?” your words fly over his head, or maybe, he’s simply ignoring it. 

you press your lips into a line, finally looking into his eyes, as you hold in a shallow sigh of defeat— already coming to terms that, regardless of what you say, nothing would change his mind. so instead you nod, offering him a small and thankful smile, finally accepting the gift. 

“turn around,” he tells you, fingers already working on unclasping the necklace in his hands. you listen, turning around and waiting with baited breath as he moves to stand behind you. he inches closer than necessary, looming behind you in a way that makes you so hyperaware of him. the feeling of his fingers as they brush over your shoulder to loop the necklace around you, his steady breath on the nape of your neck— you feel it all at an elevated level. 

you gasp as the cool metal of the necklace hits your skin, in contrast to the warmth of his fingers as they make work of the clasp. it takes a few seconds, before you feel the clasp fall against your neck, but his fingers stay on your skin. tracing the line of the necklace as it travels to the junction of your shoulder. 

“do you like it?” sae leans down, whispering the words into your ears. you ignore the warmth that sweeps over your body, holding tight onto the necklace between your fingers, admiring the way it looks against your skin. 

“yeah, i do. it’s perfect.” you nod, your voice quiet and weak, unable to focus from the way your head starts to spin at the proximity. you can hear him let out a satisfied hum behind you, leaning back just a little to give you some space. “thank you, really.”

but he doesn’t pull away, and you feel his eyes on your neck as you twiddle with the jewelry in your fingers. 

unreasonable jealousy from michael kaiser.

“does this dress look nice?” pulling out a dress from deep in your closet, you pull it closer to your body before facing kaiser. 

he sits comfortably on your bed, resting on the headrest as he scrolls through his phone, looking bored out of his mind. his eyes are hooded, body slumped, and sighing loudly every five minutes as if urging you to get this over with. though, you suppose in his defense, you’d been doing this for the past two hours. with little to no progress being made. 

never putting his phone down, he glances at you, then the dress, and then back at you. there’s an unamused expression on his face, both brows raising imperceptibly and letting out a derisive laugh, and it makes the smile on your face falter for a second. “why are you trying so hard to impress this guy, anyway?” as hard as he tries to hide the contempt in his voice, trying to mask it with his usual mocking tone, it slips through. “next dress.”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden edge in his voice, an elusive frown forming on your face. "what do you mean?" you ask, suppressing a sigh as your arms fall to your side, the fabric of the dress bunching up as you grip it between your fingers.

you don’t want to put it down yet— refusing to put it next to you on the pile of other pretty, rejected clothes.

kaiser doesn’t immediately answer, but you notice the way his thumb scrolls slower across his phone screen now. his gaze flickers back to you, scrutinizing, and almost annoyed? evident in the way his lips press into a tight line, jaw clenching and unclenching as he sorts through his thoughts. a brief, almost unnoticeable, flicker of frustration crosses his features before he slumps even further, his voice quieter but more pointed. "it’s just a first date. don’t you think it's kind of pathetic? all this effort for some guy you’re not even sure is going to stick around?"

his words sting more than you want them to. 

the dress feels heavier in your hands, like a weight you're not sure you want to carry anymore— and frankly, it ruins any excitement you have for your date. you bite your lip, chewing on the skin. you want to ask him why he even cares, why he's hell bent on making you think that every man is bound to ditch you after the first date, why he can’t seem to be happy for you.  

you hold up the dress, this time with less confidence. "i didn’t know wanting to look good for a date was such a crime." admittedly, your voice is snappy and irritated, almost glaring at him from where you stand. 

“it’s not.” he says, ignoring the heated look in your eyes. “looking good for other men is, though.”

going drinking with oliver aiku.

from being friends with aiku for practically all of your life, you’d think you know better than to say ‘yes’ to his whims. but it seems that time has only weakened your resolve.

“come here.” aiku sits lazily on the couch, an arm slung over the backrest, his legs parting to comfortably make space for you. you watch him in silence from where you sit, raising a brow at him as he throws you that signature smirk of his— before he’s patting the space between his legs, motioning for you to come over. “help me drink?”

