#WHY ARE YOU BEING A PETULENT BRAT

[delphiniumarchangelmoon]

I understand why everyone likes Nemesis, I really do. And in a vacuum, as a character concept on her own I like her a lot too

But every time a text box of hers pops up in game I want to beat her over the head with a chair

[tteokdoroki]

✩ — ANGELS SHOULD NEVER FALL THIS FAR FROM HEAVEN ⁀➷ everyone believes satoru gojo to be an angel. your mother considers her new son to be a blessing, even if he’s bratty and spoiled. but never once did think teasing him would make your step-brother to act on such ungodly desires. (3.2K)

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, smut, pwp, college!au, religious imagery, step-cest, groping, fingering, ‘just the tip’, exhibitionism, clothed sex, male masturbation, slight degradation, bratty behaviour, use of oneesan, unprotected sex, ruined orgasms, cumplay, fem!reader, step-bro!gojo.

things to note. lol sorry it’s been a while !! trying a new layout also posting this into the void while i work on kinktober eee !! idk i’ve had a rough time trying to write a one shot so im glad i could make this !! special thanks to @kishibye for beta reading. i hope you enjoy this bestie boos ily <3

“what are you doing?” there’s a sharp edge to the tone of satoru’s voice, splayed across his tongue that holds back a stream of curses. his eyes speak fury in their piping hot flames of wild cerulean as he watches you enter the kitchen and shoot straight for the snack cupboard.

you can feel the weight of his gaze as it crosses the slopes of your body, from the back of your head, twirling around your curves before ultimately falling to your behind.

playing innocent, you stand on your tip toes and grasp at the bag of chips you’re after. the ones on the top shelf. “whaddya mean ‘what am i doing’?”

“what do you mean what do i mean?” your step brother retorts childishly, as if you’re two kids fighting on a playground at recess.

you click your tongue and pay him no mind. “don’t be such a baby, satoru,” you wave a hand in his face in a haughty manner. “use your big boy words.”

gojo suppresses a whine when your shirt rides up and reveals your skin to gorgeous eyes. he lets it gargle around in his throat like the sting of cool mouthwash, before striding over to you — grabbing the chips and slamming the cupboard shut so hard it makes you jump.

“you can’t just walk around dressed like that.”

he gestures to your get up — the clothes you wear when nobody’s home. your sapphire silly and scallop-edged panties, your old and ratty band t-shirt haphazardly thrown on.

“why?” you turn around to come face to face with your younger (step)brother, noting the way his stare hones in on the plush meat of your thighs as you squish them together — leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“my friends are coming over.”

“so, what’s the big deal?” there’s something about pissing gojo off that entertains you. he’s a brat by all means, raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and daddy’s dollars tucked into his pockets. whenever there’s a problem, all it takes is a classic ‘toru temper tantrum and your parents are on the scene to fix things for him. he’ll never know the hardships of being raised by a single mother, always having a little less than most. he walks around in his own little bubble of riches - and you can’t help but want to pop it. “shoko thinks i’m cool and geto will probably jack off to me later. it’s whatever.”

“but it’s not whatever,” you can practically see satoru fight the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child — even going as far to have the audacity to pout down at you. “you’ll just embarrass me. so do us both a favour and put some clothes on, nobody wants to see all that ‘round the house.”

“do you own this house?”

“no but i-“

“but your daddy does. and daddy isn’t here! so shut up, satoru!” jabbing a finger into his chest, you smile up at your not-so-little little step-brother, evilly. “i make the rules.”

“oh fuck you. all you do is mooch off of my dad, princess. you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your mom whoring it out for him.” he sneers in response, upper lip curling into a distasteful snarl like a dog with a stranger on its territory. his words, though cruel and foul, are far from the truth and you know that he doesn’t mean it. satoru is a brat that throws acid laced words at anyone who gets in his way — yourself included.

even though you agree that your parents tied the knot all too fast — barely giving the two of you a chance to get to know each other as siblings. they were in love and far too happy for the rivalry between their children to get in the way. you know that the fact pissed gojo off to no end, he hated how your mother doted on him and how he’d always needed to fight for his father’s attention. now it certainly wasn’t ever going to be on him. but the two women in his house instead.

your poor, spoiled, baby brother.

however, you won’t let his words and how he projects onto you, hurt you. “whoops! looks like i dropped my will to give a fuck!” whilst pretending to drop your snack, you bend over in front of him to reveal inches of beauty marked and blemished flesh, drawing hungry seafoam eyes to the bounce of showing your ass — testing your little step brother. “i don’t care satoru, i’m older.”

satoru’s mouth snaps shut after moments of wordlessly opening and closing. he stands frozen on the spot, as if he can’t seem to process the very idea that his older step-sister had just flashed him to prove a point.

but just when you think you’ve won, the silver-haired brat is pressed right up behind you, forcing your body to bend over the cold marble counter that instantly has your nipples hardening against the icy surface. heat rushes to your face, blossoming just under the barrier of your skin as his hard on nestles it’s way between your ass cheeks — a symphony of your surprised squeaks echoing through the modern kitchen.

“hey! what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

instead of responding, he pushes your head down against the counter — circling his increasingly wet erection against your behind, manhandling the globes of flesh back onto his dick. “not so fun, is it.” he coos down at you, voice chilly and full of condescending highs and lows. “yanno…you’re awfully mean to me.”

saliva pools on your tongue, weighing it down in your mouth like a paperweight as satoru’s girth slips downwards, seedy tip brushing over panty clad and your swollen clit. “aren’t oneesan’s s’pposed to take care of their baby brothers?” his breath is hot and ragged against your ear as gojo haunches over you, caging you in like a wild animal as you thrash and writhe under his touch.

you can’t even bring yourself to feel an ounce of shame when gojo’s left hand dances between your tangled limbs and slips past the frilly band of your underwear — ghosting over the throbbing pearl laying between your sticky pussy lips. “step…step brother!” you whinge at the tingle of pleasure that blooms in your lower tummy and spreads like angel wings throughout the rest of your body. 

satoru takes turns playing with you, alternating between his nimble, skilled fingers and his seedy girth that smears precum all over your inner thighs and panties. “like that even fuckin’ matters.” he laughs, twisted and proud. “could you get off like this? yeah i think you could…. you’re already so wet. just from grinding on your little brother’s cock.”

your legs grow shaky at his ministrations, beads of your juices oozing from your empty entrance to stain the man’s sweats, slicking him up as if it’s a signature of your claim. “‘toru!” you gasp, eyes rolling back into the depth of your skull. “m-more.”

“look at how fast you fold for me…” he pushes up your shirt so that the fabric pools around your waist — pawing at the fat there, massaging your hips softly as if he isn’t violently, cruelly rubbing one out on your achey pussy. “i don’t think you’re in a position to ask me for more, big sis.” satoru taunts, a heavy hand coming down on the bare skin of your ass, leaving a raw handprint in its place. “such a nasty slut, i bet you’d let me fuck you like this too. out in the open, where anyone could catch us.”

you yelp in surprise at the feeling of gojo’s messy, cream coated cockhead nudge at your entrance from over your panties — a slender finger pulling the soaked material to the side so he can fuck you with his tip. “oh, i bet you’d like that, huh baby?” he continues to purr, jutting his hips forward ever so slightly — feeding your greedy cunt a few more inches of him. satoru’s barely sheathed inside of you, but you’re already stretching deliciously around what he’s given you. he’s fat, girthy just as he is long and his mushroom tip drags along sensitive spots in your walls you didn’t even know you had.

 he hasn’t even fucked you properly yet.

you sob, wail and writhe on your little step brother’s cock, nails clawing at the marble counter while your breath escapes you. “satoru, please fuck me. ‘m sorry… sorry—!”

“shh big sis, you’re being too loud,” he cups a hand over your mouth. gojo eases two digits past your plump lips to pacify your cries as he shallowly pumps his wet cock into the heat of your sex — gritting his teeth to hide his own moans. “we…fuck, you’re tight as shit… we wouldn’t want my friends to know that you dress like a slut for my cock, would we?”

you shake your head with a muffled moan, suckling the taste of yourself from gojo’s fingers and breathing heavily through your nose. “no, we wouldn’t. that’s right. good girl, oh shit.”

satoru laughs, a little cocky and a little drawn out in a long, whiny whimper over the wet slap of the backs of your thighs in the front of his own. but he trembles from behind you, like his legs are about to give out every time your creamy cunt sucks a little more of him in. it’s a miracle he’s managed to hold you both up.

guilt wracks your body intertwining with the red blood cells coursing through your veins and carrying limited oxygen to your brain — your head practically empty at how your little brother ruins you on half of his fat cock. this isn’t right, this is completely wrong and yet you feel yourself coming undone — weak in the knees and shaky in your lips, the dam in your lower tummy threatening to burst at any second and flood the room in an erotic river of your arousal. 

pushing your head off of the counter, you lean into satoru, throwing your ass back onto him in rhythm with the harshness of his thrusts. everything is hotter, heavier and you can’t even think about how much of a bad step-sister you are when he’s dominating your body like this. the silky locks of satoru’s silvering hair press against your shoulder and he wraps a fist in the fabric of your shirt to pull you further back onto his cock. 

“‘m gonna c-cum, oh god!” you squeal, flinching as your juices crudely slap against the kitchen floor. “i’m so close!”

he pants into your ear like a desperate dog, fully wrapping himself around you and trapping you against the counter so that you have nowhere to go except towards your high. “yeah?” gojo breathes heatedly, temperate breath cascading over the back of your neck and only adding fuel to your fire of desire. “i can tell, you get like this. all needy ‘n cute when you’re about to cum.” 

his words have you clenching around his bulbous tip every time it pushes up against the pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had — your arousal catching in the pretty blue veins that spiral around the length of gojo’s shaft. “you don’t think i can’t hear you, big sis? late at night when you think everyone’s sleepin’….” his whistle tone moans are quickly replaced by deep growls and grunts that only just manage to escape from between the gritted rows of your step brother’s pearly whites. “when you stuff those tiny fingers into that tight little hole and—“

he reaches down between your mess of slick soaked limbs to land a harsh smack against your quivering pussy, sending the foamy ring of white where your bodies join flying about the place. “—and make yourself cum to the thought of me?” he continues, breathing ragged and laughing at you again when you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. 

“s-satoru!”

he soothes you with quick circles over your swollen clit and kisses to your shoulder — being careful not to leave marks. “oh did that hurt, baby? am i  the mean one now?” licking a stripe up the side of your face and tasting the sweat on your glistening skin, satoru rambles on — filling you up with praises and copious amounts of precum. “you know i—fuck— you know i love you. my precious big sister, so fucking good to me. let’s make you cum, yeah?” 

you’re allowed to rut back on him for a little longer, since he loves the sound of his name whirling around messily on your tongue, all high-pitched and sugar coated for him. if only you knew how badly he’d wanted you, how pissed he was when his father went on to marry your mother. gojo has wanted you since the very first night you met — his every waking thought has been carefully carved to lust after you, think of your eyes, your smile, your lips. fuck, everything about you has satoru under some kind of spell. 

“r-right there. right there, t-there!” you chant the words like they’re the a prayer, as if they’re the only ones you know, allowing satoru to throw you through the loop of pleasure until you’re too far gone to stay on the ride. 

angling his slender hips upwards, his cockhead bares down on the gummy centre of your g-spot just has he buries himself inside of you — right up to the hilt. “h-here? this where you want me, big sis?” gojo’s amused gasp turns into a coo when you let out a meek hum of agreement, babling wild nonsense and drooling into the counter you’re pressed against. “mmhm, got you creamin’ around me already. so cute, so good when you listen. when you’re a good t’me, oneesan.” 

the honorific alone has your mouth running dry as if it’s been stuffed with cotton. though the syrupy pap, pap, pap of your sex says otherwise. it tells the truth of your sin.

and the thing that you don’t know about satoru is that he loves to give, feeding pieces of himself to you as he fucks you wild in the middle of your family kitchen. he wants you to have all of him, every corner and inch of his body just like he dreamed about. he knows it’s forbidden and that it’s wrong, but he can’t help but relish in the feeling of your pretty pussy sucking him in so selfishly, greedily clamping down on his thick base. 

he would give you anything. anything you wanted and asked for if you’d let him. his hands slip from your waist to intertwine with yours splayed out on the cool marble surface, using his last spurts of energy to drag you towards your orgasm and the deep depths of sinner’s paradise. 

“fuck me, fuck me, baby.” he growls possessively against the shell of your ear. “let go for me. lemme see how much you love your little brother—“

the crescendo of your pleasure is at an all time high, about to come crashing down on you like a tonne of heavy bricks. 

that is until the door bell rings, accompanied by the sound of geto’s voice from the outside of the house. “yoo, satoru! open up!” 

you’d think that you’d have been good enough for your little step-brother to keep going — to push onwards and let you cream all over him before he went to attend to his silly little friends. but he flips the script, pulling out of you just as you teeter over the edge to ruin your orgasm.

“no, no, please!” you sniffle, teary eyed with dissatisfaction sitting in your lower belly — the need to cum still there but the feeling of emptiness within your dripping walls taking over. “satoru…” you whine.

when you look behind you, he’s too busy finishing himself off — his black shirt between his teeth, sweats hanging low on his waist while gojo palms  his hard and heavy cock as he pleases. 

it’s coated in your arousal, shining under the artificial lighting in the kitchen and you watch with a pout as gojo jacks himself off to the view of your ruined cunt. he thumbs the seedy slit at the centre of his bright red tip, hissing through the sensitivity. he’s a picture perfect vision, appearing as an angel before your very eyes. a mop of halo white hair flop backwards with satoru’s head, rich sapphire eyes locked behind fluttering lashes that glisten with pearls of pleasure filled tears. 

you know not to be mistaken, you know that satoru is more like an incubus than the heavenly being he presents as. the parts of your brain with better judgement see him as the sinner who made you fall from grace, committing such a heinous act. the desperate side of you with a brain full of lust and smoke screens sees your step-brother as a god who controls all of your desires. 

you think you prefer that side of you more. 

meanwhile, a drop of sweat runs a track down the length of satoru’s neck, catching on the curve of his Adam’s apple as he swallows down his euphoric laments. you find yourself jealous that his own fingers are wrapped around his sloppy dick instead of drawing shapes against your aching clit. you envy how good it must feel for satoru when he finally cums. ropes of thick white sling around his knuckles, much paler in contrast to his pearlescent skin tone.

a deep, gravelly moan erupts from his hot mouth like lava, accompanied by curses and the stuttered syllables you recognise to be your name while he finishes himself off. gojo jerks his sensitive cock over your ass to paint you with the last spurts of his release. it’s a claim on you as your step-brother, a way in which he can show you that he always gets his way no matter what.

whilst still recovering, your step-brother drags a slender finger through the puddle of cum he’s left on you, and drags it down to your stretched little hole before pushing it against your overstimulated clit. “hmm, so pretty.” gojo grins, slow and sly, when you twitch and attempt to jolt away from him. then unexpectedly, he lands a hard smack against your bum — revelling in your sweet cry of pleasure, impatience and pain. “go put somethin’ on, will ya, sis? my friends are still waiting outside.” 

“i…i hate you.” you whimper shakily, brain frazzled from the situation. 

satoru might be a spoiled brat, but he’s not mean enough to leave you here a shaky, dripping mess so he helps you to your feet — tenderly fixing the hem of your shirt and panties back into place (failing to wipe his cum off of you beforehand). you’re still pouting from your ruined orgasm once he’s done, and he nudges the underside of your chin with a singular knuckle. 

“don’t worry big sis, i’ll come take care of you later. maybe i’ll even let geto watch since you love prancing around half naked for him too.” he teases, squishing your cheeks as you try to swat at him. “and you don’t hate me, you love me and this cock. clearly.” gojo sings and sends a cheeky wink in your before prancing away to open the door for his friends. 

he pulls his pants up as he goes, not minding the wet patch you’ve left on him. 

whereas, you scurry up to your room before they can greet you and gojo tells them that you’re feeling unwell. 

that day, you learn two valuable lessons: 

one —  never mess with a spoiled brat, it’ll never end well for you and gojo will always get what he wants no matter who pays the bills. 

two — geto really does like to jerk off to you, even more so when he watches his best friend punishes his older step-sister with enough orgasms to make her forget why she was in trouble with satoru in the first place.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[wandasdove]

JEALOUSY IN THE OFFICE

Pairing: ceo!wanda x little!reader

Summary: reader grows increasingly jealous and frustrated as natasha, wanda’s business partner, monopolises her attention during a meeting. reader's bratty behaviour escalates into a confrontation with natasha, leading to wanda punishing them with spanks while natasha looks on, teasing them further. despite the embarrassment and tension, wanda reassures the reader of her love.

Warnings: MD/LG dynamics, brattiness, spanking as punishment, slight humiliation, jealousy, power dynamics, slight age play, mild degradation, emotional dominance (?). let me know if i forgot anything

Author’s notes: HIHIHI, this is a scheduled post because i’m away at camp right now. i hope you enjoy this and i’ll be back tomorrow evening :D this fic was inspired by my bunny @aggieslittlebunny <3

The spacious office was filled with the muted sounds of business: papers shuffling, pens scratching, and the steady hum of conversation. You were sprawled on the plush carpet, your crayons scattered around you as you focused on your drawing. Wanda, was seated at her desk, deep in discussion with her business partner, Natasha. You tried to ignore their grown-up talk, but your attention kept drifting back to them.

Wanda looked stunning in her green blazer, the color complementing her sharp, authoritative demeanor. You adored the way she looked in it, often finding comfort in the touch of its fabric. As time wore on, you grew increasingly restless. Natasha’s confident, almost smug voice grated on you. She was monopolising Wanda's attention, and you hated it.

