#kiss me with your eyes closed prompt fill

[shoshiwrites]

Hi! I’m the anon that requested the handholding prompt, and I just wanted to say thank you. It was everything I could have hoped for and more!! It made me smile!!

If you are still taking requests, I would request Jo/Egan with the prompt touching foreheads or bandaging/stitching an injury. As you can see, I couldn’t decide between one prompt, once again. I look forward to whatever you write and of course, never feel pressured to write anything. I hope you are doing well 🫶🏼

Hello anon! Thank you so much for your lovely message. I'm so glad you liked that prompt, and I appreciate your understanding very much. I've kept "bandaging/stitching an injury" on my list, and filled this one for "touching foreheads." This is my first try at Bucky POV, and we kind of ended up on the depression-nap side of things (see my terrible header below). Thank you to @mercurygray for helping me work the end. Bucky Egan x War correspondent OC.

Six months. 

And he’s felt every minute of every one, or at least it seems that way on days like this. Gray as all hell, like a storm gathering over the lake. Every minute if you didn’t count the gaps, the headaches, the days he sleeps away, the things he couldn’t remember those first few weeks. His jaw still wakes him in the night, dull if he’s lucky, a screaming pain if he’s not. He can never forget the things he’d actually want to forget, can he? Now that would be too easy.

Never coughed up an explanation for Buck either, even when Buck looked at him sideways about something or the other. Even if he wanted to, his throat goes dry at the thought, like the dust and dirt along the floorboards.

Holding onto it gives him something to hold onto, at least. The anger. 

Six months of this damn nightmare, the bloodshot bone-chilled day and night. Different nightmare than the sky. He has those too. This is the kind of dream where you’re stuck in it, you can’t move, there’s footsteps outside the door. He’d had those as a kid. Terrified him. 

It’s sure not the the kind they nail up pictures for, paper edges catching on the unfinished timber, hoping to summon some kind of vision. He’s so tired he’s practically drooling into the pillow, letting his eyes wander far enough along the wall that it hurts, over Rita and Ginger and Ava’s shining faces. 

There are pictures kept in books too, pouches and the occasional wallet, those all but sewn into jacket pockets. Girls back home.

Not even a letter. Not one goddamn letter, he thinks, the sigh of it harder than seems fair to his mother or his sisters, trying to get around the mail delays and sending cards for every holiday they could think of. What the hell even was Arbor Day, anyway?

(“Trees,” Brady had said, not looking up from the keys of his saxophone.

“...right.”)

He thinks about Texas, and Florida, and Idaho, and Nebraska. Girls and dresses and perfume, manicured hands, no dirt around them. Marge’s friend, he can’t remember her name, pretty, dark hair, disinterested in a kiss but amenable to dancing. They’d all wanted to forget, right? Not when you’re flying out the next day. 

He thinks of Lil, the cupid’s bow of her lip and the goosebumps under her sweater. She’d wanted to forget too. A brother somewhere in…he can’t remember now. Burma? Her grandfather hadn’t had too many nice words for him, John. Not that he could blame the man.

He thinks of Jo. Crouched over that little green typewriter the way Brady fiddles with his sax, the sound of the bell, the sound of the keys. Like Buck over the radio. The way she looked up at him, like she’d just realized something important. The way she smelled when she let him get close enough, like flowers after a spring rain. 

The air’s sour in here, and cold. Showering helps, besides freezing your damn balls off. 

He lets himself think it, about his head in her lap in the grass, or on a sofa, or anywhere, really, where she’s leaning down and she’s touching him, the little calluses on her hands, and her forehead close to his.

It hurts too much, and maybe he can admit it, here in this damn coffin of a bunk, mattress about as comfortable as one, that maybe she’d wanted to forget too.

You don’t kiss like that, he thinks, with acid in his throat, when you care what comes next.

She writes like she cares, though. She writes like she believes in all of them, like it’s real and not just what her paper wants or somebody wants to hear. 

Maybe he can admit that now, if he doesn’t think about the note she’d left.

He’d rather think about anything else, hell, he’d rather walk outside with no shoes on, listen to the Yankees lose by a single run.

He’d rather wish this damn pillow was a different kind, her thigh or her body or her forehead, even, pressed against his. Not that he’d admit it out loud. 

And her mouth right there, he thinks, like he can just make that half-second trip to kiss her, and kiss her again.

[allylikethecat]

I need gatty with gentle forehead kisses it is so important to me I’m so glad you’re doing more prompts I literally only check tumblr to see if you’ve posted 😭😭😭

Hello there kind anon who sent me this prompt in literally August but I am the WORST and just now filling it. I hope you're still here and I am so very grateful for your patience and also extremely sorry for the extremely long wait. I hope this isn't an epic disappointment. Working on it today made me smile amongst all of the sadness of this era being over. If anyone else wants to send a prompt from the kiss me with your eyes closed list and doesn't mind waiting apparently months, the list can be found HERE. Thank you so much for sending this in, and I apologize again for being the absolute worst and taking so long to finish it! I hope you have a great weekend and that you have a great week!

❤️Ally

Gentle. Forehead. Kisses. 

“Hey,” said George softly, slipping easily into Matty’s space with the ease and confidence of someone who had been doing so for years. He wrapped his arms around Matty’s narrow waist, and hooked his chin over Matty’s shoulder, the fabric of his well loved tee shirt wash-soft against the underside of George’s jaw. 

“Hey,” said Matty, not even looking away from the easel he had set up in the courtyard, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he stared at the canvas in concentration, an eruption of color marring the surface.

Following the final show of their tour, George had very quickly found himself back in the studio the next week, working through the backlog of production projects he had been procrastinating on. Meanwhile, Matty had moved through their home like a ghost, sleeping all day, and awake half the night, limping aimlessly from room to room, unsure what to do with himself without the rigid structure, the routine and accountability of tour. 

His therapist had recommended he find a hobby, one fully separated from work because as much as Matty loved music, lived and breathed it, at the end of the day, it was still his job. 

Reading just made him want to write, and every time he sat down to work on his novel he ended up scrawling lyrics on a napkin instead. His knee couldn’t currently handle the physicality of running or even jiu jitsu at the moment which left him restless. George is the one that had suggested he try painting, sheepishly holding out a bag of acrylic paints and brushes. 

Matty had taken to it quickly, swirls of color smeared across the canvas that now covered their dining room table as Matty lay them out to dry. 

“It looks good,” said George, tilting his head slightly as he took in the orange and yellows that covered the surface. He didn’t always understand Matty’s art, but he liked that it put the light back in his eyes, that he got excited bringing each finished piece inside and resting it on the dining room table. He kept making jokes about starting an Etsy shop, about donating the proceeds to charity. George wasn’t sure if he was actually joking. 

“Thanks,” said Matty, adding another stroke of yellow, blending it with the orange. 

He wouldn’t say it, he couldn’t find the words, but he hoped that George realized the painting was him. Not him the tangible sense, but how he made Matty feel, his insides all twisted up with love and desire, and yearning and the ever present disbelief, even after all these years, that George still wanted him back. Unlike the dark grays and blacks and whites with violent splashes of red that had made up Matty’s earlier works, this one was different, it was happy. Looking at it made Matty feel happy the same way George did. He would be keeping this one. This painting was for them.

“You’re back early,” said Matty, twisting in George’s arms. George snorted. Matty had a smudge of orange paint on his nose, a streak of yellow in his hair. 

“I’m actually late,” George said, and Matty frowned. 

“What time is it?” he asked, dipping his brush in the pint glass of water he had commandeered from the kitchen and leaving it to soak.

“Little after six,” said George, bemused, it wasn’t the first time that Matty had lost track of time while absorbed in a project, and he doubted it would be the last.

“Oh,” said Matty, his cheeks flushing, “I didn’t realize I had been out here so long.” 

George couldn’t help it, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against Matty’s forehead, his sun warmed curls tickling his lips as they brushed against his face.

“You’re really fucking cute,” said George, “you know that right?” 

Matty pretended to scoff, “I’m not cute,” he said with faux indignation. “I am a very manly, masculine, adult man, I am not cute.” 

“Fucking adorable,” said George, pressing another kiss to Matty’s forehead, “like a little woodland creature, all small and fluffy and cute.” 

Matty just made a huffing noise, standing up on his tiptoes to capture George’s mouth with his own, slipping his tongue between George’s eager lips. When he pulled away they were both breathing heavily, and George now had some of the orange paint on his face as well. 

“Now tell me,” said Matty, his voice thick with arousal, “was that cute.” 

George just chuckled,  “cute as fuck.” 

[luveline]

𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

remus’ touch after a long night prompts a tired confession (and a slew of clumsy kisses). 

requested here. modern au. fem!reader, 3.6k.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“I'm going to bed,” Sirius mumbles, scratching at his eyes as he gets up. “Don't let her sleep in her makeup. She'll get an eye infection.” 

Your eyes are getting sore, but it's hardly Remus' responsibility to make sure you wash your face tonight, nor Sirius’ to remind you. “I'm a big girl.” 

Sirius sends you a smile, ignoring your chiding. “Goodnight, my loves,” he says, waving you both away as he heads out of the living room and up the stairs. 

“Notice how he didn't do his dishes?” Remus asks, shifting beside you. 

He's sitting as he tends to, slouched in a way that can't be good for his back in the long run but is clearly comfortable short term. His chin is on his chest, his legs kicked out under the coffee table, which is decorated by the casualties of the night. Sirius’ dinner plate, Remus’ mug, James’ rarely used handheld console. He'd been playing a cutesy farming sim before he said goodnight an hour ago. Sirius stayed to mess with James’ crops and eat a late supper. You're surprised it took him as long as it did to admit defeat. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

You're laying on the sofa with your socked feet tucked behind Remus’ back, of which he's yet to complain. His elbow brushes your shin as he brings up his arm. “Nearly one in the morning, now,” he reads from his watch. “Let's go to bed too, yeah?” 

“I don't want to.” You turn your face into the pillow behind your neck.

“Me neither,” Remus says, dropping his hand on your knee.

You watch another twenty minutes of TV together failing to summon the energy to stand, but the want for a glass of water grows too big. Your head throbs as you get up, offering your hands to the pretzel that is your favourite housemate.

Remus turns off the TV and lights. You lock the front door. He carries the dirty dishes to the kitchen and you fill up two glasses of water to take with you. It's all so… regular. A routine you share nearly every night, only to climb into your two separate beds. 

He ushers you out of the kitchen and down the hallway with his hand behind your shoulders, his touch a phantom as you ascend the stairs.

You're silent beside the creak of the old wood, too tired to speak. Remus is similarly quiet, though he does whisper, “Watch,” when you nearly kick the box of Halloween decorations waiting to be taken up into the attic. 

You leave your water on the towel box in the alcove and dance around one another in the bathroom. Sirius’ toothbrush lays on the sink still wet, but otherwise there's no signs of him. 

You're feeling very, very tired. You hadn't realised how bad it was until you're putting your toothbrush in your mouth, leant up against the window sill, a slot of cold air seeping in from the dark outside. Your eyes shutter closed. The scrubbing sound of Remus brushing his teeth is almost lulling. 

He swills out his mouth and washes his brush. “Here,” he says gently. You open your eyes just enough to see him beckoning you forward. “Dove, your necklace.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” You turn your back to him. 

His fingers are damp and cool on your skin as he unclasps your necklace. He often takes it off for you. It's one of the things you'll miss when you guys aren't living together anymore, the slow meander to his bedroom, the wood of his door jam on your cheek as you lean against it and give him a hopeful smile. Sometimes he's awake, reading a novel on his side in bed or listening to music at his desk, other times he's sleeping. On those occasions you spend too long lingering, stolen seconds spent staring at the rise and fall of his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you say as he puts your necklace in the jewellery dish. It comes out missing vowels, lips stuck together as though honeyed. 

You spit pathetically in the sink, rinse your brush, and consider sitting down. “I'm tired,” you whine, wiping your lips. 

“I know,” Remus says, giving you a fond nudge. “Just wash your face and get on with it.” 

“You first. I'm going to nap standing up for a bit.” 

He puts as much of his hair behind his ears as he can and turns on the tap. This is just as familiar as brushing your teeth together. It's not quite as bad as watching James Perfect Skin Potter wash his face with bar soap, but you have to admit that Remus’ eight-nine pence face soap hurts your heart. He washes it off, pats his face dry, and takes the small bottle of bio oil out of the medicine cabinet to pipette onto his pinky finger. “Wash your face,” he says, smoothing the oil into his scars one by one. 

You shake your head. “M'gonna do it in the morning.” 

“That's why your eye was swollen a few weeks ago. You know yourself you won't.” 

“I might,” you say, letting out a big breath as you rub your sore eyes even sorer, “I'm too tired.” 

“Can you sit up, at least?” 

“No.” Remus takes you by the shoulders and forces you to sit on the edge of the bath. “Aggressive?” 

“Don't fall in,” he says, cupping your cheek briefly as if to make sure you've heard. 

You are hearing him, seeing him, even feeling the immensity of his touch, but you're tired, and you know you can let yourself relax completely with him. You'd be the same with James or Sirius, though neither of them could have your head feeling so dizzyingly light from a single touch as Remus can. You probably wouldn't let them persuade you into this, either, tilting your head back to watch through blurry vision as Remus soaks a cotton round in your facial oil. 

“Close your eyes,” he says. 

“Was that a dracula impression?” 

“I command you.” 

You close your eyes. The queasy feeling of oil drags against your lids as Remus wipes them, loosening the stiff tubes of mascara that coat your lashes. It's not a short process because he's very, very gentle, holding your face delicately as though you're a flower in need of coddling, and him the sun. It's the only metaphor that would ever make sense for you and Remus; he's like the sun even if it goes against every statement he's ever made about himself, or anyone else has, for that matter. People think he's a moody, sarcastic boy, and he is, but he's also a vestibule of sweetness, softness, and warmth. The kind of heat you'd only ever feel kissing your skin under the summer sun. But more than that, he's the relief that follows when the clouds come out. 

And his hands are all over you. Your head gets heavier by the minute, eased into dozing by his touch and quiet tones. “We're almost done. I'm gonna have to carry you to bed at this rate.” 