“what?” comes your surprised response, mouth dry and voice cracking as you speak. despite your loose state, your back straightens at his words, and you grip the glass in your hands. “what do you mean ‘help… you drink’?”

“pour a shot into my mouth. the one you’re holding in your hand right now.” he motions to it with a nod of his head, voice slightly slurring but way too casual for your liking. as if what he was asking were normal, and totally not crossing some unspoken boundary between friends. “come on, just this once.”

the logical part of your mind screams at you from somewhere in your head, telling you not to do it. but it’s quickly tamped down by his pleading eyes, and the ‘please’ that slips past his lips. you get up and you take your time walking over to the couch, treading with short and slow steps, giving yourself a chance to back down.

but you don’t. 

with an uncertain look on your face, you place a knee between his legs, a hand shooting out to steady yourself as you lean over him. the hand holding the glass is shaking— from nerves, or from being mildly inebriated, or maybe a hefty mix of both— the drink sloshing around as you carry it to him. you feel his hands on your waist, firm and warm, preventing you from tipping over.

finally finding the courage to look into his eyes, you do. they’re so unfocused, yet so focused on you, and it makes you breathe in heavily, as if second guessing the normality of what you’re about to do. sensing your hesitation, his fingers squeeze at your waist. “go on.”

it's reckless and impulsive, but clearly, you aren't in the right state to be making smart decisions. your fingers hook under his chin, his eyes intently honing in on you as you do so, as you bring the glass to his lips. you press it against his lips, watching as they part to make space for the intrusion, before his fingers latch onto your wrist.

he doesn’t break eye contact as he guides you, gaze heavy and imposing, that it almost makes you want to pull away. but you can’t— his hands keep you firmly in place. you’re forced (though, you know a part of you willingly stares) to watch as he guides your hand to tilt the glass, pouring the contents into his mouth. 

aiku’s fingers linger on your skin even when the drink is long gone, and it makes you squirm. you cough, bringing one of your hands to your mouth to form a fist, as you bashfully look away. “all done here now, right?”

a beat passes, before you feel the heat of his hands leave your skin, “yeah.” and you pull away from him.

© rindreamery, 2025

[xoxojisu]

thinking abt nagi being an undercover menace..

people think that nagi seishiro is this cool, effortless, nonchalant guy. he's sort of emotionless and apathetic in a way that leaves everyone wondering. everything he does is easy for him, and he's just so cool and uncaring. he would never do something stupid like messing with his partner.

they're WRONG.

– he picks you up randomly whenever he wants. he's super tall and muscular, so it's really no hassle for him. brushing your teeth, doing dishes, on a phone call, reaching into the fridge. he just scoops you up like it's nothing and walks off with you. when you squeal like “nagi???” he just goes:

“what? you looked like you wanted to be moved.”

– he hides your phone but only when he wants attention. and it’s always nearby, but in the dumbest spot. like under his leg or in his pocket. he'll watch you turn over every pillow and look under every table with this nonchalant "i don't know, don't ask me" look, but when you catch on, he gets this stupid little smirk and goes:

“guess you gotta come get it.”

getting you to cuddle and pay attention to him was always the objective.

– he texts you from across the room while literally staring at you, and when you look up confused, he just blinks real slow like:

“check your phone.” ‘hi :x u look cute'

– he keeps “accidentally” messing with your settings and it's so fucking stupid and frusturating. he sets your phone’s language to something random like french, or makes his contact name something stupid like “i should pay more attention to my bf” or reo's as "free money" just for fun and to see your reaction.

– and when you’re trying to concentrate, he’ll invade your personal space. he does not give a fuck that you're working on a very important presentation due tomorrow. wraps his arms around you, chin resting on your shoulder or head as he whispers:

“you’re so serious. pay attention to me.” and you’re like PLEASE let me finish this task “mmm. no.”