Unable to bear it any longer, you got up and made your way to Wanda, climbing into her lap. She barely missed a beat in her conversation, wrapping an arm around you in a comforting gesture. You started playing with the hem of her blazer, tugging at it and trying to distract her from the ongoing discussion.

“за́йка, Mommy is busy right now,” Wanda murmured, her voice a soothing balm. (за́йка - bunny)

Natasha noticed your presence and smirked, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Looks like someone’s feeling neglected,” she commented, her tone dripping with condescension.

You bristled at her words, your frustration bubbling over. “Why do you always have to be here, Natasha? You're not that important.”

Natasha laughed, a sharp, mirthless sound. “Oh, sweetheart, you really think that, don’t you? Let me remind you, I’m the one helping your Mommy keep this company afloat.”

You glared at her, feeling the heat of anger rise in your cheeks. “No you’re not. You’re just jealous because Mommy loves me more so you try and steal her from me!”

Natasha’s smirk widened. “Jealous? Of you? Don’t be ridiculous. You're just a spoiled little brat who can't stand not being the center of attention.”

You gasp really loud, genuinely offended. You get teary eyed at the idea of Mommy thinking you’re a spoiled brat. “I wish my Mommy never met you so I didn’t have to either. You’re so mean!”

“Y/N, that's enough,” Wanda interjected, her voice strained with barely contained frustration. “Apologise to Natasha right now.”

“No,” you spat, crossing your arms defiantly. “She’s always taking you away from me.”

Natasha chuckled, leaning back in her chair with an infuriatingly smug expression. “Such a petulant little girl. Maybe your Mommy should spend more time disciplining you than coddling you.”

“I hate you!” You say through gritted teeth, tears threatening to spill. You’ve always been a sensitive thing.

Wanda's patience finally snapped. "If you can't behave, then Mommy will have to teach you a lesson." She gently but firmly shifted you off her lap and stood you beside her chair. "Over my lap, now."

Your face burned with embarrassment as you glanced at Natasha, who was watching with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

“But Mommy…. Nat-” You start, embarrassed that Natasha would see you like this again. Wanda’s sharp stare leaves no room for you to argue, so you hesitantly conform.

“You will count each spank and say 'Thank you, Mommy' afterward,” Wanda instructed firmly. “Understand?”

You nodded, your voice small. “Yes, Mommy.”

Wanda's hand came down with a sharp smack, the sound echoing in the room. “One. Thank you, Mommy,” you recited, your voice trembling.

Another smack.

“Two. Thank you, Mommy.”

By the time Wanda reached ten, your bottom was stinging, and tears pricked at your eyes. You felt humiliated, especially with Natasha's smug gaze fixed on you the entire time.

“…Ten. Thank you, Mommy,” you finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda helped you up, her hand gentle on your back. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson за́йка,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “Mommy loves you, but you need to behave.”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her smirk never fading. “Such a brat,” she teased. “You definitely need more than ten.”

You glared at her, your temper flaring. “Why do you always have to be so mean, Natasha? It’d be better if Mommy ran this business without you!”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, and she stood, her presence towering over you. “Sweetheart, I’m the one keeping this company running. Without me, your precious Mommy wouldn’t have time for any of your little tantrums.”

“Okay, thats enough now, Nat,” Wanda interjected, her tone brooking no argument. “This meeting is over for now, we’ll continue tomorrow. I need to take her home.”

Natasha gathered her things, shooting you one last condescending look. “Try to keep her in line, Wanda,”she said, her voice cold. “We have important work to do.”

As Natasha left, you buried your face in Wanda’s chest, trying to block out the sting of Natasha's taunts and the humiliation of your punishment. Wanda’s hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, her touch a comfort.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” you whispered, your voice muffled against her blazer.

Wanda kissed the top of your head, her lips soft and reassuring. “I know, baby. Just remember to be good. Mommy loves you very much.”

[dollfacefantasy]

(you drive me) crazy ♡

satoru gojo x fem!reader x suguru geto

you and satoru haven't been getting along lately, so suguru intervenes to give you the guiding hands you need to come together

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, threesome, oral sex (f receiving), handjob, daddy kink/ddlg, mlm

a/n: wrote this as a request for my sweet lovely bestie @nexysworld <3

"'Toru quit it," you whine from the living room.

Suguru could hear the sounds of your protests coming from down the hall where you and Satoru were hanging out. He listens closer from his place in the bedroom for the other man's response, trying to discern if the conflict was playful or not. 

The past week or so, you two had been getting into it pretty often. They weren't serious disputes; usually just Satoru bossing you around or going too far with his jokes. He had power over you in your relationship dynamic, and that was how he played with it. Still, Suguru felt the need to intervene if his jabs got too rough for you. You were delicate while you were in a submissive mood. Feeling small meant you were too sensitive to handle teasing beyond what you knew was part of the game.

"Why would I quit when you're liking it so much?" Satoru taunts, "I can feel those pretty nipples getting hard, princess."

A series of whimpers drift down the hall to Suguru's ears. It was honestly hard for him to tell if the two of you were playing around or not. The little spats never stemmed from actual trouble between you three, but he wanted to make sure it stayed that way. He knew Satoru would figure it out with you soon enough, but for now, this dynamic was still new to him.

There's some more giggles and whines before you sharply yelp "Ow!"

Satoru laughs and then there's a little scuffle.

"You're such an asshole! Give it back!" you say.

Suguru sighs. It's as if he can already see Satoru's long arm stretched upwards, holding something out of reach. He gets up and heads toward the commotion.

"What? Are you too little to reach it?" Satoru mocks, "You weren't even paying attention anyways."

"That doesn't matter! I had it on cause I wanted it on," you say.

Suguru walks into the room and stands there momentarily, taking in the situation before him. His boyfriend was stretched back into the corner of the couch while his girlfriend was climbing all over him trying to reach the tv remote he dangled above them.

"Quit being a whiny brat," Satoru continues, giving your face a gentle shove with his other hand.

"Enough," Suguru interjects.

His voice is all it takes to snatch both of your attention. You turn around on top of Satoru while his head straightens up to look at the dark-haired man. You both know from the look on his face and the cadence of his voice that he's not in the mood for back talk.

At least you think you both know that. But Satoru decides to chance it anyway.

"Oh, she's fine. She was just being a big baby," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"From what I could hear, the both of you were being petulant brats," Suguru corrects.

It's almost as if you can see a gray cloud form over Satoru's head upon hearing that.

Suguru approaches the couch and sits at the end opposite the two of you. He grabs you by your hips and pulls you into his lap, leaning you against his chest and holding you close.

"Turn off the tv," he directs. 

Satoru actually obeys this time and clicks the power button before setting the remote on the table. His eyes return to the other man, both waiting to see his next move and wanting to be involved with whatever it is. He even scoots a little closer to ensure he won't be left out.

You're still glaring daggers at him, but the man holding you puts a quick end to it with a light tap to your nose.

"None of that," he chides, "I want the two of you to start getting along. There's no need for all the petty fighting."

"He's always being a dick-" you start before being promptly cut off.

"Watch your language," he tells you with a sharp look. "Good girls don't use words like that."

You tear your eyes away with a huff to spare yourself from seeing the smug quirk in Satoru's lip.

Suguru sighs and leans back into the cushions of the couch, keeping you close to him. Soothingly, he rubs the small of your back while shaking his head. His other hand stretches out to run through Satoru's white hair and massage his scalp.

"What am I going to do with the two of you? There's no reason for you to be bickering so much. You aren't in competition with one another," Suguru starts, speaking matter of factly.

He's relieved to receive no pushback on that point. Your eyes stay aimed up at him obediently while you relax in his lap, and Satoru's head melts against his hand as he rubs his head. His hand falls to the other man's jawline, sweeping down in and brushing his thumb over his plush lips.

"Come a little closer, pretty boy," he says. He knew the instant effect his voice uttering that pet name would have. He could all but see Satoru's pupils dilate.

Just as had been requested of him, the light-haired man inches closer so that his legs touch yours and Suguru's.

"The two of you are going to learn to behave together. I don't have the energy to put up with both of you acting so fussy all the time," he tells the both of you.

"But daddy-" you start to whine. You had to clear your name and make sure he knew that this was mostly Satoru's fault.

"Ah ah," he hushes you and leans in to quiet you with a brief kiss. Of course, Suguru knew a majority of the blame fell on the other man's shoulders. But he also knew that man in question, and he knew that he would never acquiesce if he felt defensive. "Show me you know how to act, sweet girl."

A grumble of frustration rumbles in your chest, but you simply lean into the kiss and move your lips with his. He's soft like always, smells so so good. Every breath you take lets him take over your senses. Every time, he was so easy to fall into. You swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, but as you're ready to go deeper, he pulls away.

"I think Satoru deserves a turn, baby," he chuckles lowly.

Your eyes glance over at your tormenter who'd been watching the whole time, analyzing every little movement between you and Suguru. You wanted to insist that no, actually, he did not deserve a turn. But that's something Satoru would do, and you're smarter than him so you control your pettiness for now.

Suguru brushes his thumb over your lip to wipe away some saliva before he turns his head and guides Satoru in for kisses similar to the ones he'd given you. The two men move their lips together with almost divine synchrony. Always the neediest of the group, Satoru moans quietly and scoots even closer to you and Suguru.

You watch them, and as you take in how they meld into one, you remember why the three of you do this. Because you can't stay mad when watching your lovers look so beautiful with one another. You can't hate Satoru when he looks so pretty with his skin tinged pink and his white lashes dusting his cheeks. You can't resent him when all you want is to make him feel the same way.

With Suguru, the rule always was once he had touched you, you were then allowed to touch him. So you lean in and nose at his neck, latching your lips onto his warm skin next. Being so close, you can hear the rhythm of his breathing stutter at the feeling. He stays focused on the one he's kissing until he catches sight of what you're doing and follows suit.

He occupies the other side of Suguru's throat and lavishes teasing kisses onto it. The man in the middle sighs and tilts his head back to give the both of you more room.

"There you go. Working together for daddy just like you're supposed to," he mutters.

Your hand slides onto Suguru's lap as Satoru's does the same. Fingertips brush against each other in the middle, a gentle reminder of why you loved Satoru too despite all the grief he caused you.

The touch pulls you together like magnets. Both of your lips glide over his throat to the center near his Adam's apple. You're both still focused on him, but then you aren't sure if Satoru's tongue flicks yours or if it's yours that brushes against his. Either way, your lips end up coming together and tangling the two of you in a series of kisses.

You lean away from Suguru's throat a bit. Satoru's hands cup your cheeks and keep you within his range. The man who had been the center of attention peers up and smirks at the two of you. He watches your tongues explore each other's mouths, watches as hands get grabby and breaths become bated. His hands stroke down the back of your heads like the delicate things he sees you as.

"Good babies," he coos, "It's more fun when you're playing nice."

But make no mistake, Suguru wasn't going to be left out of this little moment. He guides your chins upwards and presses his lips to the spot where yours meet. The intrusion is awkward for a split second, but it quickly becomes welcome. Satoru turns his head and engulfs the other man's lips in a kiss while wrapping his arm around your waist and keeping you close.

The three of your mouths move together. All sets of lips find a rhythm and always have their place in the mix. It's messier kissing with an extra person, but you like it that way. You like Satoru's breath chilling the skin coated in Suguru's spit. You like having his tongue in your mouth while your other lover nips at his bottom lip. You like feeling his slender fingers dig into your hip while Suguru's bulge swells beneath your ass. 

You squirm your hips, providing some friction to the growing erection, but his hands still your movements.

"Not yet, pretty girl," Suguru coos. He pulls back from the threeway kiss looking a little flush himself. His lips are puffed up like yours and Satoru. The main difference between him and the other man is that Satoru's eyes are completely clouded with lovesickness.

"I think Satoru owes you a little apology for teasing, hm?" he asks.

Thanks to his hazy state of mind, his reaction is a bit delayed, but once Satoru registers those words, he whines. 

"We made up. She doesn't want an apology," he says before looking at you, "Right?"

Your mind is a little fogged up from the heat of kisses. The desire for revenge had faded, but the memory of its intensity made you pause to consider siding against him.

Though before you can, Suguru swoops in.

"You did make up, but I want that to last this time. I don't want the two of you fighting again thirty minutes after I make the both of you cum," he chides, "I want you to remember that when our baby feels good, you feel good too."

You watch the resistance die in Satoru's eyes, suffocating under the mist of pure adoration he has for the man in front of him. Suguru strokes his jaw and returns the gaze, keeping him hanging on each word he says.

"Lay back for me, baby boy," he says gently.

Satoru obliges and leans back, spreading his long body across the couch. He tugs off his shirt and exposes the pale, muscular expanse of his chest to your eyes. Like always, he looked so pretty. He'd be gorgeous enough to make you jealous if you didn't love him so much yourself.

Suguru bounces you on his knee a few times to get your attention back on him. His hand rubs up and down your thigh soothingly as he leans in, speaking in the voice that lets you know his words are for you.

"Now Satoru's gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. After this, I want no more petty arguments, understand? I know he goes too far when he teases, but you need to try and work with me, ok?" he says, every word cooed at you like it'd be too difficult to understand otherwise.

"Ok daddy," you agree, your own voice softening as you're lulled into that soft, docile head space.

"Good girl," he praises as he pecks your temple, "I want you to go sit on Satoru's face. Think you can do that for daddy?"

You shoot a glance at Satoru whose eyes are on you and Suguru. The tent in his pants is on full display from this angle. It makes your mouth water, but you know better than to question daddy's plans.

"Mhm," you hum with a lazy nod.

"Perfect."

With that, Suguru boosts you to your feet. He helps pull your panties down and lets you hold his shoulder for balance while you step out of them. Then he takes your shirt off for you, kisses up your tummy and onto each breast.

"Alright, honey. Climb on," he says, giving you a pat on the ass and guiding you in Satoru's direction.

You crawl onto the other man's body, scooting up over his abdomen and pausing at his chest. You look down at his lust-blown eyes. The agreement had been made between you and Suguru, but it's Satoru's hands that pull you forward and get you hovering right above his face.

"No need to wait," Suguru directs from behind you.

That's all the man below you needs to hear before yanking you down and latching his mouth onto your cunt.

Your knees dig into the couch and you clutch the armrest in front of you for support. Being needy brought eagerness as well for Satoru. He loved receiving pleasure, but if giving it was how he could be the center of attention, he gave his all to that just the same. 

Suguru honors Satoru's dedication by tugging down his pants and letting his hard cock spring free. He boosts his hips to make it easier to get his clothes all the way off. His dick is leaky and flushed, resting against his pelvis, pulsing with the desire to be touched.

His lips engulf your pussy as he makes out with it, wanting every inch in his possession. His tongue laps over the length of it as if he's running out of time. He kisses your clit and laves at your entrance. The way he grips your thighs makes you feel as though you're being used as an instrument of suffocation

"Easy, Satoru," Suguru chuckles, stroking his smooth inner thigh.

He whines against your sex at the feather light touches, his hips buck involuntarily, so desperate for something to thrust into. The sound reverberates through you, sending a shudder up your spine.

"Daddy!" you whine for Suguru. Your arm sticks out behind you, flailing in a fruitless attempt to grab his hand.

He knows what you're doing as soon as he hears that whine. You always did this, always wanted Suguru to coddle you when things got the slightest bit intense.

"No no, baby," he tuts, "Daddy can't reach from here. Why don't you hold Satoru's hand instead?"

As soon as the words hit your ears, your pleasured mind decides that solution is good enough. Your fingers fly to your leg and pry Satoru's hand off so you can hold it. He doesn't complain at all, giving your palm a tight, reassuring squeeze.

Suguru watches, satisfied at the two of you getting along. He rewards Satoru's squeeze with one of his own, his fingers wrapping around his shaft. He gives it a few gentle pumps, relishing the guttural groans that come from between your thighs.

"Good boy," he coos, "You see what happens when you're nice to our girl? Daddy makes you feel good too."

You feel him nodding as he licks. His tongue never stops working on you. The warm wetness slides through your slick, swirls over your sensitive spots. You hold his hand like a lifeline. Your thighs tremble with the urge to clamp around his head.

"Daddy wants both his babies to feel good," Suguru continues from behind you while stroking Satoru's cock, "Is he doing a good job, baby girl?"

"Y-yeah," you choke out and look down at the mop of white hair exploding from the apex of your thighs. You can see those bright, blue eyes beaming up at you too. They're drooping with lust, dazed with the desire to please.

He moans while sucking on your clit. A ways down, Suguru spit down onto his hand as he fists Satoru's cock. The noises from his motions start to grow louder, his dick glistening with the mixture of saliva and precum spread over it.

"Keep going, Satoru. Make her cum, and daddy'll make you cum too," he coos.

His hand continues to jerk his cock with fluid motions. His thumb swipes over the dripping tip as Satoru's tongue prods your entrance. You grind your hips down into the blissful sensation. It starts with gentle rocking, but it's soon full-fledged humping.

"Oh, she likes that," he croons, "Look at you go, baby. You're gonna wear yourself out early riding his face so fast."

"Can't stop daddy," you mewl, "Feels too good."

You want to say more, but thoughts vanish from your brain faster than your hips are moving. You feel release blossoming in your belly. Your free hand laces itself between Satoru's locks to hold onto another part of him.

"Daddy, gonna cum," you whine.

"Alright, sweetheart. You can cum," he tells you before giving Satoru's dick a squeeze to indicate his words are now for him, "As soon as she's cum, you can cum too."