“I'm going to miss this so much one day,” you say. It's easier to admit when you're not looking at him. 

Remus turns on the tap. Hot water runs, you can tell by the sound as strange as it seems, and he wrings the dirtied cotton round before replacing it with a new one. He wets it, bringing it just that touch too hot to your cheeks to wipe you down. “What are you going to miss, dove?” 

“Us. You. I'm going to miss you.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere, but one day I will be. James will finally have had enough of us and I'll,” —you swallow around nothing as a rivulet of water runs down your cheek, a cooling tear from the cotton round— “have to move out and we'll never see each other anymore.” 

“Don't be silly, you're not going anywhere.” 

“It's not about the going,” you murmur, peeling your eyes open tentatively as his dabbing follows down your cheek to your neck. “I miss you sometimes and we still live together. I can't imagine how much I'll miss you…” 

Remus puts the cotton round aside. He takes your face into his hand, and suddenly his touch feels raw, nothing like it had moments ago. Because Remus would wash your makeup off for you any day of the week, but his looking at you like this, so unshielded and unabashed, is a rarity. 

“You won't have to miss me. Even if we did move away from each other, I wouldn't let it be that far.” 

“Friends move away all the time. We don't speak to half the people we knew at school.” 

“I only really knew you and the boys,” he says. It isn't true but it is at the same time. Together, you'd been a happy lot, but your current housemates are the ones you'd known. “And see? We're still together.” 

“But for how long?” you ask. 

Remus brings his second hand, holding your face entirely. He covers your cheeks, index fingers sliding slowly under your ears. He's exceedingly gentle, and his eyes are soft. He holds you like you're made of glass, like you could break under a hint of pressure. Slowly, he tilts his head to the side as though he might lean in for a kiss. Maybe he doesn't know he's doing it, but Remus is a very purposeful soul. He'd do much worse to wind you up if you wanted him to. 

You sober up. It's like he has caffeine in his palms. 

“You want to go where I'm going, is that it?” he asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” you say, barely say, voice shame-facedly weak. Is he asking what you think he is?

“Do you want to start now?” 

You breathe out as one of his hands shifts down your jaw. “Yeah, I… I want to start now.” 

“Okay, dove. Then close your eyes again.” 

You hold his gaze for a second that feels infinitely long and short at once, your heart racing. Clarity has returned, a thrust into wakefulness even if your fatigue ties knots around your ankles. You look at him in his late night glory, his scars shining a pink-white like the petals of a young peony flower, and you know it's happening now. 

You shut your eyes. 

He steps closer, though the bath you're perched on is low, and he has to bend a considerable amount to reach you. The weight of his hands on you doesn't change, not even as he grows near enough to sense the heat of his breath against your lips. It's his nose that makes first contact as it slides against yours, and then his forehead presses down into you, his lips noticeably absent. Each contiguity between you thrums. 

A pit opens in your chest, cleaved by his voice as he says, “I'm going to kiss you, okay? S'that what you want?” 

Your hands don't feel like your own. Under the sickening nervousness twining its way through your ribs, you're excited. You're smiling, your voice shaped by it. “Yeah. It's what I want,” you say. 

“Good. It's what I've wanted for a while–” while pressed into your lips, all shaken up by an emotion you've never heard him speak with. He kisses you and you're frozen, and he waits and waits and pulls away to push back in. You remember yourself then, responding to his wading with some pressure of your own. Sparked back to life. 

It's so strange. It doesn't feel real. Remus Lupin kisses you heated and hard for just long enough to feel it in your teeth before he pulls away. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his fingertip running down your cheek, following that same path as your earlier rivulet. To think he saw it, really saw it, locked it away to remember and trace into your skin now… maybe he's seen much more of you than you realised all along. 

“Will you do it again?” you say under your breath. 

Remus must hear the thread of insecurity running through your question; you're afraid he'll say no, but he strokes your cheek again with that unfathomable softness and says, “Yeah, dove, of course I will.” 

“Do you want to?” 

And that's less insecurity and more selfishness, wanting the confession. He hears that, too. 

“I want to kiss you more than I've ever wanted anything,” he says, eye to eye with you, your head tipped up and your heart in your throat, twitching and fizzling like a firecracker. “Yeah? And all that missing me you've been doing? All your worrying? You don't need to do that. You've never needed to do that–” 

“I just never thought you liked me like that.” You and Remus aren't new to one another. “You've been the same since the day we met.” 

Remus’ hands get a little more solid where he's holding you. “Dove. Dove, are you mad?” 

“Remus–” 

“Maybe I have been the same, but did you really not notice that I–” He squeezes your cheeks playfully, almost in disbelief. “If you want me, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere without you. You're not going anywhere without me.” 

“So you like me?” 

“Yes,” he says, his eyebrows pinched together at the starts. “Of course I do.” He laughs. “That's what I'm trying to tell you.” 

“Oh,” you say, lifting your head. 

Remus shuts his eyes a millisecond before you shut your own and kisses you again. The second round is softer, his smile to yours and struggling to find purchase. His breath huffs out in a minty laugh, shockwaves through your mouth. 

“Stop laughing,” he breathes, his hands falling to your neck, your shoulders.

“You first.” 

Your lips part under his, a split-second of contact. He yanks away before things can get too heavy, and you're glad he does, but for a moment you feel the loss like a wave of vertigo. 

“Sorry, I'm going too fast, and you're tired.” His touch is ticklish behind your shoulder. 

“It's okay. Maybe it is a bit fast, but I'm not tired anymore,” you confess. 

Remus hugs you, cementing every feeling for him you have as he wraps his arms around you from over your shoulders, a deft hand cupped behind your neck. “That's not true. I can feel your back shaking. Let's go to bed.” 

“After that?” 

“What, are you worried it won't have happened in the morning?” he asks genuinely. 

You go limp in his arms as he takes your weight against his chest. Not worried, but rather not sure you can be away from him so soon. You ask him in a whisper if you can come and sit with him, not to sleep with him, not to do anything else, and he whispers back, Anything you want. You both entertain the lie that you won't fall asleep in his bed. 

—

Remus tenses as he hears the scuffling sounds of movement downstairs. It takes a train of thought awakening for him to realise it's only James, rising early as usual to put on a load of washing and prepare bits for lunch before he goes off for training. He can see him in his mind's eye if he tries, his friend dressed in the red and white rugby uniform, green socks up over his calves and white cleats scrubbed pristine for another ruck in the mud. 

Remus’ relaxes, stretching out in bed until his hand bumps into something rigid. 

He flinches. 

You're laying on the mattress beside him, your head slipped off of the pillows and your arm tucked beneath you. It doesn't look comfortable, and if it were any other morning he'd pull it straight for you, but. 

I kissed you, he thinks to himself, as though talking to you. He turns away from you until his back clicks and alleviates the ache in his hips, though he has to settle eventually, back on his back, no way of ignoring you. He doesn't want to ignore you. The opposite —why are you so far away? Can he hold you? 

What are the rules here? 

Kissing… not dating… You're here in his bed, you'd asked to stay. 

He takes your hand and pulls at your arm. Still sleeping, you mumble and move onto your back, releasing the pressure on your shoulder as he pulls you toward his chest. Your face is impassive, lax in sleep. 

He should let you sleep. 

“Dove,” he says, stroking up the length of your arm. 

“Mm?” you hum. 

“I need to ask you something.” 

You twitch awake with a small cough. Your eyes are red with a lack of sleep as you open them, blinking, and he wishes stupidly that he could make it better. He makes a sympathetic sound for want of more to do. 

“Why have you woken me up?” you ask, blinking at him. You gather that there's nothing urgent happening and push your face into his shoulder, practically nuzzling him. “It's Saturday.” 

“I just need to ask you something.” 

“So ask me,” you encourage through your sleepiness. 

The washing machine whirs downstairs. It’s an old machine that you often joke is taking off into orbit during the final spin, loud as anything. He can barely hear your sluggish breathing underneath it, but he can't miss the catch in it after he asks, “Can I be your boyfriend?” 

It's not the catch he's expecting. You laugh and readjust, wrapping your arms around him from the side and kissing the side of his neck clumsily. “Y'u asked me last night,” you say in a borderless run-on, sounding about as dopily in love as he's ever heard you. 

He thinks about it. Yes, he did, after he'd kissed you many more times than he should've and curled up in bed with you, hands held loosely beneath the blankets. He remembers the question, the answer. The last kiss that followed, and you falling asleep beside him. 

“I need a coffee,” he says, encouraging your head back so he can kiss your temple. 

“No, you need to sleep more with me. And maybe kiss me again. If you want to.” 

Sleeping isn't half as interesting as kissing you. He slots his nose against yours and languishes in the feeling of your lips, wondering if he's having a false start. He could still be dreaming. It would make sense. 

The door clatters open with a curse. James stands in the doorway with a folded pile of Remus' washing from the radiators in his arms, an apology on his lips, “Sorry, mate, the door got away from– oh my god. Oh my god?” 

Remus isn't an overly shy guy but he can't deal with this. “For fuck's sake,” he mutters, dropping his face into your shoulder. Your arm wraps under his neck, fingers splayed across his cheek. 

“James–” you begin, resigned to your fate. 

“This is flat-cest. This is the cardinal sin.” 

“We don't live in a flat,” Remus says. 

“That makes it worse. You can't even blame close quarters.” Remus peeks up to watch James in the doorway, still clinging to Remus’ washing, pure shock curdling his features. He shakes his head. “I'm telling Sirius.” 

“Please don't!” you say.

You slump back into the pillows as James leaves anyways. 

Remus hugs your soft abdomen. “Don't worry,” he says.

“I guess it's a good thing you've already asked me out,” you say. 

“Why, what can they do?” Remus asks, wondering if he's allowed to put his face on your chest or if that's too forward. You rake a hand through his hair and encourage him forward, to his delight. 

Frantic words. You and Remus loved up in bed despite it. 

“I'm chucking them out!” 

“James, they've been seeing for weeks. Can I go back to sleep?” 

“What?!” 

You grumble into his hair. “That's not even true… Does everyone know, then? That I liked you?” 

Remus thinks of the shadow of you in the doorway, that sheepish smile you send his way before you ask him to unclasp your necklace before bed, or your face as he’d wiped the sooty stain of mascara from your cheek last night, half in love with him as you fell asleep in his palm. 

“I don't think so, lovely,” he comforts. “Don't worry about it. We'll clear it up at lunch time. James isn't even mad, he's just sulking thinking we didn't tell him.”

“How could you not tell me?” James asks on cue, rounding the door again, arms ever tighter around the bundle of Remus’ clothes. He assumes it's being kept hostage. “I thought we were best mates.” 

“James,” you say softly, all sympathy. 

Remus likes the feeling of your voice under his ear, and your slightly too-quick heartbeat. He could fall asleep here and now if it weren't for the company. 

“It's new,” you're saying, softness melded to a sweet pride. “Okay? I've barely told Remus how I feel, of course I was going to tell you. We were only talking about it last night. It really hasn't been weeks, Sirius is a stirrer.” 

Remus pulls the covers up over your heads and climbs on top of you in a rush, demanding that the both of you be left alone, to James’ great annoyance but your delight, your laughter loud in the shell of his ear. Your chest shakes with it beneath him. 

A great wad of fabric hits him in the legs. “Twats,” James says, seemingly stalking off. 

Your whisper sends shivers down his spine. “We're alone again. Do you have anything else to ask me while you're too tired to remember?” you tease. 

There's not a chance in the world that Remus would ever forget this. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thanks for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed, it's been a little bit since I wrote for remus like this so I was actually a bit nervous and I hope it's okay :D <3

[luvrxbunny]

hold it

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Pussy Slapping

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, piv, unprotected sex, praise, subspace but miguel doesn’t bring her back (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.4k

A/N: a few things- not a lot of Spanish cus people made me too nervous abt it. the prompt doesn't really factor into the story that much imo, sorry- not feeling super good abt this one tbh :( (not proofread)

He slaps you again and your teeth dig into your lip to keep your cries in. “Keep it in, sweetheart. I’m not breeding you so you can waste it all.” You nod frantically at him, aiming to please him as you clench all your muscles and try your best to hold his cum inside. You watch a satisfied smile spread over his face and his fingers come down to your pussy and spread your lips, watching your hole twitch. “That’s it. There we go, good girl.”

Your entire body is sensitive from how he’s been using you. He came home desperate to breed you and why would you refuse? Once he came in you though, he told you to hold it in, to keep all his cum inside you to ensure it takes, but your weak, post-orgasm body and your post-sex hazed brain couldn’t keep up. 

You’re laying back on the pillows, one leg over his thighs and he’s sitting halfway between your legs. His eyes are stuck on your pussy, watching the way you quiver to hold his load in, especially with how he’s been teasing you. He’s mesmerized by the sight, some of his cum already leaking out, a small stream breaking through as you whimper at your lack of control. 

You try to hold it in but eventually, your body gives up, too over-stimulated by his repeated slaps over your clit, the wet sound it makes when his hand connects with your pussy. He has this teasing, amused smirk on his face every time your body trembles after he hits you. You couldn’t handle it. Miguel grabs your thigh that’s in his lap and spreads you open further, watching as you twitch and let go, letting his cum slide out of you and onto his sheets. Then he slapped your pussy the moment he could see his cum sliding out of you. 

“I told you to hold it.” His voice is stern, non-negotiable, and sends a shiver down your spine as you tense all your muscles again. He laughs quietly, low and teasing. “I’m just gonna have to fill you again.”

He tuts at you, gives a disappointed sigh, and crawls back between your legs. You’re deep in subspace, wanting nothing more than to please him and taking his sigh as real, genuine disappointment. Tears well in your eyes and you whimper your apology as he lines himself with your entrance. “M’ sorry, Miguel. I-” You’re cut off by him sliding inside you, forcing a sob-like moan to fall from your lips. His eyes snap to your face at the sound, he’s climbing up your body and cradling your face within seconds.

“What’s this? You wanna stop, sweetheart?” You shake your head vigorously and wrap all your limbs around him, holding him close to you, pressing all his warmth against yours, and leaving pleasured cries in his ear. “C’mon, talk to me, amor.” He hasn’t moved inside you but his hands haven’t stopped caressing your body. He slides up your back to the base of your neck and gently pulls you away from him. Your eyes are closed, little tears resting on your lashes, chipping away at his heart. You sniffle once and try to tilt up into him, forcing his cock to slide against your walls in the way only he can. Instead, he forces your hips back to the bed with a soft grunt and looks back at you expectantly. So you give in.

“Jus’ wanna be good for you, Miggy.” Realization, sadness, and relief course through him. He hadn’t noticed you were so far gone, too caught up in his own mission, his need to fill you again and again, but the fact that he missed your needs because they were clouded by his own sends a pang of hurt through his heart. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, nose then lips. You moan sweetly against him, hands instantly coming up to tangle in his hair and pull him closer to you. He pulls away and gives you one more kiss before looking deep into your eyes. “You’re always good for me, sweetheart. You’re doing so well for me, baby.” 

He feels your clench on him at his words, a soft smile coming to his face at your predictability. You pull him closer to your face, just centimeters from his lips, and grind yourself up into him, earning a gentle moan from his lips. “See? So perfect, amor.” He thrusts into you, deep and hitting your G-Spot on his first try. His name comes out of your mouth as a shout, your nails dig into his back as you try and stabilize yourself. 

His hips speed up, starting their more brutal pace, knocking any stray thoughts loose from your head. He’s fixated on your face, hyper-vigilant to your reactions, making sure you’re enjoying yourself, that he’s giving you everything you need. He’s already desperate to cum in you, his cock still sensitive from the load he gave you a few minutes ago. You’re letting out high-pitched, passionate moans into his room, filling the space with sounds of you and your soaked pussy. His cock twitches inside you at the sound and you feel it. 

You let out a desperate moan and slam your lips into his, wet, needy, and messy. His spit ends up all over your face, you’re just trying to lick at him, into his mouth, over his lips, anything he’ll give you. Your desperation has his moaning raggedly into your mouth, his hips slamming into you harder, his tip bruising your cervix as he abuses it. “I love you so much, Miggy.” Your words stab arousal through him like a hot knife, slicing through his entire being. He collapses over you, groaning your name into your neck, almost deafening you with their volume. 

You’re always so soft for him, it’s almost painful how much it turns him on. He’s been slapping and abusing your pussy all night and you’re still so in love. You re-angle his head, forcing him to focus on you, watching the love that you’re pouring into your gaze. It’s making his balls tingle, and tense when they slap against your ass. “Te amo más bebé” His moan is smooth with the words as they slide from his mouth.

(“I love you more, baby”)

His muscles draw tight as he cock twitces inside you. “M’gonna fill you up. Gotta-” He tilts your hips toward him, forcing his cock deeper, pressing into your cervix almost painfully and he whimpers at the feeling. “-llegar tan profundo como pueda. Make sure you can keep it all in, bebé.” His hips begin to stutter and shake against yours as you tighten endlessly around him. You’re so out of it, all you can feel is the pleasure he’s giving you and your orgasm that’s about to snap in your stomach. Miguel grinds into you one more time, shaky, slow, and hard. You’re cumming around him. You moan a garbled version of his name, so loud and wrecked you barely recognize your voice in your ears. The sounds are ravaging Miguel though, they’re sending shocks through his body and he suddenly can’t hold on any longer. 

(“-get as deep as I can”)

He hunches over you, forcing his cock deeper, sending a new explosion of pleasure through your body with the sensations. He’s flooding your wet heat, painting you, coating your walls completely in his seed as he moans your name into the sex-scented air. He mutters love notes to you on repeat as he lets out rope after rope of cum into you. He’s breathing in his shaky breaths along with the scent of your hair as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and pulls out slowly. You whimper at the loss of his stretch and it oddly warms his chest, that you still want him after he’s been with you since he got home. 

He grabs a little towel on the side of the bed and wipes himself down before turning to do the same to you. Only to find you with your fingers buried deep inside yourself. He would be hard again if he had anything left in him. He basically runs back to your side, wanting an explanation but instead getting an even more erotic scene. Your eyes are on his, looking like you’re pleading for something and he can’t decipher what. “What is it, baby? Are you okay?”

You nod at him eagerly and little tears well in your eyes. “M’keepin’ it all in for you, Miggy.” He’s stunned to silence at your words, unable to believe how deep you are. “Tell- Tell me I’m good—? I’m- Am I being good?”

He almost passes out. He feels his sensitive cock fattening up again. Apparently, he does have something left in him. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[markster666]

Hey! I noticed you write smut for everyones favorite deer man. Episode 5 was getting to me with those tentacles! i was wondering if you could write something to do with that when you get the chance? 👀

Yes I do! Your wish is my command. <33

ALASTOR X READER (SMUT/18+) - TENTACLES

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: Smut, 18+, Double Penetration, Tentacles, Porn without much plot, Daddy Kink, Master Kink, Pet Kink, Sensory Deprivation, CNC, and other stuff lol

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: 863

A/N: Thank you so much to @thatdeadstoat for taking the time and effort to put in this prompt request. I'm so happy with all the Alastor lore and screen time lol. Unedited, so apologies for spelling mistakes. Requests are open.

You heard Alastor's microphone cane tapping the ground as he walked down the hallway to your room. You couldn't even see his face but you could FEEL the seething energy rising from him. He didn't even knock as he busted open your door, slamming it roughly behind him and leaning against it.

"I don't know WHY Charlie thought it was a brilliant idea to bring that low life to this hotel. I despise him with a furious passion."

You shrugged very slightly and sat up in your bed, pausing the tv show you were watching.

"It's her father, Alastor. They're blood. At least he's trying."

Alastors ears furrow back as he squints at you.

"I can't believe you're justifying him, my Dear! I taught you so much better than that."

You bit your lip.

"I was just trying to state my opinion-"

You cut yourself off as he purposely made a threatening walk towards you, his eyes filled with a cannibalistic nature.

"Your opinion doesn't matter in this bedroom, my Dear, I'm CERTAIN i've made that clear, no? Do you need a reminder?"

Before you could open your mouth to speak, his tentacles appeared out of thin air, one of them wrapping around your mouth like a gag and the others pinning you to the bed on your stomach, wrapped around your body like a bunch of rope to keep your arms locked to your side. Alastor got on top of you, straddling the small of your back and wrapping a hand around your throat, squeezing gently on the sides. He pulled your hair aggressively up and got close to your ear,

"Not like you had much of a choice anyways, little one. If you're a good pet, I might let you feel some of your own pleasure, but for now, let your Master let off some steam, hm?"

The tentacle around your mouth tightened as you desperately nodded, trying to murmur something to him but instead it comes out as groans.

"What was that, my Dear? I can't hear you."

He was obviously mocking you. His grin grew wider.

"Since you can't keep your opinionated mouth shut, that restraint is not going anywhere. If I hear you try to speak, I will not give you relief. Do I make myself clear?"

You nodded, feeling your core heat up and the wetness starting to spill down your legs.

"Good."

He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before slamming your face into the pillow, ripping down your pants and feeling your pussy through your panties.

"Oh my! I haven't even DONE anything yet, Princess! Maybe you really DO need this!"

He moved your panties to the side and inserted a two fingers into your cunt, not giving you much time to adjust before pumping them out as fast as he could. You instinctively arched your back before moaning out in overstimulation as he pushed your face harder into the pillow, his hand entangled in your hair.

He kept going for a good bit before stopping, slapping your ass once before letting go of your hair. You were panting and whimpering and felt your juices dripping down your thighs onto the bed.

You felt humilated and he felt like a god.

Before you could catch your breath, you instantly felt Alastor press into your pussy all the way to the hilt, filling you up in just the perfect way. His ears furrowed back as he gripped your hips tighter.

"Goooood girl, you take me so well. Now, just be still and let Daddy breed you."

You were a moaning whimpering mess as he started fucking you into the mattress, his tentacles still wrapped around your body and your mouth. He had an animalistic rage inside of him making him grasp at every part of you, trying to fuck you as deep as he could.

And you loved every second of it.

He kept going for awhile before you felt something push against your asshole. You winced and then moaned in pure pleasure as one of his tentacles inserted itself into it, both holes now being used and filled up.

You bit against the tentacle keeping your mouth in place while you were being brutalized by the deer demon. You were moaning so loud you could probably guess everybody was hearing this.

It wasn't long until Alastor was close, his thrusts become more sloppy and his grip on your hips becoming tighter. You felt yourself getting close to.

"Cum for me."

You instantly came at the sound of his voice and he came too, pushing as deep as he could go. You two stayed in that position for awhile, catching your breathes before he took his tentacles out of you and from around you and himself out as well. You tried to stand up to use the restroom to empty his seed out but he stopped you,

"Ah ah, at least give it 10 minutes, Pet."

He gave you a small kiss on the forehead and dressed himself, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"Thanks Alastor... I guess I really did need that."

His grin grew as wide as it could.

"Good girl."

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

A/N: Thank you so much for everybody who has read! Your support means the world to me. If you didn't know, I will be participating in Kinktober (except in February lol) with some pretty smutty prompts starting February 1st and going on all month, so if you like my writing and want some more Alastor x reader smuts, please consider following. Lots of love.

[pucksandpower]

MILF

Toto Wolff x wife!Reader

Summary: Toto knows his wife is a MILF … but this doesn’t mean he is okay with his son’s friends calling you that

Warnings: teenage boys doing teenage boy things

Based on this request

“Pass the schnitzel, darling,” you say to your husband as the three of you sit down for dinner. Your teenage son has just gotten home from school, and you can’t wait to hear about his day.

Toto smiles at you as he passes the platter of breaded veal. “How was school?” He asks.

Lukas shrugs as he takes a bite. “It was okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

You give him a look. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetie,” you gently chide. Even though he’s almost an adult now, you still see your little boy in him.

Lukas swallows and straightens up. “Sorry, Mum.”

“So tell us about your day,” you prompt. “Learn anything new and interesting?”

Your son fidgets in his seat. “Well … some of the guys were talking about you today.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Me? What about me?”

Lukas glances uncomfortably at his father. “Just … stuff they saw online. Paparazzi photos from when we were on the yacht last month.”

Toto sets his fork down, his expression darkening. He’s no stranger to being in the public eye, but he’s always been protective of you and Lukas. “What exactly were they saying?” He asks in a carefully neutral tone.

“They, uh …” Lukas rubs the back of his neck. “They called Mom a MILF.”

“A what?” Toto sputters, while you have to suppress a laugh. You’re familiar with the crude term, given your substantially younger age compared to your husband.

“It’s not funny!” Toto says indignantly. “I won’t have people objectifying my wife like that.”

You reach over and pat his arm. “It’s okay, dear. I’m not bothered by it.” You turn back to Lukas with an amused smile. “I’m flattered those boys think your old mom’s still got it.”

“You’re not old!” Lukas protests loyally. “It’s just, you know, you’re a lot younger than Vati, and you’re really pretty, so the guys notice.”

Toto scowls, but you grin and blow your son a kiss. “Thanks, sweetie.” Your playful reaction seems to visibly relax him.

“This is unacceptable,” Toto shakes his head. “I should call the school. Get those little punks suspended for sexual harassment.”

“Oh Toto, don’t be silly,” you wave dismissively. “They’re just teenage boys. I’m sure they didn’t mean any harm.”

“It doesn’t matter!” He insists. “Your dignity and privacy should be respected, not exploited. People think because we’re in the spotlight that they can say whatever vulgar nonsense they want.”

You reach over again and lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I know it bothers you, darling. But I married you knowing full well how public our lives would be. A little crude gossip comes with the territory.”

Toto opens his mouth to retort, then pauses, some of the indignation leaving his eyes. “I just don’t want anyone disrespecting you,” he says finally.

You smile softly. Even after all these years of marriage, your heart still flutters at his protectiveness. “I know. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Lukas makes a face. “Ugh, gross. Can you guys not be all mushy right now?”

You laugh and blow him another kiss. “Sorry Lukas. I can’t help it — your father’s the love of my life.”

Toto smiles back at you, the anger fading from his face. “And you’re mine, schatzi.”

Your son pretends to gag. “Seriously, stop. I’m trying to eat here.”

You chuckle and spear another bite of schnitzel. “Alright, we’ll behave. Now, tell me more about the rest of your day ...”

The conversation moves on to lighter topics as you finish up dinner. You listen attentively while Lukas fills you in on the drama with his friend group and his struggles in history class.

After clearing the dishes, the three of you move to the living room. You curl up next to Toto on the couch while Lukas sprawls out on the carpet to play video games.

You close your eyes contentedly and rest your head on your husband’s shoulder. Despite the lifestyle that being married to Toto provides you with, this right here is your happy place — your little family, spending a quiet evening at home.

Toto wraps an arm around you and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Have I told you lately how lucky I am?” He murmurs.

You smile up at him. “Even after all these years, you still give me butterflies.”

“Good,” he says firmly. “I’ll tell you every day if I have to, until you’re sick of hearing it.”

Lukas groans loudly from the floor. “Could you guys be any more embarrassing?”

You and Toto both laugh. “What? I can’t tell my beautiful wife how much I love her?” He calls out in protest.

“Not when I’m right here!” Lukas complains. “Get a room or something.”

You grin mischievously. “That’s not a bad idea ...” you say, running a hand up your husband’s chest.

Toto’s eyes darken. “Minx,” he murmurs.

Lukas scrambles to his feet. “Okay, I’m out of here.” He gives you both a look of exaggerated disgust as he heads upstairs.

You and Toto chuckle as you listen to his bedroom door slam shut.

“Now, where were we?” Toto says in a low voice, pulling you closer. You bite your lip coyly as he presses his mouth to yours. No matter how many years go by, the chemistry between you is still electric.

You shift against him eagerly as the kiss deepens. His hands slide down to grip your hips, and you make a soft noise of pleasure. After nearly two decades of marriage, he knows exactly how to touch you.

“Tell me again,” you whisper when you finally break apart, slightly breathless.