– likes to tickle you all the time. when you're focused, when he's just passing by, when he wants attention, when you're in a quiet place you should not be making noise in, or just because. he thinks your reactions and giggles are so cute and likes watching you get annoyed at him.

"nagi! stoppit!" "that squeal was cute. like a mouse. do it again." "nagi, i said- HEY!" (he does not stop)

– takes your belongings as if they're his. takes your blankets, your snacks, your phone as you're using it. and this egotistical motherfucker sees nothing wrong with it and just does it as if it's his god-given right.

"awe, my phone died. gimme yours." *snatches it out of your hands* "wha- nagi! i was doing something!" "don't care. my charger's too far."

– falls on top of you whenever he wants as if he's not over 180 cm. it's like a trust fall except he gave you no warning beforehand and it's not because he wants a trust fall, he just got tired of standing and felt like messing with you.

"catch me." "wha- AHH! nagi! you're so fucking heavy! get off! we're gonna fall!" "mmm noo. you can do it. i believe in you." "well, don't!"

– doesn't let you get out of bed when he's sleepy. this actual motherfucker i swear to god. it doesn't matter whether you have to be up in 5 minutes or 5 hours, he will keep you in bed. uses his unfairly long limbs and traps you until he feels awake enough to get out of bed.

"hmm? nooo don't go yet. 'm still sleepy." "i am too, but i'm meeting up with a friend in an hour." "you can be late. they'll understand." "GET OFF OF ME."

– takes all of your snacks except for one. this is oddly specific, but he'll do this thing where he'll take your entire bag of chips or all of your fries, and when you protest, he'll act all gracious and generous and give you one.

"nagi! those are my fries!" "mine now. 'm hungry." "i dont care! go get your own fries! give mine back!" he sighs heavily, like you're the hassle here. "fine. here you go." "..this is one fry." "and? be grateful. go buy more fries if you want them that bad." "THOSE ARE MY FRIES!"

– makes himself at home in your home. this isn't necessarily a menace problem, but you thought it was kind of funny how the first time he came over, he immediately settled down in your bed as if it was his.

"'m tired. you wanna take a nap?" "..this is my bed." "mhm. it's comfy. and?"

and because he's a real menace, when you're at your wit's end, face flushed from frustration despite your smile, and you yell an "I HATE YOU" at him, slapping him angrily, he'll just pat your head gently and give you a slight smile.

"no, you don't."

he says it with this confidence, like he knows he's right, hands down. and as much as you "hate" to admit it, he's right. despite how annoying he can be, you know damn well you wouldn't trade him for the world.

masterlist

[starvales]

take me where my soul can run

s. ishigami x gn!reader

synopsis: short scenarios, in different point of views, of the kingdom of science questioning just who are you to senku.

content: dr stone spoilers, set before ryusui, sfw, fluff, smidge of angst, small skinship, childhood friends, ambiguous relationship, gender neutral reader, y/n is not used, improper use of school lab equipment.

a/n: if you can figure out what song the title is from the you get 10 billion points >:) in my mind for this fic, reader is sort of specialised in linguistics, i.e languages, theatre, poetry, basically a certified yap master 💀💀

word count: 2k

“I don’t have a sliver of doubt that you’re with Senku right now. After all, what are you two without each other, amiright?”

The Ishigami village goes oddly quiet, another companion before the stone world, perhaps? Senku had mentioned Taiju and Yuzuriha in passing quite a few times, but on the other hand, what made you so different that the founder had said your name specifically?

While the descendants ruminate in their own wonder and curiosity, there’s a heavy ache thumping against Senku’s chest, despite the laughter coming from his father.

Sorrow and grief line his veins, loneliness pumps his heart, and the burden of humanity rests upon his brittle shoulders.

(“To be drowning in loneliness despite being surrounded by others is quite the unfortunate fate, no?” You were sat atop a table, swinging your feet while watching Senku mix some chemicals that you’ve forgotten the names of. “I can’t imagine you being able to function without my ever so benevolent company.”)

