#making his hair was a FUCKING NIGHTMARE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question born of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[dadsbongos]

local adventurers get body swapped and fuck sloppy style

2.5 K words / warnings - unprotected pinv sex, fem body for reader, oral (m+f receiving), slight choking, pwp, not super proofread

summary - something something marcille and senshi need medicinal herbs… its not important. you and chilchuck and laios get it on in each other's bodies

~~~

“Laios, I don’t know if you should touch those…”

“He definitely shouldn’t!”

Laios touches the vibrant orange flower petals, grazing his fingertips from the outer curl towards the neon yellow stigma, “I think if I press right here, then…”

“Laios!” Chilchuck shrieks at the same time you gasp, “No!”

A yellow powder spews from the now gaping stigma, clogging Laios’ entire head. In your shared panic to rescue the man, you and Chilchuck also inhale traces of the pollen. It tastes unexpectedly sweet, like ripe apples fresh from their tree -- it’s also incredibly disorienting. Head spinning and throat tight, you’re forced to clench your eyes while stumbling for either of the familiar bodies you’d arrived with.

You find one -- cold metal flattening your palm, though it’s strange -- what you’re touching is only the waist of Laios’ cuirass, but you’re reaching up. Your fingers just barely graze the lip of his arm opening.

Certain you’re not kneeling, and now uncertain that you’re sane, you open your eyes to gaze into the beaming reflection of… yourself. But this version of you has her hands skimming down her sides, nails biting the pouch over your tummy.

Glancing up, you find brown fingerless gloves covering your hand. You also find that you have to really stretch your neck to look up at Laios, who is staring down at you with a disturbed flinch.

“Laios?”

It's your own voice that heeds, “Yeah?”

Slowly, you swing your(?) head to face yourself, eyes wide, “Laios?”

“Yeah?”

With an uncertain, shivery hand, you point up at the armored blonde, “Chilchuck…?”

Laios’ voice whispers back your name before gently pleading, “Get out of my body…”

“I don’t know how!” you wail, tugging on brown hair just to feel the sting that confirms this isn’t some horrible nightmare, “Laios, what’d you do?!”

“If you squeeze this flower right, then it goes into self-defense mode and releases a pollen-like substance that switches people’s souls and bodies. Pretty neat, right?” his excitement with the flower is interrupted by a more carnal curiosity, “Can I feel?” he hovers your own hands over your chest and makes a squeezing motion, “I wonder if they’re as squishy as they look?”

“Sure…”

“Yay,” he murmurs, immediately latching to your chest, “Your breasts are so soft, and warm.”

“Thanks,” your naturally gentle tonation sounds odd, dissonant with Chilchuck’s agitated and shrill voice.

“Don’t let him fondle you!” Chilchuck, bizarrely, sounds natural in Laios’ body. Loud and resolute, “That’s so inappropriate!”

“I don’t mind, Chilchuck, really.”

“And don’t say my name with my own voice!”

“Sorry…”

“I wonder how you feel inside.”

Disturbed, you and Chilchuck’s heads turn toward where Laios continues to grope your (his?) chest -- his breaths shortening to gasps and lip sucked between his teeth.

“What’d you just say?” Chilchuck points a shaky finger at Laios.

If Laios finds looking himself in the face strange, he makes no indication. Merely beaming at Chilchuck in his body and shrugging while squeezing your boobs, “Isn’t it so cool that just pollen can swap us so perfectly? Why wouldn’t we try to explore each other’s bodies in a situation like this?”

Chilchuck’s embarrassment makes Laios’ cheeks flare red hot, an annoyed huff spiking past his clenched teeth, “It’ll only make things worse for the party in the long run! Inter-party romance is a terrible idea!”

“It’s not romance, just investigation.”

Before a punch can be thrown from the flustered Chilchuck, you lay a lithe hand on either man’s shoulder (pushing into the back of your mind how strange it is to call a hand smaller than your own yours), “Laios, you have to see how strange that sounds to people not as… curious as you.”

“But I’ve always wanted to know how your bodies work,” Laios frowns, “I get that we’re all humans, so it's basically the same thing and not as interesting, but when it comes to you two I just can’t help it. I want to know how soft your mouths are and how your joints roll in action,” he then peers specifically at Chilchuck, batting your lashes pathetically, “Especially your body, Chil, since I rarely see you do more than deactivate traps.”

“That’s because that’s my job! I don’t fight!”

“Chilchuck, he’s not judging you,” you move the hand on his shoulder down to his hand, Laios’ large palm massively overwhelming Chilchuck’s -- you’re captivated by the difference, “If Laios had a problem with you not fighting, I’m sure you wouldn’t still be in the party.”

“I just want to know how you both feel,” you could cringe at the sound of your voice saying something so naughty, but for the sake of Laios’ feelings you don’t, “Inside and out.”

“Did you consider how that’d be for us? Having to look our own faces in their face during something like that.”

“Like what? I just want to poke,” Laios stretches your fingers with a wiggle, “Maybe some fingering.”

That’d be more believable if Laios wasn’t such a terrible liar, his tells making your back straightening impossibly and knees buckling. Laios starkly dodges both yours and Chilchuck’s scrutinizing stares.

“We know you better than that. You’ll wanna go all out,” despite your inclination to give Laios the benefit of doubt, you’re forced to nod alongside Chilchuck’s accusation.

“Is that so bad?”

Is it?

You’re not as anatomically intrigued as Laios (at least pretends to be), but you can’t lie to yourself and say the men aren’t attractive. Laios is beefy yet kind, piercing amber eyes and soft blonde hair -- his arms look perfect for holding you down as he impales you with his cock. Chilchuck is slight and nimble, big brown eyes with thick lashes and silver hairs sprinkled through brown locks -- his dominable frame would be easy to ride until he’s got tears in his eyes and pleas flowing from his fussy lips.

“I don’t think so,” you move, stepping over to Laios’ side, “I think it could be worth a try.”

“No way!” Chilchuck glares at you for your betrayal, “There is no chance I’d ever do something so depraved!”

.

.

.

“This is so weird…” Chilchuck whines from Laios’ throat, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sight before him.

You, in Chilchuck’s own body, knelt beside Laios occupying your body as you both lick over his flushed erection. Laios seems to show no shyness, eagerly teasing your soft lips across his skin until he’s tonguing the underside. Meanwhile, you’ve got the smoldering head twitching on your tongue -- suckling softly before releasing your lips with a pop and laving the side with attention. Eventually, Laios bores of kitten licks and lowers towards the balls, giving you room to suck his penis into your mouth fully.

Chilchuck winds a hand, larger than he’s used to controlling, through your hair, peeking under his spare arm to watch Laios abuse your likeness. Blinking sweetly and humming while warming his own nuts with gurgled saliva. With advanced hearing, you can make out even the minute sound of Laios’ inferior gag reflex choking on his own balls.

You can also make out the deep rumble of Chilchuck panting and swallowing around his own arousal, lodged in his throat. Hoping to coax out the desire, you relax your gullet and bury your nose against flaxen pubes, making Chilchuck shudder and buck further into your throat.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs, squeezing tighter around brown hair and shaking out your head before wrenching you back, “Wanna fuck your face.”

If you didn’t want him to as well, you’d be busy pointing out how your face is really his.

Instead, you moan eagerly and let your mouth hang open. Digging blunt nails into the handles on his hips for leverage as Chilchuck snaps into your gaping, velvety mouth. Spit gurgles past the rim of your lips, your sudden super hearing picking up every soft, throaty groan that spills from his chest. Despite his every effort to drown the sounds in kisses with Laios, you hear it -- you even hear how their lips mesh above your head.

Silky moans let out by your own voice, it’s startling. And arousing. Which makes it even more startling.

Chilchuck gasps and huffs abruptly, pulling you back to beat his cock against your puffy, raw lips. His whole body scrunches as broken, spotty moans dribble through him, shooting cum down your throat -- though having to bury his face into Laios’ neck (technically your neck) to avoid seeing his own face swallowing his seed.

With your own voice, heady and ragged with lust, Laios sprawls to the ground with spread legs, “I’m so hot,” he brainlessly bucks up against his roaming hand, eyes snapping to you, “How do you live like this?”

