#its just so sweet and intimate...

[galaxicnerd]

I'm not immune to corny tropes

[maskofnova]

Hi chat, breaking the sonic chain to post a singular homestuck post because ive been thinking about moirail dynamics a lot. Don't follow me for homestuck though probably because this is the only one thats likely to break containment aside from maybe one other WIP in the future. Or do! I'm not your dad :]

[snzydarling]

Fall onto me

fandom: My Hero Academia

characters: Shouta Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada

cw: sneeze kink !!! mentions of coughing + brief mess

notes: ummmmmm I'm so nervous to post this !!! but it's for @waterfallofspace who is just the sweetest and always lights up my day + my dash every time we interact !!! Shes always making stuff for others and feeding my middle aged man obsession and I'm so thankful !!!!! I wish this. Was better. But um i tried my best and I hope you enjoy !!!!!

     After over 20 years of knowing each other, living with one another in both the dorms at UA and their apartment, Hizashi can confidently say that he knows his husband like the back of his hand. He knows Shouta’s food preferences, the temperature he likes his showers, and his preferred brand of eye drops 

-And what all of his different sneezes sound like.

So when Shouta walks through the door of their apartment, shuddering into his elbow with a muffled, heavy “hHD’SHHh-yu!”, Hizashi’s mind instantly darts to the Benydral kept in the bathroom cabinet, because Hizashi knows his husband, and knows the sound of his allergies all too well. 

But Shouta tends to get prickly when coddled, and everything Hizashi knows about his husband indicates irritation of more than one kind, so he keeps quiet. Instead, he smiles up at Shouta, who’s still sniffling in the entrance way as he drags himself out of the house and into his slippers, and greets him with a cherry “Bless you! Hello to you, too,” and revels in the well-natured eye roll he gets in acknowledgement. 

“hH’dTSHHh-yu! Damn. Sorry,” Is what his husband actually greets him with as he shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his pinkened nose against his wrist. “I’ve been doing that all day.” He huffs like an old, burly dog as he sits at the table, and Hizashi can see an irritated wetness in his eyes as he hums down at his vegetables. 

“Not catching something, are ya? I’ve told you that you’ve gotta stop fussing over every student with the sniffles.” At that, Shouta shakes his lead a little too roughly, like he’s trying to shake off the tickle with it. “No, I feel fine. Jus’hiHt-! Just itchy.” He punctuates the sentence with a tickly cough, almost like he has to prove it. Hizashi can't empathize much, always prone to letting everything out as soon as it irritates him, but can sympathize, so he stands and stretches while his back gives a satisfying pop! and gives Shouta a small peck on the bridge of his nose that he knows will do the trick on his way to the stove. 

He hears his success as he lights the burner, first a quick snag in Shouta’s breath, then another, and then the creak of the chair as he shifts his weight suddenly “ hIH’dTSHh-yu! e’TCHhih! eHd’tCHh-iewh! ‘tCHHh-iew!  ” Hizashi listens, feigning an interest in the stove as his husband grumbles. “Bless you! That was cute.” He chirped. “No, it was gross.” Shouta corrects, and he can hear the congestion in his throat now. Poor thing. 

“Do you know what's setting you off? Can’t be pollen, it’s winter, and-” he leans over to press the back of his hand to Shouta’s cheek, mostly for show “- You’re cool as a clam, so it's not a cold.” Shouta opens his mouth to respond, but gets quickly interrupted with a quick gasp that sends him into his elbow once again. 

“hiD'TCHhi’yu! e'tTCHh- eD'SHH-iewh! hiH- hH'ESSHh-oo! ed'TCHHh-oo! ” Hizashi is face-front at the show this time, watching the crease in Shouta’s brow and the twitch of his nose from where it peaks above his sleeve. He dutifully passes along the tissues when his husband stays still for a beat too long, sniffling desperately, and starts to fill the quiet with enthusiasm blessing and talk of a new segment he's planning. He’s barely two sentences in, turned towards the stove again, when he hears Shouta take in a trembling gasp and muffle a tickly sounding “hihH”ndXT-iew!”, restrained and wholly unsatisfying-sounding. 

Hizashi whirls around to face him with his hands on his hips, playing the mother hen well as he scolds/ “Don’t do that, Sho! You’ll hurt yourself!” Then, in a softer tone, “Why don’t you go take a shower and wash whatever this is off.” He gives him a few hearty smacks on the back when he evolves into a fit of tickly, barking coughs that crescendo with a needy “e'hHDTSHh-yu!” that Hizashi thinks is all too cute. It must have cleared something out, because he stops sneezing for long enough to stand with cracking joints of his own (Christ, when did they get so old?) and disappear into the bathroom, pressing a hand to the small of Hizashi’s back as he passes. 

Besides a throat scraping fit that leaves Hizashi wincing in sympathy, responding with his own set of ‘Bless you!’ that probably gets muffled in the walls, everything seems to return to normal. When Shouta returns from the shower, hair wet and in a new set of clothes, nothing besides the occasional sniffle indicates much of anything was wrong, until they’re in the bedroom after dinner. Shouta sits on the bed, hunched over as he grades papers, while Hizashi stands in front of him and prepares for a late-night patrol. 

More specifically, the reprise occurs when Hizashi sprays a bit of cologne on himself, a gift from a fan he got on his patrol last night. It was a small bottle, labeled all in English, with a spiced scent he was fond of. But apparently, his husband wasn't. The moment he sprays it, Shouta gasps and starts to cough, leaving Hizashi laughing as he thumps him on the back for the second time that day. “That bad, huh? I like it.” “NohH - no, it’hHT-!.. It’s not that, ihHt-” He’s not able to finish explaining before he takes another stuttering breath, nostrils flaring and teeth peaking out from where his lips curl back, and buries himself in his sleeve. 

“e'TCHHhi- et’TSHHh-iewh! hiD'TCH!  hH’RSHHh-! ‘tSHHh-iewh! eH’NGKT-hH’NGT- e'SHHhi-yu! ” Hizashi is a bit awestruck, not accustomed to watching such an unprompted loss of control, spurred only when Shouta manages to hiss out “the perfume’hHTSHHh-iew!” before being thrown back into his elbow with another fit as Hizashi takes a wide step back, then a couple more as his husband starts to cough again. 

“hiDt'TSHhi-! hiD'TCH’yu! ‘tSHHhi-yu! hiH- ugh… snf” And, nose apparently satisfied, Shputa flops against the headboard, panting as a stray tear tracks down his face, carving out the slope of his cheekbones. He looks up at Hizashi with teasing and expectant eyes, eyebrows raised, and he can’t help but get lost for a second in how hot that is before remembering himself. 

“Bless you lots, sho! I lost count! Guess we found the culprit, huh?” He remembers, just barely, to keep his distance, plucking the bottle up from the nightstand with a stretch. “hiDt’sHHhi-! Ugh, yeah.” The congestion is back in his voice, leaving it thick and a bit crackly. “How was it on me this morning, though?” Hizashi has to think about that for a minute, leaning back on his heels, then remembers with a sheepish smile. 

“When I got back from patrol, I sprayed it in here, just to try it, y’know? It must’ve gotten in your hair. Oh, you poor thing, Sho!!” He says with drama, trying to make up for his lack of physical contact with words. 

“hiDT’CHh-yu!” Shouta snaps forward again, then sniffs as he straightens out. “Just remember to wash off before you come to bed.” He grumbles as Hizashi starts to back out of the room. He gives a mock salute, calling out a “Yes, Sir!” As he closes the bedroom door. While he toes on his shoes, he hears another muffled sneeze through the wall, and sticks around just long enough to hear a “thank you” for his blessing. 