As if that wasn’t enough, just to top all of it off, he has yet to find your petrified body.

Trust him when he says that he’s tried and tried, tirelessly in fact, in between the breaks he gave himself during the first months of post-petrification solitude and the rare moments away from the Ishigami village.

As lack of luck would have it, you were just nowhere to be found.

(Senku hands you a beaker, a quiet gesture to drink whatever’s in it, and you take a sip without hesitation. While onlookers that aren’t from the science club would assume he handed you an unknown concoction to drink, it’s just tea that he brewed with his equipment. You claim that he makes it best.)

With how much you occupy his mind, he can hear your voice going into a spiel about nothing but nonsense of the current situation that somehow turns poetic.

Byakuya says your name again with a chuckle. “Keep him on his toes, okay? Wouldn’t want a wild Senku roaming around the world without you!”

(“Heh, I would relish in the peace and quiet if it means i’m away from you.” He says while adding more sugar to your beaker with a lab spatula with careful precision and mixes it for you.)

Senku does not believe in wishing, but just this once, he hopes that when this war is over, that he’ll be able to let you listen to Byakuya’s last message and laugh at the old man with you again.

Just where are you hiding?

(You smile knowingly, as if you could read his mind. “To borrow a phrase from someone I know quite well, you would ten billion percent miss me.”)

“When we win this war, Taiju and I have a surprise to show you, Senku! A very belated Birthday present.”

Before the aforementioned scientist could protest, probably to say he doesn’t need or want a gift, Taiju cuts in.

“Senku! We found them!!”

There’s your name again, Gen thinks while he takes a side glance at Senku, whose grip on the microphone shifts into one with more attentiveness, more interest.

The atmosphere around Senku feels different, too.

Not suffocating or cold, but not necessarily warm, either. More odd, if anything. Relieved? Skeptical, curious. Anticipation?

Senku is stationary and silent. Definitely thinking.

“Taiju, it’s not a surprise anymore if we tell him what it is…”

“Ah, I just got so excited! Sorry, Senku! But i’m sure you’re excited to see them now, I bet you miss them a ton!!”

Ever since that record of Byakuya, Senku has been offhandedly mentioning you every so often in conversation. Even entertaining questions about you from the village, though only when he isn’t busy with, y’know, war prep against the Empire, and if they’ve caught him in a sharing mood.

It’s as if he finally deems it safe to reveal your existence to this new world; an environment and community that would not harm you.

Defensive. Cautious.

A relative?

Definitely not. Senku has mentioned being an only child and only having Byakuya.

A friend?

While it’s closer to the mark, it’s also not quite there at the same time.

Gen can see that Taiju and Yuzuriha mean a lot to Senku, but they don’t implore the same type of look or tone of voice that Senku presents when you’re mentioned.

You’re close to Senku, but seemingly much closer than just a long-time childhood companion.

Perhaps… a lover?

…

No, Senku isn’t one to indulge himself in customs as flimsy or as pitiful as love. The scientist even said so himself, multiple times: love is illogical, a waste of time, or plain simply, not even a millimetre interested in it.

Another thing about Senku is that he isn’t one to go back on his word unless it benefits his goals, and Gen can’t see any benefit from lying about love of all things.

“Oi, what’s got you looking so constipated, Mentalist?”

“Nothing in particular, Dearest Senku~”

Then that begs the question, just who are you?

“What does ‘muse’ mean when you use it to describe Senku? I’m not too sure what the word itself means either, but it sounds too intimate of a nickname for two people that claim not to be lovers.”

(A few from the Kingdom of Science had accompanied Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju in locating your statue, curious as to what you looked like. And just a few moments ago, they had found, dressed, and poured the revival fluid on you, standing back as the phenomenon of breaking out of the stone begins.

“Well, if it isn’t my dearest muse! How have you been faring these past few centuries?” There’s a twinkle in your eyes that nobody that didn’t know you has quite seen before, it’s almost enchanting, as if you were unconsciously beckoning people to pay attention to you.