Toto gazes into your eyes. “I love you,” he says sincerely. “I will always love you. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You kiss him again, tenderly this time. “I love you too, Toto. Forever.”

No matter what people say or how famous you become, your relationship has always been grounded in this — the unwavering love between you. The rest of the world falls away when you’re together.

You rest your head contentedly on his shoulder again, his arms wrapped around you. This right here, next to the man who still looks at you like you hung the moon, is home.

***

The next day after school, Lukas comes home with a few of his friends in tow. You’re just finishing up putting away the groceries when you hear the chatter of teenage voices approaching.

“Hey Mum, we’re gonna hang out downstairs,” Lukas calls out as the group of boys raids the kitchen fridge for snacks.

You smile and give them a little wave. “Hi boys. There’s more drinks in the pantry if you need it.”

The teenagers rumble acknowledgements through mouthfuls of food before thundering downstairs to your home theater room. You chuckle and shake your head. Teenage appetites are truly a phenomenon.

You’re straightening up the living room when you hear the front door open again, signaling Toto’s return from work.

“Hello, liebling,” he greets you warmly, sweeping you into an embrace.

You kiss him in welcome. “How was work today?”

“The usual madness,” he sighs. “But coming home to you makes it all worthwhile.”

You smile up at him adoringly. Even after all these years, your heart still flutters at his smooth compliments.

“Oh, Lukas has some friends over,” you mention. “They’re downstairs watching movies or playing video games.”

Toto frowns a little. “Those wouldn’t happen to be the same friends who were objectifying you?”

You pat his chest placatingly. “Now dear, we talked about this. Don’t make a fuss.”

“Hmph.” He still looks slightly disgruntled. “Well, I should at least go down and say hello.”

You follow him downstairs, where the group of teenage boys are sprawled out on the sofas engrossed in some action movie. Explosions boom from the surround sound system as CGI buildings crumble onscreen.

They look up when you and Toto enter. “Oh hey Mr. Wolff,” one of them says.

“Vati, you remember my friends right?” Lukas introduces. “Jason, Andrew, Ryan, and David.”

“Ah yes, nice to see you boys again,” Toto says smoothly.

Too smoothly.

You can sense the storm brewing beneath his polite façade.

Sure enough, as the teens’ attention returns to the movie, Toto clears his throat. “So I heard you boys were discussing my wife the other day.”

The room goes silent, save for the cinematic explosions still blaring through the speakers. The boys glance around uneasily.

“Um, we didn’t mean anything bad by it,” David finally offers timidly.

Toto raises an eyebrow. “Oh? So objectifying and sexualizing a married woman is not meant to be disrespectful?”

The teens squirm under his icy stare. You put a warning hand on your husband’s arm, but he continues.

“Let me tell you something about my wife,” he says, an edge creeping into his tone. “She is an elegant, successful, and highly intelligent woman. Not some piece of meat for you ogling schoolboys to drool over.”

The chastised boys all mumble apologies and stare fixedly at the floor.

Toto points a stern finger at them. “I trust there will be no further vulgar comments, or you won’t be welcome in this house again.”

“Yes sir,” they mutter. Lukas looks like he wants the leather couch to swallow him whole. You have to stifle a smile at your husband’s overprotective papa bear routine.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” Toto straightens his suit jacket. “Now you boys enjoy your … movie.”

He turns and heads back upstairs, with you following after an apologetic smile to the shell-shocked teens.

Once you’re out of earshot, you swat his shoulder reproachfully. “Toto! Did you really need to traumatize the poor kids?”

“I didn’t traumatize them,” he huffs. “I just … explained a few things.” At your skeptical look, he amends “ … Firmly.”

You shake your head in exasperation. “You’re impossible. I thought I asked you not to make a fuss.”

He takes your hands earnestly. “I’m sorry, schatzi. I just can’t stand anyone disrespecting you. You deserve to be treated like a queen.”

You soften at the sincerity in his eyes. “Oh Toto. You’re too good to me.” You wrap your arms around him in a conciliatory hug.

He holds you close. “Nonsense. I’ll spend every day proving you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

You snuggle against his chest, reminded yet again how lucky you are. Even when he overreacts, you know it comes from a place of devotion.

“Just promise me you’ll go easy on the boys,” you say wryly as you pull back. “I think you scared them straight for life.”

Toto smiles ruefully. “I suppose I did get a bit … intense. But the message won’t do any harm.”

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “My noble protector.”

He grins. “Proudly.”

Later, as the boys are getting ready to leave, Toto stops them at the front door.

“Before you go, I have one more thing to say,” he announces. The teens glance at each other nervously.

Toto looks each of them in the eye. “If I ever hear of you disrespecting my wife again, I won’t be so kind. You see, she’s actually a MIDF … Mother I Do Fuck.” He enunciates the words pointedly.

The teens’ eyes widen in horror, and Lukas turns bright red. “Vati!” He hisses in embarrassment.

Toto ignores him. “So I would appreciate it if you kept your crude comments to yourselves next time.” He gives them a tight smile. “Are we clear?”

The boys nod rapidly. “Yes sir. Crystal clear, Mr. Wolff,” one mumbles.

“Good.” Toto claps his hands together. “Then get home safely.”

After the front door shuts behind the fleeing teens, Lukas rounds on his father. “Oh my god, Vati! Why would you say that?”

He shrugs unapologetically. “I wanted to make sure they got the message loud and clear this time.”

Lukas just shakes his head in mortification before stomping upstairs.

You slide your arms around your unrepentant husband. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

“They left with a healthy dose of fear and respect,” Toto says smugly. “I think my work here is done.”

[hungharrington]

Your last blurb has me thinking of Steve and soft early relationship smut where it’s still fairly new and exciting and he’s just so sweet and wants to be close to you 💔💔

this is basically the premise of a little less conversation BUT it’s also such a good prompt anyways that i wanna write something goofy n domestic hehe <3 u put heartbreak emojis but i’m making this goopy sry! and actually it’s not even soft god i’m sorry MDNI this entire blog is 18+

Steve sinks into you in one slow thrust and makes a noise like he’s been stabbed, his forehead to your collarbone.

For one very long moment, he doesn’t move.

“You… you okay?” You ask, all breathy yourself. Your cunt pulses wildly, eager for him to start moving, for some friction— but you’re worried he’s maybe hurt himself somehow. “Steve?”

“I’m good,” He hisses, voice all tight like he is very much not at all good. It blends away as a husky tone threads through his voice. “God, sorry, you just feel—“

He gives a little rock of his hips, pulling out an inch and thrusting back in and a beautiful moan pulls from his lips. He does it again, pulling out a little further and pushing himself back in to your wet, inviting cunt.

He groans again, “Oh my god, I like you so much.”

You startle a laugh, your arms around his neck sliding down so you can pull his head up a bit. Steve’s flushed and looking sheepish by the time you get him face to face. His hips haven’t stopped moving, still small, perfect thrusts in and out, driving you mad.

“Sorry,” He says again, half panting. “Not the best thing to say the first time we fuck but,” He huffs, a throaty moan slipping out in the middle of the sentence. “It’s true.”

You’re beginning to pant too, all your inhales sounding gaspy and high. Your thighs spread more instinctively, pulling them further back to your chest, letting him get in deeper.

“N-No, it’s good,” You say, smiling a bit as he focuses on your face, his lips parted and pupils blown wide. “I really like you too.”

Your words inspire another moan, particularly loud, and his hips rut into you with more fervor, a soft lewd squelching noise beginning to fill the bedroom. Steve moans shakily, peppering sloppy kisses up the side of your neck.

One hand shifts on your hip, sliding up to press your leg further out and unexpectedly, and there’s an audible pop of a joint cracking. Steve stills instantly, still inside you, as he stares down at your hip.

“Oh my god—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” You hastily interrupt, knowing what he’s thinking. You tug his gaze over to you and away from your leg, seeing the smidge of panic in his eyes. “It just cracks sometimes, you couldn’t know that, it’s fine, it didn’t hurt.”

Steve deflates rapidly, giving a relieved chuckle against your chest where he buries his face. When he speaks, his words are all muffled, “I thought I broke your hip.”

You can’t help it, you laugh a bit at that— imagining his panic at the thought. For the third time, you urge his face up and out of hiding, leaning up to nuzzle against his face.

“Quickest way to end a relationship ever,” He jokes, but you can hear the genuine worry beneath his humour.

“No, no, I’m sorry I should’ve told you,” You murmur tenderly, dropping little kisses along his cheeks and nose. His face blazes hot beneath your ardent affection. “But hey, we’re figuring it out, aren’t we? That’s part of the fun, yeah?”

You use your ankles, crossed over his tailbone, to press him into you and Steve gets the message quickly, starting up his gentle thrusts again with a grunt. The soft noises of sex resume, mixed with your combined low moans. The rhythm from before is easy to slip back into. Your cunt throbs hotly, pleasure starting to drool through your stomach.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes heavily, watching your face closely. “Part of the fun. Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

He says it so sincerely that it makes you gasp, clenching around him and eyes screwing closed for a moment. A low whine crawls out your throat.

“God, fuck you for saying that,” You say, with no heat at all. You can’t open your eyes just yet, you’ll combust if you see how handsome he looks right now.

“Yeah?” Steve huffs, sounding a little smug. Your cunt gushes at the sound of his voice. “Oh, you’re right. Figuring this stuff out is the fun part.”

You whine as he fucks in a little harder, the angle just right to have your gut twisting up in pleasure. Your breath is ragged and you finally open your eyes again, swallowing back another sound at the sight of Steve. Messy haired, pink cheeks, reddened lips. He looks hotter than you’ve ever seen him.

“Shut up and hold my hand,” You say— because two can play that game. It works a charm. You can feel the stutter in his hips, see the ripple on his face, hear the whimper in his throat.

Steve keens, tucking his face down into your neck again. His hand searches the sheets til it finds yours, fingers intertwining before he presses your linked hands into the mattress and ruts into your snug cunt harder and faster, deeper.

“F-Fuck,” He stammers, a moan lilting the word. “I like you so much.”

You can’t even laugh this time round because your mind is starting to melt a little at the edges— but it makes the pleasure all that much better, knowing he means it.

[satoruhour]

悟

a/n:a repost from my old blog ♡ / contains one sex joke / 0.9k

“satoru, come to bed, it’s late,” yawning, you pat the space beside you. he’s doing his nightly skincare routine, patting his face gently with the retinol serum he just bought.

“ya sure you don’t want to try it out?” gojo offers out the dropper, a hairband cutely pushed up to prevent his bangs from interfering.

“i don’t like slimey stuff on my face.” and you cringe, realising your mistake too late.

“and yet you give me your face to cu—”

“shut the fuck up,” you severely miss him, pillow landing on the floor beside him. he didn’t even bother to activate his technique, laughing out loud at your failed attempt.

gojo never did switch it on when he was with you. not when he decided that he’d give his all to you, not even he asked you to move in with him on a desperate full of nightmares, not when you first said i love you.

gojo satoru was soft around you, a sight that many would like to see yet only disclosing it to you. the you who got him falling when you’d hang out with his students, giving as much pointers as you could on cursed energy. that was when he decided, he’s sure. but again, there were countless other times where gojo recalls falling deeper and deeper in love with you. he smiles at that, capping the skin care bottle before quite literally jumping onto the bed.

“argh... satoru, what the hell? you’re heavy!” his weight was crushing you, emphasised more when he leans down to plant kisses on your features. the feigned anger turns to giggling and shielding hands which he easily seizes between his fingers.

“s-stop! ’toru!” your smile is like the first few hues of dusk. it makes him feel all warm and mushy inside, something the strongest normally wouldn’t have the luxury of feeling. satoru says, fuck it, because even i deserve love, even i deserve to be held. he repeats those words you said to him the first time he broke down in front of you, and he does it all the time, now.

gojo is brought back to reality when you cup his cheeks gently, not minding the slimey stuff as you caress his skin. your hands accommodate his smile, cheeks filling up with how he’s grinning down at you and you feel dizzy with the immense love you have for him.

“you’re insanely beautiful, satoru,” you say it like it wouldn’t boost his ego, but you can’t care much when that much is true, noticing how much his hair resembles starlight and how his azure eyes catch the moonlight so perfectly.

gojo could say the same about you.

he sucks in a breath when he hears the compliment, the familiar cocky smirk and corny line lingering on his lips — he figured it’s just different when the words come from you.

“say it again.”

“hm? you’re beautiful, terribly b—” your mouth parts in surprise when the other lowers himself to your side, which prompts you to lie on your lone shoulder.

“no, my love, i meant my name.” gojo pulls you closer, lighting your skin with flames.

“oh! okay! uhm, sa— toru?” you giggle, the name falling weirdly from your lips now that you were demanded to say it. you try again, “satoru.”

your lover smiles, scooting closer, “again.”

“satoru.” the syllables leaving your lips makes him feel dizzy and giddy. while he enjoys being told his voice sounds like silk and syrup, he finds that it fits you better, bringing his face to rest only inches from yours.

“again.”

“satoru,” you whisper, a shy smile overtaking your lips. soon, they’re captured by gojo’s, moving tenderly against yours. you’re certain you see the sky painted in many different colours before your eyes close, the mere thought of gojo sending you reeling and cheeks flushing.

gojo’s kisses are slow tonight, savouring every part of your mouth before he slips his tongue in, entwining with yours as he continues to make you fall harder. it works. breathlessly, you smile into the kiss to hopefully get a bit of air, feeling the reply of a grin on your lips when his irises open up to look at yours.

“love you.” you murmur, ghosting along his lips before he smashes his lips against yours again, albeit clumsily that you two let out collective laughs.

people only ever call him gojo satoru, the strongest. he’s never found much identity, always a pawn for the higher-ups to play with, but when sa-to-ru falls from your lips? god, he can compare it to being caught in cupid’s arms. you give meaning to his name — satoru, satoru, satoru, you whisper, knowing that it meant enlighten, and he’s certain that’s all you do whenever you’re around.

you’re always lighting up his life, always loving him with no restraint.

“angel?” gojo whispers in between kisses. you respond sleepily, tracing incoherent patterns along his chest. the words are caught in his throat when you fingers go over the 悟 of his name, three syllables packaged into a single character. he didn’t expect you to remember, but it breathes some life back into him when you do it over his heart. he can’t remember the last time he let someone trace his name so intimately.

“your first name is beautiful, satoru, just like you,” you peck his lips. “now rest, you have a long day tomorrow.”

“i love you too,” the other replies a little late. his heart clenches up at the sight of you, caged and safe in his arms that he isn’t sure what to do with his hands. “i love you. i love you. i love you so much.”

with one last lingering kiss, you both succumb to slumber in peace, with gojo satoru’s first name in the palm of your hand, and his last name aching to take its place in front of your own.

[flwrstqr]

˚୨୧⋆｡ IF YOU DON'T KISS ME, I'LL DO IT

₊˚⊹ notes ~ idol bf!jakex fem!reader ⋆⭒ warnings: kisses, cuddling ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 word count: 200+꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ genre: fluff, drabble | LIBRARY FOR MORE...

YOU WAKE UP TO FIND YOURSELF IN BED WITH JAKE. a smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you take in the sight of his cute sleeping figure—eyes closed so gently, hair all disheveled. memories from the previous night replay in your mind: the scene of you and jake cuddling, hand in hand, exchanging small kisses between conversations. observing him mumble in his sleep, he turns toward your direction with closed eyes.

feeling a desire to wake him up with a small kiss, you lean in, stopping just three inches from his face. contemplating for a moment, you debate whether to proceed, considering his sleepiness from yesterday's dance practice. hesitation lingers, and you prepare to pull away, but suddenly, jake's eyes shoot wide open, catching you in the midst of your intention.

"if you're not going to do it, I'll do it," jake mumbles, his voice groggy but still managing to pull a grin on his face.

pretending to be clueless, you respond, embarrassed at being caught by your boyfriend. "do what?"

"I saw you were going to kiss me," jake teases, causing a brief blush to color your cheeks. without missing a beat, he leaves a quick, passionate, soft kiss on your lips. It's a tender moment, filled with warmth and a hint of lingering desire, the sweetness of the connection in the air. the kiss, a silent exchange of emotions, creates a bridge between you two. as you reciprocate with the same tension, smiles exchange between you, foreheads resting against each other.

"next time, if you don't kiss me, I'll do it," jake concludes, prompting a soft laughter that sets the tone for both of you to start your day.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 4) part 1, part 2, part 3

-

You remember the lock turning on the door of another room.

Ice flooding your veins. Heart suddenly tripling in speed, flush against your breastbone, close to snapping your ribs and pumping right out. A man standing in front of the locked door, barring your only way out. Petrified, but not confused; it’d always been an inevitability, something you’d long been waiting to happen, but hoping beyond hope that maybe you’d skirt by it unscathed. 

You’re in a bedroom, but you’re also in a study hundreds of miles away, cabinets along the walls filled with jade carvings and porcelain trinkets, bookcases filled with untouched first editions with the spines still stiff, a leather chair tucked into wide mahogany desk, and a grandfather clock ticking ominously in the corner. And you’re watching a man come into the room and lock the door, shutting you both inside. 

There is a bust of the same man in the corner of the room. When you sink into the memory, your eyes drag there and hold.

“Honey? Honey, are you alright?”

You come back to yourself at the sound of another man’s voice. When you blink, the memory leeches out of the corners of your eyes and you find Price looking down at you with some concern, a slight furrow between his brows. You shudder out the memory until it’s wrung out, until you’re dry of it. Sweat cools on the back of your neck. There’s a tremble in your hand that you notice when you go to rub your forehead, a shake that even Price notices, taking your wrist and pulling it to his chest.

There is no bust in the corner of the room here. The man that locked the door holds your wrist tenderly to his chest and waits for you to answer, his lips still sloped down. The black spots fade from your vision one by one, panic retreating back into your bones. It leaves a too big hole inside of you. 

You know it’s still within you. It slumbers in the marrow of your bones; it cowers in there, sometimes close enough to kiss or close enough to cradle your head and crack it against the nearest ledge. 

“Honey?” he asks again. The deep tenor of his voice moves something back to life inside of you, as much as it pains you to admit. Even to yourself. 

You blink up at him, only realizing how dry your mouth is when you croak out, “I’m—I’m alright. Apologies.”

He doesn’t seem much convinced. Perhaps he has a right to doubt your words. You can’t see the tormented thing staring back at him. 

“I’ve given you a few too many frights today,” Price sighs, head dropping towards you, like drawing a curtain around the two of you. “Thought maybe you needed a bit of a push, but you’re not quite there, darling, are you?”

“Not where?” you ask, lost. “Where am I not?”

For once, he doesn’t answer, doesn’t try to force his vision into your head. It shocks you when he dips his head to press his lips against your forehead, lingering there for several moments. Breathing you in. You let him linger there, half-curious yourself, a softness suffusing into you like breath. 

“Are you hungry enough to eat? Or straight to bed?”

His words give you a nervous thrill, but when you catch his eye, there’s nothing to read there. Absent of double meaning. He’s asking you if you’re hungry and if you’re wanting to eat. 

“No.” You shake your head. “I’m still…well, I’ve had a bit of a cramp all afternoon. I don’t think I’m up to eating.”

“Not even tea or cake?”

The thought intrigues you, but not enough for your stomach to untwist. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

He hums against your forehead, then presses another kiss there, then a third on your temple, breathing out a puff of air that blows across your face and tickles your nose. “Not hungry for anything then,” he surmises, and you hear it there, the silvery flipside of an innuendo. You scrunch up your nose and flinch when he chuckles. “How about just a bath then? And then we’ll tuck in for the night.” 

“That sounds nice. Do you, um…I could help if you want?"

“Already fetched the water earlier today. Wash tub’s downstairs. You can stay here or come down and wait until the water’s warm.”

Finally, he pulls back and puts some space between the two of you. Something buried deep in your chest clicks when he unlocks the door and steps out. You try not to look at it too hard. 

You follow him downstairs, more out of habit than anything. With the water already fetched from the well and Price starting a fire to heat it up enough for a warm bath, there’s not much for you to do besides wait, but you join him downstairs anyway, taking the time to look around. 

“Toothpowder, brushes, and mint are in the drawer under the sink if you need any,” Price tells you. You don’t bother with the mint, but you use the rest to clean your teeth in the bathroom sink, a bowl of water already waiting for you to help rinse your mouth. You rethink the mint afterwards, chewing on a couple of leaves to rid your mouth of the chalky aftertaste. 

It takes awhile to heat up enough water for a bath, giving you time to peruse the rest of the house. After spending the bulk of your day locked up in his room, it’s nice to stretch your legs and move about. The rest of the house is fairly typical, barebones; Price heats up the water in a stone fireplace in the main room and at the other end of the house, you find the kitchen.

The crickets in the bushes out front are louder than you’ve ever heard them. For a moment, you stand alone by the front door, fingers twitching by your sides. It wouldn’t do you any good to run, but your feet feel quick now, light after hours of rest. You could bolt like an Appaloosas if you wanted to. 

Then Price calls your name and you drift back to the other room.

Steam billows off the water in the metal tub. It’s only halfway filled, which makes you frown; you have no right to be picky after the days you’ve spent cleaning yourself with a damp washcloth over a porcelain bowl, but you can’t help thinking that it’ll hardly come up to your waist. Still, staring at the warm water makes your skin itch; you could practically kiss the bar of soap sitting on the floor next to the tub. If there wasn’t a man in the room, your dress would already be on the floor. 

“Are you still waiting on more to heat up?” you ask, casting a glance at the fireplace where a small flame still burns. There isn’t a bucket of water hovering over it though, just a poker stowed back in its place. 

“Any more and I’ll be mopping up water for the rest of the night,” he huffs. “That’s more than enough for us.”

“Us?” you repeat. 

It only makes sense when you turn around and stare wide-eyed at Price as he untucks his shirt and starts at the buttons, each one slipped through the hole exposing a new inch of chest covered in dark hair. You make a noise at the back of your throat, half-aghast. The other half, indeterminate. If your feet weren’t glued to the floor, you’d stop him or grab his hands. Instead, you watch mutely as he pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his pants, mouth drying at each new slab of muscle revealed.

You swallow reflexively when his pants pool around his ankles on the floor. You catch a glimpse of thick thighs covered in dark hair and something heavy dangling between his legs before you avert your eyes, staring straight up at the ceiling. Sure to give yourself a kink in your neck, but perhaps forgivable this time. 

“Us?” It comes out squeaky this time, high and tight in your throat. Price laughs.

When he moves towards you, you can hardly so much as lift a finger to keep him at bay. Your body feels tethered in place, sluggish and inert. The world moves around you instead, doubly so when Price fits his hands at your waist and twists you to face away from him. 

Big hands ruck up the fabric of your dress, slowly pulling it over your head. You lift your arms for him on command, the whole time baffled by how little struggle you put up. You imagine him telling that deputy of his what an obedient little bride he’s found for himself. 

“Us,” Price confirms, emphasizing the word the same way you did. “We’d be here all night if we took turns. Water’d be ice cold by then too. You’d rather I freeze my nethers off?” You open your mouth to reply but he cuts you off. “Don’t answer that.”

That pulls a real giggle from your chest, shocking you both. Breath sits like a bubble in your chest. You feel his fingers still at the ties of your corset before pulling it through. 

He loosens each lace slowly, giving each a gentle pull. It’s nerve wracking, nail-biting tedium, the corset gradually giving way to his touch and drooping into your waist. You let him undo each of the hooks and unwrap it from your torso before pulling off your chemise underneath, flesh chilling in the open air. Even stationed behind you, you feel his stare like a heavy, weighted thing. His fingertips trace over the naked skin of your back, looping small circles just for the pleasure of touching your skin. 

Gooseflesh runs down the length of your arms, shivering from his touch as much as the cool air. You tell yourself that it means nothing just to put it all away.

“Alright, let’s get you washed up,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. “Been awhile since you had a warm bath, I bet.” 

You turn part way around, watching him from the corner of your eye. If only he knew. 

Price gets in the tub first and it’s immediately obvious to you why he hardly filled the tub. His body takes up so much room that you frown when you realize that he expects you to get in next. It’s one of the bigger tubs you’ve ever bathed in and yet he still has to bend his knees. The sigh he lets out after relaxing against the back of the tub makes you shiver. 

When he glances up at you swelteringly, you hear the evocation unspoken. 

“If you’d just give me a minute,” you snap. 

“Darlin’.” 

The note of warning in his voice finally tips you over the edge of hesitancy where you’d been precariously balanced. 

The water is still warm when you dip a foot tentatively in. It’s easier to ignore the indulgent smile on Price’s face than engage with it, sure you’d shout yourself hoarse if you finally let your composure crack. 

You think it vaguely humiliating to have to turn around in front of Price in the tub in order to lower yourself to sit. He doesn’t touch you yet, but there’s no way to avoid the weight of his eyes on your backside. It’s not something you’ve thought about much before. A man’s hands on you, stripped bare for him, lowering yourself into a hot bath with him. 

You peek over your shoulder. “Do you ever stop staring?”

A pointless question. He doesn’t even meet your eye to respond, just stares at the curve of your ass with heavy lidded eyes, the faintest pink hue high on his cheeks. He hums instead. You purse your lips.

The water sloshes up the side of the tub when he pulls you down abruptly, settling your back against his chest. You stiffen in the cradle of his arms and chest, acutely aware of every point of your body pressed into his. When Price sighs now, it reverberates through your back and chest. 

“Why does it feel like you’ve been run against a whetstone?” he asks. The sound drips heavy from his lips because the room is silent apart from him, apart from the gentle lapping of the bath water against the sides of the tub and the water trickling from the washcloth when he lifts it out of the water and gives it a wring. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, frowning. 

“You’re all sharp, all hard edges. If I’m not careful, you might run me through.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you married me,” you huff. 

That gets another laugh out of him, raising your hackles. It’s hard to differentiate between ridicule and endearment. You opt for the former to guard yourself, to keep yourself safe. 

“I’ll take my chances.”

You can’t think of a way to respond to that. It’s loaded in an uncomfortable way. It’s easier to just let it pass into silence. Price doesn’t seem anxious for you to respond anyway, thankfully, instead reaching out of the tub to grab the bar of soap still on the floor. The movement pushes his pelvis into you, the length between his legs pressing against the small of your back. You jolt forward only for him to wrap an arm around your waist and haul you back. More water splashes over the rim.

“Christ, you’re skittish,” he gripes. 

“What do you expect me to do?” You squirm in his hold, which only makes his arm constrict tighter around you, drawing you even closer. 

“Sit there and let me wash you, for one. What’s got you all riled up?”

“You know exactly what,” you say, face hot when you feel it press against you again. 

“My—”

“Yes, that,” you hiss, digging your nails into his forearm. 

“Squirming around isn’t gonna make it go away,” Price teases, squeezing once before finally letting you go. You scoot forward as much as he allows, but it’s for naught; you can feel it press against you still. 

In the brief silence, Price lathers up the cloth until it froths, then puts the bar of soap back down on the floor. You almost stop him to say that you can wash yourself, but he starts on your arms before you’re so much as able to part your lips. 

Your nipples bead when he drags the washcloth over your chest. The material is coarse, almost abrasive, and when you wince, Price murmurs a soft apology into your ear. He’s softer when he pulls your legs one after the other from the water and sets your foot on the rim of the tub, dragging the cloth over your calves and up the inside of your thighs. You shake when his hand disappears under the water, biting your lip until it hurts.

You sit with the silence instead of electing to fill it. It’s better that way anyway; words can unravel so many interiorities that long for stasis. And what has the man at your back done to earn your words anyway, besides lock you up and throw away the key?

You’ll figure your way out eventually. It’s only a matter of time. 

His own washup is perfunctory, performed only to get it over with. None of the affection reserved for washing you. He barely makes you lean forward before dragging the cloth haphazardly across his chest, getting a few good scrubs in before calling it a day. 

“I can’t imagine why you’d spend so much time filling a bath just to wash up in five minutes,” you say, peering over your shoulder at him. Expressly not focusing on the pillowy muscles of his chest or the dark, wet hair now flush with his skin. 