The words get Satoru working twice as fast. The tip of his tongue serpentines over your swollen bundle of nerves before suckling on it and flicking at the bud.

Your body goes taut, and it only takes a few more skilled touches to strike the right chord. Your back arches and the shriek you let out is high enough to break glass. You hold Satoru's hand so tight, it's possible you've shattered a couple bones.

Your hips swing back and forth with a mind of their own. Only one goal in mind, prolonging your high for as long as possible. Your eyes droop and gloss up, and everything starts feeling soft and warm.

Satoru can feel you swaying above him, but his hand splays across the small of your back to keep you up right. It stays there until you finish, and Suguru can guide you back into his lap. You watch him jerk off Satoru closer to the edge.

His fist twists languidly, stroking up and down in a perfect rhythm. You glance at Satoru's face. You watch him bite his lip as his features contort with ecstasy. He looks fucked out despite not having cum at all yet.

"Come on, sweet boy. Let me see it," Suguru coos, "You deserve this. You deserve your reward for making her feel so good."

The other man whines, but his hips start to jerk. You watch the first rope of cum spurt out onto his tummy. More follow and his legs squirm with the feeling of release.

"That's it. Cumming for your daddy just like a good boy should," Suguru says.

Once Satoru's ridden out his orgasm, you look up at Suguru for permission to love on him a bit more. He smiles at you, both for your intention and your inclination to ask for approval. Approval that he gives you, of course.

You crawl up the other man's side and snuggle in next to him, nuzzling his neck. He turns and presses some hazy kisses to your face. He doesn't want to get his hopes up too early, but Suguru is really starting to believe this one will be the time that lasts. He rises to his knees and haphazardly situates your legs into a more accessible position.

"You just stay right there, angel. Daddy's gonna fuck that pretty princess cunt, and Satoru can clean us up again if he wants," he says.

You turn your head to look up into the piercing set of blue eyes. From the glint they hold, you know he'll want to.

[lizthewriter]

best believe i'm still bejeweled / theodore nott

PAIRING  theodore nott x fem!reader

SUMMARY  you accept theodore nott's proposal to fake date each other and the two of you step foot into the ridiculously complicated world of fake dating. part 2 of the get him back! series PART 1 PART 3

QUOTE  "best believe i'm still bejeweled, / when i walk in the room, / i can still make the whole place shimmer," - bejeweled by taylor swift

WORD COUNT  1.4K

WRITTEN  6.3.2024

"everyone." theodore had walked back into the room, you snuggled comfortably into his arms. he had tapped a fork against his glass, gathering the attention of his friends. mattheo's jaw dropped, the hand swung around some girl you had seen around slithering it's way back to his side. "i want to introduce you to my girlfriend."

that's right, you smug snake. i win.

some people in the room looked rather confused, most didn't seem to care. mattheo's eyes had a glint of murder and his new girlfriend was obviously displeased by the sudden lack of his arn around her waist. an umber-skinned boy you didn't recognized was watching theodore with only a curious expression, tilting his head as his eyes met yours. they were oddly piercing, as though he could read your every thought and deduce the scheme you and theodore had drunkly concocted in the kitchen of a random kid's mansion in under a minute.

mattheo stood up quickly and approached you with a furious expression. his eyes burned a hold into theodore's head as he addressed you (though nott seemed unfazed by the boy's anger). "can i speak with you? privately."

your eyes were dead as they gazed onto mattheo and as his eyes met yours, his expression fell from fury to something more shocked. you lazily dismissed him, glancing away as you responded with nothing but a simple, "no." he didn't deserve to waste a second of your time with his nonsense.

he fumed at his and pushed inbetween you and theodore, storming out of the mansion. his date gathered her things quickly and ran after him, shouting his name down towards the sounds of a booming bass.

"i thought you said you weren't dating, theodore?" daphne greengrass sat elegantly upon the loveseat, her legs crossed and a smirk painting her face something beautiful. she looked dignified. "didn't you once remark to me that no girl was good enough for you?"

you wanted to roll your eyes. yeah. that was the theodore nott you knew.

-

"if we want this to work, you're going to need to -" theodore glanced you up and down. "- change some things."

you narrowed your eyes at him, your arms crossed. "what exactly do you mean by that, nott?"

"i mean to say you need to have the sense of sophistication and upper class of princess diana. and currently you have nothing more than a sense - i apologize - a smell of alcohol about you and all the upper class of a weasley."

"so you're saying you want me to start looking and acting like a spoiled brat?" you asked sweetly, though it was snarlingly obvious your expression was distasteful and offended.

nott sighed as though he were being exhausted by a petulant child, his fingers holding the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "i meant no offense."

"it doesn't matter what you mean, what matters is what you do. i'm sorry i don't have the luxury of a wealthy father to worry about all of my problems. unfortunately i have to pay rent, buy clothes, food, and other necessities, as well as cover the costs of university myself. there's not enough wiggle room there for gucci sandals and a yearly vacation to bora bora."

"i'll pay for everything, all right? i shouldn't have said that the way i did." his tone was sorrowful enough that you forgave him with a sigh and a wave of your hand.

you hopped onto the kitchen counter top as nott began to wash the alcohol glassware. "so, why are we still here? the party is over, i'm sure the kid whose parents own this house would like us very much to leave."

he sent you a look. it took a moment for you to register that this was nott's father's mansion. "oh. well then . . . if we're going to make this work, we have to be more than believable, we have to be undeniably in love. that means people have to see us together, they have to look at us and think we're in love. that means spending time together, nott. are you sure you'll be able to tolerate time alone with someone so below your class?"

theodore gritted his teeth in annoyance and rolled his eyes. "yes, i'm quite certain that i will survive."

you grinned, hopping off from the counter and patting him on the back. "great. pick me up tommorow night at seven, we're getting dinner."

-

"i can't believe this, i can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"relax, blaise, it's not a big deal."

"big deal!? the girl you've had a massive crush on for the past two years is now your girlfriend and you say it's not a big deal, don't be ridiculous," blaise responds with a scoff.

"fake girlfriend - she's only doing this to get back at riddle. besides, i'm doing this to piss the twat off too," theodore responded in a rather defensive tone. blaise smirked at the faint blush that painted nott's cheeks.

"oh yeah? and that's the only reason? are you quite sure?" there was an embittered silence that made blaise laugh victoriously. he clapped theodore on the back in excitement. "come on, nott, even if you're fake dating right now, you've got to pretend, right? you have your chance, don't let it go to waste! you've got a date with her tonight, right? pull out the stops! buy her flowers, get a -"

"don't you have sports communications now, zabini?" theodore drawled, glaring at blaise with an icy expression. blaise only grinned in response - his friend would come round to listen to him.

-

theodore had thought good and long on what blaise had said to him. it was true - you both had a general education class first semester and from then on, he had been mad about you. he didn't really understand it fully himself, at least not in the beginning. he had never been interested in girls much before, but something about you in paticular struck him. perhaps your wittiness, your intelligence, the way you weren't afraid to speak your mind about issues that were important, your beauty. you weren't rich and to be honest, he didn't care - it was your personality, your beauty, that was rich. material wealth meant nothing.

well, material wealth meant a little something. it meant he had listened to blaise and bought you an extraordinarily large bouquet of red roses that would never be to expensive to him. he wore his finest suit, his hair slicked back carefully, a hint of cologne wafting off him. he stood at the door to your dorm (which took quite a bit of effort to hunt down, you hadn't even given him your number or where you lived.)

he knocked on your door and waited patiently, glancing up and down the hall. ans then the door opened, revealing a fiesty red-haired girl with a smirk on her face. but theodore wasn't looking at her, he was looking at you. the roses almost fell from his hand.

"erm - i hope i'm not late."

the shock was evident on your face. he was - well, you couldn't deny it, theodore looked astoundingly handsome. and that bouquet of flowers . . . . was it all for you?

"these are for you," theodore said, looking for more nervous than you would have expected him to. he handed you the bouquet, but the ginny snatched it from him immediately.

"i'll go put these in a jar!" she exclaimed, holding them under one arm. she shoved you out the door and towards theodore. "you two go have fun and you, bring her home before midnight or i'll have my older brothers on your arse!"

the door slammed in your faces and you were left unbearably close to theodore. you didn't know what to say - i mean, you knew you had to make it look as though you really were dating, but you didn't expect him to go to such an extreme. "you did really good with the flowers. very believably," you said in a rather constrained tone. part of you had been flattered by such a gorgeous bouquet, but the other half of you knew it was all for show. why did you feel so sad?

TAGS @rosieandthethorns @thaliasworld96 @lovelyygirl8 @moony-artemis @thesecretmansion @thecraziestcrayon @amongemeraldclouds @readingthingsonhere @darkenwolfie @jaxyy219 @empath-bunny @always-reading @xmadigurlx @mypolicemanharryyy @prettyb1tchsblog @hoeforvinniehackerrr @luckylzclerc @pandalovingcats @thyeb @annaisabookworm @starsval @niktwazny303

part 3 coming soon glizzies 😉

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮  tags ; top + gn!reader (no desc of parts but reader is fucking him), unabashed daddy kink, implied verse, small age gap, bottom megumi, petnames (boy, baby) thorough discussion of megumis daddy issues in exactly the direction you think, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮  a/n ; i haven't slept . im not responsible for anything. will not be taking questions at this time. 🫡

He's the prettiest thing you've ever seen in your life.

You tell him as much. He pretends to hate hearing it. Soft features bend at hard angles to convincingly drive in the fact that he detests it. Megumi is always like that. For the years you've known him - anything he's at risk of playing his hand too quickly, he retracts. You think that's why you're so addicted to getting him to let go.

He scowls, has the signature Zenin mean mug that almost makes the whole schtick convincing. You know better though. Maybe because you've known him since highschool, or maybe because you simply find him easy to read.

You've never met someone so touchstarved or so delicate all while being so, so mean. There's a lot Megumi can do but he's shit at hiding when something bothers him. When he's irritated, he's petulant and when he's pleased - you'd almost describe him as docile. In his own way. In the way a dog who used to cage fight could be.

You have an interesting relationship to Megumi. You're a stray just like him - with your family being a Zenin lapdog and you being their black sheep. You have a lot to relate on, but Megumi finds your attitude grating. Finds the harshness of your personality difficult, and finds the finesse you have for slaughter and violence to be nauseating.

It's probably why he makes wide, wet eyes at you whenever you're alone. Closest thing he has to someone he can depend on with more experience. You're quick to appraise his work when you go on trips together. Despite your acting smug and Megumis frustration about your attitude, he soaks up the praise like a pretty little sponge. He's only a few years younger than you though, despite how he acts.

(Sometimes you think he wants the gap to be a little wider. )

A cute kid, only two years younger than you. Soft, striking green eyes. Soft lips. A mean little glare and spiky mop of black hair to compliment pale, cream colored skin. Megumi blushes easy, bruises even easier. His knees and elbows are a pretty cherry-blossom pink like something out of a movie scene.

The first time you fuck Megumi, its mostly because you're drunk and interested. It'd be stupid to not be interested in a face so pretty and desperate for approval.

All times after that are false happenstance. You make a routine of it - a silent game that makes it look like you're coercing him so he doesn't have to accept his own wants with any seriousness. You're cool with the ambiguity cause you're a little sick in the head. It's enough to fuck him, and sometimes when you're generous - to have him fuck you.

Megumi is pretty when he's being fucked. He changes his tune fast when his dick is a little hard and his guard is down - never thought that bratty little fucker could whine like he's in heat until you pulled the sounds out of his mouth yourself.

You always reaffirm how much he loves attention and praise and pampering when you fuck Megumi. He likes when you appraise him like that too. Soft compliments about his pretty little hole and the tightness of his waist. You manage it with relative ease. Makes your whole core throb just to see how much he twitches over something so slight and so easy. Such a mean fucking kid - such a brat, all welled up anger and abandonment issue.

Sometimes you wanna make him cry from him pain.

But most times, like now - you offer Megumi sweet pleasure. Give him that gentle, doting authority that he seems to fiend for. Desperate for reprieve in a way that stains his face, despite his attempts to brush it off.

Megumi takes dick like he was born for it. Slender fingers grip at your waist and claw at your back like he wants to rip you in half - tear you limb from limb but his legs wrap around your waist like he'd die if you left him for one fucking second. Megumi likes being full, you think. And he likes more when you praise him for taking your cock with such ease.

It's not rocket science to figure out he has some issues with authority. That distant relationship with his sensei and absent father make it obvious that he never wants to let anyone get too close. He could never really entertain certain relationships, he could never actually ask for approval. It's too little, too late.

Still, it surprises you a little when you first hear him say daddy. Not a lot, but enough that you pause in mid-thrust to stare at him a bit. He's mortified at the realization.

But you're not much less of a scumbag you figure, than all the figures in his life. You nod instead, feel arousal spark up in your stomach and claw it's way into your throat as you fuck him even harder.

("Daddy, huh?" You laugh because it's funny and you think the feeling of being so turned on you pass out is inappropriate. "Sure, baby. I'll be your daddy if you want." )

He doesn't say shit to you about it afterwards. Can barely look you in the during your post-sex aftercare and chat - though that conversation is never particularly romantic. You think the whole thing makes him want to die, so you don't really bring it up outside of a knowing look.

But it happens more often than that. Like a dam breaking, something slips and now Megumi can't close it despite how desperately he seems to want too. It's not even that you're particularly into it at the start.

But well, he's pretty. Prettiest little thing you've ever seen in your life, even though he's tall and strong. He's got this grace that overwhelms you into fucking him dumb whenever you can. Try as you might, you will is not strong enough to not lust over someone like him calling you daddy. That level of unprecedented whining, the affection, the need in such an embarrassing word makes your feel so horny you can barely think.

So, it doesn't particularly surprise you when Megumi calls you daddy. Not anymore.

He's weepy in the face, somewhere in the distance - and he's still wearing his pajamas when you come see him. The scene is uncomfortably domestic between two people who aren't dating, but you don't really care either way. Megumi is pretty everywhere, but he's especially needy getting fucked on his kitchen counter sitting up to cling to you.

His arms around your shoulders, face drawn together with shameless embrassed. His cock is twitchy, leaking against the flat plane of his stomach with unbridled enthusiasm. He says it in a whisper today which you can't help but find cute.

It's raw in the back of his throat, mildly gravelly as his nails dig into your shoulders with an enthusiastic whine. "Daddy. Fuck, please, can't."

"What's daddy's boy want huh?" You say, obviously mocking - a hand wrapped around shaft with a thumb over his slit. Megumi shivers. Lets out a shameful moan at the word boy that makes you laugh hard, makes your head spin dizzy with lust.

"Wanna cum," He says, but doesn't beg. Doesn't know how and couldn't figure it out if you paid him. You've spoiled him rotten after all. Filthy, really but he's prettier when he's acting precious. At least to you. "Make me cum, daddy please."

"Really milking it today, huh boy?" You chuckle and all he does is whimper. "Okay, okay. So fucking needy. Go on and cum, baby. Cum for daddy."

Megumi lets out a whine. A sound you barely knew he had in him as you say it that time and you laugh again and again as you bottom out. You watch him squirm as he finally finishes, back arching off the counter as the pleasure runs through him.

His face is still hazy when he comes down. Still beautiful in that way that makes you want to fuck him stupid and indulge for the rest of your life.

"Feel good, baby?"

He blushes faint and doesn't bother pushing you away. "Mm."

[witchywithwhiskey]

Lloyd + 61. “did you really think that would work? cute”

cooped up on a nice spring day

pairing: husband!lloyd hansen x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, choking, light bdsm, bratting, begging, teasing, dirty talk, light degradation, praise kink, referenced oral sex (f receiving), pet names (it's lloyd so there's a bunch), established relationship, fluff

word count: 1,800ish

a/n: thank you for sending in this prompt Eva!!! and it's so perfect for Lloyd!! i had a lot of fun writing this one—it has probably the brattiest reader i've written so far, so i hope you enjoy!!! ♡♡

The view outside your husband’s office was beautiful in the spring—in fact, the garden was one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with the house and why Lloyd Hansen had bought it for you. There were so many flowering trees and so much flourishing greenery that you felt like you could stare at it all for hours while Lloyd worked.

And, in fact, that’s exactly what you’d been doing on that particular spring day. Lloyd had even opened the window so you could feel the warm spring breeze against your cheeks and smell the sweet perfume of the lilacs and honeysuckle from the garden. It was a beautiful day and you hoped Lloyd would finish working soon so you could go outside and enjoy the sunshine together.

It had been your intention when you’d strolled into Lloyd’s office in one of your pretty sundresses to entice your husband to go for a walk in the garden with you. You’d had designs about packing a picnic and spreading out a blanket beneath one of the leafy trees to spend the afternoon together. But Lloyd had insisted he couldn’t be pulled away from work—though that hadn’t stopped him from pulling you into his lap.

One thing had led to another and your plan to coax him out of his office had been foiled when he’d talked you into straddling his lap and keeping his cock warm while he worked. With the window open, it had seemed like the perfect compromise. After all, you loved being connected to your husband in such an intimate way, and with you able to stare out the window behind his desk, you���d been content.

For a while.

But your hips ached a little from sitting in the same position for so long, and your body was growing restless from having Lloyd’s perfect cock buried inside you for so many hours without anything in the way of satisfaction. But every time you moved your hips even a little bit, even to readjust yourself, Lloyd’s hand would press firmly against your lower back and he’d urge you to keep still. 

You tried to be good, you really did, but the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon and you could feel the beautiful spring day slipping through your fingers, along with all your plans to enjoy it with your husband. A whine worked its way up your throat and you couldn’t bear to bite it back. 