Before anybody could hear their resident scientist’s response, Taiju and Yuzuriha unexpectedly pushes the group away from the reunion.

“Hey, what gives! I wanna hear what Senku has to say so I can make fun of him later!” Ginro doesn’t back down without a fight, but with Taiju’s sheer willpower, it was like watching a baby try to push down a brick wall.

“Ahaha, it’s best to leave those two alone for now.” Yuzuriha gently beckons Suika and Kohaku towards the camp. She looks back for a moment, but doesn’t stop walking. “They will come back with Senku to introduce themselves soon enough, trust me when I say they’ll make quite the entrance.”

The group may be far from the clearing from where you are with Senku, but with her eyesight, Kohaku can see an embrace of two people.

With your back turned towards her, she can see Senku’s grip on your clothing, holding tightly, trembling.

She decides to keep this to herself, for now.)

Kohaku is blunt in asking you the question that’s been itching her brain for a few weeks now.

You were revived only around a month ago, and have already contributed plenty to the Kingdom of Science, especially with the morale of the labourers: performing quick theatre skits, or maybe occasional performance acts with Gen to help manipulate encourage the workers to do their job faster.

Kohaku also decides that if Senku isn’t going to address whatever is between the two of you, she’ll surely get the answers out of you!

“Hm, the best way I can explain is to just look at him.”

She feels her brow twitch. Kohaku guesses that you’re a dead end too and groans into her hands.

You chuckle but do not look up from your work on the blueprints infront of you.

Kohaku glances at the scientist, not far from your personal work bench - he’s giggling to himself while tinkering with who knows what - and raises a brow, typical Senku behaviour at work there.

“What about him?” She asks, unimpressed.

“Isn’t he the most interesting thing you’ve ever laid eyes on?” From Kohaku’s angle, she notices a soft smile and an adoring glimmer in your irises.

Interesting is one word to put it, Kohaku thinks and doesn’t comment further.

But she also thinks she understands just the tiniest bit more than before; you and Senku are both those kinds of people that just know rather than say.

On the other hand, the child that adorns a watermelon head sat to the right of you, unknowing of the underlining meaning of your words, is oblivious and lost.

“But Senku’s just in his element at the moment, building new gadgets and inventions Suika has never ever seen before, so he looks like regular old Senku to me!“

“Exactly.”

You put your pencil down, roll up the finished blueprint, and hand it to Kohaku to give to Senku.

Seeing Suika’s eyes swirl in confusion through her lenses, you offer her a small apology and a head pat. She hands you another large sheet of paper for the next room plan.

Suika feels like there’s now even more questions than answers.

“Sorry, Suika. Despite my rather expansive vocabulary, and ability to wax on about nonsense for hours on end, I don’t think I could simplify the reason more than that.”

And it’s true, what you say.

Because then you would be forced to start off by telling her about the old world, dull and monotone, filled with unambitious nobodies that were afraid of originality and the trueness of their own character.

You would have to reveal to her the circumstances in which you first met the light that now guides you, the colour that paints your vision, and the muse to your art, Ishigami Senku.

Even after that, how do you begin explaining to a child, born into a world as primitive as this one, the complexities of something that’s been non-verbally established centuries ago, something that was instinctual rather than described.

She simply would not understand, no matter how prettily you dress your words.

Perhaps you’ll tell her when she’s grown older, a tale for another day, when she’s lived her own experiences rather than learning about yours.

For now, you will close the script that writes your story. Who doesn’t like a bit of mystery?

[ Extra - Opening Act ]

“Hmm, a unique but befitting opening line to introduce a new supporting character into a seemingly already ragtag cast…”

“Ragtag?!” Gen exclaims.

“Ragtag…” Ukyo sighs, exceedingly exasperated.

“Ragtag?” Suika questions, not hearing the word before.

Senku chuckles beside you and crosses his arms. “I suggest you let them finish, or else they’ll make it everyone else’s problem later if their flare of inspiration is cut short.”

You continue on as if you didn’t hear them, chin pinched between your thumb and the knuckle of your pointer finger.