[medilies]

Do you ever watch s3 and s4 and realise you're not enjoying it that much

[franken-loser]

Oh god it's been so long since I've drawn henry and victor kissing i can slowly feel my insides rotting

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

The NATO dinner family photo - Volena walking inside

[heavenlydreamangelflyhigh]

i am turning two years old twice very soon

[rokurookajima]

i’m lowkey obsessed w the fic i posted earlier today sometimes i just have to pat myself on the back

[damselneedssaving]

「 DON'T GET THE DOOR 」

OLDER!CLINGY!DAMIAN WAYNE X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: After days of being too busy to be intimate with you, Damian's finally got you propped up on the kitchen island, sweet and like putty in his hands, when a sudden knock sounds at the door... and he absolutely refuses to let you go and answer it.

★ TAGS: damian is 18+, suggestive content, nothing too much—just making out, and a bit more, damian is physically incapable of keeping his hands off you, srsly babe wtf did you do to him, dick and jason cameo at the end

★ A/N: just some dami hating everyone but you action 🤭 enjoy trying to get him off you lmao

line divider by @cafekitsune

Damian's gaze is heavy as it runs all over you, soaking you in with an intensity that makes you squirm on the counter, the marble cool against your bare thighs.

His hands are firm on your waist, sitting there like that's where they're meant to be—like they know no place else—as his chest moves to press up against your own, and his body stands situated right between your thighs, hot and present.

"I've missed you, Habibti," he whispers after a beat of just staring, and it comes out breathless, framed a little by disbelief, like he just can't fathom you're actually there.

You can only squirm in response, eyes ready to move to the side in all their bashful glory—when he ushers them back to him, fingers gentle against your chin.

"I've barely seen you these past few days—and now that I can, you choose to hide from me?"

You blink back at him, eyes wide and head shaking from side-to-side to convey what you can't with words, what you can't under the intensity of his gaze.

He hums, and he's so close now, so within kissing distance, that his breath fans over your face, minty and fresh, begging and pleading.

You don't even realise the way your lids grow heavy until it takes only half the time it usually does to shut them, until you're leaning forward and eager to meet him halfway as it registers to you just how much you've missed his touch.

Damian receives you with open arms, lips pressing against your own as he further pushes himself against you, hands now curling around your waist instead of situated at its sides.

All you can breathe is the scent of nature and cologne, drowning in all that is him until your head grows dizzy and your body begins to shake, until you're suffocating in heat and pounding need.

He kisses you like he's running out of time to, like at any minute, he'll be forced to pull away, hungry and desperate and left with an ache near impossible to fill.

He also kisses you like he has all the time in the world to, like he's taking in a piece of art, studying every inch until he has it etched into his mind forever.

It's too much—it's not enough—and you're left a panting mess when he pulls away, the air hot and heavy and seeping so much steam it practically fogs up your vision.

"Dami..."

He hums, lips now on your neck, having moved there as soon as he pulled away as though incapable of truly ever leaving you.

Your fingers move to card through his hair, and he groans right into your skin, just above a vein, sending a vibration straight through your body.

God, the moment is just so perfect, and you've just been so starved for attention, and everything in the world seems to just be going so right, that it feels wrong, like something will happen to ruin it all.

Something like a knock at your door.

At first, you think you're imagining it, because Damian continues to litter your skin with kisses like nothing's happened, his hands even beginning to roam beneath the hem of your shirt, touch light against your skin.

But then you hear it again, louder this time, and you're sure that it's real.

But Damian acts like it isn't.

His hands continue tracing patterns into your skin, lips painting your neck like it's one of his canvases as he worships you with all the devotion of a man begging for his life.

It's only when a third knock, even harder and louder than the former two, sounds from the door that he shows even a hint of acknowledgement, fingers digging into your sides, but not enough to hurt, your Damian would never hurt you.

"Damian!" a voice calls from the other side of the door, deep and insistent, "I know you're in there! Open up!"

"Would you be quiet?" another hisses right after, "People are looking."

You blink, pulling back a little, only for your boyfriend to chase after you.

Another knock at the door.

Damian growls into your skin just as you call softly, "Dami."

"Ignore those two idiots," he scoffs out with all the vitriol of a man wronged, one starved of something he's needed for far too long. "They'll leave eventually."

You nod, readily and easily because you don't particularly care for answering the door either. Not when he's holding you so sweet, and kissing you so right, and loving you like you're the only thing in his sight.

And you practically are with how he devours you, biting and sucking as he tastes you enough to shoot tingles down your spine and flood your veins with heat.

"Maybe he's not home," one of the two voices says, and you're just lucid enough to recognise it as Jason's.

"Oh he's home alright," the other responds, and you're quick to find that it's Dick.

But then all your lucidity washes out your veins because Damian's fingers start to crawl up your skin, and you're parting your lips to warn him with another call of his name.

"Dami—"

"Shh," he hushes you gently, and you know he doesn't mean it, soft and reverent as his hand reaches up to play with the band of your bra, lifting and snapping it back in place to send a jolt down your spine.

Your eyes dart to his, a heat pooling low in your stomach, and he simply meets your gaze with his own hooded one.

Then he moves to capture your lips again, and you're moaning low against his mouth, lips parting just a brief amount to let him in, when another huge bang slams against your door.

You pull back with a frantic, "Coming!"

Damian is already moving to try and capture your lips again, but you shut him down immediately, hands pressed firmly against his chest.

"Damian."

He growls, cursing beneath his breath in Arabic as he lingers a second longer, fingers curling against your skin. But he does ultimately let go, backing away enough to leave you room to hop off the counter, but not enough so that you can't feel the heat of him against you once you do.

And as you make your way towards the door, Damian follows right after, a shadow to his light, a knight to his princess.

A boyfriend to his girlfriend.

You swing open the door to two figures stood on the other side, both who you suspected them to be, wide-eyed and blinking as though they never thought you'd answer.

"Finally," Dick whines, lips jutted in a pout before they tug back up, flashing you one of his signature charming smiles. "Hey [Name]! Think Jason and I could crash—?"

"No."

A rush of wind flies over your face, the door to your apartment slamming shut before your very eyes to leave you dazed and a tad confused for a second.

Then a pair of arms wrap right around your waist, and that same voice that rejected the two brothers at your door is whispering right against your ear, hot and heavy, "Now... where were we?"

[abbotjack]

Um i have a request that can go either dr jack or dr robby, its up to you and the people🙌

Him figuring out you're pregnant before you even notice? Like he's so in tune with your body that when he's in you or when he feels you up he notices the subtlest change 👀 and when you wonder why your period is late its the final 1% for him 🤭 now he's 100% sure before you even suspect it

Absolutely, here’s the Jack Abbot version—grounded, intimate, and very Jack-coded.

LIFE WE GREW SERIES MASTERLIST <3

content/warning : pregnancy symptoms, emotional overwhelm, soft marriage vibes, denial, reader in her "i’m fine" era, jack in his "no you're not" era, smut (married, emotionally grounded), pregnancy, food/scent aversion, mild mention of nausea

words : 3,144

You’ve been married to Jack Abbot for thirteen months and a week—but the two of you have been together for four years.

And somehow, you’re still learning him.

Still adjusting to the way he folds his t-shirts into perfect thirds. Still moving his boots away from the front door, even though he always leaves them there. Still catching the way he’ll wait until the lights are off, the blankets pulled up, and then remember one more thing he has to tell you.

You know his rhythms. His moods. The way he kisses you a little differently when he’s worried but won’t say it out loud.

What you sometimes forget is that Jack’s job never really ends—he never really clocks out.