“Lloyd, please, can’t we go outside for a little while,” you begged, your arms circling around his shoulders and squeezing him tight while you tried, and failed, to keep your hips from rocking in lazy circles. “You can work later.” Your last word came out on a whimper as you felt the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls, a shiver racing down your spine.

“Just a little while longer, pet,” Lloyd rumbled distractedly, pressing his hand against your lower back and urging you to still your rolling hips. “You can be a good girl for your husband, can’t you?” He offered you a sly smile as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

Huffing an impatient sigh, you let him stop your movements, muttering, “That’s what you said an hour ago.” If you sounded petulant, that’s because you were. You didn’t even try to hide your mood from your husband, who seemed content with ignoring his wife’s needs. 

As if Lloyd could read your mind, he gripped the back of your neck and towed you away from where you’d been draped against his chest so he could look you straight in the eye. “If you give me a few more minutes of peace and quiet, I promise we’ll spend the rest of the afternoon outside,” he said, his tone patient.

But you discovered in that moment that you were all out of patience of your own. You shot Lloyd a glare before you ducked forward and nipped his ear sharply with your teeth, using your cunt to squeeze his cock as hard as your inner muscles could, wringing a grunt from your husband. 

“I want to go outside now,” you hissed in his ear, knowing exactly what you were doing and knowing it was going to get a rise out of Lloyd. But that was exactly what you wanted.

Lloyd’s hand slipped easily from the back of your neck to the wrap around the front, his thumb and middle finger digging into your throat just beneath the cut of your jaw. He pushed you back enough so you could feel the full weight of his glower, but you only scowled at him harder.

“Did you really think that would work?” he asked, tilting his head to the side while he looked down at you. But you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel worried about the dangerous thread in his tone, not when your husband’s attention was finally fully on you. “Cute.” 

Then Lloyd was pushing you up by his grip on your throat, rising to stand with a dark look on his face that sent a shiver down your spine. You whimpered when you lifted off his cock, your body feeling unimaginably empty without him inside you, but your husband only snarled at your pitiful sound.

“You wanna go outside? We’ll go outside,” Lloyd muttered, spinning you around and bending you over the sill of the window behind his desk. It didn’t have a screen so your upper body hung out the back of the house, only your husband’s hand holding you around your throat preventing you from tumbling out into the garden. “How’s this, princess, is this outside enough for you?” Lloyd growled in your ear, curling his body over yours and pinning you to the sill.

But it wasn’t enough for you, not when your cunt was leaking with arousal and your inner walls were fluttering pathetically around nothing. “Need you inside me, husband,” you gasped out, squirming your hips beneath Lloyd’s bigger frame, like you could somehow find the tip of him and force him to drive his full length home.

“First you demand I take you outside, then you demand I be inside you,” Lloyd rumbled, his tone mean in that way that made your whole body clench and pleasure to flood your mind. “You’re needy today aren’t you, cupcake?” he asked mockingly, his free hand reaching between your bodies to grip his dick and slide the head through your soaking folds. 

You went weak and pliant beneath Lloyd when you were so close to getting what you wanted, your lips forming the first desperate words you could manage. “Yes, yes, so needy for your cock, husband, please give it to me, please, I need you to fuck me, oh god, Lloyd, please!”

With one furious thrust, Lloyd buried the full length of his cock deep in your cunt, the tip ramming against the end of you so hard that you shrieked in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Lloyd’s hand tightened around your throat, choking off the loudest of your sounds of pleasure while he curled over your body, his chest pressing to your back, his cock grinding deep in your cunt in a way that made your toes curl. 

“Good girl, angel, sound so sweet begging for your husband’s dick,” Lloyd rumbled, his free hand gripping your hip tightly while he pounded into you with short, deep thrusts, his thighs clapping against the backs of yours. “You didn’t need to be such a brat to get me to fuck you, just needed to beg for me.”

You were too far gone with pleasure to respond, but it occurred to you that Lloyd fucking you through the open window of his office was much better than the lazy picnic sex you’d envisioned for the afternoon. Glancing through the garden, you knew if anyone was around, they’d see the obscene tableau you painted, your husband fucking you over the windowsill, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when the brutal thrusting of Lloyd’s cock felt so exquisite, your cunt clenching down on him as your pleasure grew.

“Fuck, fuck, buttercup, your cunt feels too good, you’re gonna make me come,” Lloyd groaned, his teeth sinking into your shoulder while his hand slipped between your thighs, finding your wet, slippery clit. “Come on your husband’s cock, wife, show me what a good girl you can be with my dick buried deep in this pussy.”

Your orgasm hit you with the suddenness of a champagne cork popping, leaving you awash in wave after wave of dazzling pleasure. A scream tore free from your throat before your husband cut it off with his choking grip. Your body tightened beneath Lloyd, your cunt gripping his cock so hard, it set off his own release. He rutted into you, muttering about your perfect cunt and how you were so good for coming on his cock. 

Together, you rode out your releases together, your bodies writhing against the windowsill until you were both finally sated.

Carefully, Lloyd helped you back inside, and he collapsed into his office chair, his arm banded around your waist pulling you down into his lap and keeping you connected. You leaned heavily back against his chest, your body feeling boneless from pleasure, a satisfied smile curling your lips. 

Lloyd pressed a kiss to your cheek, the bristles of his mustache tickling your skin gently and making you giggle softly.

“Will you be a good girl and let me finish my work now?” he asked in a low, delicious rumble. 

You stretched out your arms and legs, your spine curving and pushing your chest out so Lloyd could see the way your nipples poked against the thin cotton of your sundress. Grinning like the cat that got the cream, you relaxed back into Lloyd’s lap, humming in contentment. 

“I think I can manage for a little while, husband,” you purred, but you tilted your head and caught his eye. “But only for a little while.” There was a warning in your tone that made Lloyd chuckle. 

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping you cooped up on such a nice spring day, wife,” Lloyd murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “At least, not for much longer.” 

True to his word, Lloyd finished his work soon after and, together, the two of you went out into the gardens for a late lunch. You ate the food you’d prepared for the picnic you’d planned, and then Lloyd settled between your thighs to devour you for dessert. 

You laid back on your picnic blanket beneath a shady tree in the garden of your home and let your husband worship your body. After all, it was what you deserved for being such a good wife, and his good girl, while he’d kept you cooped up for so much of the nice spring day.

[thebearer]

just thinking about brat tamer!lip, like he would literally fuck you until you can’t even think or do anything but whining and he'd be so mean about it, i love hiiiim <3 could u write something like that?

brat tamer! lip is so special to me bc he's so real for that lol.

minors dni 18+

"Why you gotta be so fuckin' mean, huh?" Lip grunted, one hand on the headboard to steady himself, the other tangled in your hair, yanking until your scalp screamed.

"Just gotta run that fuckin' mouth, huh? That's all you do? Just fuckin' run that mouth." A particularly hard thrust annunciated his irritation, leaving you gasping, a gut punch of a feeling to your cervix that had you breathless.

He was being mean, so mean, you'd made a point to tell him that too. You supposed you deserved it, for how mean you'd been earlier.

"What? You got nothin' to say now? No mean ass comments? C'mon, baby, let me hear you. You were so fuckin' loud and obnoxious earlier." Lip sneered, pulling back on your hair so you whined, pulling you into his chest. His hips didn't stop, hands moving to hold you lightly by your neck, just enough pressure to have you clenching and whimpering.

"You gonna say you're sorry t'me?" Lip rasped, nose pressed to your temple, hands snaking up your throat to grab your jaw, pull your face towards his. "Say you're sorry."

"'m n-not, sorry." You whined, legs wobbling when his hips snapped into you, sending you reeling all over again. "You were the one ignoring me-oh!"

"I was working, you fuckin' brat." Lip sneered, fingers curling and pressing into your jaw. "How about I come to your fuckin' job and start actin' all horny and desperate? See how you like it, huh?"

You pouted, satisfied that you'd gotten him so flustered and furious. "You'd like that though. I know you would. You'd like it if I came in and-and distracted you like this? Desperate." Lip growled.

"N-No, 'm not." You whined, your voice lilting and nasally, that pitch that had his abs clenching, waves of pleasure shooting through his own body.

"You are." Lip huffed, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, the ghosting of a whine trailing. "Say you are."

"No." You whimpered, hips grinding down to meet his thrusts, desperate for friction. You were already so close.

"Say it, or you don't get to cum." Lip commanded, yanking your jaw towards him so you faced him, noses brushing. "Say you were actin' desperate or I stop. I'll cum either way, but you... fuck, you won't get to cum."

You knew he was being serious. He'd jack himself in front of you, probably tie you up and make you watch while he told you what a bad girl you were. You huffed, bratty and petulant, making Lip suck his teeth.

"I-I was..." You leaned against his chest, head lolling back in pleasure when his free hand rolled your nipples. "I was desperate." You muttered, eyes closed, refusing to look at him when you grumbled the phrase.

"Look at me." Lip growled. "You know better, look at me."

You blinked, looking at him through hazy, blurred vision, lust drunk and so close to your own orgasm it was painful. "I-I was desperate, Lip, please." You whined, lip jutting out in the perfect pout.

His eyes flickered down to your lip, teeth baring and resisting the urge to bite your lip. Roll it between his teeth, pull it so he could hear you whine and cry. His cock twitched at the thought, hammering into you.

"Say you were a bad girl." Lip commanded, his free hand gliding down to your mound, fingers ghosting over your puffy lips, purposely avoiding your clit when he knew you were so desperate for him to touch you there- knew it would send you over the edge. "Say it."

"I-I was... Iwasabadgirl." You sobbed, his pointer finger pressing on your clit, rubbing just enough to have you bucking in his arms, legs shaking and flooding his cock, overtook by your own orgasm.

Lip held you while you shook, slow rocks of his hips until your eyes were glassy, body still shuddering with aftershocks. "There she is. There's my bad fuckin' girl." Lip grinned, lying you against the pillows, sprawled out and whimpering.

His hips ground slow against you, feeling your spasming clenches, hearing the wet squelch that filled the room. "Can you be good f'me? Lay there and let me finish?" Lip tilted his head to the side, tapping your cheek lightly to look at him, hovered above you with piercing eyes and flushed cheeks.

You nodded brainlessly, muttering some sort of agreed nonsense. Lip snorted lightly. "Good girl. 'm close, alright? Just give me a sec."

[002yb]

Hear me out: If Dick grew a beard, Jason would FOLD. He'd be all over that man in ever single way possible. If he was malewife material before, he is going to become the "ideal" of a traditional young trophy wife when Dick has a beard. Like, without the beard, Dick toes the line of pretty boy, hes a gorgeous man but hes the type of man you would be okay with calling cute on occasion. With the beard? Thats a MAN man. He goes from approachable pretty boy to intimidatingly sexy and broody man. Everyone would fold. His old exes, his friends, his coworkers, his own family. But he's only got eyes for his Little Wing. And with the way Jason is acting? Shit, he might never go clean shaven again.

Slade compliments the beard all of once and that's all the incentive Dick needs to shave that sucker off. The echo of, 'looking good, Grayson,' ringing through his head is a provocation. In an instant Dick goes from being that manly broody man to being a petulant, deeply insulted brat.

So he shaves. The beard was too reminiscent of Deathstroke, anyway.

The problem is: Jason. Who was really into it. It's only after feeling his bare face again that Dick realizes what he's done and then there's a pit in his stomach because well, shit.

So there's Dick trying to explain what happened over text. Then a phone call. Panicked as he dodges every request for a facetime until Jason, like a night terror, is bracketing Dick's bedroom window and Dick just about drops his phone from the jump scare and bloodlust.

The way Jason storms over and gets Dick's face between his hands, squishing his cheeks and smoothing his thumbs over smooth skin and the sharp cut of Dick's jaw, scrutinizing.

It's a weird first fight to have. Funny in hindsight, but scary in the moment. Dick can own that. Jason is a lot.

(Especially during the short stint with the beard, RIP. Dick's never been jumped or climbed like a tree with such earnestness before. It was cutely sexy, or sexily cute. So was the way Jason would shiver when it scratched over his skin, a little rough and enough to break him without much more touching than that).

(Just Jason always being attracted to Dick, but this is new and rugged and wow).

'You're still so fucking handsome.' Jason would tell him, sweet even as he's pissed at the world and feeling cheated - betrayed in the most profound of ways.

Then Jason would look at him some more and whine at the loss because fuuuuuuck why? Was Jason not malewifey enough? Did he get too freaky?? ˙◠˙

And Dick comforts him because Jason is perfect, always. There's no level of freak his little wing can get to that Dick won't match lbr.

'Then why.'

Dick might actually sweat a bit, because the reasoning is admittedly a smidgen childish. So he mumbles it. And Jason tells him to clarify, so Dick grumbles a bit more audibly, 'Slade said it looked good.'

And Jason is immediately out the window again because fucking Deathstroke. Taking away Jason's newfound dream of being Dick's trophy malewife, that bastard. (ʘ言ʘ╬) To think Jason thought they were something adjacent to friends. Their camaraderie? Gone. Their banter? A thing of the past. Hell hath no fury like Jason Grayson-Todd.

Cue Dick holding his boyfriend back from taking on the Terminator. And Deathstroke shuddering from a whole continent away because he's got a sixth sense that he's provoked something dangerous.

When he checks his phone later, he's got a text from Jason claiming, 'this is all your fault,' followed by the scariest picture of Jason snarling at him while holding Dick's bare face in the background. Whoops.

Extra: The compliment was genuine.

Extra extra: Dick's only able to appease Jason's need for retribution through carnage by manhandling Jason around and reminding him the beard's got nothing to do with why Jason sticks around. Ie. Dick fucks him 'til he can't walk without his knees giving out beneath him. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[princessbrunette]

brat tamer rafe when he's arguing with his girlfriend and she starts talking over him

🐾ᯤ

sitting in wards old office which now belongs to rafe, arguing with him over something so silly and he’s just not listening! you’re sat on the leather couch and he’s pacing back and forth— if you weren’t so mad at him you’d be fawning over how good he looks in his shirt and blazer and slacks — like a real grown man, which usually made you salivate. instead, you’re sulking, hands on your knees with a pout on your face. this argument has been going in circles for like 20 minutes now, because you were certain you did nothing wrong.

“theres rules… to this relationship baby you know that. okay? you’re — you’re not stupid so i don’t understand why the hell you thought it was a good idea to come down the stairs when im in the middle of a deal— making money for you to—”

you can’t help but cut him off, whiny and petulant to make your point. “but rafe how am i supposed to know when you—”

“hey, hey — i’m talking now!” he yells, his loud voice echoing as he points to himself. you instantly shut up, mouth closing as tears spring to your eyes. “what’s not clicking with you being in trouble and not fucking listening to me when im explaining? huh?” he lowers his voice only slightly as he looms over you threateningly. as soon as you start to sniffle, placing your face into your hands and letting out little sobs his resolve crumbles a little, letting out a sigh and beginning to pace again, running a hand over his face.

“okay, okay alright.” he squats infront of you. “alright.” he adds slower and you look up at him, mascara a mess beneath your eyes. “maybe… maybe i shouldn’t have yelled, okay? you just —” he sighs in frustration shaking his head. “you drive me crazy sometimes, you know? when you don’t listen it’s like — you don’t wanna understand… and i can’t have that. you want this to work, i need you to listen to me. can you do that? can you listen?” he speaks softer one of his hands taking yours.

you nod, and he mirrors it, staring at you as he thought. you were just about to meekly ask what he was thinking about before he stood up to his full height. “you need to learn your lesson, ‘kay?” it sounds sympathetic, but you knew it had to be the opposite.

within no time, he’s got you bent over his lap — 15 hard, loud spanks in. you’re crying and writhing around over his thighs, somewhere between ashamed and deeply horny. your skirt was bunched at your lower back and your panties pulled to your knees, so you knew he must be able to see or hear how soaked you were. your thoughts were answered when he gave in to your writhing and whimpers and started to spread your wetness around with his fingers before pushing in.

he sets a punishing pace, and as if the position wasn’t humiliating enough — he’s lecturing you the entire time. knuckles deep in your cunt, occasionally feeling his big rings graze your fat lips. he sighs, shaking his head.

“you know, i don’t think you appreciate all i do for you. why i do these things, sweetheart. it’s for your own safety okay? i make deals with all different sorts of people and — and id hate for you to be wrapped up in something you can’t handle. yeah? s’why i get mad. is that fair? am i the bad guy for wanting to protect you?”

“no daddy, you treat me so well.” you mewl, arching your back, practically drooling as he finger fucks you within an inch of your life. he sighs out his nose, thumbing at your spine.

“yeah. yeah i do”

🐾ᯤ

[poppy-metal]

thinking of being a girl art has an intense crush on and abusing it - maybe you're just a spoiled fucking brat parading around as a domme because it's fun to fuck with someone who's so easy - either way - the only way art is allowed to touch you is by eating your pussy. you'll let him drool into your cunt and lap at you for hours, but you won't touch his cock. you think he's cute and pathetic and the fact that he never stands up to you or grows a backbone or even tries to touch you is amusing - if a little disappointing - you realize you can use him to get off and to make yourself feel good about yourself and you don't even have to put yourself out there much. he fucking loves it.