“How about…”

You hum and mumble for a few more seconds before your eyes light up with mirth. Right hand to your heart, your left arm is outstretched to your front, palm up, a gesture similar to that as if you were reaching for something.

“After centuries confined within a prison of the mind, not a soul to keep them company bar their own, thou hast finally freed thyself! One’s solitude gnawed at thy skin and mystery shrouded thy thoughts. No more are the shackles that bind them yap yap yap yap…”

To Gen, all of your words blend together as he loses even more sense as to what kind of person you are. What he does know is that you’re exactly like Senku in a way, it’s endearing, almost.

“I see we’ve revived yet another eccentric…” Gen whispers to the archer next to him. Ukyo can only laugh sparingly.

When the mentalist turns back to you, you’re wrapping up your rather flamboyant display. “Onwards, the travesty we call life shall commence once again, so get excited!”

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤHANDS BETWEEN MY THIGHS * MATT STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　where Matt left his hands between Y/N's legs to warm them up for too long.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader

WARNINGS　::　none

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The drive home was quiet, save for the soft hum of the road beneath Chris’s steady hands on the wheel. The morning had been long, spent in back-to-back meetings, and planning their next tour. Locations, themes, games, merch drops... it had been hours of brainstorming, debating, and writing down ideas until their brains felt like mush.

Chris, somehow still buzzing with energy, was the only one who hadn’t completely shut down.

"I really think we should do anonymous confessions during the shows. I’m telling you, that idea is gold." He said, gripping the steering wheel with way too much enthusiasm for how tired everyone else was.

Nick, slumped in the passenger seat, barely lifted his head.

"Chris. No."

Chris groaned.

"Bro, why do you fucking hate fun-"

In the backseat, Y/N barely acknowledged their bickering. She was curled up comfortably, phone in hand, scrolling through TikTok. But most of her attention was on Matt, who had spent the last ten minutes slowly melting into her side.

His body sat slouched between the left and middle seat, his long lashes fluttering as he struggled to keep his eyes open, his head tilting towards Y/N before he just gave in completely, leaning into her warmth.

Without looking away from her screen, a small smile curved on Y/N's lips as she adjusted, allowing him to curl into her more comfortably. His arms looped lazily around her waist, and his face nestled into the crook of her neck.

She ran her fingers gently through his soft curls, pressing a featherlight kiss to the top of his head, the smell of his shampoo filling her nostrils.

"You tired, baby?" She murmured, her voice soft.

Matt hummed against her skin in response, a quiet, content noise. Y/N smiled, resting her cheek against his hair, pausing the video that was playing on her screen.

"Was a heavy day, yeah?"

He let out a sleepy chuckle, his arms tightening around her.

"Mm... S’nice." He slurred, already half-asleep.

The car’s AC hummed lightly, and despite the summer season, today had been oddly chilly. The contrast between the cool air and Y/N’s body heat must have been noticeable because after a few seconds, Matt shifted again.

Y/N glanced down, watching as he loops one arm beneath her thigh, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin just below the curve of her ass before sliding between her legs, long fingers pressed between the denim of her jeans, seeking warmth.

She smiled, resting the base of her hand holding her phone over his tattooed arm.

"Cold?"

Matt just hummed again, nuzzling deeper into her, burying his nose in her skin, a puff of warm breath following.

"Mm. Better now."

Chris and Nick’s conversation blurred into background noise, their voices distant as Matt fell deeper.

Y/N let him be, letting him steal her warmth, letting him rest, letting him exist against her in the way he always did, and continued scrolling through her phone, occasionally glancing down at the boy curled against her.

Minutes passed, and by the time they pulled into their driveway, Matt was fully asleep; fingers twitching slightly between Y/N's thighs from time to time and back raising and falling slowly with his deep breathing.

Y/N sighed, locking her phone and dropping it inside her purse above her feet, glancing down at Matt. Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair again, pressing another kiss to his head.

"Matt." She whispered, her voice sweet and soothing. "Baby, we’re home."

Matt barely stirred, letting out a quiet, sleepy hum but making no move to wake up.

Y/N’s lips curled into a small smile, brushing her fingers through his hair again.

"C’mon, sweetheart." She murmured, pressing her lips to his head. "We can go to our room, and you can go right back to sleep."

Another groan, low and muffled against her. But this time, he shifted, his body stretching lazily as he blinked up at her, his gaze heavy with sleep. His face was soft, relaxed, and Y/N swore she’d never get over how utterly angelical he looked when he was this tired.

She kept rubbing slow, absentminded circles against his back as she leaned down to grab her purse, feeling as Matt fully sat up, his hands coming up to rub at his face, fingers dragging down as a yawn escaped his lips.

But as she glanced at him again, just to make sure he hadn’t slipped back into sleep, her gaze landed on his hands, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Matt, what-" She reached out, frowning slightly as her digits brushed over his skin, tracing the pale red imprints that covered his hand. The marks were deep, clear outlines left behind from where he had clung to her denim-clad thighs in his sleep.

Matt, still halfway in dreamland, blinked in confusion, his sluggish brain taking a moment to catch up. He looked down at his hands, flexing the fingers, eyes widening slightly at the sight.

"Damn." He mumbled, voice rough and groggy. "Had the greatest nap ever, apparently."

Y/N let out a laugh, warm and sweet, shaking her head as she smoothed her hands over his, her thumbs rubbing gently over the imprints.

"I mean, you were holding onto me for dear life." She teased, pressing a playful kiss to his knuckles. "Didn’t realize I doubled as your emotional support pillow."

Matt smirked sleepily, turning his hand over so he could link his fingers with hers, his grip lazy but firm.

"You do. Best one I’ve ever had."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Right." She squeezed his hand gently before finally reaching for the door handle. "Alright, come on, sleepy. Let’s get you inside before you fall asleep on me again."

Matt hummed, clearly not opposed to that idea, but he let her pull him along anyway.

© vanteguccir

[springtyme]

𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 ♡ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

Simon catching baby fever, but you’re only roommates...

141 masterlist (there'll be a part two of this)

Before you, the only time Simon really left his flat when he was home on leave was to go to the gym or to go get groceries. 

He was content with this routine, he found comfort in the familiarity of it, and enjoyed the peace and quiet of his own space. Or at least that is what he told himself. This way of life had been sufficient for him for a long time, but as time went on he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. 

That is when Simon found himself considering the idea of getting a flatmate. He thought about it for a while, weighing the pros and cons in his mind. On one hand, he enjoyed his independence and privacy. On the other hand, having someone else around the flat could be a good thing, and he does have an extra bedroom in the flat that’s just collecting dust. Maybe it would be a good idea… Maybe.

After much contemplation, Simon finally decided to take the plunge and start looking. He posted an ad online, and waited for responses to come in. To his surprise, he received a good handful, he had actually not anticipated that that many, if any, would be interested in sharing his space. It is a little overwhelming, and as he goes through the applications he starts to doubt whether he had made the right decision. 

What if he didn’t get along with any of them? What if they were messy or loud or just generally annoying? It was a dumb idea to begin with, he thought to himself, but then as he looked through the last application, something caught his eye.You. 

You seemed responsible, tidy, and overall like someone he could get along with. But there was something more about you that intrigued him. Maybe it was the way you wrote about your love for cooking and how you were looking for a quiet and peaceful place to call home. Or maybe it was the photo you attached to your application, a warm smile on your face that made Simon feel at ease. 

Maybe this could work out after all. 

And work out it did, maybe a little too well. It has now been a little over a year since you moved in, and despite Simon being gone on deployment more often than not the two of you have become very close. You cook meals together. You watch movies on lazy nights, where you will sometimes fall asleep on the couch, your lashes kissing your cheek as the soft glow of the tv illuminates your face, and Simon can’t help but feel a warmth in his heart as he tucks the fluffy blanket, that you had brought with you when you moved in, over your sleeping form.

After you moved in, his flat feels more like a home than it ever had before. It’s like you were always meant to be there, filling up the empty space in his life that he didn’t even realise was there. 

There is something so oddly domestic about all the small things you do together – sharing a cup of tea in the evenings as you talk about your day, or even playfully arguing over who gets to do the dishes that night, even though he secretly never actually minds doing them. 

Pushing the trolley down the aisles of the supermarket as the two of you do the big shop together on Sundays are one of his favourites, though. Because he knows what it looks like from the outside – just a couple doing their weekly grocery shopping. The only thing that would make the scene even more picturesque would be with a little baby in the trolley, a perfect blend of the two of you, giggling and reaching out to try and grab for the items on the shelves as you both laugh and try to keep them entertained.

These thoughts will sometimes sneak into Simon’s mind, and he will quickly shake them away, reminding himself that it is just his imagination running wild. He can’t think like that, it isn’t fair to you or to himself. But still, the idea lingers in the back of his mind, growing stronger with each passing day.

It has started to get harder and harder to ignore these thoughts, these feelings. He tries to push them away, to bury them deep down, but they keep resurfacing. He never really expected to feel this way about you, about anyone, really. But now that he has you in his life, so close yet so far from what he actually wants to be he can’t help but dream about a different life, to have a family, a future, a life outside of the military and his flat.

Suddenly, Simon starts to notice more and more babies around him. Whether it’s at the park when he is on his runs, in Tesco, or even on TV, they seem to be everywhere. And each time he sees a baby, his heart aches with longing. It doesn’t help that your neighbours just had a baby, and he has to watch you coo over the little boy every chance you get. It is like a knife twisting in his chest, knowing that he will never have that with you.

It has always been a secret desire of his, a wish he knew he would never be worthy of having fulfilled. And yet, it linger in the depths of his heart, elusive and shimmering like a mirage in the desert. The dream of someday having a family of his own, of doing things right, of breaking the cycle he had grown up in. After meeting you, his dreams became more vivid, more concrete. 

He has fallen in love with you, and that scares the living daylights out of him. He never thought he would be in this situation, especially after all the sick shit he has been through. But here you are, filling up the empty space in his heart, making him yearn for a life he never thought he could have.

But Simon is good at keeping his emotions in check, so he continues to play his part, to act like everything is okay, like he doesn’t feel this overwhelming love for you that threatens to consume him. 

But late at night, Simon lies awake in bed, when he is sure you’re sleeping and he is staring at the ceiling, his heart feels heavy with the weight of his unspoken feelings. 

And when he tries to decompress, by fisting his aching cock in his hand, guilty thoughts of you will flood his mind, making him ache with longing. 

He knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. But the images of you, of your smile, of your laughter, of your kindness, they linger in his mind, fueling his desires. The way you smile and laugh and light up his life in ways he never thought possible, it fuels a fire within him so all consuming, so intense, that he can’t help but give in to it, even if just in the confines of his own mind.

And as he strokes himself, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you in his bed, to feel your touch, to hear your moans of pleasure. He imagines what it would be like to hold you close, to feel your warmth against his skin, to hear you whisper words of love and affection in his ear. To have you beg for him to fill your womb and mark himself as yours. He would love it – to pump you so full with his cum, for it to take root, to see your body change with his child, to create a life with you, to have a family of his own. 

He will have to bite down on his own hand to stifle his groans and to stop himself from moaning your name out loud. It’s a dangerous game he plays in the silence of the night, as he knows that these feelings, these desires, can never be acted upon. But still, he can’t help but indulge in these fantasies, in these dreams of a life that he may never have.

And as he lies in his bed after, spent and worn, a sense of guilt wash over him. He knows that it’s wrong to have these thoughts about you. But he can’t help it, he can’t control it, and as he lies in the darkness of his bedroom, he can’t help but feel the sting of longing in his chest, knowing that you lie in your own bed just down the hall, so close yet so far away.