He’s an ER doctor. Which means he’s always watching. Always reading. Always two steps ahead of a problem you haven’t realized is there.

MONDAY – The Morning Slips

The light’s already different when you open your eyes.

Softer. Higher.

You blink at the ceiling, then at the clock.

7:08.

Your breath catches. “Jack?”

You sit up in a rush—sweats and a worn old shirt clinging from sleep—and nearly trip getting out of bed. He’s not next to you. Your alarm isn’t ringing. Your phone is somehow still on Do Not Disturb.

“Jack?”

“Kitchen,” he calls back, voice calm.

You shuffle into the hallway, hair barely brushed, already calculating how fast you can get dressed and be out the door. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Jack looks up from the coffee pot. He’s already dressed—scrubs on, ID clipped, stethoscope tucked in his jacket pocket.

“You didn’t even flinch when your alarm went off. I turned it off after the third round.”

You stare at him. “You let me oversleep?”

“You never sleep through your alarm,” he says, stepping toward you with a travel mug in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. “So I figured something was up.”

You groan. “I’ve got Q1 projections due today.”

“I emailed Rhonda. Told her you were running late.”

You blink. “You emailed my boss?”

“She sent back a thumbs up emoji.’”

Your laugh comes out surprised. “She would do that.”

“I made your coffee. It’s in the mug with the chip you like.” He hands it to you. “No cream. You’ve been skipping it lately.”

You frown. “Have I?”

Jack just nods. “You said it tasted too sweet last week.”

You take a sip. Still feels off—but you smile at him anyway.

“Thanks.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead. “Go shower. I laid out your dark gray sweater—the one you like for presentation days. Pants are on the chair.”

You freeze. “You picked out my clothes?”

“Only because I figured you’d be half-asleep and half-angry. I’m avoiding both.”

“You’re a menace,” you say, but it’s soft.

“You married me anyway.”

He brushes your hair back, fingers lingering a second too long at your temple.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Me? I’m great.”

“You’re looking at me weird.”

He shrugs. “I think I’m just impressed.”

“With what?”

“How well I know you.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re smug before 8 a.m.”

“I’ve earned it,” he says, nudging you toward the bedroom. “Go get ready. Your spreadsheet empire awaits.”

Thirty minutes later, as you’re rushing out the door with your laptop bag and still-wet hair, you find a granola bar tucked into your coat pocket.

The one you always forget you like until you’re starving at 10 a.m.

You don’t remember saying anything about needing one.

But Jack knows.

Of course he knows.

TUESDAY – Heels and Sore Feet

When you come through the door, Jack’s already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, dish towel slung over his shoulder like he’s been home a little while—but not long enough to fully settle.

You kick off your work shoes in the entryway, wincing slightly as you press your toes into the hardwood. “Remind me again why I thought real leather heels were a good investment.”

Jack leans back from the sink and tilts his head toward you. “Because they were on clearance and you were feeling powerful.”

“Right.” You flex your feet. “Power comes at a cost.”

“Come here.”

You shuffle toward him, dropping your tote bag by the counter. He doesn’t kiss you yet—just takes your hand and guides you to sit at one of the stools. Then he crouches, gently lifting your foot into his lap.

“Jack,” you laugh, “you do not need to—”

He starts massaging your arch with his thumb, firm and slow. “You’ve been on these all day. Let me.”

You lean back with a sigh. “This is how you trap me. You pretend to do the dishes, then you pamper me into silence.”

He smiles but doesn’t look up. “Worked yesterday.”

You wiggle your toes and close your eyes. “Feels so good it’s kind of criminal.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

He glances up just once—and clocks the light puffiness in your ankles.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just moves to your other foot.

After dinner—simple roasted veggies and couscous, eaten off the same two mismatched plates you’ve had since your first apartment—he walks behind you and wraps his arms around your waist while you’re rinsing your glass.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says into your shoulder.

“Just thinking about that ridiculous Excel model I have to finish.”

He kisses your hair. “Take tomorrow slow if you can.”

You nod, but your hand rests gently over his where it sits across your middle.

You don’t notice it.

Jack does.

He says nothing.

WEDNESDAY – The Bloat Debate

You’re standing in front of the hallway mirror, poking at your stomach with the kind of exaggerated annoyance only someone married can safely get away with.

Jack walks by on his way to the bedroom, dressed down in sweatpants and a t-shirt, pausing when he sees your face in the reflection.

“You good?” he asks, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You sigh dramatically. “I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”

Jack walks up behind you, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “A small one, maybe. Like a decorative beach ball.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Jack.”

He holds up both hands. “Hey. You brought it up.”

“I said I feel bloated. I didn’t ask for live commentary.”

He smiles and wraps his arms loosely around your waist, hands resting over the area you were just inspecting. “You’re the one poking yourself like a Pillsbury commercial.”

You snort. “I’m serious. None of my pants fit right this week. I sat down today and my waistband tried to fight me.”

“You’ve been eating the same stuff. Drinking water?”

“Barely. Work’s been insane.”

He kisses your temple. “Could be stress. Could be timing. Or maybe your body’s still sorting through Monday night’s gourmet masterpiece.”

You squint at him. “What masterpiece?”

“The one where you ate dill pickles, white cheddar popcorn, and two spoonfuls of peanut butter. In that order.”

You pause. “…It hit the spot.”

Jack grins. “Sure it did. My stomach was scared just watching.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I was afraid to interfere.”

You smirk. “You should be.”

He grins. “Noted.”

You shake your head, laughing, then rest your hands over his. “You sure it doesn’t look like anything?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away.

Because it does.

Not in a dramatic way. But he knows your shape. Your weight. The way your body settles against his at night. And lately, something’s… shifted.

Still, he kisses your shoulder and says simply, “You’re still the best thing I’ve ever looked at.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back into him. “Suck-up.”

He hugs you tighter. “Only for you.”

THURSDAY – The Blanket Negotiation

You’re on the couch by the time Jack gets home—already in pajamas, legs tucked under you, remote in hand, a bag of sour candy opened beside a half-finished cup of tea.

He walks in, shrugs out of his coat, and takes in the scene like a man walking into a painting he’s seen every day for four years and still isn’t over.

“You started without me,” he says.

“You’re twenty minutes late. Statute of limitations has passed.”

Jack walks over, leans down to kiss you, and pauses.

He looks at the bag of sour candy. Then the tea. Then back at you.

“That combo feels… bold.”

You shrug. “It’s balance. My body wanted chaos and comfort.”

He slides onto the couch beside you. “Didn’t you say your grilled cheese was ‘too much’ at lunch?

You sigh. “It was aggressive. The cheese had opinions.”

Jack laughs softly. “And now you're chasing it with citrus acid and sleepytime tea.”

You offer him a sour gummy. “Don’t question the system. Just participate.”

He takes one. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jack tries to nudge the blanket to him. You hold your edge tighter. “I got cold first.”

“I just walked in from outside.”

“You’ve got more body heat.”

He squints. “You’re hoarding it.”

“You’re late and you didn’t text. I get blanket privileges and first pick on snacks.”

He laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “I can’t argue with that logic.”

You smirk and finally shift, letting him under the blanket.

Once settled, he rests his hand on your leg—his thumb absently drawing circles near your knee while your attention returns to the screen.

You’re focused on the show.

Jack’s focused on you.

The blanket drapes across your midsection, and he notices the slight pressure you’ve been keeping there all week—how your hand keeps resting just under your ribs like your body’s trying to say something your brain hasn’t caught yet.

He doesn’t bring it up.

Instead, he leans a little closer.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you mumble. “Just tired. I’ve been tired all week.”