"you love being my little pussy slave, huh?" while he's tongue deep and he just moans into your wet hole and nods and presses a palm against his groin and even though you clench around him you scold him. "don't touch yourself - this is for me, you little slut." and you yank on his curls. arts eyes roll back into his skull and he laps at you more fervently. you can't help but think about what would happen if you pushed him to the brink - if you pushed him far enough that he'd hold you down and shove his cock into you and call you a fucking tease - drill you into his bed with that hot athletes body - but he never does those things. so you keep abusing your authority. if he's not going to check you, you'll just get meaner and meaner. make him feel like a fucking useless toy. rub your pussy against his lips and tongue endlessly until your thighs strangle his ears and as soon as you come down you'll shove him back - fix your clothes and act all cool and unaffected. the lost wounded puppy look he always gives you with his chin wet with your juices makes you smile.

this goes on for months. months of you ignoring art in public and dragging him off into private rooms to shove his face into your cunt and get you off. he always does, eager and fucking amazing with his tongue. he keeps asking you on dates, keeps trying to get to know you - talk to you - but you don't care. you doubt he'd be able to entertain you beyond his mouth, anyway.

it all ends when patrick visits from tour - this dynamic you'd grown comfortable with, in your throne of power. patrick is everything art isn't. intrusive and loud and abrasive and fire to his ice. you can see him getting into arts head - because suddenly art is pushing back. he's giving you rain checks. he's pulling his hand out of your grip and saying he can't right now. he's kissing up your thigh and his hands are wandering and when you slap them away he pops off your clit with a pout - "i can make you feel good - let me touch you." while he rolls your clit under his pink tongue and your brain goes fuzzy. it takes you longer than you'd like to tell him no, to shove his face back into your pussy to shut him up. and he's coming up to you on campus, talking to you like he knows you, bold.

it's all patricks fault - you know it is. art would never act this way otherwise. he was perfectly content to be on his knees for you and nothing else and now all the sudden he's telling you he wants more - that he doesn't like the way you treat him (you roll your eyes) that he deserves better - that he really likes you but he can't keep doing it like this if you don't start giving back.

it makes you angry. angry and petulant and bratty and when you see art talking to his friend and laughing with him on campus you see red. you have to meet this patrick guy yourself, you have to be with him and art in the same room and you have to coax art back over to your side - show him why he likes you best.

if it ends with patrick holding your legs open, pressed to your chest as he goads art into fucking your wet pussy - "c'mon man. she's nothing but a fucking brat - all that bitching and look how soaked she is. that pussy needs some dick to put her in her place." and you can't even fight it, choking around thick fingers in your throat, gagging you. "she fucking wants it. always has. you just need to take it -"

arts cock that you haven't allowed yourself to see - pushing and pressing inside the cunt he's spent half a semester worshipping with his mouth. his eyes rolling back into his head as you suck him right in. "oh fuck -" digging his fingers into the fat of your thighs as he rocks in and out freely. "- how are you so mean with a pussy that feels like this - she's so fucking tight - uhhh -"

"they always are." patrick grins. pushes his fingers against your tongue and tips your head back so you're forced to look up at him. brat meet brat tamer. your eyes are teary and you moan when patrick lets a fat glob of spit drip into your open mouth - wet and degrading. "girls with tight pussies always try to hoard that shit - they want you to go crazy for it. so you'll bend them over and feed them a nice big cock - isn't that right, baby? you all sweet now that artie's forced his dick inside you? huh?"

you can't exactly argue.

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ nanami, shoko & thigh riding

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤnanami kento, ieiri shōko

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, afab! reader, nsfw, vague bdsm dynamic (for both), brat taming (nanami), a littleeeee bit of sadism and dacryphilia (shōko)

from vyon. i... got carried away... sorry... idk why shōko's was more beautiful and poetic and symbolic, lesbians just do it for me, shoot the messenger ig 😰😰 wanted to get this out on the 3rd but shhhhhh 🤫 NEARLY LOST THIS DRAFT TO MY DUMB WIFI 😭😭😭 ( & @sugojosgf cheer up baby 🫀🫀)

nanami swears he hates this as much as you do. he hates having to punish you for being a brat but he knows what has to be done when he's met with that petulant frown, your eyebrows pinched together like the foldings of an envelope that'll only reveal the simmering annoyance in your eyes when he drags a hand over your jaw, nodding your head up to his gaze. he takes in the subtle way you flinched when he breathes a deep breath through his nose— obvious disappointment in his ministrations. he doesn’t like out–right denying you though, and you appreciate that, you really do— but when it ends with your legs spread over his thighs, hopelessly grinding down for the smallest fractions of friction, it starts to feel worse than not having him at all.

Your hands fisted the material of his dress–shirt, marking folds and creases into the otherwise ironed shirt. Nanami's hands are settled on your hips, patting an encouraging rhythm— other than that, you have him no where else. It's a punishment, he reminds you, he's not going do anything more than this, than what's necessary to put you back into your place. So you're left to fend for yourself, trying your best to hump against Nanami's thigh with no footing; it feels stupid, you're sure you look stupid. Your feet hang just a few millimetres from the floor, dangling in the air as your toes stretched out purposefully so you can stabilise your lower half enough to push your hips forward.

Frustrated tears have been blurring your vision for however long this has gone on, Nanami leans back into the support of the chair, making a point of keeping away from you as his hands tap. You can't help but grumble, frustrated and whiny, at his constant reminder to keep your pace even. "If it's not to apologise for the way you behaved," Nanami speaks after what seems like hours of silent watching, "then I don't want to hear anythin'."

he makes you hump against his thigh as a punishment, knowing that no matter how long you spend trying to find the right position to purposefully push your clit down, you'll never get satisfied enough to cum. he doesn’t touch you, he doesn't talk to you— it's like he isn't there at all, reminiscent of all the lone nights when you have to settle for your fingers to press against an ache between your thighs that nanami had worked into you. his patience is the most annoying part of it— how his eyes brush over your features without a care for your struggles. depending on how stubborn you feel that night, nanami will either interfere with subtle touches to break down your walls or he'll soften at the sound of your apology between sobs.

Exhaustion taunts your movement, unfortunately, Nanami knew that you weren't ready to give in; his eyes trail over the clock and finds himself surprised by how long you'd been at this. Memories of your actions trickle back into his mind, wondering why you felt so especially wronged to sulk this long— maybe he'd been in the wrong this time. He wonders the specifics for a bit before coming to the conclusion that you were just being particularly stubborn about this and he'd hadn't been wrong to issue a correction for your behaviour. However, it didn't seem to be doing its job, neither helping you nor him.

Decidedly, he reaches an hand out to push your hair behind your ear. You curl into the touch almost immediately and he has to fight the satisfaction that corrupts inside him when you chase after him. Sweat lines your forehead, features permanently scrunched up, your mouth parted open as you panted. Full of unbridled tears, your eyes flickered to Nanami and you finally squeeze out a please, whisper to him that you're sorry. It's all that Nanami's wanted to hear so he leans in, a hand pushed upwards under the hem of your shirt and the other grabs your leg, hooking it over his other thigh so you could slide into his lap comfortably. You settled right over his bulge, a satisfied sigh shivering through your spine as Nanami trails his hand up; he pushes his fingers through your hair at the base of your hair and holds it out of the way when he nods his head down to press kisses at your neck. Sorry's fall out of your mouth at a hurried pace when you finally get to grind against his bulge, finally able to focus some kind of attention to your clit.

you're always tired by the time nanami decides that you've been good enough for your punishment to end or you give in and apologise; your legs ache from all the strenuous effort, no matter how long you'd been at it. since you've already shown regret for your actions, there's no need to nanami to shy away from taking over. he allows you to lie weightless underneath him, only twenty–one grams left of your soul boneless and floating as nanami finally gives you gentle reprieve. fucking you slow as he hums, praising how good you've been, telling you you'll always be his doll— no matter how you act out.

it's mere fun for shōko. something about it is electric, evokes some disturbing sense of feeling through nerves that she's left in slumber for years; thrumming inside of her, pandora's box bursts open inside of her bones, insects buzzing alive and rattling through narrow calcium passageways in search of an exit. she erupts with life when you're so desperately chasing after your own high, neglecting her touches, on her thigh. your whines and mewls feeding the torturous ache inside her to always have you here, ready–made for her. it's strange for shōko to like this as much as you do— maybe even more, when she gains no physical gratification from it, despite that, she's obsessed.

High–pitched moans have been altering the space of Shōko's bedroom for a while, the furniture all oozing down into the walls and floor as her brain focuses both hemispheres on you; they both fight to see which side can get more of you. Her left hand squeezes the fat of your hips, switching between mean grips and soothing cirles; her right hand is messing with the clasps of your bra, trying to get it off so she can see your tits bounces everytime you jostle forwards. She's all over you and encourages you to do the same with her.

Her face pushed right into the burrow of your neck, desperately kissing and licking over your skin, like she could wear it away enough with her tongue alone to have an entrance to push herself into your body to make home. Spurned on by the fact that you're grinding against her so desperately and still it's not enough, she's untamed. Her kisses are broken into intervals where she stops biting and sucking to murmur praises into your skin, making herself known to your intimate body.

there's little logic as to why exactly shōko enjoys the practice so much. she thinks it's the view, honestly. your flushed face— too fucked up to worry about appearances, your hair sticking to your forehead like strokes of paint, how you scramble your hands over her in search of some texture and stability, the tears and the sobs that follow. she watches it all with a patience and steadiness that could only belong to someone with her kind of profession and it only spurns you on more, knowing that there was some kind of obscene part of shōko that loved this. even though she shushes you so gently, wipes your eyes, and gives you soft kisses over the parts of your cheeks where makeup has loosened from sweat and tears— she makes you keep going until your body gives out.

She hums, pleasant and supportive next to your ear when her kisses lead her back up to your face. Your nails tightened into her shoulders, the tension of a cable holding an elevator wound up your body, a burn in your thighs like you'd been awake with the weight of the world on your shoulders for a millennia and more. You've been asking for something for a while— you're not sure what exactly but Shōko knows. She always does when you're whimpering please's in her ears. Your head lay on her shoulder, pants falling from your lips and a dazed look on your face as your hips shift and stutter, prompted by her encouraging hands. "Please, Shō," you beg again and again, "I— I need," and you don't finish cause she swats at your thigh.

"Jus' a lil' more, okay pretty?" Strangely, she sounds just fucked up as you. "A little more, then I'll take care of everything." Shōko's never disappointed you, she's not cruel enough to be made for that, so you trust her and you keep going. When your breathing slows, breaths more purposeful and you're sniffling, obvious tears rolling down your face, she waits for the weight of your hips to shift entirely into her palms— a burden on her shoulders— and then she'll take over. "You did so good," she hums as she moves you to lay down on the bed. "So, so good, 'm gonna take care of you now, 'kay?" You nod and her tongue swipes over the tears that fall from your eyes over to your ear before kissing the skin.

when she's satisfied with how worn out you already are, she takes over. shōko thinks this is also why she enjoys having you tire yourself out on her thighs first; you're so docile, so quiet, so receptive to everything she does now. every slow, tantalising stroke against unassuming expanses of skin makes you twitch and squirm; you're too tired to even call her name so she listens to your squeals and whines instead, using them as guides for her next movements. she knows that you'll hate her in the morning for managing to talk you into this, but right now, she doesn't hear a bratty peep out of you and it's how she likes it. she already deals with too much stress in her life— the last thing she needs is for you to add onto that and even though you'll pout at her and turn away from her warmth in the morning, she knows you like your mind reduced to liquid, you don't like the weight of your own thinking either.

[thoughtless-muse]

chapter summary: daryl dixon was everything you despised in a man: rude, unkempt, derisive, scornful and unarticulated. yet, daryl dixon was also everything you craved in a man: mysterious, rugged, self-sufficient, masculine, aloof, and much older than yourself. it was the worst sort of enigma to place yourself in, especially during the throes of a damn apocalypse – and yet here you were, fighting tooth and nail to try and get closer to the man who hadn’t even bothered to tell you his name himself.

word count: 3.6k

c/w: language, suggestive themes/thoughts, a bit dialogue heavy, younger!fem!reader, first meetings, older/younger, undisclosed age-gap, subtle bickering, instant attraction, brief allusions to death/loss, super minor angst (maybe?), pre-season one at the quarry camp

prologue: start of doomsday

being raised by a brother ten years your senior gave you ample time and experience to grow accustomed to being dubbed with various nicknames.

goob, goober, snot, shrimp, brat, princess – you’d heard all of those and many, many more. you had long since learned to let them bounce off of you, to simply roll with the flow and ignore them.

but when he’d given you a nickname, why, you simply couldn’t let it roll off your back; couldn’t stop yourself from replaying the exact moment he’d first called you it, couldn’t refrain from stewing over the way it had rolled – all gravelly, husky and derisive – off his tongue.

“well, ain’t’chu jus’ a doll, girly?”

doll.

he had called you a fucking doll.

and girly. as if you were some sort of child.

it was such a puerile thing to get hooked up on, something so trivial and immature – especially when compared to the more pressing concerns that you should be worrying about; such as the dead slobbering for your flesh and the dwindling food supplies within the camp.

maybe it was because when you had approached him you were just a hairs-width from a mental breakdown, the world nothing more than a mere crumble around you, and his rudeness acted as the straw that broke the camel’s back.

or maybe it was because you were simply trying to be nice, for fuck’s sake, and the moment he’d laid sight on you he decided he would harbor a personal vendetta against you, for no real reason other than he could – or wanted to.

you didn’t even know his name. and it had become painfully obvious that he’d taken great lengths to make sure no one in the camp did; when you’d approached shane about him moments after that fateful incident, shane had spared no more than a glance in the direction the man had stalked off in and shrugged.

“no idea who he is, really. he kinda just showed up.” was all shane had said, as if what had just transpired was trifling at best – and, deep down inside, you knew it was; a man copping an attitude with you was the least of shane’s worries, and it was petulant for you to expect him to place it above everything else that was already piled onto his platter, that it was stupid to expect him to do something about it as if he were a parent getting onto a child.

but you just couldn’t help it.

you hadn’t been able to help it for days.

those words rang through your head every time you saw him, sauntering around the camp with a scowl, lugging around that clunky crossbow like it was some sort of deterrent, like no one would be brave enough to approach him while he had it within his reach – it just flat-out irritated you.

you were only trying to be nice.

“I don’ need no damn help. I can find a tent jus’ fine!”

“prick.” you muttered under your breath, only realizing that you’d audibly expressed your distaste at the memory when a cool, damp hand gripped your bicep.

“you okay, (y/n)?” andrea asked softly, stroking her thumb over your skin soothingly. you shot the older woman a small smile, shirking off the irritation that had built under your skin from the mere thought of that man.

“yeah, yeah. I’m good, andrea. thanks.” you returned your focus to the bin of dirty laundry you had abandoned in favor of recounting sore memories and began to scrub near-viciously. this happened a lot, too, when you thought about him. the thoughts would pop up unprompted, and then everything else would fade away into mere white noise – you were sure it was incredibly frustrating for those who shared your assigned tasks each day.

andrea hummed softly and uncurled her fingers from your bicep to return her hand to her own basin once more. silence fell over the group of women washing clothes at the lakeside, nothing but the cries of forest birds, rippling water and churning splashes against the walls of multiple basins acting as a melody to the activity.

that was, until amy spoke up, her voice airy and strained by amusement that she tried to desperately to conceal. “so, uh, who’s a prick?”

you whipped your head over to glare at amy as muted giggles arose around you, and she vehemently avoided your eyes lest the smile teasing at her lips grew into a full on grin. heat flared over your cheeks and you blew out a puff of hot air, equal parts embarrassed and irritated that you were caught angrily musing over that man red-handed. again.

“no one.” you stated simply, voice weak even to your own ears; and with the way amy’s shoulders began to tremble with contained laughter, you knew she had picked up the lack of conviction within your tone as well.

she just knew you too well.

you had met the harrison sisters the morning after the bombing of atlanta. they had been among the group of people that shane had led to the quarry. amy was sociable, nice, and outgoing, fluttering around the camp and offering bottled water and protein bars to everyone around her. close in age, you’d clicked with her almost instantly, drawn in by her bubbly personality and likeness to yourself; the two of you had been nearly inseparable since, and you even considered her to be a best friend despite the fact that you’d met her only a little over a week ago – falling in with andrea seemed all but inevitable, and you couldn’t say you hated that.

andrea was more reserved than amy was, but no less kind. you weren’t sure if it was a facet of her personality or simply because she had seen the bond forming between amy and yourself, but andrea had, at some point, taken you beneath her wing and treated you as if you were an extension of her own family – it was comforting, but in some ways, it made your heart ache.

because you’d had that once before; had it in the form of broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes, and a voice of reason that could talk down even the most insane of serial killers.

you’d had it in the form of rick, ten years your senior and your best friend, tied to you by more than just shared blood.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, smiling through the sudden onslaught of ache within your chest. “I wasn’t talking about anyone.”

“okay.” amy responded simply, dragging out the ‘y’ in way that conveyed exactly how much she believed you in that instant. you chuckled lowly and shook your head, willing the pain in your chest to ebb away quickly, before it swelled to something too big to contain; a knot was forming in your throat, one that had become far too familiar within the past couple weeks, and swallowing it down was growing harder and harder.

amy’s attempt at prodding fell to silence again, one that the others seemed content in, completely ignorant to the turmoil roiling within you. the silence acted as a catalyst rather than a balm, an overwhelming force that prompted the small cut in your chest into a growing chasm, and in a desperate attempt to strike conversation and sow it back up, you said, “I was talking about that guy with the crossbow.”

laughter erupted around you – the first painful stitch. amy nudged you with her elbow with a light guffaw – the second stitch, a little less painful than the first.

“yeah, I kinda figured as much.” andrea acknowledged with a laugh. “you’ve been in knots over him ever since he first showed up.” the third stitch, nearly painless.