“Haven’t used the tub in months,” he grunts, dunking the cloth in the bath water until it comes out clean. He wrings it dry before hanging it over the rim. “There’s a creek out back, ‘bout a ten minute walk from here.”

You frown. “You usually bathe in a creek?” 

“What’s the point in spending time heating up enough water for a bath when there’s a perfectly good creek nearby? Water’s water.”

“You did it for me.”

“That’s different.”

You roll your eyes. “It shouldn’t be.”

“You like to fuss over nothing, huh?” Price remarks. Again, it’s said so earnestly that it makes your skin prickle. 

When you stand, the water rushes off you in a wave, leaving you slick and cooling rapidly in the air. Your teeth clatter until he steps out of the tub to fetch you a towel, wrapping you up in it and patting you dry. You get a bit dizzy when he kneels before you to dry your legs, swaying on your feet. Under your breath, you mumble something like, you don’t have to. 

He ignores you. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you let it go. 

Your bare feet pick up stray dust and debris on your way back up the stairs alone. You wipe them off on the mat at the door before changing into your shift while Price empties the tub downstairs. The oil lamp on the bedside table illuminates most of the room when you light the wick and delicately put the chimney back in place, apart from the elongated shadows that hang from the corners like spiderwebs. 

The bed looks different when you know you’re meant to share it. You try not to tense up too much when you hear Price come up the stairs, eyeing him nervously from the other side of the room. 

“You’ve got that look again, darling,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it this time. The knot in your shoulder aches when they untense. 

“What look?” you ask, averting your gaze when he drops the towel to change into his nightwear.

“Like a doe.”

You snort, distinctly unladylike. “Like a deer before it’s shot?”

“The very same. Didn’t I tell you it’d be straight to bed?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. In the back of your mind, you must have assumed he was placating you, saying words just to soothe. It’s rare that men speak plainly and mean it. Over the years, you’ve learned to read into second meanings and real intentions couched in soft words. Men like to think themselves simple, but you know a vast underground world. 

Some part of you grows anxious with your own inability to play the part of his simpering wife. He must have thought he’d be taking to bed something nurturing and with wings. It’d be easier if you just acquiesced; you can’t imagine he’d worry so much about his doting wife fleeing in the middle of the night. Not the wife happy to spread her legs for him.

“Why are you so patient?” you ask him outright instead. 

He takes a moment to answer, studying you. His face by lamplight is inscrutable. “Nothing good comes plucked too soon.”

“You don’t think that God gave you the right to—” You can’t say the words, but he understands. 

“The methods of God take pickaxes and shovels to uncover,” Price says, so simply, so plainly. You hardly understand what he means. “It’s not a man’s place to rush to understand His intentions.”

You think it’s almost unfair for a man to say those words to you when you plan on running away from him. It makes you dig your nails into the palms of your hands. 

You’re still nervous when you crawl into bed, eyeing him when he settles on his side and turns the lamp off, cupping his palm around the glass and blowing out the flame. There’s little to worry about though. Price doesn’t so much as shift from his side of the bed. 

The world outside is beyond gold and red now, when you stare out the window from where you lie on your side. When you think of the past, it comes with a searing pain. Then, it is no more.

[tojisun]

“shopping for your brother?”

you trip at hearing the question, your lips parting in surprise as you whip to look at the clerk. she blinks at you amidst her own shock before turning her eyes down to your hands where a faux fatigued boonie dangled between your pinched fingers.

you watch as she glances back at you before shooting a look towards simon, having seen the two of you walk in together. he’s standing on the far side of the shop, attracting electric looks from everyone – you couldn’t even blame them because even your mouth is watering at the sight that he makes.

still, the insinuation that you couldn’t possibly be simon’s partner stung. forgotten insecurities are rising once again, rippling against the quiet elation that once filled you up.

“um,” you begin, clearing your throat at hearing your voice brokenly taper off. “it’s for, uh, my boyfriend.”

the clerk stares at you for a second before her cheeks fill up with red, the blush descending from her forehead to her neck.

“bloody hell,” she utters. “i’m so sorry.” she scurries away after that, disappearing into their storage room where you think she’s going to stay until you and simon leave.

and you’re willing to do just that. you drop the boonie and walk towards simon, trying to ignore the bitterness that is stinging in the back of your throat. simon uncrosses his arms – tattoos and muscles obscured by the expanse of paper bags that he insisted he pay and carry for you – and holds his hand out for you to take. you look at it, hesitating, before you shake your head and walk out on your own.

you can’t hear him follow you but you know he is there, quiet in his assessment of both the surroundings and of what happened to make you upset. you blink the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, trying to hide your distress as much as you can.

but it is futile because the next thing you know, simon’s pulling you away from the busy stretch of the mall and into an obscured exit point with dim lights and narrow halls. he drops the bags onto the floor before tugging on your wrists with firm gentleness.

“what happened?” his voice is gruff but worry is evident in his tone.

“it’s nothing,” you say, sniffing. “just tired.”

he hums, and you know that he doesn’t believe you. you sigh, turning away from him as you mutter, “i dunno why you like me.” you chew on your words, hoping he wouldn’t understand. but you feel him stiffen before you, his back tensing like he is preparing for a fight.

you know he is angry – not at you. never at you. and seeing his protective nature spark up just at the mere mention of your insecurity makes your lips wobble, your eyes blurring as tears pool once again.

you hear him let out a sharp curse before he’s pulling you in his embrace, tucking your head under his chin and engulfing you in his arms. he’s so big and all muscles, but he’s so, so warm. you nuzzle your cheek on his chest, letting out a content sigh when you feel his lips press on the top of your head.

“you know that i love you, don’t you, sweetheart?” simon asks, thinly-veiled desperation curling at his words.

you nod, shy all of sudden. he clicks his tongue.

“use y’r words, love.”

you peer up at him, your pouty lips quivering into a small smile at meeting his intense gaze, his beautiful eyes tracking the details of your face like he can’t get enough of you.

you see simon’s reverence and feel your heart melt.

“yeah,” you finally reply, swiping your tongue on your chapped lips and feeling your cheeks warm up at the way his eyes zeroed in on the action. “i know it well, si.”

he grunts before he is bending forward to press his lips over yours, your eyes fluttering close to savour the kiss. he is gentle as he guides you through it, prompting you to part your lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss – tongues swiping against each other and soft moans being engulfed by both of you.

you are panting by the time he pulls away, his eyes dilated in pleasure. you wonder if you look just as debauched, just as desperate for more.

“wanna take this somewhere else?” simon murmurs, just the sound of his grave voice already making you tremble.

you scramble to say yes, your words lilting together in your excitement. simon chuckles and presses a quick kiss on your lips before he’s picking up the shopping bags and herding the two of you out.

[seventeenytiny]

Favorite Place to Cum - Stray Kids

Smut - MDNI

Word Count: 887 Warnings: Smut, marking, Skz are light doms, daddy kink with Lee Know, oral (male receiving) Author's Note: Someone else posted this exact same prompt recently but I promise that I had this in my drafts for a bit and it was purely coincidental that we posted around the same time :)

Bang Chan - Inside

He loves coming inside, why would he pull out when it feels so good to be inside you? He likes to have you at the edge of the bed, your legs wrapped around his waist while he pounds into you. He leans over your body, his broad shoulders protecting you from the world. Chan kisses your face before leaning towards your ear, "Gonna cum in that pretty pussy, okay love?" A simple nod is all he needs before he fills you up with his warm cum.

Lee Know - Face

He loves marking you and using his cum is one way he can do that. He's been fucking you all night, at this point he's already given you several mind-blowing orgasms. After you calm down from your previous high he pulls his cock out of you. "Do me a favor angel, get on your knees and clean off Daddy's cock." Wasting no time, you eagerly take his length into your mouth, using your hands to work what won't fit. His orgasm approaches rapidly, and he pulls out with little warning, painting your face white.

Changbin - Ass

Changbin loves everything a person can like about a good ass. He loves holding it, squeezing it, spanking it, and cumming on it. For these reasons, he often likes to fuck you from behind, he goes hard and fast, loving the way your ass slaps against his pelvis. After what felt like hours of fucking, he could feel his high approaching suddenly as his dick goes in and out of your dripping pussy. The wet sounds of him fucking you are ultimately what puts him over the edge. He pulls out right at the last second, jerking his cock as you feel hot cum spill onto your ass.

Hyunjin - Stomach

Hyunjin loooves panting your tummy white with his cum. He honestly just loves all parts of your body, but your stomach is simply a work of art. He's fucking you missionary, watching how your face contorts with pleasure and how your tits bounce with each thrust. Once he hears you cry out his name while your pussy clenches around his cock it's all over for him. He pulls out hastily, fisting his cock until his cum falls onto your stomach.

Han - Tits

This man loves tits, big or small he wants them all. He has you on your knees in front of him, his hands holding your hair back as you take his length into your mouth. A dildo that he suctioned cupped to the floor fills you nicely as you pleasure Jisung. You start to feel overstimulated, the pleasure from the toy is making it hard for you to focus with your mouth. Your high hits as you ride the toy, juices leaking out of you and spilling onto the floor as you finish Jisung off with your hands. Just the sight of you leaking onto the floor has Jisung cumming all over your chest, some of his cum hitting your chin and dripping to the floor.

Felix - Tits

Another man who is a big fan of tits. Imagine the two of you doing mutual masturbation, sitting across from each other on the bed as both of you focus on the other's body. The way you have your legs wide open in front of him is driving him insane. You take your fingers to spread your pussy for him, slipping a finger in your dripping hole. Felix grunts as he fists his hard cock, the wet sounds of your fingers fucking your pussy is music to his ears. He's going to cum fast and he's going to cum hard. Right before he orgasms he jumps up on top of your body, his legs straddling your torso. He pumps his cock as hot cum falls onto your tits, his eyes half closed from pleasure.

Seungmin - On your pussy

This man loves to pull out right at the very last second and cum right on your pussy. He loves how dominant it makes him feel, it's like he's marking your pussy as his. I imagine he'd like to have you right at the edge of the bed, your legs hanging off as he fucks into you. His thrusts have been fast and harsh all night, and your clit has been abused by him pinching and slapping it. You feel your second orgasm of the night take over you, wrapping your legs around his waist. The feeling of your pussy clenching around him triggers his orgasm as well, he pulls out as soon as the feeling hits. Ropes of his cum cover your pussy, slowly dripping down to the bed.

I.N - Lower back

I think Jeongin would really like fucking his partner doggy style. He loves how your ass slaps against his body with each thrust. Just the sounds that you make while he takes you from behind could have him cumming in an instant. Your moans are hard to muffle even with your face pushed into the bed, the amount of pleasure he is giving you is overwhelming. You cum around his cock, screaming his name, he can't hold back his high anymore at this point. He pulls out, and you feel the warmth of his cum as it coats your lower back, dripping down the side of your body.

[hoshigray]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - oral (m! receiving) - ball-massaging - face + throat-fucking - praise - pet names (baby, cutie, mama, sweet thing) - implied that reader has given oral prior - first-time Toji finding enjoyment in receiving oral - heavy depictions of a blowjob - mention of spit.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: "Toji has never really enjoyed oral. At least, not until Y/n went down on them for the first time…"

I was playing with NSFW prompts for the first time, and this was literally the first one it gave me…genius. (¬‿¬) guess kinda a switch-up from this oldie i did~ hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's, accept this as my welcome back present, hehe~ also tysm for 4.6k, hello????

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

“…Hey, Toji?” 

“Yeah, baby?”

“…Can I…..give you a blowjob?”

Up until this point, Toji was never one to be given oral from anyone. 

Giving oral isn’t a problem. But receiving it from someone else? That’s another thing. Call it his personal preference or years of sexual experience, but the older man never actually found pleasure in it. It could be from the many inexperienced minxs he’s had to get his dick wet, whose frequent teeth and bites sabotaged the mood for him. Or probably from the others who just really didn’t appear to know what they were doing — again, ruining the mood. Or the fact that most of the time, as mentioned, he finds himself satisfying his partner at the time more than himself. 

Not that he minds at all; no, no. He finds great satisfaction in going in between someone’s legs and getting them turned on from his work. But when it comes to the thought of having his dick sucked, it’s a hard pass. Respectfully. 

Which brings us to the present: him on the couch with an arm wrapped behind your shoulders, bringing you close to him as you watch television comfortably. The ceiling lights dimmed to a warm low glow, your head draped on his shoulder as his hand rubs comforting circles on yours, and the silence only filled with the voices coming from the TV isn’t awkward in the presence of you two. Why would it be? He’s with you, his little sweet thing. And that’s all he wants right now.

So, after all the fidgeting with your thumbs and the occasion glances at him (which he noticed, of course), it was apparent that you’d soon ask him something out of the blue. What he hadn’t expected, though, was that question. 

“Pfft, that’s random,” he scoffs at the sudden question, and more subtle chuckles resort from the bashful turn of your head. God, you were so cute. “Why ask, sweet thing?”

“I was…just wondering, you know?” Your eyes travel down to your twiddling thumbs, avoiding Toji’s deep, observant emerald gaze. “We’ve been together for this long, and not once have I ever given you a blowjob. And I know, you always say you’re fine with it, but like…I really wanna give you one.”

And that’s when you muster up some confidence to peer up at him meekly, and that’s what seals the deal for Toji. Who is he to deny such puppy dog eyes from his baby? 

“Okay then,” he chortles with a smirk, the scar on his right side rooted up. It’s just a blowjob. If not for me, then for them. “Do what you do, cutie.” Little did he know that this would blow his expectations far out.

It started out nice and slow. Toji indulged in your kisses as you snuck your hand into the hem of his drawstring pants, sucking on his tongue while fingers crept inside his boxer briefs to give his cock a rub. He groans into your mouth, liking how you’re setting the mood until you take your lips away from his and slide off the couch to be between his legs. Removing his underwear to the floor, you examine his half-soft dick before using your hands to wrap around the base, massaging around it while you take the tip in your mouth. Toji sighs in bliss at the feeling of your soft licks and rolls of your tongue, shifting around to get more comfortable on the couch.

His erection becomes less and less flaccid, hardening around your mouth. This is where you decide to take in more of his length, hallowing your cheeks as you push your puffy lips down halfway down his erection. By the time you reach this base, your throat is so full of Toji’s girth that you use his sweatpants as reins for your hands as you try to give yourself a few seconds to adjust to the limb occupying your throat. You continue to suck on his cock, bobbing up and down with your saliva coating him, your tongue moving around on the underside of his dick every time you suck up to the tippy top. 

The sucks and strokes to his length become a little faster, and it’s here that Toji can’t concentrate on the television. Subtle twitches of his leg result from the hummed moan you express while taking him to the hilt. The vibrations that resonate along the inner walls of your throat are felt. It feels so good. And the tongue of yours? Fuck. His brows trench down when your tongue licks from the bottom of his ridge to the frenulum, giving his cockhead an onslaught of rough licks and kisses that has Toji exhale through his nose. “Hmmnn, fuck…Y/n, baby, y’re so good at this…Uhghh!”

You release his tip with a soft ‘plop’ with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his spit-covered cock. “Ahahhn, really?” Oh, fucking shit, don’t look at him like that. Your hooded eyes peering up at him with a soft smile while your hands maintain a stroking rhythm that has Toji squirm around your grasp. And then you surprise him with a grasp of his ballsack, oh you’re a devilish cutie. “That makes me happy to know,” you give him a giggle when Toji involuntarily bucks to your hands; the veiny limb contrasting with your pretty fingers is such a sight to see. The pulsating commotion between your legs progresses more by the second.

More dangerous licks paired with the massage to his balls as Toji huff is bliss. “Ahhh, sh–shit…Ya like how my dick tastes, mama?”

Taking his cock back into your mouth with alluringly half-lidded eyes is the answer you give him, your lips covering your teeth as your jaw relaxes to welcome his neither limb back inside your warm oral cavity. The suction of your hallow cheeks became lethal with the increased speed, your tongue now swirling around him and creating such deviant noises that only Toji focuses on despite the television vices failing to drown them out. 

Holy shit, Toji wasn’t expecting this kind of treatment at all. This was downright out of the water from all the other oral ordeals he’s had in his life. How the fuck were you so good at this!? Cupping his balls while slurping his dick was such a dangerous combo; Toji doesn’t know how long he’ll contain the urge to stand and fuck your face here and now. Goddamn, the faster you bob your lips on him, the shiver down his spine is hard to ignore. His hips jerking to your mouth; he wants to fuck your face so bad. And just looking at your ass sway while you suck on him, he knows you’re enjoying this as well. 

It reaches a point where he can’t take it anymore — he wants to go faster and harder. So Toji grabs your head as he stands up and dials the tempo to a harsher motion, propelling your lips down to his pelvis. And you’re quick not to panic, being sure to breathe when Toji smacks his testicles to your chin and ruts into your face and throat with no mercy. Toji moans at the sensation of your gummy walls wrapping around his length, hissing at your muffled wails as he hits the back of your throat. “Fsshhh—Hnngh!! Fuckin’ shit, just like that, mama, just like that…Ohhggh!”

You can feel the veins on his girth pulsate, indicating that his release is soon coming. The thrusts to your face get erratically faster, so you’re sure to grab onto his sweatpants to make sure you don’t lose balance as he spills his load down your throat. Ending it with a few rough hits to your lips, Toji groans with gritted teeth, shaky, strong legs pumping his semen for you to drink, which you merrily take with muzzled squeals on his shaft. The both of you experience the last moment of this euphoric high until Toji’s body calms down, heavy breaths going slower with every expel. He gives you a few moments to suck him off a little more before removing himself from you, gradually pulling his length, quivering with the aftershocks at the dismissal of your warm walls around him. And he jolts when you tease him with one last lick to the sensitive tip. 

“Hahhh, damn, cutie,” Toji takes a seat back on the couch, eyeing you down with a weary smirk and furrowed brows. “Since when did ya like to get down and dirty?”

You sheepishly smile back and avert your eyes down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m glad you liked it, Toji.” 

“Sure as hell did,” he bends down to grab your chin and bring you in for a kiss. The squeaks you let out when he bites your lips are too adorable and hot to his ears. “Want me to eat you out, sweet thing?”

“Really?” God, you were too cute — beaming at him like that with such a lovely smile. 

“Sure thing. Besides, I saw the way you were movin' that ass while suckin’ me off. So, I got you,” Toji takes off his sweatpants, moving his legs to be on the couch entirely. His dick is still standing erect, and he gives you a suggestive grin before tapping his chest, a sign for you to get ready and sit on him. “Only if ya can do that shit on me again.” The request takes you aback for a minute, but you chuckle and stand up. You remove your bottoms and underwear, and Toji notices the wet spot on the material. 

Again, Toji is Toji was never one to be given oral. But if he’s going to be treated like this, you might be able to change his mind.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – dividers from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[sugusatosluut]

Look, don’t touch

Choso Kamo x Fem!reader

MDNI✨

Includes: Smut, grumpy choso, rough sex, clingy and jealous choso ;)

Also hi! :) hope everyone is starting the new year off fantastic! I’m here and ready to be mutuals with other creators on here. A comment on who to write about + a prompt would be nice :) my ask is open as well! Much love,

Fran <3

Your time spent being Kenjaku’s favorite pupil was exhausting. You sometimes spent time with the other pawns that Kenjaku lured with the promise of something different that each of them had valued, even yourself. Your favorite though, was Choso Kamo. Even though he was definitely a loner, he would sometimes share things with you, like food or techniques. He’d back you up on missions, volunteer to ‘protect you’ during reconnaissance and both of those ended up with him pushing your face into the sheets of a hotel room that you had frequented when you didn’t feel like traveling back to the hideout. This one mission in particular, Kenjaku opted to tag along as well.

“My sweetest pupil, one of my most prized possessions. You’ve nearly mastered this technique, is this the result of choso helping you during your spare time?” He asked.

“Yes Master Kenjaku.” You bowed your head.

Choso looked over as Kenjaku picked your head up with two fingers and got awfully close to your face. His lips were mere centimeters from your own, and he used the body of Suguru Geto to give you a warm smile. He liked the feeling of Choso’s eyes watching every twinge of movement between you and other individuals, it’s almost like he wanted to see how far he could push choso until he made him snap and show his true colors.. he liked that they were similar, but kenjaku’s fantasy was set aside to tend to his other pupils. Before he removed his fingers from your chin, Kenjaku looked you up and down, before smirking and leaving.

After he left, choso let out a deep sigh he had been holding. God it really got to him that Kenjaku really knew how to get under his skin, he knew somewhat about Choso’s ‘crush’ on you, but not what you two did on or after missions. Choso quietly made his way over to you after Kenjaku left.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” He pouted from across the room.

“I can’t help that. I have to please Kenjaku.. but it doesn’t top wanting to please you, choso.” You smirked picking your head up to look at choso, who was clearly hot and bothered by both your words and your interaction with Kenjaku.

He huffed. It was something so simple and he already knew you weren’t into your ‘master’ but he wanted to hear it straight from your mouth.

Choso got up and quit his pouting. His face was serious and his demeanor was filled with tension.

“Get up.”

“Hm? Cho-“

“Get up.”

Choso grabbed your hand and pulled you into kenjaku’s resting place.. or office, whatever he called it, roughly pinning you between him and the door. His breath hot on your neck. All those taunting moments finally got to him, so he was going to take it further. He planted sloppy, wet kisses all over your neck and lips, sucking on your lips and shoving his hands up your top. You had no time to react, pure ecstasy shot through your body. Choso could do whatever he wanted to you and that was just the fact of the matter.

Suddenly he wrapped your hair into a ponytail around his palm, your whole body moving wherever he pulled you to go. He stopped you right in front of Kenjaku’s desk, aggressively pulling your skirt up. He rubbed circles on your puffy clit, his fingers feeling how wet you were just from kissing you.

“Choso-“ you panted.

“No- not until you tell me I’m your only master.” He grunted as he pulled your underwear to the side. He slid his cock up and down your folds, his tip throbbing at just the feeling of making contact with your precious cunt. He was grunting with anticipation, the reality of how rough he was being set in, but he couldn’t stop now. Is this what Kenjaku wanted? No- is this what you wanted? You wanted him to be rough with you and mark his territory, to fuck you in your master’s office, to see how only choso could make you weep, squirt and moan, how he could be the only man to destroy you and please you all at once. He wanted you to know that there was nobody else your cunt would willingly accept in all it’s tightness.

“Please, Cho- put it in, god! I- need you so bad.” You moaned gripping the desk. Choso had your ponytail in one hand and grabbed onto your waist with the other. He placed his body behind yours, embracing you, squeezing your hips and massaging them as he whispered in your ear.

“Tell me who your master is and I might just let you cum, pretty.” Choso’s words made your body shiver. He gave no warning before plunging his cock into your hole.

“G-gah!” You let out.

Choso was relentless. His behavior was far off than what you’ve seen prior to his odd jealousy. Choso never got jealous of anything as far as you knew.. but you were also oblivious of a lot of things. Your moans filled the air as choso waited for you to say what he needed to hear.

“Say it-mmm- say it or you’re not going to cum Princess.” I grunted as lewd sounds filled the air in Kenjaku’s space. You couldn’t take it anymore as your walls clenched around him, your throat letting out groans and moans before being able to speak through choso’s rough thrusts into you from behind.

“Y-you’re my one and only master choso, only you can have me!” You whined as you clenched harder around him. The enthusiasm and build up in your stomach was nearly edging you until choso said it..

“You can cum Princess, I’m right here- god you’re so tight I’m gonna - fuck! tch…” he panted before both of you came simultaneously. Choso kissed a line up your spine and pulled himself out slowly. He watched for a second as your hole dripped the mixture of the two of you out slowly. He turned you back around to himself and caressed your face. He wasn’t ever this affectionate. You figured maybe choso only wanted to hookup, but this only proved to you that Choso Kamo was a jealous man.

“Cho, were you jealous?” You smirked at him.

He sighed.

“A- a little yeah.. I think I would like to take you on a proper date to ask you out. When you have time though. Don’t want to piss off that old bastard.” Choso rolled his eyes.

“I’d love that choso.” You smiled.

[trendywaifus]

↳ i fantasize about you all the time!

the girls can’t get you off of their mind so they jerk off to you.

featuring — transfem! march 7th, stelle, bronya, kafka x fem!reader

cw: pillow humping, cursing, grinding, cream pie, facefucking, masterbation, pet names, not proofread

sighing happily, march plops onto her plush bed. her recent mission was incredible and felt like a fresh breath of air compared to the previous ones that involved wild goose chases and non-stop wrongly arrests. the planet she visited was beautiful; full of breathtaking sights, delicious foods, large cities, and for once, normal people.

with her precious camera in hand, she goes to her recent photo album and browses through series of photos she took over the duration of the mission. there was a few particular pictures that made her smile and shake her head—stelle messing around with a few exotic monkeys while you were nearly kneeling over laughing and danheng standing there looking awfully dumbfounded in the background. warmth floods her body when her gaze observes your pretty face; parted plush lips spilling with laughter, literal tears in your crinkled eyes, the way the sun shined so perfectly on your face—aeons, you were gorgeous.

“ geez, i feel so mushy inside now. “ she giggles, skimming over a few pictures, only taking a few seconds to look at them. it went from gorgeous scenery, animals, group photos, to you. march abruptly stops at a photo of you idly eating a slice of cheese cake. she eyes your pink lips wrapped around the fork and then her gaze shifts to the blissful expression on your face. she remembers the soft, dulcet moan you produced after taking a bite of the slice of cheesecake. gosh, did it really taste that good to make you moan like that? well, it was delicious but seriously?

without thinking, march takes her bottom lip between her teeth. all that aside, you sounded so pretty. march can’t help but imagine those pretty lips wrapped her dick. blood rushes down her abdomen and she feels herself getting hard. heat rushes in her cheeks as dirty thoughts of you fills her mind. “ not again. .” she groans, glancing down at the growing bulge poking out from her skirt. she feels ashamed for thinking about you this way; you’re her best friend after all.

“ ugh. .” she sighs, carefully setting her camera to the side. march adjusts herself to tug her skirt and panties down to her plush thighs, freeing her hardened length. she wraps her hand around the base and work her way up. closing her eyes, she envisions you kissing her cockhead while grinning up at her with roguish eyes. “ don’t just look at me like that.” march groans, softly squeezing herself. she can almost hear you giggle in response and take her inside your hot mouth, teasingly circling your tongue around her tip.

“ aeons, please st-stop teasing me, (name). . “ march moans, throwing her head back in frustration as she hurriedly drags her palm back down her cock. she imagines your head slowly lowering down until your mouth hits her abdomen. her dick is pretty average and little more on the skinny side, so you shouldn’t have to worry much about gagging. march lets out a soft moan, buckling her hips as she starts to speed up her strokes. pleasure courses through her body like a wildfire.

“it feels so good, keep doing that, (name)–please. . !” she begs, focusing her attention on her leaking tip, smearing precum along the shaft. she falls back on the mattress, covering her mouth with her free hand as a high pitched moan escapes her lips. she repeatedly thrusts her cock into her hand, imagining herself sloppily mouth fucking you. “ ah, c’mon, just like that—i’m gonna cum soon! “ march breathes, arching her back in pleasure. she feels a familiar knot twisting and turning in her belly which only prompt her to go faster. despite her hand burning with exhaustion, she maintains her pace.

the thought of you peering up at march with hazy eyes as she’s desperately fucking your mouth drove her over the edge. “ cumming—cumming! “ she nearly screams in a muffled voice, eyes rolling to the back of her head as cum spurts out from her cock and spills all over her thighs and the sheets.

her cock twitches as she slowly ceases her movement, easing herself down from her high. filled with ecstasy, she sighs deeply.

she wishes you were more than her best friend.

grumbling, stelle tosses and turns in bed, restless as she’s unable to fall asleep. heaving out a small sigh of frustration, she lays on her back. “ maybe i should of had a warm glass of milk before bed or asked for another room. “ she mumbles, running a hand through her grey locks. you’d think a luxurious hotel would have fairly soft beds but nope. instead, the mattress felt more on the harder side and bumpy. she wonders if march and danheng had similar beds like hers.