He nods. “You’ve been going hard.”

“I haven’t touched laundry all week. I’m down to mismatched socks and silent prayers.”

Jack smiles softly. “Want me to run a load?”

“You did the last one.”

“I’m on a streak.”

You lean your head on his shoulder. “I married well.”

“You did.”

FRIDAY – The Way You Feel Tonight

It starts when you straddle his hips.

Jack’s back is against the headboard, pillows kicked aside, and you’re already skin-on-skin—his t-shirt discarded on the floor, yours halfway up your ribs. You’re in nothing but underwear, palms on his chest, nails dragging lightly across the sparse hair there.

He watches you like he’s trying to burn the image into memory.

“You sure you’re not too sore from the gym yesterday?” you tease, rolling your hips just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Positive,” he says. “Although if I die right now, I want it on record this was worth it.”

You grin. “Noted.”

His hands slide up your thighs slowly, thumbs pressing into the backs like he’s reading your muscles through the skin. Then his touch goes gentle. Palming. Bracing.

But when they move up to your waist, they stop.

His fingers settle across your lower belly, just under your navel. Familiar territory. But it doesn’t feel quite the same.

The curve is a little firmer. Rounder. Not bloated—different.

You keep moving over him, unaware. His eyes never leave your face.

“You okay?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

Jack refocuses. “Yeah. Just... distracted.”

“You can stare later,” you say, lifting your hips to tug your underwear down. “Hands now. Mouth soon.”

“God, I love you,” he mutters.

“Then prove it.”

He flips you onto your back, mouth already at your collarbone, breath warm, kisses slow. He trails one hand between your legs and groans when he finds you wet and ready, slicker than usual.

You pull him down with a hand behind his neck. “Come on.”

But he’s still slow.

Like he’s measuring.

Like he’s trying to feel every millimeter of you, confirm what he already suspects.

You’re tighter. Not tense. Just changed.

You gasp as he eases inside. “Jesus—”

It’s good. So good. His hips rock into you slow, steady, deep. One of your legs hooks over his back, heel pressed to his side, chasing friction.

Every time he hits just right, your hand fists in the sheets. Your moans are breathless, open-mouthed, involuntary.

Jack watches your face like it holds answers. His pace stays smooth, even as you start to beg.

“Jack,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “Harder.”

He gives you what you want. A little more pressure. A little less space between his body and yours.

You feel full. Stretched. But not uncomfortable.

You feel held.

And when you come—hard, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulder—he follows seconds after, groaning your name into your skin like he’s never said anything truer.

He brushes your hair back, fingertips trailing your temple.

“You’ve been looking at me weird all night,” you murmur.

Jack smiles. “No, I haven’t.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You were studying me.”

“I was watching you.”

“Same thing.”

He doesn’t respond.

He just presses his hand to your stomach again—light, thoughtful, like he’s grounding himself more than anything.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

Jack just smiles.

“I’m already in deep,” he says quietly.

You kiss him once, quick. “Weirdo.”

SATURDAY – The Vendor You Walked Away From

It’s just after noon when you stop by the market. Something normal. Familiar. Something you and Jack do when there’s nowhere else you need to be.

You loop through the vendors casually, fingers brushing the edge of a produce crate, checking for ripeness. Jack keeps pace beside you, a canvas tote slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to. He’s just watching the way you move.

You’ve always been precise. Sharp, even in small motions.

But today, there’s hesitation.

You reach for a bunch of mint, fingers brushing the stems—then pause.

Jack notices before you say anything.

You pull your hand back, subtle, and move on to the next table without a word.

At the bakery stall, you order for both of you. Jack takes a bite of the rosemary bread. You don’t touch yours.

He watches you stare at it for a few seconds too long.

“I’ll eat it later,” you say finally, tucking the paper bag into the tote. “Not in the mood right now.”

He doesn’t press. Just nods, and walks with you.

Fifteen minutes later, you pass a vendor handing out samples of honey and cheese—something you’d normally stop for. Your eyes flick over the setup, then move away quickly. Not forced. But intentional.

You keep walking.

Jack stays silent until you’re halfway to the car.

“Did that smell bother you?”

You glance at him. “What?”

“The cheese. You looked at it like it turned your stomach.”

You shake your head. “No. I just didn’t want it.”

He nods once. Doesn’t push.

You unlock the car. He loads the bag in the backseat. You slide into the passenger side and adjust the seatbelt low.

He notices that too.

On the way home, the radio’s low. You’re watching traffic, thumb tapping absently against the console.

Jack glances at your profile once. Then again.

“You’ve been different this week,” he says.

You don’t look at him. “So have you.”

There’s no bite in it. Just quiet truth.

He exhales through his nose. “That’s fair.”

You turn your head finally. “Is there something you’re not saying?”

Jack watches the road. His hands stay steady on the wheel.

“No,” he says after a pause. “You’ll say it first.”

SUNDAY – Three Weeks Late

It’s just after 11. The laundry’s done. The dishwasher’s running. You’ve wiped down the counters twice.

You’re standing at the fridge, pinning up a receipt, when your eyes catch the calendar.

Your stomach dips.

You count the days with your finger—slowly, carefully, like you don’t quite trust yourself.

One. Two. Three—

Three weeks late.

Not five days. Not “I think I skipped one.” Three.

You turn your head toward the living room. Jack’s on the couch, half-sunken into the cushions, phone in hand, scrolling through the news without really reading it. His coffee sits untouched on the table. One leg stretched out, the other—his prosthetic—resting beside him like it always is when he’s home and grounded, the kind of settled comfort only the two of you know by feel.

You don’t mean to say it yet.

But it’s out before you can take it back.

“Jack?”

He looks up instantly. “Yeah?”

You stay by the fridge, fingertips grazing the door like it’s anchoring you.

“I’m... three weeks late.”

There’s a long pause.

Jack doesn’t move right away. Just watches you—quiet, focused, already reading every inch of your face.

Then, calmly, he leans forward.

His movements are familiar: practiced, unfussy. He shifts to the edge of the couch, pulls the prosthetic toward him, and straps it on like he’s done a thousand times—smooth, sure, muscle memory in every motion.

You don’t speak. Just watch him move through it with the same quiet purpose he’s carried through every hard season of your life together.

When he stands, it’s quiet—just the familiar click of the prosthetic locking in and the muted slide of his socked foot across the hardwood.

He crosses to you without hurry.

When he stops in front of you, his voice is low. Certain.

“Do you want to take a test?”

You nod.

“I don’t have one.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do.”

You blink.

“Top drawer,” he says simply. “I bought one Monday.”

You stare at him. “You—what?”

Jack shrugs. “I figured you’d see it when you were ready.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re not even a little surprised?”

He steps closer, voice low, steady. “You’ve been different. Not in a bad way—just… off your rhythm. You’ve been switching between hoodies in the middle of the day like none of them fit right. You keep standing at the fridge and forgetting what you opened it for. And your leftover curry—the one you swore was better the second day? You didn’t even take a bite.”

You stare at him. “You kept track of all of that?”

“I love you. I notice you.”

You go quiet.

Then reach for his hand.

“Come with me?”

“Of course.”

You sit on the bathroom counter while the test processes. Jack stands beside you, leaning against the sink. Neither of you talk. There’s nothing left to say.

You both look down at the result at the same time.

Positive.

You exhale like it’s the first full breath you’ve taken all week.

Jack rests his hand gently on the counter behind you—not pushing, just there.

Your voice breaks the silence.

“We’re really doing this.”

Jack nods. “We already are.”

You smile—small, but it stays.

And Jack leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

[jinusajas]

03/08/25; 08:15pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ “just the tip!” ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

notes and warnings: bite-sized thirsts; slight voyeurism

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

sylus’s breath felt against your ear causes a surge of heat to course through you.

“come on, kitten… just let me slide into you… just the tip to help with easing the ache.”

you tremble, with your front pressed against the cold wall as the party continued within the luxurious venue. you whimper against him, weakly shaking your head despite feeling the way your resolve was quickly crumbling from beneath his heated gaze. “sylus, we can’t! thousands of people are out there. we could be found out at any moment!”

he hums, yet continues to press himself over your warm body. “i can’t help it. you look so beautiful beneath the intimate glow of the moonlight. i need you, sweetie.”

you roll your eyes upon hearing his theatrics, “come on, sy. can’t you hold on for a few more hours?”

“absolutely not…” you could practically hear the smirk in sylus’s voice, his large hand making its steady descent toward the spot between your legs before casually cupping it. your breathing hitches in response to such a touch, “i can feel how wet you are, kitten. you’re responding beautifully to my own desires.”

and when he slides a thick digit within your heat, giving your swollen clit a gentle pinch, all of your prior inhibitions fade away with you nearly falling to the ground had it not been for sylus’s grasp on your waist.

“f-fine, but you better keep your promise and only slide in the tip!” you eventually cave into him, allowing sylus to further seduce you with his heated caresses against your slick walls. flashing you a wolfish grin as he carefully slid your panties down, revealing your aching cunt to him. the shifting of fabric was heard as sylus zips down his pants, revealing his cock to you.

pressing your front against the wall once more, you let out a breathy moan, feeling his cockhead tracing at your outer lips, collecting the moisture left from your arousal while groaning into your ear.

“fuck, you feel so good… even when it’s just the tip…” you felt the way sylus dips into you, simply basking in such a sensation before your eyes go wide-

achingly aware of how sylus kept sliding the tip even further inside of you, practically kissing at your womb now as the onychinus leader was fully sheathed within you.

“hah… you lied to me!”

forced to keep your moans to a minimum, you bite down on your bottom lip, feeling sylus make quick pounds into you, his grin widening even further as he basks in how your warmth surrounded his cock. “hn, this was no lie, kitten… since i made my intentions clear from the start. my cock will always slide into the deepest parts of you…”

surrendering yourself to the red hot pleasure sylus had given you, you continue your sinful acts away from the crowd, finding excitement at the thought of potentially getting caught.

“hn… just the tip, honey… just the tip.”

zayne’s voice takes on a deeper tone, laying you back against your shared bed. you had fallen into his sweet trap-

fallen for the facade of being a concerned lover who only wished to ensure that you were healthy.

yet here you were, with your hair askew while remaining utterly naked for him. he had spent hours prepping you for this moment, your breasts aching from the sheer amount of wet kisses he had littered against your skin. you could feel the ache between your legs, becoming almost painful now in response to zayne’s ministrations.

“just the tip?” you ask your lover in a drunken manner.

“just the tip.” zayne confirms before settling himself between your legs. while you were bare for his hungry gaze, zayne was still dressed in his suit and slacks, simply pulling down his pants to free his erection before pulling you by your ankles.

you let out a soft mewl, feeling the tip of his cock tracing at your lips before slowly entering you. his pants kept echoing within your ear, with zayne bracing himself over you on the bed as he explored your heat with the tip of his cock alone.

“hn… you feel… good… perfectly healthy and… so silky soft…”

you whimper, clawing at the sheets below you as you couldn’t handle zayne giving you so little of him! letting out a soft moan of his name, you manage to slam your hips against him, taking every inch of him inside of you.

your actions causes both of you to toss your head back, with zayne now losing the entirety of his self-control as he fucked you into the bed with fervor.

you were sleeping peacefully within your boyfriend’s warm embrace, simply cuddling closer into him (your back meeting with his broad chest) when you felt the sensation of something poking at your backside.

letting out a groan, you hide your face even further into your pillow, still feeling a little tired. “xavier… you can’t be serious…”

the young hunter hums, pressing a few light kisses against your temple, “i can’t help it, starlight… you’re just too beautiful first thing in the morning.”

as if proving a point, you felt his erection seem to harden further in response, with his lips biting down on your earlobe. “can i just slide in the tip, starlight?”

heaving out a sigh, you agreed to it with a yawn, feeling xavier eagerly pull down your pajama bottoms. he lovingly traces at the outline of your panties, gently pulling it off to the side before pressing the tip of his erection into your heat.

it starts out simple enough-

xavier slides into you, bringing tiny pinpricks of pleasure to course through your veins. you grip at the sheets, basking in the sensation of xavier tracing at your walls with his cock-

and then suddenly, you feel the familiar sensation of your boyfriend pushing into you. you moan almost instinctively in response, your choked moans coupled along with your weak glare as you stole a glance at him. “xavi, you lied to me…ngh!”

xavier proceeds to lightly laugh in response, pressing another lingering kiss against your hair before proceeding to lift your leg, moving almost desperately in response as his pace quickens, slotting his cock rapidly in and out of you.

“sorry, starlight… i guess you felt so good that i couldn’t help myself.”

you should have known rafayel was up to no good when he made you sit on his lap for the entire duration of the movie. of course, the theater was crowded. the film that just released was a highly anticipated one, the last in a trilogy.

and while everyone was eager to finally watch the finale, rafayel kept whispering in your ear, “princess, come on. this film is so boring, and you look so seductive, sitting on my lap like that. please… let me just put the tip inside!”

“you’re the one who made me sit on your lap!” you tell the spoiled artist with a harsh whisper. but admittedly… the sensation of his erection brushing against your clothed center was incredibly enticing.

you casually look around the area, realizing that everyone had their eyes glued to the screen. letting out a shaky breath, you slowly move your panties off to the side, giving your lover a come hither look.

seeing your expression causes rafayel to take action. he shifts his pants slightly, revealing his erection before quickly sheathing himself deep inside of you. the sensation of being suddenly full makes you gasp, “what…?! you l-lied to me-“

rafayel ends up burying his face within the curve of your neck, gently bouncing you up and down his cock as a devilish grin spreads across his face. “keep quiet okay, princess? i know the crowd is mesmerized by the movie, but the moment your pretty moans echo throughout the theater, it’s gonna be all over for us.”

you attended the banquet to celebrate caleb’s successful mission, simply relishing in the expensive catering when you felt your boyfriend wrap an arm around your waist, taking you away from the grand table lined up with food.

“caleb? where are we going?”

caleb leans down to harshly whisper against your ear, “as if i could stand not ravishing you when you’re in such a tight dress.” with an audible smack! felt on your backside, he leads you away from the dining hall and into the men’s restroom, immediately going into the largest stall before locking you both inside.

“caleb! you can’t be serious!”

“just the tip, okay?” caleb tells you with a lazy grin, hands tracing at your sides before sliding down your panties. “just the tip…”

letting out a huff, you run a hand through your hair, already knowing that you would give into him. “fine, but i’m allowing this only because you look so good in uniform.”

with a victorious smirk gracing his handsome features, caleb swiftly pulls down his pants, freeing his erection before tracing the mushroom tip of his cock against your slick walls. for the first few seconds, caleb keeps his promise of simply sliding in the tip. he kept teasing you, pressing his cockhead against your swollen clit while eliciting soft moans from you.

if felt as though something had snapped the moment your pretty moans entered his ears, causing his hips to surge forward, his cock now fully sheathed within you. a choked moan escapes from your parted lips, with caleb now swiftly pounding in and out of you while giving you weak apologies.

“s-sorry baby, you just felt so good that i couldn’t help myself. you’ll forgive me, right? i know my babygirl will always forgive me because she loves me, too.”

you cursed your inability to deny him of his wants and needs, knowing damn well that he was right.

end notes: lmao it’s never just the tip with our lads men 🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[missdynamighttt]

bf! katsuki would DEFINITELY be the type to bite on your shoulders.

the first time it happened was when you both were tangled together on the couch, the room dimly lit by the flicker of the tv premiering a corny rom-com film katsuki deemed was "cringe and unrealistic."

katsuki had pulled you close, his arm slung lazily over your waist. as you shifted to get comfortable, his lips brushed against your bare shoulder. what started as gentle kisses suddenly turned into a playful bite.

"katsuki... did you just bite me?"

his crimson eyes held a hint of mischief as he grinned at you, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly.

"maybe. gonna do something about it, sweets?"

"... no."

"mhm, thats what i thought."

after that night, whenever you two were close—whether you were cooking together in the kitchen, cuddled up together on the couch, or having the most brain-melting sex —it became a habit for him.

katsuki’s lips would always find your shoulder, his teeth grazing the curve of your skin. it wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t soft either. it was a lingering, claiming touch that sent shivers down your spine every time.

it wasn’t just physical; there was something possessive in the way katsuki did it. he never said it outright, but you could feel it in the way his teeth lingered. it was oddly intimate, like he was claiming a piece of you that no one else could see.

"katsuki!" you whine as you feel his teeth sink into you, eyes rolled to back of your head as he thrusts inside of you.

"what, you don't like it?" he teased, his breath hot against your neck, kissing the spot he previously bit.

"i-it's weird! why do you do it, 'nyway...?" you gasp, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

"dunno. 'cause it feels good. 'cause i can," he grunts, his movements becoming rougher. "plus, the way you react... it's kinda hot."

"how?"

he pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming over your flushed face and he gave you a lazy smile.

"the way you squirm. the little gasps you make. the way your breath hitches when i do it... it's hot."

"perv."

he chuckled at your response, his arm tightening around your waist. "maybe," he murmured against your skin, his lips finding their way back to your neck."but i'm your perv."

"fuck," tears pool at your eyes, clinging onto him. "katsuki, gonna.."

"yeah? cum for me baby, c'mon," he breathes as he slams you down on his cock, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more eratic as he chases both of your release.

katsuki bites into your shoulder again, the pressure of his teeth on your sensitive skin driving you mad. your body trembles in response, the sensation of pain and pleasure mixing together as the intoxicating smell of sex floods your nose.

afterward, he pulls away from your shoulder, his lips immediately finding yours in a deep, passionate kiss. the bite might have been intense, but the kiss that follows is tender, his lips moving against yours with an affectionate yet sure touch.

the kiss slowly breaks, but his lips linger close to yours. he gazes at you intently, his eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort or doubt. he wants to make sure you're okay, that the bite didn't go too far.

"you okay?" katsuki looks at you as if you're his entire world. he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"yeah," you nod, still trying to catch your breath as you recover from the aftershocks of pleasure.

"good," he hums, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of affection. he can't resist the urge and leans in again, his teeth sinking once more into the tender skin of your shoulder. he immediately kisses the spot afterward, his lips gentle against the reddened skin.

it's his love language. its his way of telling you that you're unequivocally his.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ real self indulgent. happy holidays everyone 💜💜💜

[fear-is-truth]

THE GREEN EYED MONSTER — bruce wayne

MDNI ┆warnings: smut. jealous bruce

BRUCE WAYNE didn’t think of himself as a jealous man. jealousy was irrational, unproductive—a crack in control, and control was the very foundation of who he was.

“h-aah—bruce,” you arched beneath him, hands scrambled for purchase, one curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck while the other clutched at his shoulder. his thoughts churned even as his body stayed attuned to yours. “bruce,” you whimpered again, half a plea, half surrender.

bruce’s mind stuttered, unbidden thoughts clawing their way back. that investor at the gala—what was his last name? langley? no, it was something else. didn’t matter. bruce could recall the man’s face with infuriating clarity.

but what burned brightest was the handshake: his hand lingering in yours just a beat too long, bordering on intimate. the subtle breach of etiquette set bruce on edge. then the man leaned in, voice dipping low as he murmured something meant only for you, the words drowned out by the clinking of champagne glasses and soft murmur of the crowd. your laugh had followed—light, polite, the same one you’d offered to so many others that evening. you’d likely forgotten the exchange entirely. just you being you—sweet, approachable. but the rasp of the man’s smoker’s laugh lingered in bruce’s memory, coarse and unwelcome, grating against his nerves like sandpaper.

muscles drawn taut, his hips moved on their own accord, driven by a dangerous mélange of frustration and lust. the next thrust was rougher than intended, forceful in a way that bordered on needy, and it stole a sharp gasp from your lips. you arched against him, body yielding with desperate eagerness that sent a shiver of triumph through him.

“nnngh–hah-”

could he make you sound like this? bruce wondered, his jaw tightening as his mind darkened. could he make you dig your nails into his back like this, leave those fleeting little crescent-shaped reminders?

his pace slowed, the haze of primal lust lifting as rationality began to reclaim its hold. his forehead pressed against yours, eyes shutting briefly before reopening. bruce tilted his head slightly, seeking your gaze. your pupils were blown wide, kiss-bitten lips swollen and parted, breasts heaving with every laboured breath. you didn’t seem to mind the newfound edge in him; if anything, it appeared that you enjoyed it.

could he make you shiver like this? could he have you matching his every thrust, cumming so many times but still craving more, your body pliant yet demanding?

“f-fuck,” he ground out, his sweat-damp forehead falling against your shoulder as he drove himself closer, deeper. until bursts of white danced at the edges of your vision, every nerve-end alight.

could he-

drunkenly, you reached for him, fingers weaving into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging just enough to coax a guttural groan from his throat. that simple action unraveled his jealousy, scattering it like ash on the wind. his mind snapped the answer into place with startling finality.

no, bruce decided. he couldn’t.

your head tilted back to fall on the pillow as he dipped his head, warm lips found the edge of your jaw, trailing up as he sought the delicate curve of your ear. you felt his teeth grazed your earlobe—a soft, teasing nibble. a sound escaped you, high and needy, and it must’ve sparked something in bruce because another thrust that made your toes curl in welcome to the glorious stretch of his cock.

eyelids fluttering open, you glanced up at bruce, the faint glow of the room casting shadows across the sharp angles of his face. his brows furrowed in concentration, hair curling damply against his temple, and above you, he looked godly—untouchable, yet entirely yours. you barely had time to drink in the sight of your lover before he tilted your chin toward him, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that stole your breath and any lingering coherent thought. there was a brief clash of teeth before it softened into the warm yet insistent press of his lips, the demanding slide of his tongue as though he had something to prove—not to you, but to himself.

he reared back before snapping his hips forward again, earning another stretched moan from your lips as you felt him nudge against your cervix. once more, his name slipped from your mouth in the form of a broken whine when he broke the kiss, dark gaze smouldering as he studied your face—drinking in every detail like a man starved, and the corner of his mouth twitched with a satisfied smirk.

you clenched around him, felt that pulsating warmth through the thin veil of slick and sweat. it wouldn’t take long for you to fall apart once again, not with the multiple orgasms he had bestowed upon you earlier and the frantic pace he was moving now. bruce drove into you one last time with a strained grunt, sheathing himself to the hilt.

you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment your climax began or where his met yours—all you knew was the overwhelming surge that overtook you both, cresting like a tidal wave. your vision blurred, edges dissolving into brilliant white, and a broken cry slipped from your lips as your body trembled uncontrollably. your fingers clenched, digging into his shoulders, while your muscles turned molten, leaving you boneless and weightless, as if you were melting into him. the low, guttural sound he let out against your neck sent another shiver through you, tethering you to the shared euphoria that left nothing untouched.

the vice-like grip on your hips slackened, and you could feel his cock continuing to twitch and spasm as he thrust lazily inside you, grinding his cum as deep as it could go.

he should’ve felt satisfied, but instead, there was something else—a knot still twisting low in his chest. his jealousy had burned out, but in its place was something else, that made his heart ache.