“I have not!” you rebuked, even though a small part of you knew it was true. the man had simply waltzed into camp one day, a string of squirrels thrown over one shoulder and his crossbow slung over the other, a scowl on his face and body covered in filth and grime. sweat glistened across his brow and over the skin of his exposed biceps, and when he spoke, it was with a southern drawl that had drawn you in nearly instantly.

he was attractive as hell, at least he was to you – you became instantly overwhelmed by the desire to talk to him, to know him, to get closer in some way; but perhaps you should have observed him a bit more before practically cornering him and offering your help. maybe then you would have been able to foresee his reaction, and you wouldn’t be in this torn-up state in the first place.

“he is a bit of a prick, though.” amy conceded. “I think the only reason shane allows him to stay is because he can hunt.”

that chasm had been successfully sewn up by now, but the flesh around it was still achy and sore, sensitive to any prod and poke. you’d have to tread carefully to avoid reopening it, at least for now.

“I’m sure he’s got other skills.” you weren’t sure why you were defending the man after just insulting him and stewing over him, but for some reason, it irked you for him to be likened to as a one-trick pony. maybe it was simply the cursed attraction you had to him.

“and I’m more than certain you’d love to figure out just what those other skills are.” jacqui, who had been stationed furthest from you, piped up for the first time. your mouth popped open, your eyes widened, and heat flared to your face while the others erupted into laughter. amy’s laugh was the most notable, loud and boisterous, and despite the slight mortification you felt at jacqui’s suggestive (but true) statement, you found yourself laughing along.

you wondered just how obvious you must have been about your attraction to the man for even jacqui to have noticed; you didn’t talk much with her, but when you’re sequestered into a camp fending for your lives against the walking dead, you supposed it was only natural to pick up on things about the people around you.

had the man noticed it, too?

after all, you had, without a doubt, noticed things about him; things that no one would notice unless they had their eyes on him a little too much.

you noticed the small things that made him attractive; the subtle age lines around his eyes and lips, the creases along his forehead, the bags beneath his bottom lids, the semi-permanent frown fixed upon his face.

you noticed the things about him that stirred your gut, that pooled heat between your legs and brought about carnal arousal within you; the broad width of his shoulders, the way those shirts with the cut-off sleeves framed and accentuated his biceps and torso, those small glimpses that his pants sometimes gave you of his package, the way he sauntered around, glaring at everyone, cold and unapproachable – like a dark, gloomy castle just waiting to be turned into someone’s conquest.

most of all, you noticed the clear difference in age between the two of you – fuck… it had to be at least ten years, right? if you were lucky, it may even be larger than that.

your gut twisted with the familiar sensation of arousal and your sex throbbed between your legs, prompting you to close your thighs together in an attempt to stop it. or maybe get some friction, you weren’t sure.

this was becoming a big, big problem.

“(y/n)! aunt (y/n)!”

a shrill, childish voice called out to you from the gravel road yards from the lake, effectively dousing the low-burning embers in your belly. you whipped your head back and cupped a hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun. you smiled widely at the approaching form of carl, your one and only nephew, and discarded the wet shirt in your hand in favor of turning your entire body to face the boy.

“hey, carl! what’s up?” you questioned the exuberant child when he halted just feet away from you, panting heavily and dowsed in sweat. you reckoned he must have run all the way here from the camp. what an energetic youth.

“there’s something going down in camp. shane’s fighting with this weird guy! he has a gun!”

your heart tripped over itself and you quickly rose to your feet, shooting a hand out to grip carl by the shoulder and draw him closer. a threat of this magnitude hadn’t shown face in the camp yet, and despite the fact that it wasn’t within your jurisdiction to handle matters such as these, you couldn’t push down the instinct to do so.

“amy, could you finish up my part, please?” you asked kindly, sending the young blonde a pleading look from over your shoulder. she nodded and reached over to pull your basin closer to her, throwing a cheery “you owe me!” at your back and prompting a chuckle from your throat. uneasy murmurs had broken about amongst the women at the lake, though amy seemed unbothered by the same circumstances, focused completely on her task where as the others had slowed to a distracted crawl.

“yeah, I do, thanks. okay carl, take me to camp.” you ordered the boy, who nodded and shrugged your hand from his shoulder before dashing forward, kicking up dust from beneath his heels.

you swallowed down the command for carl to slow down that swelled in your throat and instead picked up your pace; if it was true that shane was currently grappling with someone, you couldn’t waste any time on chastising carl or slowing the pace. you had to get to camp to de-escalate the situation if it called for it.

by the time carl had broken through the foliage around the camp, your ears picked up the unmistakable rumble of shane’s voice; it held that same stern yet soft tone that he used when talking to criminal suspects – you’d been there when he’d done it before.

“… just hand me the gun and tell me your name, and we can get this all sorted.”

“I ain’t handin’ya my gun, pretty boy.” this voice was different; rugged and hoarse and dry, as if the owner of it had just chain-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. “alls I’m lookin’ fer is my brother. I don’ have any other business with ya.”

shane sighed heavily just as you broke through the green shrubbery surrounding the east side of the camp. his hands were glued to his hips, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in annoyance at the man a few feet in front of him. when carl had first mentioned a gun, you worried that the man may have been pointing it at the ex-officer, or others; but it was instead holstered at the man’s hip, untouched and non-threatening.

“look, man, I get that. I don’t think you’re gonna hurt anybody; but we’ve got women and children here, and you’re a stranger with a gun. I can’t take any chances. I’m sure you understand.” shane coaxed further, removing a hand from his hip and extending an open palm to the man. the man glared down at shane’s hand but made no further movement; he didn’t reach for his gun, nor did he shift his feet at all, hell, you couldn’t even tell if the man was breathing at this point. but it was obvious this man wasn’t a threat – but if shane continued to pester him this way, he very well could become one; and with carl right next to you, that was a chance you couldn’t take.

shane huffed loudly and you saw his fingers twitch, as if he were barely holding back from striking at the man. you swallowed down your trepidation and pushed carl back, clearing your throat subtly before marching right up next to shane to confront the man.

“what’s your brother’s name? maybe we can help you find him; if he’s here.”

two pairs of eyes simultaneously snapped to you – one pair dark and narrowed in a harsh glare and the other quickly lighting up with barely-concealed interest. the stranger, a man with a buzz cut and wiry face, smiled widely at you, the tip of a pink tongue slipping just barely from between his lips as his eyes trailed your body. you pushed away the shiver that threatened to crawl up your spine and held the man’s gaze confidently until he was done with his blatant show of lewd conduct.

when his eyes met yours once more, there was a coy, feline smirk upon his lips, and his croaky voice had dropped a few octaves when he responded, “daryl. his name is daryl.”

for a moment, you sat silent, gnawing on your inner cheek and wracking your brain for just who ‘daryl’ could be. you didn’t know the names of every person in camp, but that list of unknowns was short – only three people. your heart constricted. could it be?

“so, your brother’s name is daryl. what’s yours?” shane piped up, voice edged with aggravation, as he rocked back on his heels and slipped his thumbs through his belt loops. the stranger’s eyes never left your body as he opened his mouth to respond, but the voice that echoed back didn’t belong to him.

“merle? what’d’ya think yer doin’ here?”

you didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know who the shambling footsteps behind you belonged to. your stomach twisted in on itself when a warm hand pushed you aside by the thick of your bicep, not too roughly but enough to have you stumbling slightly, the contact brief but enough to leave tingles in its wake. you glanced at the man between yourself and shane, taking note of the grimace on his face as he stared down the stranger.

the stranger, merle, took no heed to the glares that were fixed upon him. he smiled widely and threw his arms out as if expecting a hug.

“baby brother! isn’t it obvious? I’m here lookin’ fer ya.”

“you know him?” shane inquired, jerking his head in merle’s direction, eyes locked on the man between the two of you.

the man – daryl, as you now knew – shuffled on his feet and cast his eyes to the side, giving shane a brief once over. after that, daryl returned his eyes to merle and nodded.

“yeah. tha’s my brother.”

shane ran a shaky hand through his hair and chuckled hotly, muttering something underneath his breath. trepidation fluttered in your gut. you’d known shane long enough to know exactly what those mannerisms of his meant, and it didn’t spell anything good. you had a bad feeling shane was about to say something either highly stupid or highly impulsive; more than likely something that was both of those things at the same time.

“y’know, I don’t really have a problem with you, daryl. I never have. but this” – shane gestured to merle, who was still standing with his arms extended and that wide smile on his face – “is a bit dangerous. when you came here, you didn’t tell us jack about you; we didn’t know who you were, where you came from, or who you knew. and I didn’t bother to ask.”

daryl hadn’t moved a single inch since shane began speaking, eyes still fixed on merle, but the discomfort was plain as day on his face, and you felt irritation begin to bubble hot beneath your skin. granted, daryl was a haughty, antisocial prick, but why was shane acting like he did something wrong?

“I mean, this is just–”

“what’s your point, shane?” you cut the man off, a bit rudely, turning a sharp-eyed glare to him past daryl’s chest. shane’s eyes widened fractionally as if he hadn’t expected you to interject yourself, yet again, into a matter that he was handling on his own.

“my point is that daryl put us all in danger.” shane pressed, lowly, with a hand wave towards merle and dark eyes glaring daggers into yours. “we don’t know him, and we don’t know his brother. for all we know, merle could have stormed into camp, gun blazing-”

“but he didn’t.” you rebuked impatiently. you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head subtly to the side. “and that’s a risk that comes with everyone in the camp. we don’t know anyone here, other than each other. and even so, you haven’t seen me in three years. I may as well be a stranger, too.”

“that’s different. you’re like a little sister to me.” shane rebutted, prompting an eye roll and hip jut from you. you wouldn’t consider shane a brother even if he’d spent every moment of your youth with you. you swallowed down that statement in favor of keeping yourself on track with the real issue at hand.

“my point still stands. nothing bad happened, so why don’t you just cool your jets and back off a bit?”

shane’s lips thinned into a line, dark eyes darting between you, daryl and merle a couple times before he heaved a great sigh.

“okay, fine, you’re right. nothing happened. but I’d still like to have a conversation with both of you, if that’s alright.” shane conceded, directing his final statement at the two brothers still locked in a stare down. daryl only gave the tiniest of nods to display that he’d even acknowledged shane’s statement, and, satisfied with the knowledge that tensions had been quelled, you turned on your heel to head back to the lake and check on the progress of the laundry.

unbeknownst to you, the event that had just transpired would turn out to be the catalyst to a soon-to-come tension between shane and yourself, as well as the act that had garnered you a modicum of respect and interest from the rude, attractive man that you were sure would never even notice you; and that little problem that you thought was becoming much too big was only going to grow larger, and very quickly.

chapter one

a/n: tbh I struggled a bit with this one. it is just a prologue, a means of setting up the deeper story, but I still wanted it to come out as good as possible, and I feel I didn’t quite articulate that. but before this finalized version, I went through at least three drafts before finding this one to be somewhat adequate. if you guys enjoyed this one nonetheless, please show it some love! if you’re looking forward to more updates, consider following or being added to the taglist!

TAGLIST: @daryldixmedown

[nocturnalrat]

can you do tired stressed miles (earth42! Or regular 1610! Miles)

Miles had a stressful time at work(fighting or sumn) and reader is just being a hugeee brat so he puts her in her place 🥹💕

Hi! Thanks for the prompt!

I chose Prowler!Miles for this, as I think he’d be more assertive & possessive than our ball of sunshine aka Earth-1610 Miles. :p Enjoy!

---

Dating someone with a double life had certain advantages, without question. But the list of drawbacks was just as long.

Moments like these made you realize how frustrating and difficult dating him could be sometimes.

You had planned on meeting tonight. But while you were waiting outside the movie theater, the following messages appeared on your phone:

won't make it tnight

sry

will make it up 2 u

You stared at the three texts and were irritated to no end. It had been weeks since you had last spent time together, just the two of you, and now you were being stood up by him. Again.  

When you finally arrived home, you ordered some food, worked on an essay for one of your college classes, and kept looking at the clock hanging on the wall.

Hours passed. You finished the essay, prepared a presentation for your biochem class, and tried to keep yourself awake with the help of coffee and an energy drink.

It was half past two in the morning when the front door opened quietly. He probably thought you were asleep. Well, he was wrong.

"Do you know what the word priority means?" you asked, annoyance clearly evident in your voice.

He didn't flinch when he saw you, nor did he look particularly surprised. Of course he didn't. There wasn't much that could startle Miles Morales; he was far too composed, too stoic, too stern for that.

Wretched fatigue showed on his face; he had dark circles under his eyes. Others would have found his moody demeanor threatening, but you knew that he was not half as evil as he looked. 

His reply came quick. "And do you know what the word responsibility means?"

You knew that this particular part of his life, and the responsibilities that came with it, took up a lot of his time. But that didn't mean you were happy or okay with it.

 "You stood me up three times in a row," you said, arms crossed in front of your chest. You tried not to pout too much and sound like a petulant child. "You know, Morales, not many people would put up with the shit you pull sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Yeah, but you’re still here. Do you know why?" He took a few steps toward you.

"Easy one,” you replied. “Because I’m too nice and too good for you.”

“Don’t be bratty.”

“It’s the truth, though.” You shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “You know how many options I have? You’re not the only good-looking guy in New York, Miles.”

You knew immediately that you had said something wrong. His gaze darkened and he clenched his jaw.

You felt a chill run down your spine.

"What I meant by that is -" you started, but he cut you off.

"Shut up. Do you know why you’re still with me, despite the circumstances?”  

He leaned his forehead against yours and took your face in his hands.

"I asked you a question." His grip tightened.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat and attempted to shake your head, but you couldn't move; his grip was too strong. "No," you said quietly.

"Because you’re mine," he replied, and his voice was velvety and soft. "Mine alone. You belong to no one else. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good.” He smiled as he stroked your hair. "I never want to hear you say something like that again.”

"Then stop being so tired and stressed all the time," you muttered, unable to keep the hurt and sadness from your voice.

"You wanna know what would make me feel less stressed and tired?" A smug grin appeared on his face.

You rolled your eyes. "Pretty presumptuous, don't you think?"

"I'd rather call it determined and self-assured."

"The answer’s no. You don't deserve it."

"Really?" He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Didn't you say you missed me?"

"Just because I missed you doesn't mean I'm going to throw my self-respect overboard -" But the firmness of your sentence faltered as his large hands began to caress your body.

"Mine," he whispered against your lips. "And what's mine, obeys."

You loved it when he called you his own, when he put you in your place. A tingling, warm feeling blossomed inside you.

The following day you woke up next to a handwritten note and a box of your favorite chocolate.

8 p.m. tonight, Lincoln Square 13.

It's a promise.

[sordidmusings]

Switching Up Roles - Part 2/2 (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: gif relevant cuz this mf gets his hand privileges revoked 💀 I have finally finished it QuQ getting Buggy to admit his sub desires to you for anon is here! I really hope it is what you wanted and that you enjoy 🤍 there's lots of filth but there's also a lot of them being sweet dorks together and painfully in love because I couldn't help myself whoops

Word Count: ~8.5k

Warnings: feminine leaning afab!reader (no pronouns), NSFW my dude, very sub side of switch!Buggy, face sitting, oral (both receiving), light restraining, praise, degradation, edging, p in v, creampie, brat taming im p sure (Buggy doesn't mean to be a brat, petulance is just in his soul), takes a little to get to the sex but then it just keeps happening lol

Enjoy turning the clown into even more of a hot mess 🤡

Part 1

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Buggy is, for once, at the door to your shared room, kicking off his shoes for the night, right when the last colors of sunset begin to fade and no later. His hat is pulled off and thrown with little care for where it lands and his gloves are yanked off and flung away. He stomps over to where you sit on the bed with heavy feet, plops you fully onto the bed with a complaining grunt, and flops his full weight on top of you with spread limbs. You would be chastising him right now, but all the air left your lungs when he belly-flopped you into the mattress. A few forceful breaths re-inflate your lungs, but by the time you have your words prepared, Buggy is finished with his prolonged and dramatic sigh, and he greets you with a “heya, sweetcheeks” that barely makes it out of the comforter engulfing his face.

Gods, you love this silly little man.

“Hello, lovebug,” you reply with a fond giggle. “I’d ask how you’re doing but the dramatic entrance told me everything.”

Another complaining grunt is his response.

“Sounds about right. How about this?” You shimmy yourself a touch so you can fully move your arms and slither them under his coat. Your fingers touch his sides before sweeping in and trailing next to his spine all the way up his back. You dig them in just enough to create resistance then you drag them all the way back down to the small of his back. You feel his shiver in your own body and bask in his happy sigh. “How about you let me take care of you tonight? You really need to spend some time relaxing before your body falls to pieces that won’t listen to you anymore. I don’t wanna have to put you together like a figurine again; you don’t come with assembly instructions.”

Something that sounds like “needing a waxing” vibrates into the mattress.

“You’re gonna have to repeat that one, Bubs.”

With a huff to let you know what an absurd effort you’re making him go through, Buggy turns his head to lay with his mouth next to your ear. “I said ‘sleep is relaxing’, dumbass.”

You easily ignore his toothless insult. You begin massaging the muscles under your hands on his lower back to ease him up some more. “Well, yeah, and that’s why I want to help you sleep like the dead.”

Ever a man with his mind frolicking in the gutter, Buggy gets some new found pep. He breaks out the rough whisper he knows you love to say, “And how do you plan on doing that, sweet treat?”

You turn to him and inch in close enough to speak against his lips, “Why waste time telling you when I can show you?”

Buggy’s pressing his lips to yours before you finish the final word. The kiss is full of ease with its slow rhythm and syrupy movements. You pull back to tease his lips with a brush of your own and take a moment to savor breathing the same air. Buggy won’t let you stop for long; his impatience for your touch always becomes all consuming after he gets that first taste. He’s still gaining more energy back and using it to put more strength into his movements. He props himself up on one elbow and his opposite hand slides over to palm the base of your skull. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin behind one ear and his fingers easily reach to the other, leaving you completely at his control. He gently sucks your bottom lip before giving it a hungry nip, and it comes back to you that you’re supposed to be leading this night somewhere.