“ even if my bed’s terrible to sleep in, i still would sleep better if (name) was here. .” stelle whines, longing to be cuddled up in your arms and nuzzled up against you. she wants her face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent while your nimble fingers soothingly comb through her hair. stelle whimpers softly, imagining your hand running down her back and slipping under her shirt to massage the warm skin underneath.

stelle instinctively palms herself through her sweatpants, breath hitched as her cock twitches. “ (name). .” she lowly groans, pretending that you’re the one rubbing her, whispering sweet promises into her ear—whispering about how you wanna ride her thick cock until she’s milked dry. “ wanna fuck you. .” stelle whispers out, screwing her eyes shut as she lets herself get swallowed up by lust and desire.

“ please let me, please. .” stelle begs, hurriedly pulling down her sweatpants and boxers just enough for her stiff cock to spring out from its fabric confinements. she takes herself in her hand and strokes her swollen red tip. she imagines flipping you over on your stomach and have your hips up in the air, displaying your pretty ass and pussy to her. stelle’s length twitches with excitement. she’d knead your ass and tease your drooling entrance with her cockhead, coating it with your juices before slipping inside.

“ shit. .! “ stelle groans, fist pumping her cock. all she could think about is your pussy clamping around her as she fills you up, bottoming you out. she desperately wishes you were here so her imagination can become reality. your cunt is far more perfect than her hand. she huffs in frustration, stopping herself mid stroke. she turns herself around on her stomach and props her elbows against the mattress. she snatches the pillow and situates it under her so her cock is pressed up against it.

another groan escapes her lips as she slowly drags herself along the smooth, warm surface. a sense of relief and lust washes over her. “ so much better. .” she chokes out, rolling her hips against the pillow, beads of precum darkening the thin covering. she envisions the pillow being you; getting fucked into the mattress while you’re nothing but a moaning mess. stelle throws her head back in ecstasy at the mere thought. she moves her hips faster, each thrust pushing her closer to her orgasm.

mind clouded with lust, drool dribbles down her chin. “ wanna cum inside (name)—please, i’ve been good. .! “ stelle moans out, the bed creaks as her pace becoming more feverish and sloppy. she can hear your sweet voice in her head, telling her to cum and not a moment later, she does just that. “ c-cumming. .! “ she whimpers loudly, thrusting one last time before her hips stutters, ropes of cum shoots all over the pillow and her stomach.

hair sticks to her sweaty forehead as her head droops down to see the mess she’s made. “ how am i going to clean this up. .” she wonders tiredly, slowly catching her breath.

“ you sure you don’t want me to bring you back anything while i’m out? “ you asked with a warm smile, massaging bronya’s tense shoulders. she melts under your touch, sighing in content. “ it’s fine my love, don’t trouble yourself. you’ve been stuck here with me for quite awhile, i preferred if you go out and get some fresh air. “ she answers, turning her head a bit to give you a loving smile.

“ if you say so. “ you dipped down to place a lingering kiss on bronya’s lips, delicately running your hands down her arms before detaching yourself away to leave. her cheeks turns pink from the simple gesture and she waves you goodbye with a shy smile as you exit her office. grabbing her pen, bronya’s gaze returns back to the current document she was working on.

after forty minutes of signing and reading lengthy documents, the sudden memory of you running your hands down her arms as you kissed her pops into her mind. she swallows thickly, why was she thinking about that? it was just a simple innocent gesture shared between lovers. bronya adjusts herself in her chair, loosely crossing her legs, setting her ankle on the opposite knee. shame swells in her chest as indecent thoughts flows through her head. bronya’s only been with you for a couple of months now and if something like that is able to rile her up then she’s going to have to get use to it.

her cheeks turns darker as she feels her cock grow hard against her tights. she sighs exasperatedly, grabbing a fistful of her hair in utter annoyance. bronya tries to resume her work and did her best to ignore it but she couldn’t. when she attempts to think about something else other than you, she couldn’t either. bronya’s very confident to say she’s well–disciplined but it seems to be not true when it comes to you.

“ i musn’t. .” she whispers, voice strained as the thought of masterbating in her office enters her mind. if she makes too much noise, the guards present outside of the double doors might get alerted. not to mention, you’re also coming back soon, considering you left about forty minutes ago. she can’t face anyone—especially you like this. if you were to walk in right now, you’ll see bronya’s cheeks stained with a deep red and a look of frustration on her face.

she has to have some sort of relief if she wants to think clearly again. this will be the first and last time she’ll ever do this. tentative, she uncrosses her legs and leans her back against the chair. her deft fingers snakes under her dress to rub her clothed length. she nearly sighs in relief as she runs her gloved palm along down the shaft. chewing on her lip, bronya’s eyes flutters closed as she gives in to the lewd thoughts plaguing her mind.

bronya sees herself bending you over on her desk, peppering kisses along your back while rocking her hips against your ass. she can hear you beautifully gasp as she roams a hand down your stomach to play with your clit. “ you don’t have to worry about a thing, sweetheart, allow me to take you here. “ she softly moans, gently squeezing herself through her tights. if you let her, she’ll first fuck your thighs, slotting her cock between the supple flesh and indulge herself.

precum leaks out of her tip, causing a small dark patch to form on her tights. aeons, bronya can just feel it; your thighs squeezing her while she slowly thrusts between them. a gentle moan surges from her chest. her hips buckles, eagerly pushing up against her palm. the supreme guardian desperately wants to free her arching length from the fabric confinements to please herself properly but she’s afraid of going further.

in bronya’s fantasy, she’s pulling herself away from your thighs and if you give her permission to, she’ll finish all over your pretty back. she lets out a shaky sigh, trying her best to fist pump her shaft. “ i’m going to enter inside now, okay sweetheart? “

she knows that her dick is little more on the heavier side so she’ll try her best to be gentle. excitement fills her chest at the thought of your gummy walls welcoming her cock while she settles inches in you. once fully inside, she’ll fuck you ever so lovingly against the desk. “ mmph, as expected you’re taking me so well. . . “ she whispers, increasing her pace and roughly rubbing her palm against her swollen tip.

“ you feel so wonderful, my love—i’m nearly there. . !” bronya breathes, feeling tension rise in her belly. her hips are nearly off the seat of the chair as she desperately rolls and grinds her cock into her hand. sweat rolling down her brow, chest heaving heavily as she breathed, her flushed face crunched up with pleasure—she swears if anyone barges in to see her like this, they’ll think she’s having some sort of rare panic attack.

her hand flies to her mouth, muffling a loud broken moan as the tension in her abdomen tightens until it becomes utterly unbearable. before she knows it, a large patch of her tights is sticky and drenched with cum. bliss wraps around her like a blanket and her mind becomes clear again. she lets out a deep sigh, back slightly slouched against the chair. the underlying sense of shame doesn’t mix well with the satisfaction she’s feeling right now.

when bronya hears the doors creak open and your excited voice calling out to her, she immediately straightens her back up, fixes her dress, and grabs her pen; acting as if she didn’t cum at the thought of fucking you right where she sits.

“ welcome back, my love. “ she musters up a warm smile as you approached with a few bags in hand, trying her best to not appear undone.

kafka lazily takes the last sip of her wine and places the empty glass on a small table next to her. “ hmm. .” she sighs, resting her cheek on her palm with a bored look on her beautiful bare face. soft classical music idly plays in the background as she thought about what to do for the night. resting in her own room while drinking wine and listening to her playlist is peaceful, but she’s starting to get a bit restless. bothering her fellow colleagues were out the question since it’s already late.

clad in a black robe, kafka stands up from her chair and sits on her bed. when she glances over at her phone on the nightstand, you immediately come into mind. it’s been months since you two broken up and to be truthful, she regrets letting you leave her and the stellaron hunters. but since you’re in the astral express crew now, she doesn’t have to worry much about your safety. also, elios did say you and her were going to cross paths one day as well.

but fuck, during nights like this when she had you, you’d already be folded like a pretzel on her bed getting stuffed full of her dick. kafka wonders what you’re doing right now. are you thinking about her like how she’s thinking about you? well, you should be. she made sure to convey her love for you in all different types of ways and positions before you left. hell, if you were to contact her right now and ask for her to prove herself, she’ll be there within an hour. sneaking on the astral express train is extremely easy. but apparently, you want nothing to do with her which she believes is a poor lie, but oh well.

a sly smirk tugs on her lips as a exciting idea settles in her head. “ my pretty girl wouldn’t mind. “ she says, moving her robe a bit to wrap her fingers around her hard length in one hand while the other grabs the phone from the nightstand. stroking herself a few times, she goes to her camera and angles herself so everything below her neck is only showing then she presses record. kafka smoothes her hand up her cock. “ ya know, darling, if you were here right now, i wouldn’t even let ya sleep.” she drawls, a soft chuckle escapes her lips. she imagine being in between your legs, eating out that pretty pussy of yours. fuck, you’d taste so good on her tongue right now.

or better yet, your pretty lips sucking her length while she sips her wine. you use to be so eager to please her and she’d always return the favor. that was one of many things she loved about you. she releases a breathy moan, pumping her shaft into her hand. purple tresses spills from her shoulders as her head tilts to the side. “ fuck, i miss you baby. .” she moans, biting her lip. she starts to feel herself grow desperate at the thought of pushing your knees against your chest and splitting you open with her fat cock. she wonders, what type of expression you’ll make? perhaps that one fucked out expression of yours where its clear that you’re drunk off her dick; face twisted with pleasure, wild (e/c) eyes filled with nothing but infatuation and lust, and swollen lips parted open.

“ i know you miss me—i just know you do, darling. . !” kafka’s practically fisting her cock, jerking her hips up to meet the strokes of her hand, not caring if her robe becomes undone. she bets you’ll take it like a champ as she reshapes your tight pussy. “ such a good girl for me, baby. fuck, i wanna cum all over your pretty pussy. i know you’ll like that, yeah?” kafka rasps, swiping her thumb over her drooling tip to use the precum as lube.

“ damn, i might actually cum faster than i expected. . ! “ she groans through gritted teeth and then forces out a strained laugh. she feels a knot tighten in her stomach. desperate to cum, her fist pumps becomes less aimed and more sloppy. “ keep your eyes on me, darling—i-i’m going to cum!“ kafka moans out, throwing her head back in pure ecstasy as ropes of cum spurts from her cock and spills all over her.

kafka mumbles out a small string of curses while smiling at the mess she made on herself. she felt no shame when she ends the recording and sends the video to you.

if anything, she wishes that you were here to clean her up by licking the cum off her half naked body.

[urhoneycombwitch]

eddie who's cynical and grumpy only because he hasn't had proper aftercare. most people just roll over or leave when they're done and those that do stay to cuddle, it's Eddie holding them and never the other way around. He doesn't want to admit that it makes him feel dissatisfied afterwards, like the sex wasn't even worth it, because he got laid, that's the point, why complain? But there's just something... missing (and I figure aftercare wasn't as talked about in the 80s so he isn't really too sure what that something is)

Until a night with reader where they have absolutely mind-blowing sex, parting with heavy breaths and as Eddie's heart rate starts to slow back down to normal again, he's waiting for reader to grab their clothes, roll over on their side, something that breaks the connection and makes his heart drop. But they don't, reaching out a weak hand (because they're sluggish waiting for their soul to return to their body) to rub his arm. A gentle back and forth, which feels nice, but Eddie's suspicious. What is this, why are they doing it, and why does it feel good?

And then, "Can I play with your hair?" (from the muse prompt lol) and he's agreeing with a shrug and when reader starts to card their fingers through his curls and massage his scalp, Eddie melts. It's like a whole brain recalibration. His icy heart getting thawed out just because someone made sure to take care of him too. And if reader wakes up earlier in the morning just to ask how he likes his eggs? Eddie's already decided that he's gotta lock them down.

+18 mdni

cw: p in v sex, cockwarming

It’s you tipping over the edge into orgasm, choking his cock with your velvet walls, soft whine spilling from the back of your throat, that takes Eddie with you.

As he comes, he burrows his face into your neck. Your hands reach for his skull to draw him closer, and he unintentionally bites down a bit too hard on the soft skin of your neck.

You let out a gasp, fingers seizing in his hair, and he’s quick to pull his mouth up, kissing and soothing over the spot he’s left with his teeth.

“Shit, sorry, sweetheart,” he pants, the affection slipping out despite himself.

“It’s’okay,” you mumble out in one word, limbs going to putty, hands extricating themselves from his hair.

Eddie rises to his elbows and moves to gingerly pull out but you stop him, fingers flying up to dig into the meat of his biceps.

“Wait, can you- will you just stay in? For a little bit?”

You’re not kidding, he can tell- you’ve got a wounded puppy look that he’s dying to change. Eddie sinks slowly back into you, rotates his hips a bit so you take less of his weight, and settles his head on your collarbone.

A big, dreamy sigh, from you- like you’re perfectly content because of how close Eddie is.

His eyes flutter shut when you begin tracing light lines with the pads of your fingers over his bare back.

“What’cha doin’?” Eddie murmurs into the skin of your sternum.

Up his spine, circling under the curtain of hair against his neck, down the spine again; looping and rhythmic. Your hands don’t slow as you whisper “Lovin’ on you, weirdo. Hush.”

You can feel the well of his dimples against your skin as he smiles.

“Can I play with your hair?” you ask quietly, and before he’s even finished nodding you’ve got both hands winding into his dark locks.

You start gentle, thumbs at his temples, light touches against his scalp, but when your hands find the roots you give a short but hard tug.

The little flash of pain goes straight to his dick, and he bucks into you with a low groan, half filled-out already.

“You gonna give me another pretty mark to look at?” you purr.

Eddie lifts his head from your chest and grazes his teeth into the opposing side of your neck just below your ear, in tandem with a sharp snap of his hips.

He catches your clit beneath his thumb and grins wicked when you moan, pulling up again to look down at you as he says, “Gimme another one of your pretty orgasms and we’ve got a deal.”