“did i hurt you?”

“no. you were…” you paused, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his forearm. “perfect.”

a faint exhale left him, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. bruce pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually did.

could anyone else make you look like that?

he didn’t have to ask himself. he already knew the answer.

[sttoru]

plsplsplspl soft intimate sex with satoru:(

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gojo satoru x female reader. smut, pwp. unprotected. praise kink. spooning position. crēampie. cōckwarming. reader gets called ‘baby, pretty, sweetheart, princess’

“it’s okay, baby, i know,” satoru whispers words of comfort in your ear from behind. one of his arms is wrapped around your waist to keep your body close, the other circles your thigh, holding up your leg so his cock could slide in and out smoothly.

you’ve both just woken up from an afternoon nap, needy for each other’s touch. your lover’s raspy voice paired with his bedhead has been an irresistible combination.

satoru wasted no time in pulling your shorts down and freeing his erection from its confines. he went from rolling his hips against the fat of your ass and fondling your tits under your shirt, to burying his fat dick all the way up your cunt.

he’s so soft—so caring. his butterfly kisses make you drowsy again, the tingly sensations running from your face to your nape, and back down to your shoulders and upper arms. “let it out, yeah—good girl. don’t be shy,” satoru chuckles softly as he grinds his cock upwards, tip prodding at that sweet spot that makes your toes curl.

your eyes are half-lidded and blurry. you’re feeling so good and loved, so pleased and happy to have a partner like him. “right there, ‘toru,” you whimper quietly once you feel the head of his dick rub back and forth on the deepest parts of your velvety insides. satoru happily obliges, hugging your body even tighter to his chest before burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“here, baby?” the white-haired man asks, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it ghosts over your skin. he keeps his dick balls deep inside you and switches to slow and shallow strokes, “y’re so pretty. you always know jus’ how to take it. so, so, so good.”

your hands are scrambling to hold onto the white sheets. you can’t physically take the amount of pleasure you’re getting, that inevitable peak gets closer and closer. your hips involuntarily jolt back against satoru, reciprocating his gentle thrusts. a big hand reaches out to yours that’s tugging at the covers, slender fingers intertwining with your own.

“m’sgood,” you mumble incoherently through a soft whimper. your back is positioned in a nasty arch that makes satoru’s dick tingle. he sighs against your nape before allowing his tongue to wet the skin, sucking on the same spot soon after. he does the same to your sensitive ears and neck—covering you with his love while also filling your body with the same.

satoru holds your hand tightly, squeezing it every now and then to reassure you. “i love you so much, y’know that, right?” he says in a gentle tone. he’s confessed his love to you so many times before, though he always makes it sound like it’s his first time doing so.

“i’m never letting you go, ever,” your partner promises before leaning over your shoulder to catch your lips in a kiss. satoru’s tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before rolling around in your warm mouth. his hips don’t stop, cock repeatedly appearing and disappearing inside of your pussy. the pace never escalates to make the moment last longer.

“mhmm— wanna b-be with you forever,” you mutter against his glossy lips, feeling safe and protected in satoru’s embrace like this. all you’re feeling, hearing and smelling is him. that’s what peace is for you. as long as you got him, you’re going to be just fine.

satoru smiles at your words. you feel so perfect around him, your cunt molded to fit his cock whenever he pleases, remembering its shape and allowing it to ruin your insides. “of course, sweets. i’ll treat you so well, ‘kay? you can count on me,” he comforts you with a forehead kiss.

“pretty girl. you’re perfect,” satoru continues to praise you like no other. his free hand runs over the small of your back and back to your thigh, keeping a gap between them so his cock can move a bit more freely. “let me hear your cute moans, c’mon. fuck, y’ turn me on so much,” he sighs, not knowing what he’d do without you.

satoru is obsessed with all of you. the combination of your personality and looks is heavenly. his lips never stop distracting you, his tender kisses covering your entire upper body. the lovey dovey atmosphere in the room never dulls even once.

“ah, ‘toruu, hnghh—can’t last f’ any longer,” you moan, your eyes nearly rolling back. your lover is all the evidence needed to let you know that sex doesn’t have to be rough to be good. he can make you cum for an infinite amount of times by simply grinding his hips against you—changing his techniques every now and then.

rolling his hips in small circles or simply pressing his cock all the way inside your cunt and then prodding at your sweet spots, is all what’s needed to make you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

“aww, my poor baby. can’t hold it in f’me?” satoru pouts before kissing your temples lovingly. he caresses your hip, other hand still not letting go of your hand. there’s such a deep connection between you two—no one can ever sever it. that strong bond feels more intimate when you’re merged into one like this.

“nooo, can’t,” you shake your head and whine about how close you are. satoru nods at your needy words and dips a hand down to rub your clit. his middle and ring finger move around the small bundle of nerves in circles. “khehe, that’s okay. let’s cum together,” he whispers as kisses find their way down your jawline.

you hum in agreement, little moans filling satoru’s ears as you get closer to your climax. your body trembles and heats up, your tummy tingles and tenses up. satoru’s in the same situation as you, his low moans turning into hisses and even quiet whines against the skin of your shoulder.

he holds you close, preparing both of you to reach your long awaited releases. “sh—shit, ‘m g’nna pull out, baby—give me a second,” you hear him whimper under his breath as his hand tightens its grip around yours. he’s nearly crushing your bones.

you don’t give him time to even think of pulling his cock out. you want to relive the sensation of having his seed spread inside of your cunt, overflowing until it’s dirtying the sheets. “no- ‘toru. inside, please,” you beg quietly as your pussy locks around his cock. your walls cling onto his dick, yearning to milk his heavy balls dry of every drop.

satoru gasps and hisses, trying to speak up, but getting overpowered by his own noises of desperation. “fuck, all right, princess. as you wish,” his voice is husky and deep as he pushes his cock in to the base before dumping his load inside you.

ropes of hot cum come out quickly, one after the other, filling you with a hot creamy liquid. you can feel every drop being drained inside your spasming cunt. your own cum mixes with his, creating a lewd mess between your thighs.

“th-thank you,” you whisper tiredly. your body relaxes in satoru’s embrace. you’re trembling due to the intense aftershocks and your lover wastes no time into kissing it better. your forehead is peppered with small pecks, the rest of your face following.

satoru giggles at your fucked out state. he gives you a head pat and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. you can feel him grinning uncontrollably against your skin—the joy emitting from him is contagious.

“any time,” he sighs. you can feel his cock softening after that release, still nestled deep inside of you. he has no intention of pulling out, especially since it’s so comfortable. you let him cum inside you and thus he’ll do everything to keep that hot load buried deep inside your cunt.

you can nearly fall asleep like this with satoru. you have zero complains and simply need to relax after what just happened. perhaps take another nap or two.

the white-haired man kisses your shoulder and rubs your lower tummy, enjoying the softness, “i’m gonna prepare us a warm, relaxing bath in a second. let’s just cuddle some more, baby.”

[madamechrissy]

Lights, Camera - Action! 🎬

Pairings- Moviestar! Satoru x Costar! Reader

Warnings - mdni - sexual tension, kissing, desire, mutual pining (my fave lol)

I may make this a full oneshot, lmk in the comments if you'd want one 🫶 idea for movie star Gojo from @iamharryswife

You can't fall in love with your costar on your first big role.

Its not professional, right? To get soaking wet as he kisses you for the cameras, as his plush lips press on yours, and the cameras are flashing so bright. As directors and producers stare at the two of you.

This is a huge opportunity, your first co-starring role with Satoru Gojo, one of the most famous actors there are. For a girl from a small town in a low income home, this meant more than just wealth for you, it was securing everyone back home right now.

It would be scandalous, and he is rumored to be dating some of the most famous damn actress in the world already, a bit of a playboy. Plus, its all for the movie, for the shot, how his tongue slips in your mouth, how his big hands slip up your top.

You're trembling then, struggling for composure as Satoru Gojo leans up, frowning a bit, his brilliant blue eyes ever attentive as his silky white hair falls over his brow. 'Sweets, you need a moment?'

'Cut,' the director calls, you're blushing now, as he leans up, shirtless for the scene. He's so heart breakingly gorgeous, and you're worried he can feel the heat between your thighs.

'Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? It's your first time doing a scene like this, right?'

The problem isn't the scene, the problem is your cunt is throbbing around nothing, and your nipples are taut and pressed against your top. How could you separate acting from reality when your body is reacting like it never has?

'No you're great, I don't know if I am doing well I think. I'm in my head.' He brushes your hair back, and that's not for cameras that are now diverted from their shot of you two in the makeshift bedroom. No, it's genuine when he smiles.

You thought he'd be an ass like the rumors all said, but Satoru was achingly thoughtful and sweet. A perfect costar, you've watched him for years and been so enamored, is that what all this is? The build up, the admiration, of going from a fan to a costar?

'You're doing amazing, kissing is on point. Doesn't look fake or forced either,' you exhale nervously. Of course he's helping direct this movie as well, his directing debut, and he considers this good acting and not what it really is. You just enjoy it. 'If you need to, we can take a breather.'

'I'm good, promise. Thank you Gojo.' He smiles and soon he's kissing a trail down your breasts as the shoot continuds, gently pushing up your top. His heavy breaths just making you wetter, and that's when he catches it, as he lifts your thigh an kisses your knee for the intimate scene to start.

You're dripping down your inner thigh.

He grips you too tightly, his body reacts in a way it never does, not since his first shoot has he in any way had some reaction. This was methodical, clinical in its nature, every kiss perfect and precise, every look for the camera on point.

His costars got excited, he's been with some of them outside of this, but he's never seen glistening wetness on an inner thigh like this, feeling your heat radiating. He can't help but leak pre against his boxers, highly fucking unprofessional as you look up at him.

God you're fucking pretty like this.

Hes blinking, trying to focus, gather his thoughts at all, when he goes back to kissing your knee, the bright lights all over you all as the camera zoom in. He swipes that away, you're gasping, eyes fluttering shut, when he can't help but taste you right on set.

A deliberately secret motion, no one could know but him, but when he tastes you on his tongue he loses all sense of what's around him, and his desire takes hold. He can't be unprofessional right? He can't just eat you out for real, this isn't a porn it's a fuckkng r rated movie.

But he seriously contemplates it before he hears another - 'cut!' - and he's brought back to reality, of the pretty new costar under him.

[cursingtoji]

cw: band au, rockstar!geto x groupie!gf, slight manipulation?, car sex, oral. a/n: geto deserves a loser gf too. gojo version nanami version toji version

geto who has a rock band and though they’re quite small they already have a #1 fan: you.

the band is all you talk about, going to the point of making your own shirts and posters, you doodle the bands logo everywhere and, most importantly you don't miss a single concert.

by the end of it you're waiting next to the back door of the pub when the band comes out, as soon as you see suguru you call his name extending your little gift bag.

"woah for me? thanks, doll." he takes your chin and gives your glossy lips a peck that makes your heartbeat spike up and your face warm up. geto fucking suguru just kissed you!

during all that week you were on cloud nine, so distracted and giggly.

of course geto notices you, always in the front row and ready to give the band some gifts, he sees how you try to dress up as one of them before they even realize they have a visual identity.

geto likes having fangirls, if anything that’s the best sign that the band is doing well. till that point he never considered engaging to one in a more intimate level. after all, women were never a problem for him, fans or not.

the problem is when they think more of the relationship than it really is. geto has always made sure they knew that sleeping together and treating them well was not synonymous to committed relationship.

because he already is committed. to his music. so after spending the whole day trying to come up with a new song so the band may finally have a complete album to present to a record, he takes a frustrated break picking up his phone and to his dismay only finding a long message about how he hurt someone’s feelings.

“oh for fucks sake” he lets his phone fall on the couch and take his keys, this is not a good week to quit smoking.

“geto?” he hears a small voice calling him after he leaves the convenience store with a very much needed cigarette on his lips and nicotine in his system.

“oh hey” he recognizes you by name and face.

“you’re using the lighter” you point out enthusiastically, that was a limited edition you bought and gifted him.

“that’s right, you bought me this, did i say thank you?” he’s genuinely wondering, your face heats remembering the kiss.

“i-its no big deal” you brush it off, since he doesn’t seem to be in a rush you start to babble about one specific song and everything you loved about it, knowing he was the composer.

“do wanna go to my place?” he says after quietly listening to your passionate thoughts. you think steam is about to come out of your ears at how hot your face got.

geto throws away what’s left of his cigarette and takes your hand, not really waiting for a response since the heart in your eyes is pretty obvious.

“you’re so cute” he says with his face mushed into your breasts as he guides your movements on his lap. you never guessed when you came out this morning you would be riding your favorite guitarist’s dick a few hours later, if you knew you probably would’ve put a sexier lingerie. not that he would care, by the way he pushed your bottoms down all at once he probably didn’t even know what color your underwear was.

geto pulled your hair tilting your head to meet his mouth, he devoured you so intensely, so overwhelming… you came not even needing your clit to be touched, just by having him inside you and breathing into your mouth like that was enough.

for suguru it was all a power trip, when he saw you after a concert he knew it wouldn’t take you much sweet talking to get you in his car.

he quickly mumbled an excuse to meet the band at the bar later and in just a few minutes he had you bobbing your head down his cock, “just like that, gorgeous, so good” his head is thrown back as he moans softly.

and as the band grew more popular and they had to travel to other cities to perform he would always count on you to meet him at his hotel room.

“geto~” you mewl his name as he eats your pussy from behind so lewdly.

from the very first time you knew it was over for every other guy the moment he touched you. no matter what anyone said about geto, that he was using you, he would never marry you, you didn’t care. you would be his devotee as long as he wanted.

and geto got all he wanted, a pretty little thing that didn’t complain or asked too many questions and best of all: that loved his music and understood his work.

“i know, you have to practice” you kiss him one last time before gathering your clothing from the floor, the hints of him not wanting to stay over were all memorized at this point, so you turn your back at him and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

but the usual sound of the door opening and closing never came, instead you saw him coming from behind to lace strong arms around your waist, “well maybe just tonight” he smells your hair and through the mirror he sees the tattoo bellow your belly button, just above the hem of your underwear. your prof of love: the logo of the band.

geto touches it and you giggle at the feathery feeling, like a tickle, he likes that sound. he likes you.

“i was thinking you should get another, right here” a finger caress your right ass cheek.

“the same one?” you ask confused.

“no, silly, something else” he gets down hands caressing your hips and kissing the extension of your butt, “my name.”