When you go to pull away, Buggy’s hand keeps you exactly where he wants you. He responds to your attempted escape by teasing his tongue between your lips. This man clearly knows how weak you are for him, because you couldn’t keep yourself from deepening the kiss if you tried. Why would you ever deny yourself these moments where you could taste each other’s want on the smooth slide of tingling tongues? Wait. No. Focus.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” he breathes out in response to another attempt to pull back, this one weaker. “Don’t you wanna be my good little slut?” You let out a high-pitched moan into his mouth at that, internally cursing him for being so hot. “I need my cock-hungry pretty baby to make me feel good. Didn’t you want to be my cocksleeve? My little toy to fuck whenever and however I want?”

Yes, yes you did. You loathe your past self for giving him that ammunition to use against you right now. Without meaning to, you spread your legs fully, making space for his hips to shimmy flush to your center. He rewards you with firm grinds of the thick bulge straining against his pants. His movements are unhurried, letting you focus on every moment and the way his cock drags on your heat, reminding you of every time it had you drunk on pleasure before. The promise it gives you is mouthwatering. You realize that you may have miscalculated. You had thought his brain would be too fried from the week to use your soft spots against you, but here he is, getting you wet and pliant with one deep kiss and some choice words. What a bastard.

You try pulling away again and are met with the same result. Fine then.

Buggy squawks and flinches back when you pinch his side. He splits at the waist to keep his lower half on you and floats his upper body out of your attack range. The look he gives you is absolutely seething, but you would not be moved. You remain unimpressed.

“I did pull back multiple times. What if I had to sneeze and you made me headbutt you?” you reason, knowing it was too obvious that you were enjoying yourself to pretend otherwise. The way your legs are still happily hooked around his hips would be all the argument he needs against you.

“You always do those little prep inhales and reel back like you’re getting an exorcism. Would’ve given me plenty of time to get out of the line of fire,” Buggy grouses, crossing his arms to give you his most petulant pout.

You make an exaggerated gasp and distort your voice to sound tearful when you say, “I thought you loved me for my dramatic sneezes! Have you been lying to me this whole time?”

“Every. single. day,” he deadpans.

“And here I was,” you begin, shoving his legs off and standing from the bed, “Ready to play doting housewife for you and undress you with kisses and massages and love!” You turn your back to him to really sell the soap opera scene. Using the word “love” may have been a little bit underhanded; you both have been skittering around saying your first “I love you”s, only daring to use the weighted word indirectly. Even so, it was always easy to see how hearing the word from your lips would make him forget everything else and seek another hit of it from you.

“Aw come on, baby,” he draws out, already switching from pouting brat to placating lover. “We can still do that right?”

There is a lot of frantic rustling behind you. You peek at him over your shoulder, only allowing yourself to turn enough to see him in the corner of your eye. He is popped back together and is sitting up on his knees. He had skooched himself to the edge of the bed right behind you, where he is now giving you his best puppy dog face. You’re able to hold out just long enough for him to start wondering if your anger was all play before you spin around and chirp, “Only if you make a deal with me!”

Buggy flings himself back out on the bed and groans, “Fiiiiiiiiine.”

“It’s one you’ll like, I promise,” you soothe. You ease Buggy to sit up at the edge of the bed, laughing at the way he’d sway too far into whichever direction you pulled him, staying just one step removed from going dead weight. Once he’s settled into his spot, you take a moment to examine him. It doesn’t go unnoticed to you that his back is hunched forward under the weight of his exhaustion. Though his eyes are playful, they also hold dark bags, which peek out around his makeup. Your heart aches for him. Even when he is overworked and needing sleep, he’s taking the time to goof around with you and listen to your requests. You’d make sure he had the best sleep of his life tonight. You’d get him all clean and cozy and ready for bed and then you’d make him cum so hard that his brain blue screens. Truly a proper recipe for a good night’s rest.

“How’d you take off your gloves at the door but not your coat?” you ask, pushing said coat off his strong shoulders. He helps you by pulling out his arms. While your eyes admire any new skin exposed to you, Buggy keeps his eyes on your face.

“Can’t feel you through the gloves,” he explains. Oh, wow, that’s actually really sweet- “You ever try to enjoy tits and ass through fabric? Doesn’t work as well.”

You puff out an exasperated laugh. Yep, there’s your Buggy.

Before you move on to take off his scarf, you brush your fingertips along his neck and jaw to enjoy the warmth of his skin and the scratch of his stubble. Once the cloth is gone, you begin using your lips instead. He reaches out to hold your hips in a practiced welcome when you settle into his lap. Anywhere your kissing moves, Buggy opens himself up to your touch. You nose his jaw up for his head to fall back and kiss your way along his pulse. Your hand comes up to support the other side of his neck, your thumb admiring the shape of his adams apple. Your other hand hooks into his shirt’s collar and pulls it aside for more access. By the time you follow his collarbone to his shoulder, your kisses are open-mouthed, sucking and licking at his skin. When you move back over to the base of his neck, you feel his throat bob from a heavy swallow then vibrate under your thumb with his pleased hum.

Eager kisses lead you up to his ear, which you greet with a nip. Pulling back, you blow cool air on him to light up the damp trail you left behind. While your lips explore him, his hands explore you. They had started at your hips and are now massaging indulgently at your chest. Like everything else, the motion is not rushed, which perfectly compliments the teasing way he thumbs your nipples through your shirt.

After a sweet kiss to his temple, you undo his bandana, exposing his beautiful blue hair. You guide his head down to rest against your sternum so you can more easily take out the pins and ties keeping his hair in place. Buggy hums in pleasure from the relief in his scalp once his waves of long hair all fall free. You help soothe it further by massaging your fingers from the nape of his neck, around to temples, up to crown, and back down again. You always love when you can play with his hair; it’s become covetously soft in your care and you’ve become addicted to the faint smell of shampoo topped with ocean spray that came from it. 

Buggy’s hands move from your chest so he can wrap you in a loose hug. He mindlessly massages your lower back and ass while you tend to him. The break from your kissing lets him regain enough thought to ask, “You gonna let me know about the terms I’ve agreed to or am I supposed to start guessing?”

You give him a sweet giggle and kiss the top of his head. While moving on to unclasp his many belts, you reply, “If you insist then I guess I’ll tell you.” Even his shirt has belts, what is this? Yeah, they look nice, but each one is one more step between you and getting him naked. “What you’re gonna do-” you don’t miss his shiver at the sternness in your tone “-is lay there and enjoy what I give you.” You soften up just a touch. “I’m here to make you feel better. I need you to trust that.”

“Of course I do,” he says, almost offended. He earns a kiss with the ease and earnestness of his response.

Finally, all the belts are undone and his shirt is opened. Buggy pops his arms off so you can easily push it off of him without the rest of his body moving an inch. He reassembles while your hands work on touching every new stretch of skin. You’d never tire of feeling his abs twitch under your touch or tracing the contours of his body. You get bolder, scratching pink lines through the light texture of his blue chest hair. It matches his stubble in a handsome blue, slightly darker than the hair on his head.

With a grip on his hair, you ease Buggy’s head off of your chest. He moans at the pull of it on his tender scalp and hopes you think it's from discomfort. The way you turn your hand so it pulls firmer, earning more sounds, lets him know he’s not fooling you. He finds that he doesn’t care when he sees the appraising look you’re giving him. 

Now that he’s sat up, you get back to work on marking him up. There’s a gentle, tingling scratch of hair against the skin of your face while you work him over. Buggy is slowly and surely falling apart between your dominating hand and worshiping lips. Where before he felt the need to muster the energy to meet you for pleasure, he is now surrendering to let you control when and how he feels it. He lets himself lean into your grip and keeps himself relaxed, only moving his hips in mindless grinds. Having this man offer you free access to himself is winding you up quickly. You needed to get this moving along. You could take all the time you wanted soon. After smearing a few more kisses across his chest, you get up to work on getting him out of his pants.

“Come on, Bugs, let’s get you out of the rest of those clothes,” you coo, moving back to stand in front of him. 

“You want me naked~” Buggy taunts in a singsong voice like a schoolyard bully, giving you the cheekiest grin. He holds out his arms (making grabby hands of course) for you to pull him up. With a sturdy heave, you get the sleepy clown back on his feet. 

“You’ve found me out,” you whisper in fake shame. “Whatever will I do?”

“Well, toots, you can buy my silence with kisses,” he offers.

After giving many quick kisses all over his face, many with exaggerated “mwah!”s to get more giggles out of him, you move on to his pants. Buggy stays quiet and pliant while you undid them and pull them down to his ankles, following them down to the floor. You are happy to see that familiar bulge more clearly while he’s just in his boxers. You kiss along his length through them, making it twitch eagerly. His hand comes to rest on your head, letting you know how much he wants you to stay there. You look up at him, making eye contact, before pulling back and pulling his boxers down to join his pants. You think it’s cute the way his breath still catches from seeing you like this. It’s also cute the way his hands move to your shoulders to help him balance while you take off his pants and boxers then pull each sock off of his feet.

Buggy settles himself to recline on the pillows at the head of the bed, legs crossed at the ankles and hands behind his head. He eats up the way your eyes scrape over every inch of his spread out body. It isn’t lost on him the way your eyes always gravitate towards the prize laying heavy on his stomach, highlighted by a deep blue happy trail and trimmed curls. “Your turn, sweet cheeks,” he prompts.

“Not so fast,” you say, turning away from him and going to grab some items on the dresser. You turn back holding out a cloth and bowl of water to answer Buggy’s raised brow. He is not happy with your answer.

“Come ooooon,” he complains. “Aren’t you used to the makeup by now?”

“Yeah, I thought that was obvious,” you respond, gesturing to the marks he’s left on your face and chest. “But our skin will be happier without it and you’ll feel better sleeping clean and without a whole stage show’s paint on your pillow.”

“But I want you on me now,” he growls. Okay that greedy tone almost won you over, but you could use his weak spots too.

“I also..” you had wanted to only play shy but found that the feeling became genuine. “I also want to see you bare faced tonight.” Buggy narrows his eyes so you continue. “Don’t get me wrong, the makeup is sexy - like obviously, you’ve seen how I get - but you’re handsome without it too. And sometimes all I wanna see is you.”

He relents easily, trying to hide the blush that burns up his cheeks and down his neck. You reward him by making very quick progress of getting him fresh faced and cleaning the smears off of your own face and body, before moving onto your clothes. 

You’d like to say that you were sexy in the way that you stripped yourself, but the reality is that you were quick and unchoreographed in your rush to get back to Buggy. He’d never complain though; there’s already plenty of your mouth watering strip teases filed away in his mind. There was also a rush in knowing how quickly you want to touch him again. And in the way the rush has your tits and ass jiggling.

Buggy reaches out to welcome you back into his lap, but is blindsided when you move to grab and spread his ankles instead. The way you crawl in between his legs is slow and maddening. Where’s that impatience that had you tearing off your clothes? Buggy can’t lie, he does love the way you’re kissing up his legs and the way it lets him savor how your body moves and curves. His worn body and thumping heart are addicted to the way you’re touching him. The problem is that he’s having trouble thinking of anything beyond the way his cock throbs angrily at the lack of attention.

The whispers, nips, and kisses that you layer on his thighs stay just on the right side of ticklish. Buggy’s hands follow your movements, brushing into your hair and tugging gently whenever you find a particularly sensitive spot. You keep at it until his thighs are twitching and jumping to your touch and he’s lost control of the pace of his breath. It’s only then that you begin teasing his cock with soft lips and cold blown air. You mix in firm, sedate licks to keep hinting at the relief your mouth could bring.

Buggy detaches his hands and begins to trail them down your sides. He’s hoping that playing you with his fingers would urge you along. Beyond that, he needs to feel how slick and warm you are and get his mind ready for the feeling that would soon slide over his aching cock by sinking his fingers into your plush grip. You quickly stop his plot by plopping your hips flush to the bed so that he can get no further than groping your ass. 

“Ah ah ah, I didn’t say you could touch me yet,” you reprimand. Buggy whines back at you and you nip his upper inner thigh. “Hands,” you command, holding your own out. Even with his protests, he detaches his hands and floats them to your own. You link your fingers together with his then shove his hands down into the mattress, leaning your weight on them.

With him disarmed, you focus back to winding him up. Taking his head into your mouth, you begin swirling your tongue. Buggy manages to keep his hips from pushing more of him into you, but they shake with the effort. You turn your head to the side and begin massaging his head into the inside of your cheek, careful to keep your teeth off of him. He bites out curses and looks down at you to burn the image of your cheek bulging from his cock into his mind forever. He begins to let his hips lead the movements pressing out your cheek, so you pull him back out of your mouth.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” Buggy pleads. He needs to keep feeling you or he’s sure he’ll go insane.

“I didn’t hear you say please,” you snark at him. He starts chanting the word for you in hopes to fix his mistake and earn your mouth back, but you’re already decided on the matter. Instead of sucking on him again, you simply nose around his hips and crotch to tease him, using what you could with your hands occupied restraining him. You found you enjoyed it; he smells strongly of clean skin and sex and the new method of touching him lets your brain notice new details to cherish. “It’s too late, silly clown,” you taunt.

When he can take no more, Buggy detaches an arm and bends it around the back of your neck. He pulls you into him by the crook of his elbow and growls out, “more”. You glare up at him before quickly taking him back into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat, grinding his head there while sucking harshly and gripping his balls.

Buggy yelps out an apology, the sensation way too much to process so suddenly. His arm flies back to him and you ease your grip on him. You soothe him with a few gentle bobs of your head before popping off and leaving a kiss to the soft skin on the underside of his cock. That sharp hit to his nerves chased by the tender touch fogs up his mind.

“I’ll do what you want, please tell me what you want,” he begs.

“What I want-” you’re crawling your way back up his body, “-is for you to be honest with me. Tell me what you’ve been hiding this whole time.”

Buggy’s face scrunches in genuine confusion. “I’m not hiding anything from you.”

“You sure?” you press. You lean towards his lips, which gently part in anticipation of a kiss. The moment before your lips brush, when you feel his stuttered breath, you change course and ghost your lips across his jaw to his ear. “But it would make me so  happy if you just told me,” you whisper. “You usually make me feel so good.” You can feel him listening intently. “You don’t want to be good for me?” He stills completely. “Don’t you want to be my good little toy?” His whole body shivers beneath you. You kiss and suck your way down his neck and he leans his head away to give you as much access as possible. “Just say it baby and I’ll make you feel good.”

If you weren’t so busy buried in his neck, you would see the breathtaking mix of apprehension and need flaring in his bright eyes while he debates how to answer you.

“I want you to use me. I-” he trails off and looks away, losing his nerve. 

You begin gently petting his hair and placing kisses on the side of his face. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He looks back at you and his shining eyes and furrowed brow plead for the promise that you’re telling the truth. You give him a firm kiss on the lips, which he eagerly returns with a small suckle to your bottom lip. You pull back to check in, looking into his eyes, before encouraging him again. “Keep going, lovely. I wanna hear it.”

Buggy tenses once more before he seems to let his resistance break and fall out of every muscle, leaving him limp and prone amongst the pillows and sheets. “I want to be your toy - I want you to take charge and do what you want to me. I want.. I want to follow your orders.”

The kiss you gift him is ravenous, and he fills with relief. “You’re so good to me, baby,” you praise, and that relief triples.

You reassuringly squeeze his captive hands and lead your way back down his body with your lips. The transition helps relax him and loosens his mind again. As you get back to your sweet torture, he keeps reaching downward not remembering that his hands aren't there then whining when he doesn’t reach your head. You switch his hands to being clamped between your knees so you can scratch your nails down his thighs, using just enough pressure to leave long pink trails. Taking it further, you move your mouth away from his dick to work across his v-line. Buggy gets more fussy at the lack of attention on his cock, squirming and whimpering below you.

Mouth still busy on his soft skin, you use one hand to palm over his balls to the underside of his dick and curl your hand closed around him, one finger at a time. You angle his cock upright, enjoying the feeling of his precum beginning to trail down across your fingers. Your mouth changed course back closer to him, emptying his mind of any thoughts but “yes, yes, yes-”. He blanks out completely when your blazing hot tongue drags across his balls during a squeeze and a pump of his dick. The relief is short lived when your grip loosens and stills and your mouth leaves him completely. His head snaps down to see why you stopped and he sees that you’re already giving him a malicious smirk. Your eyes stay on his when you pucker your lips to blow on his aching tip. His head snaps back sharply, the movement exaggerated by his hair.

“You’re going so sloooow,” Buggy complains, frustrated. “I thought you were gonna take care of me.” He sounds impressively sulky.

“If you’re not happy with my services,” you start in a measured tone, moving forward until you are nose to nose, “then you can take care of yourself.” His face pales. You look down at his dick in your hand thoughtfully before saying, “Better yet I can just steal your cock and run off to the showers to take care of myself.”

“No!” Buggy wants it to come out like an order but it is definitely an anxious plea.

“Oh, so you’re telling me I can’t?” He shrinks even more under your glare, making you feel powerful.

“Just stay in here, pleeeease, need to see you feel good,” Buggy begs, voice small. “Don’t even need to cum, just need you.” 

You aren’t supposed to give in unless on your own time, but knowing that he’s only thinking of your pleasure is making you weak.

“I thought you wanted to be my good little toy and good toys don’t whine and make demands. They are happy with what they’re given if their owners give them anything at all.” He whimpers. “Right now you’re more of a fucking brat.”