“I’m not horny all the time, Laios!”

Completely bypassing your protest, as per usual, Laios whimpers and undoes your trousers -- tickling a trembling finger down his (your) slit, “I need someone in me, please, please?”

You and Chilchuck stare at each other for a short while, silently debating who would be the one -- with newfound stamina in Laios’ body, Chilchuck could theoretically do it if he felt so greedy. Thankfully, he does not, and reclines beside Laios before pressing kisses into his neck while yanking you over by the belt. With eyes closed, he expertly undoes the pants to pull your brand new cock out.

Calloused, yet warm, hands stroke along your shaft in slow pumps before feeding your (his) tip into Laios.

Yours and Laios’ inexperience at the shared sensation is abundant in how you’re both gasping, sweat-slick messes. Laios wiggles further onto your cock, keening and back arching at the intrusion, while your hands are clammy and shaking on his hips. Your eyes can only stray as high as the breasts before things feel… weird… so you choose instead to obsess over the sight of your cock sliding in and out of a soaked cunt. Messy slick glinting in the sunlight, face melting with need, and all rational thought sucked into the tight clench of Laios.

Whining and leisurely thrusting into Laios, you close your eyes to fully absorb the sensations around you. Still, your heightened hearing can pick up the downright obscene gush of your sloppy, wet cunt being fucked open.

Chilchuck lays beside Laios, making you flinch at the unseen act of tracing his fingers around your cock in Laios to gather the splashing wetness before swirling the sodden pads into Laios’ clit.

“Ah!” your voice spikes, Laios grabbing Chilchuck’s wrist as if he could use your dwindling might to bat off his own strength. Chilchuck grins despite himself and continues abusing the bundle of nerves as desperation makes your drilling speed up. Laios wails and bunts eager hips to meet your thrusts, “Ah, ah, ah, ah- so good! This feels amazing!”

Laios presses the hand not clutching Chilchuck’s against your tummy, fingers prodding where cock batters his insides. Huffy little fuck, fuck, oh fucks leaving pouty, raw-bitten lips.

“Does it feel good?” Chilchuck laughs at you both, his sarcasm only being met with varied, broken ‘uh-huh’ responses. A thought brews in his following silence before he reaches up with a spare hand, “How about this, then?”

Suddenly, Laios’ large hand is wrapped around your neck, pressuring the sides to make your head spin.

Oh.

Oh that shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Sudden restricted air pushes your hammering hips into overdrive, gut fizzling and tightening until you’re certain you’ll combust from the inside. You squeeze bruises into your own hips as you slam into Laios’ pliant body.

“Oh my God,” he suddenly wails from your mouth, “I think I’m- fuck! - am I?” his breath hitches, eyes wide and thighs cinching around your pumping hips, “Oh my God, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it, then,” Chilchuck snides with lips still pressed to Laios’ neck, rudely pinching his clit, “Cum for us.”

“I’m cumming,” he babbles, throwing his head back, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

Laios’ complete lack of will obliterates your own, the intense milking of his orgasm around you practically pulling cum from your cock. You gasp under Chilchuck’s choking while stuffing Laios full.

As soon as you’ve pulled Chilchuck’s softening cock out, Laios darts a hand down to finger your abused cunt. Puffy lips parting around curious fingers, thighs twitching at the unwelcomed overstimulation. Mixed cum leaks onto his digits before he accidentally brushes a thumb over his own clit, sending his thighs clenching around his hand as he forces another orgasm from your body.

You blink, suddenly much drowsier than before, and when you open your eyes you’re on the ground. With twitching, aching thighs and a hand between your legs.

Before you can acclimate to the realization you’re returned to your proper body, large hands are spreading your thighs again. Laios dives in, much too excited, and licks along your slit with a seedy groan and pinched brows. As if he’s deriving pure pleasure from sucking your combined release out of your pussy. If anything, the unadulterated oddity and grossness confirms that Laios is, in fact, back in his own body.

“I remember you were needing a little something, big guy,” Chilchuck tiredly slumps against Laios’ side, reaching below the belt to tug Laios’ hardening cock, “Guess you do have a lot of stamina.”

“I wanted to taste it on my fingers before we switched back, but now I can have it on my real tongue,” Laios deliriously giggles, “How lucky is that?”

You’re given no pause to respond before he’s returning to tongue-fucking your spasming hole.

Chilchuck presses lazy kissing along Laios’ flushed skin, jostled slightly when Laios abruptly sits straight, bucking his hips into Chilchuck’s fist as he asks, “Can I cum on you? I want to taste us all together. I need to know- !”

“Fine!” you’re borderline shrieking, sniveling and sobbing in the overstimulation, “Yes, yes, cum on my cunt, Laios. Do whatever you want!”

As if waiting permission, once those words are uttered, Laios spurts across your heated groin. He wastes no time basking in his euphoria before drunkenly lapping up his cum dribbling across your pussy and into yours and Chilchuck’s juices.

“Feral,” Chilchuck notes, smearing the excess sperm across Laios’ thigh and collapsing by your side.

Quicker and more violent than you’d like, another orgasm swells from your tummy to your hips. Thighs clapping against Laios’ ears as his tongue lulls out to sap up your cum. Your nails scrape Laios’ scalp as you wrangle him back when you notice him trying to sink in for more.

“Laios, please!” you tiredly protest.

“Off,” Chilchuck says it short and curt, like training a puppy, as he bats Laios’ head.

Laios lifts his head and drops beside you as well, turning onto his side to stare at you both -- hands curled towards his chest for comfort, “That was fun. We should do it again, but with our normal bodies.”

Unbeknownst to Laios, both you and Chilchuck are passed out and tangled around on another. And unknown to all three of you, Marcille and Senshi are coughing and hacking out a plan to crawl out and search for your group on the hunt for medicinal herbs.

[thesakuragarnet]

The Nightmare (Reverse Comfort Dabi X Fem!Reader)

Summary: Dabi’s outburst causes you to stir in the bed beside him, your vision blurred from heavy sleep, but you can make out Dabi’s form in the darkness, sitting up, hands raking through his hair. You can feel the bed getting warmer…the heat emanating from his body as his Quirk feeds into his emotions.

Tags: Dabi X Fem!Reader, Reverse Comfort, Second Person POV, light angst, bl00d, kissing, cuddling, established relationship, swearing

Word Count: 1,291 words

Tumblr Original <3

Touya Todoroki shrieks, pulling at his hair as he wakes up in an overwhelming fit, overheating and crying...or at least, crying as much as he can with burnt tear ducts. He grits his teeth so hard he’s worried they might crack. His fingernails catch on the scars under his eyes as he claws at his face, wincing as a small yelp of pain bursts from his lips as fresh blood streaks down, sullying the staples that should’ve been cleaned earlier in the week. Truthfully, he couldn’t feel a thing…physically…the small noise of agony was rooted in his heart. He hadn’t been doing well whatsoever; ever since the number one hero spot was just handed to Endeavor after everything he’d put them through…everything he’d painstakingly carved into Touya’s heart, Dabi couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fucking fair. None of it was fair. It proved that hard work meant nothing. All the training on the mountain…burning himself…hurting himself just to prove he was worth a shit. It meant nothing. It was all for nothing. 

Dabi’s outburst causes you to stir in the bed beside him, your vision blurred from heavy sleep, but you can make out Dabi’s form in the darkness, sitting up, hands raking through his hair. You can feel the bed getting warmer…the heat emanating from his body as his Quirk feeds into his emotions. 

“Dabi?” You yawn, rubbing your eyes as you try to sit up. “Are you okay?”

“I’M NOT CRYING!” He shouts angrily, whirling around, making you flinch at the roughness and desperation in his tone. His eyes widen when he watches you shrink back, blood pouring even more down his face as he starts swearing at himself. You know he has anger issues, but this is the first time he’s lashed out at you. His eyes are distant, brilliant turquoise glazed over, and the familiar smell of burning flesh permeates the air as thin plumes of flame begin to slide out of the left side of his face. 

“Dabi, you’re burning up,” You mutter, your tone hinting at your panic. 

He seems dissociated for a minute, acting confused…as if he doesn’t know his own name. He blinks before registering the dull burning sensation that he can barely even feel at this point. He barely registers that the side of his face caught fire. 

“Shit,” He grunts, the corners of his eyes scrunching and his eyebrows furrowing as he takes in a shuddering breath. Ignoring his obvious breakdown, you get on your knees and approach. Your Quirk is Fireproof; it’s one of the main reasons you and Dabi had learned to click so much. You were the only one that could quell his flames. Tentatively, you cup the side of his face, pressing your palm into his skin and snuffing out the azure fire instantly. He closes his eyes, shoulders rolling, breaths staggered and shaking as his chest rises and falls. Your hand moves to run through his tangled black hair, fingernails gently scratching at his scalp, hoping to ground him in some way. Your heart twists at the rivulets of blood seeping down his face, staining the sheets beneath him as it drips down his chin. You can’t stand seeing him so broken like this…especially when he puts up that cold and callous front all the time. It’s such a stark contrast to the persona you’re used to. 

“It’s okay…I’m right here,” You whisper softly, aware of how silly it might sound. Silliness aside, Dabi takes another deep breath, deliberate and slow, as if he’s breathing you in. His hands drop, shaking as he tentatively wraps his arms around you, burying his face into the top of your head. He mumbles something that sounds halfway between a curse and an apology. 

“Can I ask what’s wrong?” You tentatively mumble, and Dabi’s hold on you tightens, his fingernails slightly digging into the fabric of your sleep shirt, just barely grazing your skin. He pulls back.

“Nightmare,” Dabi admits after a brief moment of silence, the word tasting sour on his tongue. A nightmare rooted in memories was the real truth, but he wasn’t ready to disclose that. You gently wipe the blood off his face with your fingers, cradling his jaw in your palms as his cerulean eyes glow at you in the darkness. You decide not to pressure him any further, letting the tense quiet wash over you as you hold each other. His arms are still firmly wrapped around you, eyes flickering from in the moment to staring far away. 

“You wanna go back to sleep?” You yawn, well aware that it’s the middle of the night. Dabi simply shrugs, sniffling. Another beat of silence passes between you two. Carefully, your arms fall, draping around his neck in a gentle hug, awkward but tender. Gradually, Dabi softens in your embrace, melting toward you, body heavy and heart sinking as he lets his exhaustion settle inside him. 

“C’mon,” You whisper, gently falling backward onto the mattress, Dabi’s full weight resting on top of you, arms still vice-gripping your body as he hides his face in your shoulder. Your hands explore further, delicately rubbing his back, being careful not to catch on any staples. Dabi sighs, heavy with unspoken sorrow. It makes your heart pang…you wish he gave you more leeway into his psyche. You so desperately wish you could help him…not fix him. He didn’t need to be fixed; he wasn’t some broken toy that you sought to change. But it was clear that he desperately needed to heal from something…something that was gnawing at his insides until it bled raw. Either way, you were going to stay by his side. You’d already made your decision. You were in love…embarrassingly enough, and, as far as you were concerned, so was Dabi. 

You listen to the sounds of his breathing, intense and quivering, feeling the pressure of his chest expanding against yours. His breaths seem to calm the longer you trace your fingers along the length of his back, grounding him and tethering him to you…to the world…to his world. 

“I love you…I don’t want you to think I don’t…I…I don’t know why I freaked out on you,” Dabi speaks, his raspy voice barely audible, straining as if he’s having to force the words out…as if he’s speaking against his will. 

“I love you, too. It’s alright,” You smile solemnly, turning your head to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He goes stiff when your lips connect with the thin strip of healthy flesh on his cheek, a shiver rolling down his spine before he relaxes once again. Dabi pushes himself up , looking down into your eyes before sweetly connecting your lips. You don’t cringe when you faintly taste the blood. You were used to it at this point. Dabi could keep up the charade that he was a monster, but you knew better…or at least…you were starting to. You were beginning to chip away at the harsh facade. You saw a side of him no one else got to see. The broad smiles. The light in his eyes and the ecstatic repetitive tapping of his feet when he got excited. He let the facade slip around you…but no one else. 

Dabi keeps kissing you, one of his calloused hands brushing against your cheek, the cold staples in his wrist sending a shock through you. Finally, you separate, taking careful note of the way the corners of his mouth just barely twitch upward. 

“I’ll be right here,” You promise as Dabi rests on his side beside you, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. You bring him in to cuddle, draping an arm over his shoulder as he hides his face in your chest. 

“Goodnight, Dabi.”

"Goodnight."

[mustainegf]

heyy I just found your page and you're talented as hell! I wanted to send in a little request.

ok so, 80s or RTL era James and reader are best friends, they are having a sleepover,then she wakes sweating profusely because of a nightmare. she tries to sleep again, she tosses and turns on the bed bit thats doesn't work,and finally wakes James. when he notices how afraid she is, he tries comforting her.

This is fucking adorable, lets be honest we all know they have crushes on each other

𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ¹⁹⁸⁴

I threw the frayed, flimsy sleeping bag on the floor of James's bedroom, directly next to his bed. I didn't mind that the fabric was nearly threadbare and provided little comfort. All that mattered was that I was at James's house.

Though it was equally ancient and lumpy as the sleeping bag, I gratefully accepted James's insistence on lending me an extra pillow. I gave it a tight grip and stared up at him, enjoying the feel of the velvety material on my cheek.

With a cheeky smile on his face, James was lying flat on his bed and staring at me. The little lamp on his bedside table created a soft, yellow glow that warmed the space and gave it a cozy, personal feel.

His guitar rested against the far corner, and his hanging posters of metal bands lined the walls. I could let my guard down and be who I am here and it felt like a second home.

"Do you remember that time Lars tried to balance on one leg and play drums?" James commented, amusement alive in his eyes.

I burst into giggles, burying my face in the pillow. “Oh God, yes... He almost took out the entire drum set.”

James laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that made my heart swell. “He’s such a dumbass. I don’t know how he stays upright most of the time, let alone play drums.”

Each story was funnier than the last, and before long, we were both crying with laughter. That kind of chuckle that just makes everything a bit better.

“Hey, you know what’s weird?” James spoke abruptly, his tone now gentler. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard.”

I noticed the vulnerable expression on his face as I glanced up at him. "Neither can I," I said. "Recently, life has been so busy. It's I've missed hanging out.

James gave a nod, fixing his gaze on mine. There was a brief but comfortable silence during which we simply exchanged glances and knew everything about the other without any words being spoken.

"I love you being here," he muttered.

I answered, "Always," reaching up to give him a firm squeeze. "I wouldn't be anywhere else, you know that."

He smiled, that lopsided grin that always made my heart miss a beat. As the hours passed, our voices became softer and our words became shorter.

I was really happy as I snuggled onto the extra pillow he'd given me. The fact that I was lying on the floor in a tacky sleeping bag didn't matter. It mattered that James and I were together in this utterly perfect moment. The things that brought beauty to life , was this, James.

With drooping eyelids, I whispered a, "Goodnight, James."

He breathed back, "Goodnight," his voice low with drowsiness.

And then, with the comfort of the man beside me, I allowed myself drift off.

I startled awake, breathing urgently and shallowly as my heart hammered in my chest. Sweat was pouring down my face and the flimsy sleeping bag was sticking to my skin.

The nightmare that had pulled me from sleep had left my mind a disorganized mix of visuals, but they were beginning to fade into the shadows, leaving me with nothing but an uneasy sense of dread.

I sat up and attempted to calm my breathing while sliding a shaking hand through my hair. The only sound in the pitch black, silent room was James's even, gentle breathing from his bed.

I looked across at him and felt an ocean of relief when I noticed how unbothered he was. The last thing I wanted was to wake him up, especially being the one crashing at his place.

I took a deep breath, pulled my knees up to my chest, and tried to push the nightmare's last fragments away. The hard, cold floor felt even more unforgiving at this point. I lay back down, clutching James' lumpy pillow to my chest, inhaling his scent.

I forced myself to go back to sleep and closed my eyes. I rolled around on the hard floor, attempting to find any spot that was comfortable. I felt as though the cold seeped through the sleeping bag, causing me to be cooled to the bone. The bag provided very little to cushion me.

I let the pattern of James's steady breathing relax me as I concentrated on it. Slow and steady, in and out. My breath matched his. But sleep eluded me no matter how hard I tried.

All I want in this moment is James. My James.

After a while I quit  trying to make it work and just laid there, gazing upwards.

I finally reached my breaking point. I needed to feel safe, to feel warmth, to feel… James. I staggered upright, making the room to spin a little as I moved. I trembled as I knelt over his bed and gave him a little shoulder shake without thinking twice.

Whispering, "James," my voice wavered. "James, wake up."

He slolwly stirred awake, peering at me in the half light as he opened his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked his voice sluggish from sleep but immediately worried. "Are you okay?"

My eyes filled with tears, and I shook my head, incapable to think of anything to say. Rather, I naturally moved my body to rest next to him. I needed his warmth and comfort, I needed to be near him. I tugged him closer, pressing my face against his chest and gripping his shirt tightly.

James didn't hesitate for a second. He wrapped me with his arms, pressing me close to his body. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said in a comforting whisper. "I'm here. You're safe."

I felt his hand gently stroking my back, his touch sending a wave of calm through me. I pressed my face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, and felt the tension begin to drain from my body. His heart beat steadily beneath my ear, a comforting rhythm that grounded me.

We had never had such an intimacy or closeness before. However, it felt perfect, like something we've both always needed. It seemed like exactly what We needed.

I felt him shift a little, repositioning himself to comfortably grasp me. He reached for my hair with his other hand and used his fingers to gently untangle knots that werent there.

I expected cuddling with James to be awkward, wrong, weird. But now that I was in his arms, his heartbeat in my ear, there was no place I'd rather be.

With his breath warm against my forehead, he whispered softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Still unable to find my voice, I shook my head once again. I was stuck thinking, maybe I loved James a little more than just a friend.

He answered softly, "Okay," without pressuring me further. "Just know I'm here, alright? I'm not going anywhere."

I nodded, feeling the last traces of fear finally disappear. His body, his touch, and his words were all I needed to feel okay again.

James placed a delicate kiss on the top of my head. "Sleep, you need it," he said softly, making my heart ache.

And as I nodded off in his arms, I realized that I would always have this James to come back to, nightmares or not.

[doakarma]

Headcanons

But updated!!! Aka I wanted to make a new post for them bc I made more :D

General

• Calls everyone Mister until he knows them and then quickly moves to Nicknames.

• gets attached to people/things he cares about

• will eat anything he can vaguely perceive as food.

• doesn't like talking about his past

• very fidgety.

• Doesn't speak much or at all when he's nervous or scared

• Likes : Cats (and animals in general), learning new things and being outside.

• Dislikes : Being inside too long, isolation, being the centre of attention and loud/crowded spaces.

• has nightmares a lot

• Likes being useful and tries to help out when he can.

• Acts like a kid when excited / has a childlike wonder about new things.

• doesn't know many normal world things and can get confused but he knows far too much stuff from the underground (like mafia stuff yk)

• Transmasc (or genderfluid?) any prns pref for they/he (afab)

• scars on his neck that he sometimes scratches when nervous. Doesn’t let people see them or touch his neck.

• hates hospitals

• if he’s having a bad day / flashbacks sometimes his mind plays tricks on him and he’ll call someone boss, sir etc. without realising.

DOA BLOG SPECIFIC (also apply to adult)

• only gets to sleep comfortably with @oscarsgallery or something that reminds him of him

• similarly, in a relationship with @oscarsgallery

• his family and his nicknames for them - @shopping-for-a-casino-owner (Nik) and @fedya-the-rat-god (Fyo) his dads. And @sigma-man-of-the-casino (Sig) his kinda dad step dad or smth. @the-caged-jester (Niko) his uncle. @snakesinthesnow (fedya?) his brother and @the-grey-wolf-of-the-doa (sash?) his sister.

• Has a pet duck John and a Kitten Pebble.

• has a missing left eye and index finger (due to something that happened on here.)

• less visibly upset when he can’t do stuff

Ada blog specific

• fucking hates @oscarsgallery

• His family and their nicknames : @fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency (just calls him father or dad) @the-scalpel-wielder (just calls him mori so far) his other dad. @justsigma-bsd (sig) and @respiratory-kristem / @kriscord-server (just calls him kris) his brothers.

• he doesn’t really sleep comfortably with anyone, so usually wraps himself in something tights

• gets really visibly upset when he isn’t allowed to do something

Adult blog specific (ones from Doa apply here too)

• runs a cat cafe which has 10 cats currently and he works there about 12 hours a day

• binds and then complains after wearing it too long. Only wants top surgery

• has longer hair he styles sorta like Nikolai’s most of the time.

• gets extremely panicked / stressed if he’s late

• has one of those “my fiancé is the lead singer” shirt for Oscar

[yomam4]

Touch Tank

Pairing- Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Genre- Smut (MDNI)

Warnings- Smut, PWOP, Swearing, Cunnilingus, Joel going down on you (😻), use of ‘darlin’ and ‘sweetheart’ but idk if that matters

A/N- i wrote this at like 12 am the night before having to go on a trip bcus when i was listening to ‘touch tank’ by quinnie all i could think about was joel for some reason… so it’s kinda sorta short and shitty but… eat up.

Smut past this point

“Fuck, joel…” You whisper, your back against the bed as Joel’s stripping you, slowly placing soft and tender kisses across the soft skin of your body. He unhooks your bra with one hand, making you gasp in pleasure when he takes your right but into his mouth, sucking and lightly biting, but soft enough so that it doesn’t hurt you. God, his worse nightmare was hurting you.

Slowly, he undid the button on your pants and slid the zipper down, slightly raising yourself to help him get the remaining pieces of clothing off you. Your underwear followed shortly after your baggy, denim jeans, which he threw across the room before taking his thick, rough middle finger and sliding it in between your folds.

“Christ, darlin’… Barely done anything and you’re already so goddamn wet for me, hm?” Joel teased, shuffling down the bed to the point where his head was in between your thighs. You whined in response, his hot breath already brushing against your core due to how close the man was.

“Please, baby…” You muttered. He started to place kisses on your inner thighs, trailing around the part where you wanted his mouth the most. He smiled against your skin, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before licking a line from your upper inner thigh to your dripping heat.

You moaned out, hands flying to his hair and holding on for dear life as he licked and sucked like a man starved. Who knew he could eat pussy this good?

You repeated joel’s name like a prayer, your hands intertwined in his salt and pepper hair, tightening your grip when he pushed a finger into you.

“Shhh… don’t want the neighbors to hear, now do you?” Joel mumbled against you, the wet squelching sounds of your own heat making embarassment flush your cheeks with a light pink. He inserted another finger, his tongue still moving against you with skill, making you tighten and stretch around him.

“How do you— expect me to be quiet with your damn tongue— moving against me like that?” You whined out, cutting yourself off with your own lewd moans. You felt that same familiar knot in your stomach that you felt when you were about to reach your climax, clenching around his fingers, making him groan out in response.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” Joel asked, plunging his fingers in and out of you at a pace that was sure to leave you screaming, and it did just that. You nodded, too fucked out to even speak.

“Eyes on me. I wanna see that pretty little face when you cum.” He groaned, once again burrying himself in your wet cunt, his tongue moving impossibly fast.

“Joel!!” You screamed, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but you didn’t care. He felt so damn good against you. And suddenly, the knot inside of you snapped, and joel slowed his fingers. For a bit, he kept them inside at a slower pace, before pulling them out and bringing the two fingers up to your face. You took them into your mouth, licking him clean, as if it were his dick instead.

“Good girl. Think you’re up for another?”

[impel-clown]

18. Along jaw, crocodile/buggy

(CW: Torture)

Crocodile can feel the oppressive heat before the guards even open the door, yet still he walks forward with his head held high as the seastone cuffs try to drag him low. They had already stripped him, so as the steam hits, heavy and hot, there’s not a single scrap of clothing to shield him.

“Tell me Sir Crocodile,” one of the guard’s begins as he walks him towards a massive cauldron. The thing is set into the floor, the lip slightly lower than the cobblestone and the water close to bubbling out. “Are you a religious man?”

Despite knowing exactly what’s about to happen, Crocodile keeps his voice steady. 

“No.”

He expects some sort of stupid quip back. Something to try and crack his resolve. A taunt about this so-called baptism. Instead, there is nothing but silence as the water rushes up to meet him.

Agony.

The second Crocodile hits the water it’s nothing but agony. His skin scalds. Nerves screaming. Blood boiling out of his veins. At first he had thought it had been an idiotic oversight that they had allowed him to keep his hook. But now as the metal grows hot in the water, the heat flows through it and presses against his stump in a burn he cannot escape.

Surfacing, Crocodile keeps his face impassive even as every inch of his skin is alight in unending pain. He’s not going to give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

He will not scream.

He will not scream.

He will not-

Crocodile blinks awake. There’s nothing dramatic about it. No shooting up in bed. No stuttered breaths. Not even the remnants of a scream. Just him lying in bed and staring at the ceiling as the memories of the nightmare echo away in his head. If not for the heat radiating off him and the sweat pooling on the sheets, no one would ever even know that anything plagued the former warlord’s sleep.

“You okay?”

He drags his gaze away from the ceiling towards Buggy. Sat up in bed, hair hanging loosely around him, the other man looks at Crocodile not with pity or judgment, but with just the remnants of sleep in his eyes. It’s appreciated in ways Crocodile could not and would not say.

Nodding, Crocodile doesn’t move. “Did I wake you?”

“Don’t think so.” Buggy yawns. “Just too damn hot in here to sleep. Mind if I open the window?”

Again, Crocodile nods and Buggy is quick to chop off his hands and send them flying. 

Honestly, how could something as simple as a summer night be capable of leaving him like this? It’s pathetic Having nightmares as if he was some child. Impel Down was years ago. Yet here it is, haunting him.

A slight breeze blows the curtains as the window gets propped open, and only a moment or two passes before Buggy’s hands rush back to him. However, where usually he is quick to stick himself to Crocodile’s side like a persistent leech, now he keeps a foot of distance between them on the bed. The idea that Buggy may have lied about Crocodile waking him up flits through his head, but he’ll wait till morning to examine that.

“I’m not going to fucking break,” Crocodile says, extending his left arm to give Buggy space to slot himself in. “Get over here.”

Without another word Buggy shuffles over, wrapping one arm over Crocodile’s chest with the other tucked up between the two of them. And perhaps it's a testament to how hot Crocodile is, or maybe it's something he’s too tired to even put a name to, but Buggy’s touch is nice and cool against his skin. Every point of contact is like a salve, and he finds himself unable to stop the deep sigh that shudders out of his mouth.

Again, Buggy goes to pull back.

“Don’t.” Crocodile means the word to come out more demanding, but there’s a rawness to it that he hates, that makes it sound more like pleading. Either way, the clown slowly brings himself back in, breath ghosting against Crocodile’s skin. The first kiss is barely a brush of lips underneath his ear. The next lands lower, and the next lower even still as Buggy trails down his jaw. Each press is a relief against his fevered skin and Crocodile finds himself letting his eyes close as he gets lost in it. They’re not placating, but they’re not heated and needy like Buggy is expecting this to go anywhere. It is touch for the sake of touch. Nothing more.

He’s not sure how many kisses are placed along his jawline before he speaks again, the words barely thought before they pass his lips. “They baptize you at Impel Down?”

Buggy places a kiss just so that his nose brushes against Crocodile’s ear. As he speaks, he doesn’t remove his mouth, instead whispering the word into Crocodile’s skin. “Yeah . . ..”

For a man usually so chatty, Buggy doesn’t ask the question back and Crocodile silently thanks him for it. In fact, they don’t say another word for the rest of the night. Instead they just lie there, Buggy lazily trailing kisses up and down his jaw while Crocodile holds him close against his chest, cool in each other’s embrace.

[sebek-zigbolt]

fucking around in code vein

[yourlocalabomination]

LONG HAIR SPANKOFFSKI SUPREMACY!!!

Some of y’all are not appreciating the fact this man has his hair in a bun in Time Bastard/Working Boys.

[simminglytimeladies]

Father Yog Sothoth

I thought that Yog Sothoth aka Francis Mosses' nightmare mode counterpart is a vampire priest because of his shirt. Here is the origin of Father Yog Sothoth. Enjoy :P

[good-beanswrites]

Some questions about LCSYS?

What do they do about hair growth? I'd think hair extensions, but Amane's bangs are really short in her MVs and go past her face in T2, so it seems like it'd be too noticeable?. And Kazui is clean-shaven at the beginning of Cat. Did he record that part shortly after Es went to sleep?

And what about self duplicates? I suppose most of them can get away with camera tricks, but Yuno gets up close and personal with her selves. Amane also has a ton of them that stand close together and move very distinctly.

Ooh, these are really interesting to think about, thank you! >:0 It made me finally look up the length of the canon hiatus (Mar 16 to Aug 3), exactly 20 weeks. The internet says shooting a music video usually only takes like three days to film and a few weeks of editing -- so I think it's doable to plan and film them simultaneously in that time.

I pictured they’d plan the videos immediately upon finishing the trial, to keep the feeling of immersion and all related emotions fresh, but also give them plenty of time to do some more challenging things. This may mean planning trips to certain locations, inviting/persuading certain people to come film, or dealing with hair growth. Kazui does his clean-shaven filming first (since Hinako was already there in Half, it was easy to plan for her to return quickly. Jackalope may have had that worked out before the trial even ended.) Amane is a bit trickier, but I wonder if the bangs themselves are additions 🤔 She wears additional short hair for the video and lets her hair keep growing underneath. She'll be able to grow just over two inches in those 20 weeks. (The thing is, comparing the art, I don’t know if that could’ve happened canonically in that time frame anyways 😅 So I’m allowed to stretch it a bit in the au…)

Now, I was originally thinking they only used camera tricks for any duplicate appearances. Haruka gets a younger stunt double. Fuuta, Shidou, and Mikoto can get by filming the scenes twice in different positions. Yuno has to do a bit with a physical double (seen from behind or used minor effects to make them identical). But now that I think more about it, there was a behind-the-scenes video I saw about the Matrix clones -- despite the mask thing being kinda creepy, I think it’d be incredibly sweet to have that many children on the set. They don’t have to do the full mask process, maybe they all wear wigs/makeup that make them match well enough to show up in the background. Either way, Amane goes from one of the loneliest T1 videos to having a hundred little girls stand around her, march with her, and fight for her <3 If the planning stage of Purge March wasn’t already making her second guess her upbringing, having a literal army of girls just like her hanging out for a few days definitely does.

And woo stay tuned for the Deep Cover section coming soon! 🐺

[irenic-raccoon]

British Yaoi 👍

[skenpiel]

homestuck fans when theres no rhyme or reason to the trickster designs and its literally just a jumbled mess of hideous colors and vague candy themes which means theres no consistency to analyze to help with making fan designs

[pomfiores]

i want no one to mention vil’s age unless he asks you (which he likely won’t considering recent events). that’s one new kryptonite that vil cannot face with a straight-face just yet. we don’t even talk about it.

[zombiified]

he’s interesting, to say the least

[saetoru]

AGE IS NOTHING BUT A NUMBER — GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day two — overstimulation ; find masterlist here

synopsis. befriending nanako and mimiko has its perks—like fucking their father, for example. suguru might have aged over the years, but that doesn't mean he's lost his touch. don't believe him? that's okay—he can always just show you instead

length. 5.3k words (bro this fic was agonizing)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, dilf! suguru, college au (reader is a student), age gaps (20+ difference), jealous suguru, teasing, cunnilingus, fingering, edging, nipple play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, angel)

notes. this took me so long bc i hate it so im posting it and running away to play genshin to slave away for primos

most people can tell their best friends everything. not you, though—you have a secret. a dirty, shameful, horrible little secret, in fact.

no one knows that every chance you get, every small little moment you can possibly squeeze in, you fuck your two best friends’ father—and it’s going to stay that way, unknown and forever hidden. suguru is young as far as parents go, just barely in his twenties when he’s found himself a single father of two, but that doesn’t mean he’s not too old for you. and it especially doesn’t mean that it’s not inappropriate to fuck the man that raised your two closest friends.

you meet nanako and mimiko during your freshman year of college—the rest is history. the first time you spend the night at their place, suguru (he insists you call him that on your first meeting) is overjoyed that his girls have someone as lovely as you.

who wouldn’t be? you’re smart, well-mannered, respectable, and incredibly studious. what a perfect role model for his girls—after all, every father’s worst nightmare is his sweet, precious daughters venturing off to the real world. men are dogs—suguru should know. they’re sleazy and prey on young women who are naive and unsuspecting, taking advantage of their hopefulness before completely destroying their innocence. suguru can’t bear the idea of his perfect little girls becoming victims of such sinister behavior—but that’s all quelled when he meets you.

but he never thought, not even for one second, that he’d become one of those men.

those older men who fuck girls half their age—the girls that are barely in their twenties and still don’t even really understand how taxes work. the girls that have just started to learn how to hold their alcohol and can only recently buy it legally. the girls who don’t realize how complicated adulthood can be, just barely spreading their wings and learning what it’s like to be free.

suguru has always found those men deplorable. they’re the awful, disgusting, untamed vermin of society—women must be protected from them at all costs.

but now? well….now he’s one of them—and he finds, even as disgusted with himself as he is from time to time, he has little regrets.

not when you’re sprawled under him, hands tracing over his bare chest, feeling the soft skin under your palms in wonder. suguru, though he’s not let himself go by any means, is past his prime—he still frequents the gym, and he has more time to go now that the girls are gone most of the day, but he’s not immune to the effects of aging.

his hair has more than a few strands of white sprinkled in now; nanako makes sure to remind him not to pull them out unless he wants more. he’s still managed to keep the abs he was once so proud of in his youth, but they’re still not as hard—layered over a slight belly that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter what he tries. his skin is a bit looser, and his eyes have slight wrinkles in the corners of them, but despite it all, suguru still looks as handsome as ever.

he’s aged well, still looks remarkably young for men his age, and still looks like that dashing young man he once was who stole hearts. in fact, he still hears about his looks, especially from nanako and mimiko’s friends—he’s always chuckled to himself and shook his head in amusement.

that’s your dad? god, he’s so hot.

what? he’s single? oh my gosh, do you need a mom?

i can’t believe he’s never been married—women in his generation don’t deserve him. i’ll take him off their hands.

wait, do you have pictures of him when he was younger?

oh my god, he’s so fine. are you sure he’s in his forties?

nanako and mimiko, bless their hearts, have always crinkled their noses at the…less than proper comments they’ve had to witness about their father. in fact, they’ve watched teachers practically throw themselves onto suguru at parent-teacher conferences. it’s bothersome—a little disturbing to hear their friends talk about all the things they’d let their dad, of all people, do to them.

but you? you don’t make unhinged comments. they appreciate that.

but if only they knew…

if only they knew that sometimes, like right now, when you’re spending the night, you don’t actually sleep—instead, you sneak off to their father’s room, lay on his mattress under his body, and feel his touch. you can feel him, hard and throbbing in his sweats as his clothed cock presses against your thigh—but he takes his time with you, and doesn’t do anything about the clear arousal pooling between your legs just yet. 

instead, he focuses on remembering your body—it’s been a while, after all. he hasn’t felt your hips, hasn’t tasted your skin, hasn’t heard your voice. 

“missed you,” suguru breathes, hovering over you as you hum, nipping at your skin as his nose brushes along your neck. your hand is playing with his hair, twisting long, black and white strands along your fingers. “haven’t seen you in a bit, angel.”

“i’ve had midterms,” you murmur.

suguru knows—nanako and mimiko have been studying for them themselves. he’s more than a little disappointed that you haven’t come over to study with them yet. but then, just the other night, mimiko mentions you’ve been spending your time with a boy at the library, sharing a table as you lean over his shoulder to look at his laptop. nanako giggles that you might have finally gotten yourself a boyfriend. mimiko hums and nods as she murmurs it’s about time.

suguru swallows down every bite of dinner with an aftertaste of bile that night.

a boy—a boy? you’ve been skipping coming over to study with the girls (and, by default, seeing him) just to study with some boy? what’s got your attention on the guy so badly? why would you break the routine you’ve had for the last few semesters for someone you just recently met? have you finally started to realize that this is a mistake? is suguru a mistake?

he thinks maybe not, now that you’re back in his bed—but he still has too many unanswered questions. 

“so i’ve heard,” he says lowly, “i’ve also heard there’s a certain boy on your radar.” he smiles bitterly, pulling away from your neck to stare at you with those dark, sharp eyes of his. “a much younger, and fitting match for you, i suppose.”

you roll your eyes, snorting.

“is that what nanako and mimiko have told you? honestly, those two,” you huff fondly, “i told them already. he’s just my partner for a presentation. we’re practicing.”

“oh?” suguru raises a brow—and then he shivers lightly when you lean up and kiss his jaw, eyes fluttering shut at your touch.

“yes,” you giggle, “no need to be jealous of someone half your age, you know.”

“that’s exactly why i’m jealous,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss you softly.

your lips taste like honey—probably sweeter, in fact. they drip with that decadent, saccharine taste of youth. he feels twenty again every time he kisses you, feels not a day older than his glory days.

“oh, you poor thing,” you grin, cupping his face as you scatter kisses along his cheeks and nose, thumb tracing the skin. fuck, is this what it feels like to be in love? it makes him feel so young, so free, and hopeful for the future. when was the last time he felt this way? “have you been losing sleep over my nonexistent college boyfriend?”

“well, kids your age fool around quite a bit,” he says in that father tone that he uses on nanako and mimiko, “what was i supposed to think?”

you’ve heard that tone so many times before; the one where he talks like he knows better, like he’s wiser, like he’s aware of something you’re not. 

girls, make sure you share your location with me—i need to find you in case anything happens. it’s for your own safety, end of discussion.

make sure you watch over your drinks, okay? men these days take every chance they get to spike them when you’re not looking. mimiko, i was your age once, too. i’ve seen this happen plenty.

don’t walk alone in the streets at night. call me. i’ll pick you up—no, nanako, it’s not lame. the streets are dangerous at night. there are creeps, you know.

don’t get into any boy’s cars, girls. you never know what’ll happen; one mistake is all it takes to ruin your life—hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. one day, you’ll understand i’m right.

“i’m not a kid,” you pout, and then, smugly this time, you wiggle your brows. “did’ya lose sleep over my imaginary boyfriend? you need plenty of sleep at your age, y’know.”

“no, you’re not a kid,” suguru agrees, “you’re a brat.” and then he’s back to pressing those hot, open-mouthed, hungry kisses along your jaw, humming in delight when you angle your head to give him better access. 

sometimes, it’s fun to get under suguru’s skin—it’s fun to break that carefully built, mature patience of his, pulling a twitch of his eye and a furrow of his brow from him. so, you grin widely as you murmur, “who knows? maybe he’d fuck better—more stamina, y’know?”

it’s supposed to just tease him, to make him glare at you unimpressed so you can giggle and kiss between his brows—but suguru stills at that, painfully stiff for a moment before he bites at your skin. hard. 

“oh yeah?” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous as he pulls away to glare down at you, “you think so? what, you think an old man like me can’t fuck you long enough?”

you don’t get a chance to reply—not before he pulls your pants down your waist to reveal your soaked panties, pulling a hum from him as he grins at the damp patch of fabric. his fingers circle over your clit for a moment, right over the cloth, making your breath hitch as you buck into his touch. 

“suguru—”

“look at that,” he chuckles, “wearing my favorite one, huh? can’t fuck you that bad if you try your best to impress me. isn’t that what you wanted? is that what you were thinking when you put these on before coming over? how precious,” he murmurs—he speaks so condescending, so knowingly, as if he’s read your mind just by looking at the red lace covering your dripping cunt. you cover your face in humiliation, but he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, clicking his teeth in disapproval. 

part of you knows you should quit while you can—the other part? well…it wants to test the limits a bit longer. suguru has never been so easy to rile up, you want to indulge in it for just a bit longer if you can help it. 

“well,” you huff, “what’re you waiting for, then? don’t tell me the age has slowed you down—”

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he says in a low snarl, “fine, you want me to hurry up? you got it, princess.”

it all happens before you can even register—one moment, you’re grinning at him with mischief in your eyes; the next second, he has you in nothing but your bra, bare in his bed as he pulls your legs apart and leans close to your pussy.

“you know the thing about guys your age,” he hums, toying with your clit lazily as you gasp with a twitch, “is that they really don’t know how to take care of anyone but themselves. guess they just don’t have enough experience to really figure it out.”

his lips latch onto your clit, sucking before he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud as his fingers sink into your core, pushing past your folds and stretching you open. it’s slow—deliberately so, in fact. it makes your head spin, and your fingers curl into the bed sheets as you pant. 

“suguru, m-more—”

“don’t worry,” he coos, pulling away from you to grin up at your glossy eyes, “you’ll get plenty, baby. we’ll see if you’ve got the stamina. y’know, since you’re so young.”

his lips are back to wrap around your clit, fingers sinking and curling exactly where you’re most sensitive—suguru finds your sweet spots instantly the first time he has you sprawled under him. didn’t even take a moment of trial, just knew where to touch and kiss to have you unravel in his hold. that much still hasn’t changed—his fingertips press against the sensitive spot in the back of your walls, pulling pretty little whines from you as his tongue flicks over your clit. 

it’s always been a blessing that nanako and mimiko’s room is across the house—had they been closer, they might hear the mewl you let out as his fingers bully into you faster, unforgiving as they brush against your walls and build the ache up between your legs until it’s about to burst. 

“s-suguru, ‘m close, so, so close—”

“already?” he gasps, chuckling as he presses a kiss to your clit with a sly grin, “thought you had more in you than that, baby. so youthful—figured you’d last a bit longer.”

he’s mean about it—rubs it in your face some more that you’re so close so fast before he pulls his fingers away and doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of falling apart on his digits. it makes you sob, hips bucking up to chase the friction of his fingers, but he’s already gone, leaving your walls empty and fluttering around nothing.

“no,” your voice breaks, “n-no, so close, please. i want—”

“that’s what he would’ve done,” suguru hums, “pulled out before you even finished. that’s what guys your age always do—they don’t know how to make girls finish. you ever had that problem with me?”

“no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. you’re a pretty little thing, he thinks—pouty, wobbly lips and those glossy eyes as you sniffle. “no, you always make me cum—please, i wanna cum, sugu.”

“yeah?” he pouts with faux sympathy, “didn’t feel good, huh? feels better when i take care of you, doesn’t it?”

“uh huh,” you nod—you’re still panting through the aftershocks of having your orgasm ripped from you, chest rising and falling harsh enough that it fills him with pride he can pull such drastic reactions from you. no one knows your body like suguru—he’s too good at giving it what it wants for anyone else to compare. 

“think that boy—” he spits the last word like it’s poison on his tongue, “—can take care of you?”

“no,” you whimper, “no, he can’t. not like you, never like you.”

“that’s a good girl,” he nods approvingly, rubbing his slick-coated finger over your clit, toying with it teasingly as you writhe, whining for more. “you know something else about men your age? they don’t care to please a woman—don’t bother to appreciate them enough to make them feel good. you think that boy would be here—” he pauses to motion between your legs, where he’s currently situated, “—willingly? taste you willingly? let you cum on his tongue willingly?”

“i-i don’t…i never asked someone to—”

“did you ever ask me?” he interrupts, raising a brow at you, “you ever have to ask me? i just do it. wanna know why? because i know what i’m doing—know how to treat you right, how to give you what you need. isn’t that right?” 

“yes, yes—you always give me what i want—”

“what you need,” he corrects, “and you know what i think you need right now? this.”

his tongue licks a stripe along your entrances before you can say anything else, pulling a gasp out of you as your hands find his hair and tug—suguru groans at that, feels his pants get impossibly tighter as the aching erection he sports throbs between his legs at the way you pull at the strands so desperately, so needy. for him. only ever him. 

his tongue fucks into you, messy with the way he devours you, the slick arousal pooling from your cunt coating his lips, his cheeks, his chin. you moan—and really, it’s almost a squeal—when his fingers are sinking back into you, tongue flicking away at your clit mercilessly as he thrusts his digits in and out of your pussy. you’re close, painfully so, the pressure steadily building and building until you just can’t hold it back anymore. 

“sugu—’m c-cumming. god ‘s so good—feels good,” you babble, thighs closing around his head as his fingers curl into your sweet spot over and over again, not stopping for even a second as he helps you ride out your high. your walls spasm around his fingers, tight as they flutter around him and make him groan at the thought of being inside you. 

he watches, hungry and in awe, as your back arches off the mattress and your mouth parts, broken little wails of his name rolling off your tongue in a sweet melody. 

“i bet he’s never seen someone look like this,” suguru murmurs, watching the way the ecstasy takes over your features as your face falls slack from pleasure, “so pretty when falling apart. bet he��d never even get close to making you look so fucked from just his tongue.”

your orgasm ripples through you—it’s not new, the way he makes you feel so good, but it’s definitely nothing to get used to either. your body slumps back onto the mattress as you finish, panting harshly while he climbs up to hover over you once again. 

“that felt good?” he asks, nosing at your cheek as you nod breathlessly.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“hope you’re not tired out just yet,” he says smugly, eyeing the way sweat clings to your forehead and huffs of air exhale from your lungs with each labored breath, “because we’re nowhere near done, baby. not even close.”

just like that, your bra is unclasped and pulled off, freeing your tits for his mouth to latch onto a nipple, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth along the bud while his fingers tease at the other, pinching and rubbing over it with his thumb. you whine, eyes squeezing shut as your hand cups the back of his head and keeps him in place. 

“bet i could make you cum just from this,” he says with a laugh, “i don’t even need to fuck you.”

“please,” you dig your nails into his shoulder, moaning as he switches to wrap his lips around the other nipple, “please, sugu—n-need more.”

“be more specific,” he says lowly, looking up at you in amusement, “gonna need more than that, princess. you gotta help me out here—i’m afraid i don’t know what i’m doing.”

suguru is doing everything he can to drag this out—if you’d known one small comment would have him riled up like this…well, truthfully, you can’t say you wouldn’t have made it anyway. it’s exciting in its own right when he’s so determined to show you why you need him, why no one else but him is meant to see you like this, make you fall apart like this, have you sprawled under them like this. 

no one can know about you and suguru—not nanako and mimiko, not your other friends, not your family. you know what they’d say, how they’d feel. 

disgust—shame, even. he’s far too old for you, you know they’d say; he’s a red flag for getting with someone so young. no one can know that you come here, dead in the middle of the night when your friends are asleep, and fuck their father. not only that—lay with their father, talk about your hopes and dreams for the future with their father, giggle as you gossip with their father, fall in love with their father. 

something tells you the feeling is not unreciprocated—that suguru feels the same, that he loves holding you in his arms just as much as you love laying in them. maybe it wasn’t a joke, what you’d said. not to him, at least—maybe deep down, it stung; maybe he had something to prove. that boy might be closer to you in age, but he’ll never, ever treat you the way suguru does—no one will, for that matter. perhaps he has to show it so you really know. 

so you look him in the eye, pull him closer until his forehead is pressed against yours and you can press a delicate kiss to his lips before you murmur against them, “fuck me, suguru. please—need you.”

he groans at that, closes his eyes before his hips move to press the thick tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it along your entrance as he coats his head with your slick. it’s flushed a deep pink—it’s been neglected for so long that he shudders at the way it aches, at the way even the slightest friction along the sensitive tip pulls a soft gasp from him. 

for a moment, he wonders if he really will last long enough to fuck you properly—he might not, with the way your walls always squeeze around him, always have him ready to fuck his load into you just as soon as he’s inside you. the thought alone almost makes his cock twitch—but suguru is a man of patience, so he slowly pushes into you, inch by inch, looking down and watching as his girth disappears inside you. 

“look at that,” he coos, grinning wide as he looks back up at you, “took me so easily. ‘s cause when you do it right, it doesn’t take much, does it?”

“f-fuck—” your head presses back against the pillow, mouth hung open as you breathe heavily, trying to squirm and get even the slightest bit of friction from him as he stays painfully still. “move, suguru—please, c-can’t wait anymore. jus’ wanna feel you.”

“i know,” he chuckles, “patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

despite it all, suguru is not feeling very patient anymore—it’s been long enough. his hips roll slowly at first, a shallow thrust of his hips that makes you both moan lowly before he all but pulls out and slams back in, hard. you can feel the burning stretch of his girth practically splitting you open, every thick vein dragging along your cunt and every brush of his tip against the back of your walls. it’s loud—the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sound of his deep groans and your breathless whines, the sound of the headboard hitting the wall as he fucks you into his mattress. 

“god—fuck, suguru—th-there,” you mewl as he slams into you right where you need him. 

you’ve lost count of how many times suguru has fucked you like you’re his. in his bed at night, in his shower in the mornings, on the couch when you drop by when the girls aren’t home, in his car that one time he drove you home when it rained, in your apartment that one time he dropped off your laptop because you forgot it. there’s one common denominator—the way he makes you feel, not just from the way his cock ruts into you, but from the way his fingers tangle with yours, from the way his mouth finds your jaw to kiss, from the way his forehead presses into your shoulder with warmth. 

it’s exciting, maybe. at first, it’s scandalous and a little thrilling in its own right. by now, it’s something much more than that—you don’t think anyone could make you feel the way he does, fuck you like he does, even if they tried. even if they knew where to touch and where to kiss. even if they knew what you liked and what you didn’t. 

they couldn’t be suguru—would never be suguru. 

“there, huh?” he pants, moaning softly as he feels your walls flutter around him tightly, “i know. i know how to fuck this pussy—my pussy. you think some boy you hardly know would know? think he’d care to learn? think he’d even try?”

“no,” you gasp, shaking your head as your hips buck up to meet his sharp thrusts, “no. no one would make me feel this good. make me feel so good, sugu.”

“ngh—sh-shit,” he hisses at your words, cock almost swelling harder at the way you praise him, at the way your words are almost slurred with no real thought behind him. it’s a little pride-inducing, the way you’re still able to sing his praises without having to really think about it first. he can hear it, the way you’re lost in the drag of his cock, drunk in the haze of pleasure, unfocused on everything else besides the way he bullies his thick girth into your abused cunt.

it’s a mess, it’s filthy the way there’s a mix of pre cum and your slick at the base of his cock, along your inner thighs, coating your skin as the squelching sound of him nudging past your folds fills the room.

it’s good, the way he makes you feel—he can hear it in your voice as you wail his name.

“s-suguru—oh.”

“what, you gettin’ all fucked out on me? ‘m not even close yet, princess,” he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck as he sucks softly into your sweet spot. you throw your head back, rasping out a cry of his name again as his balls slap against your ass with a harsh roll of his hips. 

and then his hand makes its way between your bodies, thumb attaching itself to your clit before rubbing punishing circles into the bundle of nerves—you sob at that, back arching up as your chest presses against his, nipples hard as they brush along his skin.

“s-sugu—close, ‘m gonna cum a-again—so close,” you pant brokenly, every sentence cut off with a sharp gasp as he thrusts into you. 

you’re close—you can’t fight back the way the coil in your belly snaps as he teases your clit. it’s still sensitive from the last orgasm, every nerve still burning up from before as he gives you more, gives you too much, almost. you cum harder this time—your second high creeping up on you when you least expect it. 

it makes your eyes roll back, makes your thighs quiver, and tears stream down your cheeks as you chant his name over and over. suguru, ‘s so good. suguru, ‘m cumming. suguru, ‘s all for you.

every sentence makes his cock drill into you faster, sloppier in rhythm, maybe, but faster. needier. bordering on desperate. 

“f-fuck, baby,” he grunts, “squeezin’ me so tight—such a tight fuckin’ cunt. you think just anyone deserves this? think you can just walk around and let anyone fuck this? ‘s bullshit—ngh.”

you don’t answer—can’t answer, in fact. it’s all teary eyes and soft sniffles as you mewl with every thrust, voice breaking between every pretty little sound you make. he’s still fucking into you, still dragging his cock against those sensitive walls, still bumping against your clit with his navel, still nudging against your sweet spot with his thick, swollen tip. it’s almost too much—it is too much, making you writhe under his body as you try to form the words. 

“‘s t-too much, sugu—c-can’t anymore,” you try, “can’t.”

“what?” he gasps, furrowing his brows in mock confusion, “you’re tappin’ out on me already? but ‘m not even done yet, sweetheart. haven’t even finished yet—don’t tell me you’re already spent. how will you keep up with your little boyfriend’s stamina if you can’t even take an old man like me?”

“c-can’t take anyone but you,” you sob, “jus’ you—only you. promise.”

“yeah? you swear?”

“uh huh. jus’ you, sugu—don’ want anyone else. won’t fuck me the same.”

“atta girl,” he coos, chuckling as he leans down to kiss your jaw, trailing soft pecks until he meets your lips, “that’s what i thought. make sure you don’t forget, okay?”

“fuck, suguru—’m…g-gonna…”

“gonna what? cum? you’re cumming again?” you nod at that—he grins wide, pride settling into the crinkles of his eyes before his thumb rubs harsh circles into your swollen clit once more. he looks pretty like that—hair framing his face, the mix of black and white strands sticking to the damp skin of his forehead. his skin is flushed, abs flexing as he pants over you. sometimes you feel guilty that half of why you come over to visit nanako and mimiko is to fuck suguru—the guilt is quickly extinguished when you see him like this, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his arms barely hold him over you, eyes shut tight as he groans. 

“i-i’m—fuck, fuck, fuck,” you can’t form sentences anymore as you cum—again. not that you really could before that, but now all you can offer is croaked half-syllables and shaky sobs. your walls squeeze around him, tight as they hug around his throbbing cock. 

it takes one, two, three more sloppy rolls of his hips before he lets out at a low, “baby, fuck—’m gonna fill you up. want that? want me to cum in you? make you mine? always been mine, haven’t you?”

“yes, yes—yours, sugu. yours, yours, yours,” you babble, words slurred between breathy moans and broken sobs. “wanna be yours.”

you can feel him—feel the way his cock twitches in you, the way he grinds into you to ride out his high, the way sticky, hot ropes of cum fill your walls, the way he fucks his load deeper into you with every sloppy thrust of his hips. his arms quiver as he holds himself over you—just barely, though. you can hear the way his voice cracks as he gasps your name over and over, as he mutters lowly about how you’re his, how you’ll always only be his. 

“mine,” he grits, “you’re fuckin’ mine—see how you’re suckin’ me in? see how i fit in this pussy like it was made for me? ‘s cause you’re mine.”

his body slumps onto yours as he finishes, head pressed into the crook of your neck as he kisses the skin while you both catch your breaths. you whimper, still sensitive, as he pulls out of you, a soft chuckle falling past his lips as he pulls his head up to look at you and press a kiss to your cheek. 

“so,” he starts, eyes laced with amusement as he takes in the fucked out look on your face, the tears still drying your cheeks, the swollen flush of your bottom lip, “still think you need someone with more stamina? someone who’ll fuck you better—”

“god,” you groan, slapping his shoulder, “will you drop it already? you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“no,” he murmurs, pecking your lips, “still wanna hear it some more.”

“your ego needs a reality check,” you huff as you brush a strand of hair from his forehead, “think i’ve fed it plenty all night.”

“actually, i think you crushed it,” he pouts theatrically, “talking about some asshole who doesn’t care about you right in front of me. after i take such good care of you, too. the girls already think you should date him,” he adds the last part with a slightly bitter roll of his eyes, pulling a giggle out of you.

“they think i don’t know how to talk to men,” you snort, “imagine they knew i was talking to men old enough to be my father.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, falling onto the mattress beside you—he pulls you into his chest, letting your cheek rest on his bare skin. it’s so wrong—lying in bed with the father of your best friends. but somehow, suguru feels like the only thing you’ve ever done right. “age is nothing but a number, sweetheart.”

if i have to see the word cock one more time im going to eradicate all humans that have them

do not comment about a part 2 !!!!!!!!!!