“Noooooo,” his broken complaint sounded delicious, but the look on his face was nearing too close to real distress. 

“No?” You mock. You look down at him with a condescending pout. Your eyes bore into his, needing to notice every little detail of his next reaction. “Oh, baby, if you’re not a brat then you’re just a pussy-hungry slut.”

Buggy shuts his eyes and moans loudly at your words. The sound of his own voice calling you a cock-hungry slut many times over echoes from his memories. He didn’t think having his own insults turned on him would feel so invigorating. It’s clear to you that that is much more what he wants to be for you. Your slut; not your brat. How sweet. When all his layers are peeled back he only wants to please.

“That’s okay you sick little thing. You just can’t help it, can you?” He shakes his head with those gorgeous, shining eyes pleading at you. “If you’re so hungry, I guess I gotta feed you so you can shut. up.”

Before his mind even realizes that you began moving, you flip around and sit directly on his face. Your strong thighs are clamping his arms down to his sides, leaving his hands to be snatched up in your own again. You’ve positioned yourself so his mouth is at your clit and his nose is teasing your entrance. He gives a thick inhale and presses his tongue out to lap at you with a satisfied moan.

“Much better,” you groan, completely self-satisfied.

You waste no time before you begin rocking your hips. The room fills with the sloppy sounds of him licking and sucking at you, overly enthusiastic about having your pussy in his face.

“Now stick out that tongue for me,” you order, giving him his only warning before you drop much of your weight down to get the best pressure of his tongue, nose, and chin against you. The sensation has you clenching against the surface of his nose, getting it wet. You switch between a few long grinds from cupid’s bow to chin and making sharp circles of your clit on his tongue.

Buggy barely gets any time to fully breathe and he loves it. His head has become a murky swirl of your addicting taste and smell and the lovely sounds of you moaning for him. It sends pleasure prickling through him, making him burn with need, but he’s sure he’d stay on this painful precipice forever if it meant you kept using him to feel good. Buggy’s moans are becoming slurred whines as he gets drunk off your pussy. He was trying so hard to be perfect for you. He would stiffen his tongue to grind back into you or curl the end up for you to use on your clit. He’s ignoring his nerves at having his nose be an active participant, because he feels the way you follow its pressure. His hands are clamped on yours, floating in front of you to give you better leverage to move. He’s done good to not pull either of them away and give his leaking cock the relief it desperately needs. He deserves a reward.

You bring his hands in to place them on your breasts, where they need no direction to start working you. The warm, grounding pressure of them kneading your breasts is broken up by little circles, pinches, and pulls to your nipples that send tingles to your spine and straight down to your clit. Once they’re settled on you, you curl forward to place your head back in front of his red, twitching dick. You put your elbows down by Buggy’s sides and take advantage of the fact that he’s too lost between your legs to notice where you’ve put your face.

Buggy arches and yelps when you blow strong, cold air on his head and tease your fingertips along his Apollo's belt. His utter excitement at your attention shows in his bucking hips and pressing face. His whole body is buzzing with the thought, “I did good!”

“Your mouth is fucking good, perfect for an eager slut” you praise. Buggy keens loudly into you, sending strong vibrations through your pussy. “I’ll have to steal your head as my seat more often.” You flick your tongue on his frenulum, earning a strong twitch. “I’ll hunt you down any time I need to cum and force you down under me,” you promise in a husky voice. 

Finally, you slide him into your mouth and moan at the familiar taste and weight and heat. He’s as sensitive as you’ve ever seen him, hips and cock jerking. You tease a hand down to cup his balls and feel them pull tight while his dick starts a familiar pulse, his voice going wild in your ears. Oh?

“Not so fast, stupid doll,” you warn, moving your hand to make a tight ring around the base of his cock. “Thought you could just cum without getting me off first?”

Buggy tries to get out apologies but his mouth is too busy buried in your pussy.

“I’m touching you as a reward. Don’t get greedy,” you scold. Then you’re putting him back in your mouth and he’s sobbing under your cunt. You couldn’t do anything more than light sucking and trailing your hands on him before you’d have to pull back and keep him from cumming. Each time, he’d try to apologize and each time he would look and sound more and more pathetic. By the time you feel the pressure of your own orgasm pulsing throughout your hips, he’s shaking like a leaf.

The crackling complaint Buggy let out when you pulled yourself off of his face was heartbroken. His fingers slipped and pulled as they made their way from your breasts down to your hips, where they weakly tried to pull you back down on him.

“Shhh sweet boy,” you soothed, placing your hands reassuringly over his, “I’m just gonna use your cock now, gotta give that pretty face a break.”

That quickly distracts him from the loss of your touch, if his urgent pleas and raised hips are anything to go by. You get down to his hips and lean forward slightly, gripping firmly onto each of his warm thighs for stability. You admire the lines that twist over them as his muscles move and react to you. Feeling a little bit sadistic, you grip them hard enough to bruise and hover just close enough to his cock so that he feels the heat of you there but only the ghost of your touch.

“Please touch me,” he begs. “So close, need to feel you-”

Buggy continues to babble and you continue to hover, delighting in the way his dick would sometimes jump up to tap your entrance, electrifying both of you. He squirms under the strength and weight of your grasp on his thighs, trying to chase you with his hips. Suddenly, he splits his legs off above your grip and is finally able to grind fully into you, gliding smoothly through the thick mix of slick, spit, and precum between you. An absurdly hot groan rushes out of him, starting as all exhale before morphing into a loud tone supported by a rumble in his chest. Your mind blanks with your own gasping moan before you recenter yourself and let your dead weight drop on him, shoving his hips deeply down into the mattress.

You had angled your hips to save your clit from all pressure but the tap of his balls when they bounced up from the impact, but Buggy was given no such mercy. The first hit between your weight and the bed presses his cock near painfully between the two of you, but he can’t deny the way the feeling sent prickles across his every nerve and the relief after it let up has him baring his teeth in his bid to not cum. Instead of nice grinds, you simply oscillate your weight around your hips to keep giving him too much stimulation but not the right kind.

“Am I not doing good enough for you?” you ask, voice carrying a warning that he better answer properly.

“N-no I love it, I was just-”

“Just what?” you interrupt, hand moving from bruising his thigh to cup his balls, adding to the threat in your tone.

“Couldn’t think! S-sorry, I’m sorry -hhhanh- ” Buggy keeps his apologies streaming because he can’t stop disobeying you - he can’t help making tight little movements of his hips against you to feel more of you.

“Having trouble being the one fucked stupid, little whore?” you goad. “Don’t like being so pussy-whipped you can’t think like a person anymore?”

“I love it,” he moans, fiercer than you expected. “Need it -hahh- need you, I’m yours, need to be yours.”

Fuck, you need to get him inside you; you were too close to cumming empty from hearing him talk like that. You keep the hand on his balls, starting to fondle them, and use the other to line him up with your entrance. You can already feel bliss curling in your toes as his fat head presses at you, but Buggy does the last thing you expect - he pulls back.

“No!” his voice breaks and you whip around, scared that something was wrong. He’s staring at you with wide, wet eyes. “Turn around, please, please, wanna see you.” You relaxed knowing he wasn’t hurt or scared or uncomfortable. He begins to have trouble looking at you, turning his head away shyly and letting some of his hair sweep over to shield his face. “Want you to look at me.”

You’re getting whiplash after being thrown from panic to overwhelmed with affection so quickly. You move slowly and smoothly when you turn yourself around and slink your body down over him. You rest on your elbows and slowly lower your hips back down to him, this time grinding his head against your clit generously. Buggy’s head spins between the fire you’re tending in him and the loving way you hold his face and brush away his hair.

“You sure you can take it, honey?” you ask softly. “You can’t even look at me right now.”

“I can!” he asserts, needing to prove himself to you. He turns his face to yours and flicks his gaze to your eyes and away a few times before he’s able to lock eyes with you. You pet his face and continue your smooth grinding, taking the time to look at him like he wants you to. Buggy’s face is the most beautiful shade of pathetic you’d ever seen; shimmering tear tracks highlight skin that is pink and flushed and damp with sweat. The color of his cheeks brings out the ruby color of his nose and you can’t resist brushing your own nose against it. He tries to flinch back but you follow him. When he turns his face away, you lure him back to you with sweet kisses. When he faces you again, you intensify the stable grinding you’ve kept up to nudge him a little closer to the edge once again.

“So pretty,” you whisper, reverent and honest. Your eyes are looking right into his, seeing him in a way that has him feeling worshiped. Loving fingers map out the structure of his cheekbones and jaw, moving on to chart his lips. They kiss at your fingertips sweetly. “I have the prettiest toy on the seas. Better than any other treasure.”

He perks up at that, giving you a moan and bucking hips.

“You wanna be my treasure?” you ask, getting an immediate, breathy “yes” from him.

“Well I love every bit of my treasures, from their gems to their dents,” you tell him. “After they’ve caught my eye with their beauty, the only thing they need to do to stay my treasures is let me care for every piece of them.” You brush your noses together again, staring at him pointedly. “Can you do that for me?”

There’s real conflict in Buggy’s eyes and you slow your hips to let him think. After a few long breaths, his whole body tenses and he nudges his nose back into yours in a hesitant eskimo kiss.

You turn your head and crash your lips on his in a consuming kiss full of teeth and tongue and praises. You’re bursting with your pride and love from his show of trust and he’s lost in the flood of your acceptance. Your hips are insistent again and, without breaking the kiss, you reach down and, at last, guide his cock into you.

Buggy cranes his head back again, so you switch to sucking and biting his neck. You can’t taste or feel enough of him, he’s not close enough. Even when he’s deep enough to lick at your cervix you need more of him. Even though he’s wedged you open enough for you to feel the pressure of it in your hips. Even though he’s crammed between your legs, ringing in your ears, sinking under your nails, sitting on your tongue, filling your breath - none of it is enough, so you keep taking more from him.

Though his hands have found their way onto your hips countless times, this grip felt foreign. Normally they’d hold firm and sure and guide you to move just how he needs you to. Right now, his grip is somehow tighter even though it’s all pawing and clawing. He has no control on how you fuck him, he’s just desperately trying to hold on for the ride and grasp more you - he’d do absolutely anything if it meant he’d get a single bit closer to you - to knowing nothing in this world other than every inch, every sound, every feeling that you have to offer. And then he’d beg for even more.

“Talk to me, treasure, tell me how you feel,” you urge. 

“I -mngh!- I-I feel-” Buggy gasps out. It’s clear he’s trying to listen to you but that pretty little head of his is scrambled. He keeps his foggy eyes on you in an attempt to focus, despite how much they want to roll back behind fluttering lids. He pants and moans a few more times before licking his lips and trying again. “-’s good, so good, s-so -uungh- s’gooooood -hahh-”

“That’s my good man, my perfect treasure, my sweet love,” you coo somewhere between a whisper and a moan. The way he’s stretching you open, rubbing at you with his hot cockhead is fraying your control. The freedom to call him “love” sends flutters through your chest. Buggy is just as desperate for the claim, each time he hears the word a keening whine answers it.

“Please, please, need you to cum,” he pants. “Can’t -hhah- c-can’t-”

“You can and you will.” The command leaves no room for argument.

You’re getting so close, feeling the promise of your release in the tingle of your fingers, the heat searing through your trembling thighs, and the tight gripping in your body all the way from your throat to your pussy. The feelings pulse stronger with each clap of your hips to Buggy, each time his thick cock shoves you open and lights up every buzzing nerve that it rubs through your walls.

“Fuck, love, you can cum.” He feels your lips form the words against his racing pulse. It’s hard to keep track of what you’re saying through the white out in your head and the heat licking through your entire body.  Your words rush out desperately, trying to get your scattered thoughts to him through a heavy tongue and a lack of air. “You’re so, so good, feel so good, gonna cum so fucking hard, love it so much, fuck, love how you make me feel so good-”

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you-” he gasps out on loop as his hips stutter and his cock jumps, filling you up. His pathetic thanks and the feeling of him releasing into you send you over the edge and everything burns so good. Your body involuntarily bucks and trembles on him for a few seconds where you have no say. You find yourself caving into him under the weight of your clenching muscles. Every clench of your cunt around him feels long and gripping and lets your swollen walls feel him with a little more detail. You make small, slow circles of your hips to wring out his climax, which seems never ending. Rush after rush of hot cum fills you until it’s spilling back into his lap, but his hands still encourage your movements and his body still shakes and trembles and he still babbles praises into your shoulder. Even when the aftershocks are settling to fewer and further between, he lets out a pathetic whine any time you stop moving in an attempt to give him some respite. After indulging him in another minute of overstimulation, you slowly lift off of him, receiving an upset groan. You hush him with trailing hands and sweet kisses, which he happily returns.

When his breathing is finally steady, you take a moment to check him over. His face is so relaxed he actually looks knocked out, but he does hum in response to your light squeeze on his shoulder. Buggy’s lashes have always been beautiful, but they look especially nice sending shadows across his cheek bones. His hair is a wild mess around him, and it feels silky between your fingers when you detangle it. His broad chest is still moving a bit fast with his breath, but each rise is a bit larger and longer. You admire the way his breathing moves the red spots and pink streaks decorating him, especially enjoying their contrast to his blue chest hair. His throat bobbing on a heavy swallow points your attention back upwards, and you admire the way his dark stubble makes his jaw even sharper. A little higher, you notice how red and swollen his lips are and how shining tear tracks dry across his face. You’d never seen him so fucked out. It looks gorgeous on him.

Since Buggy is calm and settling, it’s time to get up and clean you both up a bit. This time he communicates his displeasure at your absence with a petulant grunt. You turn back with a raised brow to sass him but break out in laughter instead when you see he couldn't even muster the energy to turn his head toward you. You don’t think this man has even opened his eyes since before he came.

“Don’t worry, love, I’m just getting a towel to clean up.”

A begrudging grunt.

Good enough.

After quickly taking care of yourself, you reappear with a warm, damp towel. The moment Buggy feels your weight back on the bed, he musters all of his remaining strength and pulls you on top of him. You giggle while he grumbles something into your shoulder.

“One more time, Bugs.”

He sighs like you are the most unreasonable person he has ever met, and you laugh at the deja vu you’re feeling. His lips move up to your ear and you hum happily at the tingles his breath leaves behind. “You took too long.”

You roll your eyes. “Sorry, your highness. Just trying to make sure we don’t wake up sticky in a puddle. Now come on, it’s your turn.”

On the third attempt to pull back, he finally lets you go (with yet another grumble) and you set to work on wiping him down. You begin with his face, enjoying the hum he lets out at the light warmth in the soft cloth, and move down to his neck. You spend a little bit of extra time on his shoulders and chest, massaging between swipes of the towel. He obnoxiously flings each arm at you when you are ready for them, just to hear you laugh another time. He enjoys the emptiness of his head while you move to his calves and work your way up. On his thighs and stomach, you sprinkle sweet kisses that leave his heart feeling gooey. He falls in love with you all over again when you blow a raspberry on his side to rouse him once he gets too close to dozing off.

He thinks he is all out of aftershocks until he is savoring the last few when you finish cleaning him up. You leave a loving kiss on the sensitive skin just inside his hip bone, before standing up, again to a groan. Buggy was always touchy after sex (and honestly touchy in general; you’re surprised he doesn’t demand you to hold a detached hand at all hours) but this is something else. It has you thinking of how much you crave his affirming touch whenever he is pushy or rough with you during sex. You’re both lucky that you find his pouting endlessly endearing. Grabbing the blankets that had fallen from the foot of the bed, you finally make your way back to him.

“Took you long enough.” Buggy’s words are bratty, but his tone is sweet and starstruck. He’s making sure to enjoy the last bit of seeing you clearly before you turn off the light.

“Fine - next time I’ll throw you a towel and go find a clean hammock for myself,” you tease. “That should be much quicker.” You plop onto the bed next to Buggy, jostling him, and you fluff the blankets out over the two of you.

“Noooooooooo,” he whines. “You’d leave me to fend for myself like that? I’d die.” Even with the dark, the way you two move to intertwine is coordinated and sure, played out many times before.

“I’m pretty sure there’s cryptid in your bloodline; you should do just fine with survival,” you laugh, snuggling deeper into him. As always, a deep inhale of him (saltwater, spices, leather, smoke, musk) has you immersed in your safe space. “Aren’t you the self-proclaimed untamable man, oh great Captain Buggy?”

“I’ve been domesticated-” you guffaw “-and it’s all your fault so you need to take some responsibility for your actions.”

You settle your laughter and look to meet his gaze. By now your eyes have adjusted just enough for you to see the moonlight from the porthole reflecting in his eyes. The unguarded affection you spot in them stalls your breath.

“Okay.” The word promises much more than he had asked. The meaning seems to reach him, because he holds you just that much closer and plants a lingering kiss to the top of your head. 

The brushing of the waves on the thick wooden sides of the ship guides your breath to deepen. The creaking of wooden boards and distant thunking of feet on the deck comfort you with their familiarity. Buggy is just barely hanging onto consciousness, trying to keep his fingers tracing nonsense patterns on your skin. The last things your mind holds onto are the warmth seeping from Buggy’s body, the gentleness of those calloused fingertips, and the sleepy slur of his tender mumble.

“Goodnight, my brightest star.”

[ab4eva]

‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’

Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.

Word count: 3.6k

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You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.

It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.

“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.

“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.

“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.

Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.

As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.

“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.

“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.

“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.

“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.

“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.

You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.

“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.

He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.

“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.

“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.

“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.

“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”

You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.

“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.

You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.

“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.

“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.

“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.

"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.

“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.

And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.

-

Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics