#recognizes this and lets him control the pace

[textmel8r]

[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( fifth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , mommy kink , drug + alcohol usage , smut drabble , submissive toji , soft sex , profanity

୨୧˚ an; guys… i don’t know what took over me when i wrote this one….im sorry ,, also yes drabble time, you all knew this would happen eventually don’t act surprised 🙄🙄🙄

come over and show me then

The last message Toji had sent you. He was bold, heart racing just the slightest bit when he thumbed that frightening, little arrow icon to send a text that would most likely change his whole relationship chemistry with you. You, the kind hearted woman who graced him with your undying benevolence and wealth. 

You, the woman Toji called mommy not even twelve hours ago during an idiotic, drunken stupor. 

You, the woman who graced his bed, peering up to him with the softest gaze Toji’d ever been observed with. It was an odd sight–you splayed on his mattress. Dawning a lavish top; silken, Toji absentmindedly recognizes the fabric ( then proceeds to grimace at the fact that he can actually discern between different breeds of fabric. Your lifestyle was rubbing off on him ) and thinks you look out of place. An expensive jewel among the dank cave of his shoddy bedroom.  

Toji crawls in after you, winding up your side, clinging akin to a baby koala bear. Still, he doesn’t speak, preferring to let the sounds of sheets sliding against each other fill the gaps of silence. You take his hulking body in those loving arms and break the quiet. “I’m not buying you for the night.” You cradle his cheek; you make him look up to you and Toji nods under your hand. “You know that, right?”

He nods again. “Sure,” and for once, it comes out without a modicum of sarcasm. Because Toji believes it when you tell him that you’re not looking to gain access to his body through flimsy transactions. Your sincerity is displayed through the months of torturous anticipation. Months of him on the cusp of begging–and Toji Fushiguro has never begged for anything in his goddamned miserable life. Your sincerity is displayed through the gingerness in which you hold his face. Because how could someone with such gentle hands ever tell a lie? And your sincerity is displayed through your words. You tell Toji things that nobody has ever told him before. Nice things, reassuring things despite his insistence on being an asshole to you.

Toji pushes his torso to be propped up on an elbow before he leans in. It’s not a tame first kiss by any means; Toji is mammalian in the way his teeth gnash yours and his tongue laves your cupid’s bow. “Slow,” you whisper in the short absence of his lips. “Slowly.” A command that he feels inclined to follow like some kept mutt, swapping out the animalistic pace with a more refined, controlled tempo. Your face was swallowed by two massive hands; they clamped on either side of your jaw, calloused and dry and forcefully pulling you closer. “Just like that, Toji.”

The way you say his name… Fuck. Toji grunts, swinging a heavy thigh over your own to situate between your legs. “I’ve never,” there's a pause when he leans in to suck the tip of your tongue, “been so desperate to be inside a woman.” His thick tongue worms back into your mouth, pushing smoky saliva down your throat. You were writhing; your hand slides over his, the one still tending to your cheek, and you guide it lower. He let you drag his hand down the smooth slope of your neck, over the hill of your delicate chest, across the plain of your soft tummy to meet the waistband of your designer pants. 

Your head tilts, something devious glinting in the colored rings of your eyes that have Toji so enchanted. He plucks at the brass button of your pants, nudging the point of his nose to the high of your cheekbone. Breathing in the luxury branded perfume that overpowered the cigarette stench still lingering in his room from his morning smoke; evidenced by the stub crumbled in the glass tray on his wobbly nightstand. “What about the girl…Girl from last night?” 

Toji smiles at the breathy question. “What girl?” He hums cheekily against your mouth, letting his tongue slip back through the seam of your delicious lips. You slap his face rather playful, but his breath hitches all the same.

“Dick.”

At last, he pops the button. The acrylic of your nails sink into the meat of his forearm, legs widening, ass shifting; all of the signs that Toji hyperfixated on. The way you tell him to keep going without so much as saying a word has him hotter than anytime another woman has begged for his touch in bed. Toji kisses you as he dips beneath the ajar slacks, then those sheer panties, slipping down to where you needed him most. You’re wet, he notes to himself. Wet, squelching and red hot when his thick middle finger sandwiches itself between the labia. 

Both pairs of legs tangled together amidst the desperation. While Toji touches you, you’re hiking your leg up–the one snuggled between two of the man’s built thighs. It presses to his clothed crotch, and you reach around grab a handful of his ass. “Hump it,” you dictate, using his ass cheek as leverage to pull his hips down against your awaiting thigh. Toji jolts; never had his ass been grabbed like that, but he thinks he likes it.

So he grinds. His groin crashes against your leg with rough enthusiasm, so rough that it should be a threat to your poor femur bone. But he doesn’t let up. Toji’s arm tenses and shakes with exertion as he fingers you, forearm burning from the intensity at which he moves. But he doesn’t let up.

“Fuck,” he huffs. “Fuck.”

What is he, some kind of dog? Chasing his high against a leg, licking your neck, barking obscenities into existence. Had you been anyone else, Toji would have had them bent at the waist over his bed, forcing their face into his lonesome pillow and taking what he needed. But you had this certain authority–you’d always had–as if you owned him. Not that you would ever admit that, nor did you believe it, but Toji did. You pay for his living quarters, his meals, his clothes, his car, hell, his time. The leash was cuffed at his throat, leather digging into his flesh, and he fucking loved it. Toji would wait for your instructions like a well behaved puppy. 

“Take my pants off,” you utter, and it’s only then does Toji realize that the both of you hadn’t bothered shedding any layers, taking favor in rutting clothed bodies together like a couple of immature teens. His hips pause their humping, and his tongue finds one long, last lick to your jugular before pulling back.

Two thumbs hook beneath both layers of material at your hips. “Can’t believe you made me wait this long,” he mutters offhandedly, dragging your pants down. 

You’re bare. His mouth waters at the sight of glistening moisture between your legs, encapsulated by a dusting of hair. Toji stares, nestled on his knees, straddling your thigh. He just stares.

“I told you my reasons,” you say.

He doesn’t respond to that. “I want to fuck you.”

Your chest rises. Are you arching for him? “Ask me.” When he cocks a confused brow, you lightly elaborate. “Show me some of that respect I taught you and ask me nicely.”

The sole of your foot caresses his pec over the black tee shirt he sports, a gentle notion that he is allowed to take his time. Toji doesn’t need time though; he’s got your twisted little request all figured out. It’s funny, he shouldn’t have expected any less. To him, respect didn’t exist in the bedroom, but Toji would make an exception. “Will you let me fuck you tonight?” You’re not letting him get off that easy, your pointed eyes say it all. So, in an uncharacteristically piteous voice, the man adds “please, ma’am” and strokes your calf for good measure.

That does it. 

Your legs spread, arms racing up to coil around the thick post of his neck. He lets you pull him down, lets you kiss him tenderly, lets your tongue curl behind his teeth. Toji groans, reaching a sticky hand down to clumsily shove his sweatpants around his ass. “You have no–” kiss “idea what you–” kiss “you do to me–” kiss, kiss “when you call me that.”

His length drags over your core, hot and heavy and thick and raw. He doesn’t move to grab a condom knowing damn well there’s a box that sits in his nightstand to the left of them. A box that has been forgotten, left untouched in the waking months of his realization that he doesn’t want to fuck other people. Why would he? When you take such good fucking care of him, what’s the point in sleeping around anymore?

“Be grateful,” Toji husks, rubbing up against the warmth beneath him. “‘M never this nice in bed.”

“I’m not, either.”

He throbs at that. A small hand snakes behind his head, weaving into the raven shag of his hair, and tugs. “I really never meant for this to happen.” Toji narrows those steely eyes at you. “To end up in your bed, I mean. I thought I had more resolve than this.”

Too bad money can’t buy resolve, he thinks inwardly. Hand still between bodies, Toji jerks himself slowly, soaking his tip in your entrance. His gaze is glued to your face, flitting amidst all the gorgeous features it had to offer. “I knew I’d get you here eventually,” he speaks with a lilt of confidence, prodding the point of his nose to yours. And then he pushes inside without warning. You’re gooey; a hot, wet heat encasing his body from head to toe. He feels you shudder, feels nails in his nape. He feels your sticky breaths on his cheek, feels your pillowy thighs squish against his hip bones. Toji serves you the entire length in one slow thrust, holding himself inside. “Fuck.”

“Slow,” you warn once more in a broken voice. His hair was grabbed again, you used it as a makeshift handlebar to yank Toji’s head down. His handsome face plummeted into the divot between your breasts, still gift wrapped in that undoubtedly overpriced shirt. His nose pressed to your sternum, taking deep inhales. 

Slow. 

Slow sex was unfamiliar territory to Toji, one among the list of foreign concepts you had introduced to him during your time together. Fucking was animalistic practice between two people, fast-paced and greedy and surprisingly lonely. Toji fucked with the intention of climaxing; intimacy is irrelevant. Was irrelevant. 

Toji slips a hand beneath your back, locking a grip on the underside of your shoulder to weld your chest to his face. Slow, timely thrusts met your cunt, watery squelches filled the room. “Oh, fuck.”

Your hands wander. Crawling down the base of his spine, breezing over his tail bone, clutching his bare ass. Guiding him in a way, and he doesn’t entirely mind. “My boy,” you moan in the throes of pleasure, a free hand blindly feeling for the back of his sweaty neck. Fingers stroke the precious skin there, sensitive flesh that nobody has ever paid attention to, not even himself. Toji trembles.

“Take it,” he whispers back, as if he still had any semblance of control. But you let him, and he thinks you’re too fucking nice for sparing his pride like that. “Take it, goddamn it.”

“Yes, my sweet boy.”

Idiotic. He is no longer a boy, nor does he even slightly compare to anything sweet. God, if you knew him. If you knew what he did for work… How many people he’s gutted and bled like livestock for quick cash… You would leave. He knows this to be a fact of life, you’re simply too moralistic and caring and selfless to keep in contact with a monster like him.

“Let mommy take care of you.”

Oh Jesus Christ, he’s done for. You wax praises so sincere that Toji starts to let himself believe he’s good. He pretends he’s worthy of being here with you right now in this bed, with your lithe fingers petting his damp hair and your breasts against his cheek, and fucks you harder. The toes of two socked feet bury into the mattress.

You successfully conquered his flimsy pride. “Mom… my…,” Toji breathes out, stifling down the impending whine caught at the back of his esophagus. He bucks deep inside, pubic bone to pubic bone, and grabs a handful of tit. So fucking soft even under this stupid shirt.

The sex plays out this way until the very end. A gentle tango that reminds Toji he hadn’t actually fucked in missionary position for some time. But at last, you came around him. “Toji, baby I’m here.” As if you were charged with electricity, you twitched and jumped beneath him. Toji fucked you through it, grinding his hips in a trajectory that caught your clit with his pubic hair. The friction was passionate, and you came with your jaw unhinged on a silent yelp.

“Give it to me,” he rasped, tongue lolling out to lick at your cleavage through your shirt. Drool rolled down the palate, collecting into a small puddle and dampening the fabric. A messy puppy, drooling all over you like that. Toji fucked harder, much too hard to be considered ‘slow’ anymore, but you didn’t stop him.

“Come on.” A hand dips beneath the collar of Toji’s tight shirt, scratching the ever loving fuck out of his upper back. “Cum baby boy.”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuckfuckfuck.” The thrusts halt abruptly; Toji rams himself deep inside and holds onto you for dear life. There’s a brief pause before he empties himself into the deepest depths of your pussy, twitching as he does so. You coo, talking him through it with an inoffensive hand raking his bangs back. They stick, his sweat acting like a sort of natural gel, and Toji’s forehead is on display. You drag him up and press your lips to it—he flushes and drops back onto you, hiding in your neck.

Toji gasps on his come down, gulping in air through his nose. He’s weak and it’s strange. Despite the stupid amount of strength trapped within that Herculean body, Toji cannot find it in him to hover anymore. His entire weight drops onto your much tinier frame, but he hears no objections so he keeps himself there.

“Worth the buildup?” You ask at last, rubbing soothing circles into the plates of his shoulder blades. Your voice is a little strained, no doubt the effects of a two-hundred-and-something-pound man crushing your lungs, but Toji likes the funny grate of it in his ears.

“You already know the answer.” It’s written in the way your cum mixes together and wets the crease of his inner thighs. He’s not exactly going to say that was the most intimate and passionate sex i’ve ever had, but he’ll show you how much it meant to him by letting you cradle him to your chest.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni

[rafeandonlyrafe]

pillow princess

words: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only, male receiving oral, riding, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rafe calls reader kiddo/kid

“rafey.” you whine, stepping into all the chairs circled around, filled with topper, kelce and some other guys you recognize as rafes friends.

“what is it baby?” he questions, giving you his full attention despite all the boys sitting around. he doesn’t care that they see him being affectionate with you. its not like his manliness is in question.

“i miss you.” you complain. you were bored sitting upstairs in your bed all alone. you knew it was boys night. first they watched a game, then sat around and talked and drank, but you wanted your boyfriend, feeling extra clingy today.

“aww, come here kiddo.” rafe leans back, opening up his arms, letting you slot yourself onto his knee. you immediately lean your head against his shoulder, snuggling your body into his.

rafe holds you tight to him, fingers drumming against your thigh as the conversation immediately starts up again. you only pay half attention to it, most being about the game they just watched, or their max bench, whatever boy stuff they usually spend the time chatting about.

your ears perk up when the conversation changes to girlfriend and sex. “man, my girl rides me like a fucking jackrabbit.” one guy laughs, making your nose scrunch up.

the rest chime in, except for rafe. you're not sure if it's just because you're there or if he prefers to keep your sex life private.

“alright, boys.” rafe says. “better get going, my lady clearly needs me.”

you smile and blush, cheeks flaring. you bury your head in rafes shoulder as he says his goodbyes, his friends filling out the door. rafe makes sure it closes behind them before scooping you up, holding you in his arms, not even questioning if you want to be carried upstairs.

“rafe?” you hum as he sets you down on his bed. “you know i would ride you if you wanted it, right?”

rafe lets out a sudden laugh, confused by your question. “what brought this on baby?”

“just the guys… talking about their girlfriends riding them. i never do that for you.” you shrug. 

rafe shakes his head. “i don't mind that you’re a pillow princess.”

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “i am not a pillow princess!”

rafe chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “you are, but its okay. i like being on top.”

“but-but-” you stammer. “i’m not!” “okay, wanna prove it?” rafe questions, a smirk still playing on his lips, knowing exactly what he's goading you into doing.

“take your clothes off.” you challenge back.

rafe tugs his shirt over his head before pulling at his pants. he undresses quickly, watching as you stand up off the bed to take your tanktop and shorts off. 

rafe climbs onto the bed once he’s stripped, leaning against the headboard with a lazy smile on his face. you blink at his dick, still mostly soft, resting against his thigh. usually rafe will eat you out or finger you and by the time you’re ready to fuck, he’s already hard.

“come on, show you’re not a pillow princess. get me hard.” rafe beckons you over.

you finish taking off your underwear before climbing onto the bed, kneeling between his legs. you reach for his cock, taking it in your hand, starting to stroke it as you watch with fascination as he hardens right under your fingertips.

“gonna suck me off too?” rafe questions.

“maybe.” you hum. you bend down, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, suckingling as your hand continues to stroke most of his length.

you work him until he’s completely hard before letting your mouth sink lower, taking as much as you comfortably can before setting a pace of moving back to just have the tip in your mouth to taking him fully.

“such a good girl.” rafe coos, placing a hand on the back of your head, but he doesn’t force you down, doesn’t help your movements. he lets you take control like you swore you could do.

you reach down between your legs as you suck him off. you’re a little wet, but it’s nothing like when rafe fingers you before sex, so you rub your clit as you flick your tongue over his length, his moans reaching your ears.

you pull off of his cock with a pop, already feeling tired of being in control. you wish rafe would have pushed himself down your throat, showed you just how he liked it, but he just watches you as you climb onto his lap.

you stroke his cock a few more times as you position yourself properly, hovering your cunt over his dick before slowly sinking down, letting out a moan as he fills you up, stretching slightly more than usual without as much prep. 

“it feels different from this angle.” you admit, looking shyly down as you sit on rafes fat cock. you feel it twitch inside you, and you know he’s desperate for you to move from the strained look on his face.

you begin to bounce, placing your hands on his chest. you wish he would grab your waist or your ass, helping you move on his length, but he leaves it up to you as you grind your cunt down.

you already feel your legs beginning to get sore, your muscles not used to this type of motion as you already begin to slow down, ashamed at how fast you are ready to give up, so you try to power through, but to no avail.

“fine.” you give up. “i’m a pillow princess.”

rafe flips you over suddenly, pressing your back into the mattress. “i told you so. should have just listened to me, kid.”

you whine as you wrap your legs around his waist as rafe begins to thrust. “i just like this better.” you don’t want to admit that you got exhausted after a minute of writing, and you really do like rafe on top of you better, his hair falling around his forehead as he looks down at you.

“you’re so pretty baby, i don’t care that i have to do all the work.” rafe says as he pumps into you. “not when your pussy is this tight.”

you grab at rafes shoulders, pulling him down into you so you can press your lips together. rafe grabs your tit with one of his hands, keeping the other around your waist as he kisses you, tongue pushing inside of your mouth as another show of his dominance. 

“gonna cum inside me?” you question.

“of course im gonna baby girl.” rafe says, sealing his promise with a kiss as he begins to move faster, digging deeper into your cunt.

“please.” you whimper, wanting to feel rafe release inside of you. you scratch your fingernails lightly down his back, making him shiver as his cock suddenly pulses, spurts of cum shooting into you.

“oh fuck, baby.” rafe moans as you clench around him, purposely milking him.

rafe collapses to the side of you, slipping out of your cunt, leaving his cum to slide out of your pussy onto the bedsheets.

rafe breathes deeply for a minute while you also try to get your breath back before he turns on his side, kissing your jawline and neck as he brings his hand back towards your pussy, but you shut your legs, squeezing your thighs tightly to deny him.

“but you didn’t cum yet.” rafe says with a pout, feeling like he failed if he can’t get you off too.

“i’m too tired, don’t wanna.” you admit with a shrug, feeling satisfied without the orgasm.

rafe can’t help the small chuckle that leaves his mouth. “you’re too tired from riding me for like two minutes? and you tried to argue that you’re not a pillow princess?” “yeah, whatever.” you roll your eyes. “just cuddle me.”

rafe nods, pulling you in with his big arms, letting you snuggle into his chest. “i love you princess.”

the words warm you, making your cheeks blush, never getting tired of hearing him say those three words as you tip your head up, letting your lips ghost over his. “i love you too.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby

[215-luv]

HQ BOYS WHEN YOU WEAR THEIR HOODIE TO SLEEP

OIKAWA: “aww~ oh my god” he coos, walking closer to the mattress where you’re already laid down on as his eyes were quick to find their way upon your figure. he lays next to you, arms immediately finding place around your waist as he softly nuzzles his nose against yours with a grin on his face. “tell me why didn’t i get the idea of draping you in my clothes? this is absolutely adorable.”

AKAASHI: as soon as your boyfriend opens the door to your shared bedroom he swears he almost falls to his knees. he stands by the door bewildered for a moment, and then a soft chuckle escapes from his lips, shaking his head as he slowly makes his way to your side of the bed with light footsteps, making sure not to wake you up. the bed dips when he sits next to you, a loving smile appearing over his features as his eyes find themselves gazing upon the fabric of his hoodie that you’re currently wearing. “this is what i come home to? i’m absolutely not complaining.”

KUROO: “my god.” he breathes out, giving himself a few moments to compose himself because he swears he saw glimpse of his hoodie on your body. his steps on the floor were on a fast pace and he’s immediately standing next to the bed to confirm his sight. and when he does confirm them right, he couldn’t stop the huge smile forming over his face as he heaves a low chuckle, looking down at your sleeping figure, “you really have me speechless over here pretty. it’s unfair.”

KAGEYAMA: he only realizes it after he lays down next to your sleeping figure on bed, sprawling the sheets over him and you as his arms immediately find place around you, and wait—why is this fabric so familiar? is this- oh my god. it’s his sweater! and he freezes, immediately looking down through the sheets just to make sure he’s not assuming anything. and yet there it is flawlessly showing itself right infront of his eyes. his own sweater, on you. oh my god, he thinks. oh my god oh my god oh my god, he rambles in his mind. he didn’t know what to do, however his only option was to sleep, but how could he when you’re like this? he didn’t get a good night’s sleep at all, all that’s in his mind was how extremely adorable you were in his hoodie that he beats himself up for not realizing it much sooner. he simply can’t control himself when it comes to you.

SAKUSA: it has been a long day, the only thing he’s been wanting to do as he gets home is to melt in your arms & forget about everything in the world. when he does get a glimpse of your figure the moment he enters the bedroom, he swears he could feel the hard thump on his chest as his eyes basically zooms in on his hoodie draped over your figure—all the more desperation that gives him as he stands there taking in the sight, then slowly making his way towards you, his stare never faltering away as if he’s praying in his head that this isn’t one of his delusions. but then again, when he does slowly, but surely, takes his place next to you, fingers carefully stroking itself against the fabric of his hoodie while he admires all of you in your glory—he just couldn’t stop himself around you, trapping you tightly in his arms as he nuzzles his nose against the side of your head. he lets out the deepest exhale, and finally, here he is, basking upon your presence, completely forgetting about everything in the world.

ATSUMU: the man is extremely, disgustingly in love with you. as soon as his eyes fall over the hoodie you’re currently wearing, he recognizes it faster than the speed of light and he swears he nearly drops down the floor. he curses out a “shit” in a whisper while sitting on the bedside with wide eyes. he couldn’t believe this is happening, and he probably thinks this has been the best sight he’s seen his whole life—better than seeing osamu upset over a loss or whatever. despite his heart banging against his ribcage that he could practically feel it from his ears, his gentle hands runs against the sides of your body while he pulls you impossibly closer to him so that his large figure is all over you. and god, he’s obsessed with the way you look in his hoodie.

[libertyybellls]

RIDE COWGIRL !

pairing; finnick odair x f!reader

summary; a slow kiss with finnick has a twist of fate.

contains; SMUT!! mdni. riding, small innocence kink, size kink, established relationship, takes place pre- third quarter quell.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

it was a cozy night in, finnick had been laying in bed with you on top of him, stroking your hair as he read his book.

he’d been so enamored with his book and you whined, so desperate for his attention.

“my baby is so needy.” he lets out a tsk as he places his book on the side table. placing his palms on both sides of your face in an effort to pull you close to him.

you grin, sitting with your legs on either side of him now as you leaned into the warmth’s his hands offered.

your lips connect with his, his hands left your face to run up and down your back as you let out a sound of satisfaction.

the kiss slowly turns into a his tongue assaulting yours in the sweetest way. you can taste him in your mouth- smiling through the kiss.

your hand reached behind his neck to dance with the hairs at the nape of his neck, still so soft, so pure. he deepens the kiss at this, stopping his hands at your hips and grabbing them firmly.

in reaction to his grip your crotch rubs further into his through your sleepwear. he pulls away from the kiss- letting out a huff of air.

you move your hips to slide off of him- but he buckles you down, forcing you to stay put. “stay on top of me.” he demands lowly.

you know exactly what he means behind those words, feeling an ache in your core.

his shirt had already been disregarded as he’d gone into bed- but now his nimble fingers expertly unhooked you bra and rid you of your shirt within seconds.

you grind down on him once more, his head falling back onto the pillow. his neck looks so inviting, so sapid.

you lean down into him, your mouth carries on attack to his neck as his hands find you chest- kneading into your breasts.

once you retreat from his neck he lifts your waist, neglecting your sleeping shorts and underwear. his follow soon after and you find your way back atop him.

finnicks size is well accounted for, you hesitate above his length. he of course, notices. taking his time to tease you, he’d never been in a rush in times like these. always wanting to take all the time in the world to be inside of you with that pleasure, he blames you for making it hard to last too long.

“don’t think it’ll fit sweetheart?” finnick purrs. his rough, big hands find your waist once again , lining you up and sinking you onto his tip. “don’t worry, i’ve got you doll.”

you all but scream out at the intrusion. “you can take it baby.” you sink into him completely, hiding your face in his neck- engulfed by his scent as you attempt to set a steady pace.

“fuck finnick.” your voice rings through his ears- fucking him dumb as he moves your body for you- he just about rolls his eyes back into his head at the sensation this new position brings.

he thinks he’ll cum now just by the way your tiny body can barely take all of him.

your sit upright, back arched and hands finding stability on his chest- taking back the control of your body as you let your hips subsequently rise and fall whilst rubbing against him.

“atta girl.” he cooes, hands finding your ass.

you feel that all too familiar coil build in your stomach, “i’m close.” you choke out.

“not until i say so.”

the pleasure is too much for you- he knows this- but pushes you further, placing two fingers in between where the both of you connect- rubbing and pressing on your swollen clit.

you whimper obscenities, unnerved at his insistence. i can’t’s and it’s too much.

“so pretty like this, so tight.” finnick chokes out, grabbing your hips and bouncing you against his length. expletives follow as he recognizes he’s nearing his climax.

just when you think you can’t hold it back anymore he lets out a low, “you can let go now sweet girl, cum for me baby.”

at his words, his beck and call, you moan out- the feeling causing your legs to shake. he pants your name like a prayer- like your body is his to worship, cheeks red like a sinner.

he continues to bruise you love handles with his grip- allowing you both to ride out your high. once you’ve come down your body falls slack against him- too dumbfounded to do anything else.

once more he strokes your hair, once more he tells you, “i’ve got you doll, i’ve got you.”

-

[novaursa]

The Cold Embrace (1/2)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to the Warden of the North as an alliance offering, your world crashed. Because you knew one thing: dragons die in the North - and not even honorable Lord Stark could change that fact.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is an only daughter of Rhaenyra and has a striking resemblance to her. The reader is also bonded with Silverwing. This series will be on my second list, which has the link on my first one that is pinned to the top. @missisjoker I hope this is what you had in mind. Let me know if I'm on the right track. 🙂

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 7 500+

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @jellybeanstacey0519 @ohhdearmargot @vastseamind @strengthandstay @anne-mary-1d @lovelyteenagebeard

- A/N: Yeah, this came way earlier then expected. But you guys liked the idea so much more than I anticipated. So, I've decided to spend last night working on this for you guys. The second part should be out tomorrow. Let me know what you think. I love all of you. ❤️

You stand in the brisk morning air, the cold wind biting at your cheeks as you prepare to mount Silverwing. Her massive form shifts beside you, her silver scales gleaming like molten moonlight against the grey clouds above. You can feel her anticipation under your skin, the bond between you and your dragon humming with unspoken energy. She longs for the sky, to fly north where the winds grow colder and the world harsher.

But you are not ready to take flight—not yet. Not with the anger burning inside you.

"You're being unreasonable," Jacaerys snaps, his voice sharp as he paces before you. He’s dressed for the journey north, his cloak billowing in the wind, but there’s something frantic in his movements, something desperate.

"Unreasonable?" You scoff, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. The sting of betrayal simmers beneath your skin. "You promised me to a man I've never met, Jace! A Northern brute! Without even asking me—"

Jacaerys whirls around, his dark eyes flashing with frustration. "He's not a brute, Y/N. Cregan Stark is an honorable man, more honorable than most in the South. The North would follow him into the very mouth of the abyss if he asked. And he’s given his word to support our mother’s claim. We need his alliance. We need him."

Your lips curl into a sneer, the heat rising in your chest, fueling the fire of your indignation. "If you like him so much, perhaps you should marry him!"

He blinks at you, stunned for a heartbeat, before his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking as he struggles for control. "Don’t be absurd. This isn’t about me. It’s about what’s best for our family, for the realm. You’re Rhaenyra’s daughter—your marriage isn’t a matter of love. It’s a duty."

You feel the words like a slap, the weight of expectation heavy and suffocating, like the iron chains they would use to hold down a dragon. You look at him, your older brother, the one who has always been steadfast, always so sure of himself, and for a moment, you don’t recognize him.

"Is that what you think?" Your voice is cold, but beneath it, there’s a tremor of hurt you can’t quite suppress. "That I’m just a pawn? A piece to be traded for an alliance?"

Jacaerys steps closer, lowering his voice, softening, as though he believes that will calm the storm brewing inside you. "You are not a pawn, Y/N. But you are the blood of the dragon. We all have our roles to play in this war."

"You had no right," you hiss, stepping away from him, your boots crunching in the frost-laden grass. "You had no right to promise me to him. To anyone."

"And what would you have me do?" he counters, his patience fraying. "Our enemies surround us. The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Hightowers—everyone is closing in. The North is our only hope for a strong ally, someone who can challenge them. Cregan Stark is not some savage; he’s a lord with a sense of duty, of honor. He will treat you with respect."

Your laughter is sharp, bitter, and it echoes off the stones of Dragonstone. "Respect? Is that what you call it? Being shipped off like a prize mare to bear the North's sons?"

Jacaerys' face tightens. "I would never do this if I didn’t believe it was necessary. Cregan is a man of his word. He is strong and kind, not like the men you fear. He lost his wife, Arra, and he’s raising their son alone. He needs a partner, someone who will stand beside him—"

"Then send yourself!" you shout, your voice rising with your fury. "If he’s so wonderful, if he’s the great honorable man you say, then you marry him!"

Jacaerys’ face turns red, his frustration boiling over, but for a moment he says nothing. He looks at you as if he’s trying to find the right words, but you see it—the tension in his shoulders, the anger tightening his mouth. "This isn’t a game, Y/N."

"No, it’s not," you say quietly, your voice suddenly cool. "This is my life. My future. And you’ve sold it without even asking me."

Silence hangs heavy between you, the sound of Silverwing’s wings shifting behind you the only break in the air. The dragon’s molten eyes flick toward Jacaerys, sensing the tension, the mounting storm between siblings.

Jacaerys runs a hand through his hair, exasperation written in every line of his face. "I didn’t do this to hurt you. I did it to protect us. To protect our family. You may not see it now, but Cregan will be good to you. The North respects strength, and you are stronger than any woman I know."

Your throat tightens. You want to scream, to rail against him, but a part of you knows Jace is sincere. He isn’t cruel, but he is blind—blind to what he’s asking of you.

"Do you even hear yourself, Jace?" Your voice trembles with the effort to hold back tears. "You’re asking me to leave everything I’ve ever known, to live in a land of snow and ice with a man I’ve never met, all because you think it will save our family? Do you really believe that’s what mother would want?"

He flinches at the mention of your mother, the memory of her fierce love for her children, for her legacy. But he doesn’t back down. "Mother would want us to win."

You stare at him, your heart pounding, torn between the duty that’s been drilled into you since birth and the yearning for freedom, for control over your own fate. You think of your mother, Rhaenyra, and how she fought for her own place, how she refused to let men dictate her life. And yet here you stand, your fate in the hands of another.

Silverwing lets out a low rumble, her massive form shifting impatiently. She is ready, but you are not.

You turn from Jace, your chest tight with too many emotions to name. "I’m flying north because I have no choice. But know this—I will not be a tool, not for you, not for anyone."

Jace says nothing, watching as you pull yourself onto Silverwing’s back, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You do not look back as you urge her into the sky, the powerful beats of her wings carrying you away from Dragonstone, toward the North and the unknown future that awaits you.

But as you soar higher, the air growing colder with every passing mile, one thought burns in your mind: you will forge your own path, no matter what it costs.

The chill of winter’s breath clung to the stones of Winterfell, seeping into the bones of man and beast alike. Cregan Stark stood before the gates, his dark cloak billowing in the biting wind. Beside him were his bannermen and retainers, a stoic, silent line of Northern strength, faces weathered by years of enduring harsh winters. They had gathered to greet the prince from the South and the bride he had promised—a woman whose name had begun to spread in whispers as far as the Dreadfort and beyond the Last Hearth.

Cregan’s jaw was set, his grey eyes scanning the sky. He’d heard the tales—stories of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s daughter, a woman as wild as the lands beyond the Wall, as fierce as her dragon. He imagined what she might be like. Some said she was a reflection of her mother, Rhaenyra—beautiful, with the blood of Old Valyria running hot in her veins. Others said she was untamable, a dragon in human form.

A woman of fire, sent to a land of ice.

"She’ll be a challenge," Cregan’s cousin, Lord Roderick, muttered beside him, his breath visible in the frigid air. "If the tales are true, she won’t be easy to tame."

Cregan didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t one for gossip, nor did he concern himself with idle rumors. But something about this arrangement unsettled him. When Prince Jacaerys had promised him a wife in exchange for the North’s support, Cregan had not expected the princess herself, a daughter of Rhaenyra. A dragon for a wolf.

A low rumble echoed across the valley then, drawing the attention of every man present. The horses whinnied in distress, stamping their hooves, eyes wide with fear. The air seemed to vibrate with power, an unseen force growing stronger, louder.

“They’re here,” Cregan said quietly, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Two figures appeared in the sky, massive and dark against the pale, snow-laden clouds. The dragons soared over the towering pines of the Wolfswood, their leathery wings beating rhythmically as they approached Winterfell. Cregan felt a rush of awe despite himself. It was not often that dragons graced these cold lands.

The first dragon—Vermax—descended gracefully, his wings cutting through the air like a blade. Prince Jacaerys sat tall upon his mount, his dark hair whipping in the wind. He was the picture of regal authority, his presence commanding respect even from a distance.

But it was the second dragon that drew Cregan’s gaze. Silverwing, an ancient beast whose silver scales glinted in the weak northern sunlight, landed with a thunderous crash. The earth trembled under her weight, sending the horses into a frenzy. Men struggled to calm the beasts, their hands gripping reins tightly.

Upon her back sat the princess.

Even from afar, Cregan could feel her presence, as sharp as a blade drawn from its scabbard. Her silver hair, so much like her dragon’s, fluttered around her face, but it was her eyes that caught his attention. There was fire there—burning, unyielding. And behind that fire, anger. Deep, simmering anger.

She didn’t want to be here.

Cregan’s chest tightened as he watched her dismount with the fluid grace of someone born to command dragons. There was nothing meek or timid in her stance. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, he saw the ire that burned within her. She resented this, resented him, and the weight of the bargain struck between Jacaerys and himself.

Jacaerys approached first, a polite smile tugging at his lips as he offered a short bow. "Lord Stark," he greeted, his voice smooth but firm. "I bring greetings from my mother, Queen Rhaenyra. We are honored by your hospitality."

Cregan inclined his head in return, his gaze flicking to the princess before returning to Jacaerys. "Winterfell welcomes you both. The North stands ready, as promised."

Jacaerys’ smile widened, but it was the princess who drew closer, her expression cold and distant. She remained silent, her eyes locking onto Cregan’s, challenging him with her defiance. There was no warmth in her, no courtesy of courtly manners. Her posture was rigid, tense, as though she would sooner mount her dragon and fly away than speak a word to him.

"So," Cregan said after a pause, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, "you are the princess."

She lifted her chin slightly, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a sneer. "It seems I am." Her voice was sharp, each word laced with irritation. She glanced at Jacaerys briefly, her eyes narrowing before returning to Cregan. "Though I wasn’t given much choice in the matter."

Cregan’s brow lifted slightly, but he held his ground. He had expected resistance, had prepared himself for the fire she would bring. But seeing it now, face-to-face, was something else entirely.

"You will find that the North values honor," Cregan replied, his tone measured. "And in the North, we do not force our women into anything against their will. If you find yourself unwilling, you may leave at any time."

Her eyes flashed, the fire behind them flaring. "And yet here I stand, promised to a man I’ve never met, in a land I did not choose to come to. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take kindly to your words of freedom."

Jacaerys stepped forward then, placing a calming hand on his sister’s arm, his expression tight. "Y/N, we’ve spoken of this. Lord Stark—"

"Spare me the speeches, Jace," she snapped, pulling her arm free. "You may speak of duty and honor, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was sold for an alliance."

The words hung heavy in the cold air, and for a moment, no one spoke. The bannermen exchanged uneasy glances, shifting on their feet. Cregan, however, stood firm, his eyes locked onto hers.

"You are not in chains, Princess," he said quietly. "And I do not need a wife who resents her place here. But I will not force your hand. If you stay, it will be your choice."

For the first time, her expression faltered, a flicker of surprise passing through her eyes. She hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected to be given an option. For a long moment, she stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line as though weighing his words.

"Choice," she muttered, her voice low and bitter. "Do we truly have any?"

Cregan said nothing, meeting her gaze evenly. He could see the war within her, the battle between duty and desire, between the freedom she craved and the chains of obligation. He had known from the start that this arrangement would be no simple matter, and now, standing before her, he understood the full extent of the challenge ahead.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, glancing between them. "Perhaps we should retire inside. The journey was long, and Winterfell’s hearths will offer warmth."

Cregan nodded. "Of course. You are both welcome here."

As they made their way toward the gates, Cregan cast one last glance at the princess. She was fire, fierce and wild. But there was more to her than the fury in her eyes. He could see it, even now—beneath the anger and resentment, there was a strength, a will unbroken. The North would test her, but in time, perhaps she would see that the North was not her enemy.

And neither was he.

The godswood was silent, save for the low rustle of wind through the ancient weirwood branches. The red leaves, stark against the snow-dusted ground, seemed to watch the ceremony unfolding below with a solemn, silent approval. The godswood, ancient and sacred, was a strange contrast to the fiery presence of the dragon lurking at its edge. Silverwing's silver scales shimmered faintly in the dappled light, her massive form curled among the trees like a sleeping predator, but her eyes never left you.

You stood at the heart of the godswood, dressed in a gown of deep silver, embroidered with fine, intricate patterns of the sea and sky—waves crashing into clouds, dragons rising from the ocean. The fabric hugged your frame like a second skin, and the heavy velvet of your cloak, the deep blue of House Velaryon, hung from your shoulders, fastened at your neck by a clasp shaped like a dragon in flight. It was regal, commanding, but it felt like a cage. Every stitch, every seam, was a reminder of the duty that had brought you here, bound by your brother’s word and the fragile alliance it promised.

The northern air was cold, biting against your skin, but you barely felt it. The fire in your chest, the resentment bubbling beneath your surface, kept you warm enough. Jacaerys stood to your right, his dark crimson and black cloak billowing softly in the breeze. He was every inch the prince, with his head held high, his Valyrian features stern, but you knew him better than anyone. His eyes flickered with the same determination that had led him to make this match in the first place, but also with a faint shadow of regret—regret for what he’d asked of you, for what he’d forced upon you.

Cregan Stark stood across from you, tall and unflinching, dressed in the black and grey of his house. His broad shoulders bore the weight of a heavy direwolf-fur cloak, and his expression was as cold and impenetrable as the North itself. Yet, as his steel-grey eyes met yours, there was something there, something you hadn’t expected—a quiet respect, an acknowledgment of the fire that burned in you. He wasn’t the brute you’d imagined, but that didn’t change the fact that you were here against your will.

The ceremony proceeded with the familiar words of the old gods, the vows spoken in quiet, reverent tones. You barely heard them, your mind drifting to Silverwing, to the open sky that called to you. This place—Winterfell—was as far from home as you could be. The walls closed in, the cold seeped deeper, and even the dragons were stilled by the weight of it.

“Do you, Y/N of House Velaryon, take Cregan of House Stark as your lord and husband, to honor and serve, in ice and in fire, in winter and in spring?”

The words felt heavy, the weight of them pressing against your chest. You hesitated, your jaw tightening. This wasn’t what you wanted. The fire inside you rebelled against the thought of being tethered to a man you hardly knew, a man from a world of ice and stone.

But duty called. Your mother’s voice echoed in your mind, and Jacaerys’ quiet plea for understanding lingered.

“I do,” you finally said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Cregan’s eyes remained on yours as he stepped forward, his hands strong but gentle as he draped the Stark cloak over your shoulders. It was heavy, lined with direwolf fur, the symbol of the North. The weight of it settled on you like a mantle of cold responsibility, pulling you further from the warmth of the sea, further from the freedom you longed for.

As the vows concluded, and the few gathered bannermen murmured their approval, the procession back to the castle began. You moved stiffly at Cregan’s side, your thoughts miles away, swirling with memories of home and the life you’d left behind.

Suddenly, a massive shadow loomed beside you. Silverwing, her long neck lowering, her molten eyes narrowing as she regarded Cregan curiously. She moved with the grace of an ancient predator, her silver-scaled head nudging closer, as though she were studying him.

Cregan stiffened, his eyes flicking toward the dragon, but he didn’t step back. His hand tightened at his side, his muscles coiled beneath his cloak. You could see the way his jaw clenched, his stoicism an iron mask. Though his expression remained impassive, you knew the truth—he was wary, perhaps even afraid. A dragon, no matter how docile, was still a dragon.

Silverwing’s nose brushed against his shoulder, nudging him with surprising gentleness. Her hot breath steamed in the cold air as she let out a low rumble, something that almost sounded like approval, or…affection?

You narrowed your eyes, your lips tightening in annoyance. Of all the times for Silverwing to show her favor, she chose now, and with him?

“Shoo, beast,” Cregan muttered under his breath, his voice steady, though his hand remained close to the hilt of his sword, just in case. He raised his arm, pushing gently against Silverwing’s massive head, but the dragon didn’t budge at first, her molten eyes fixated on him as though she were weighing his worth.

For a long, tense moment, you watched as Cregan squared off with your dragon. His face betrayed nothing, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. He knew as well as you did that if Silverwing felt the urge, she could reduce him to nothing more than a memory in a matter of moments. Yet, he stood his ground, as unyielding as the land he ruled.

Finally, with a reluctant huff, Silverwing backed off, her tail sweeping through the snow as she turned her gaze toward you. But not before letting out a sound—something disturbingly close to a soft whine.

You blinked, incredulous. Was Silverwing fond of him?

You turned toward your dragon, sharp words slipping from your lips in Valyrian, biting and full of frustration. "Traitor," you whispered fiercely, barely loud enough for anyone but Silverwing to hear.

The dragon's molten eyes flicked toward you, her expression almost indignant as she rumbled softly in response. It was as if she could sense your displeasure, but instead of reacting with the loyalty you expected, Silverwing let out another low, almost affectionate sound, her head turning once more toward Cregan.

Your blood boiled. She had always been loyal to you, reflecting the fire in your heart. Yet here she was, nuzzling up to the man who had become the symbol of everything you resented about this forced marriage. You clenched your fists inside the thick fur cloak Cregan had placed over your shoulders, the weight of it pressing down on you as heavily as the expectations that had led you here.

Cregan, still standing firm though you could tell the encounter unsettled him, raised an eyebrow in your direction. His voice was calm, with a hint of dry humor, as though addressing a curious wolf pup. "She seems to have taken a liking to me, though I doubt that sits well with you."

You glared at him, your lips tightening into a thin line. "Silverwing has poor taste," you snapped, brushing past him, the fabric of your gown sweeping the snow as you walked. "She's never been one for judging character."

Cregan said nothing for a moment, his heavy boots crunching in the snow as he fell into step beside you. His silence was maddening, his cool composure only heightening the frustration gnawing at your insides. You had expected him to show more than just wariness toward your dragon, perhaps even fear, but he hadn’t given in to it. And now, with Silverwing showing him something bordering on favor, it made your already bitter resentment burn even hotter.

"I see the truth behind your eyes, Princess," Cregan finally said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "You’re angry, and rightfully so. This isn’t what you wanted. But the North respects strength, and whether you believe it or not, I am not your enemy."

You stopped in your tracks, your eyes narrowing as you turned to face him. The cold wind whipped through the godswood, sending the red leaves fluttering around you like bloodstained feathers. "Do you think that because you’ve shown some kindness, or because you’ve made no demands of me yet, that I should suddenly be grateful? This is a prison, Lord Stark. A cold, bleak prison where I’ve been sent because of my brother’s decree."

Cregan’s gaze remained steady, his grey eyes holding yours with quiet intensity. "Winterfell is no prison, Princess. You may see it as one now, but I think in time, you’ll find it to be otherwise. You are free to leave if you wish—I've said it before, and I meant it. But should you stay, you’ll be treated with the honor you deserve."

You scoffed, crossing your arms under the weight of the cloak. "Honor. You speak of honor, yet you are content to marry a woman who does not want you, because it benefits you politically."

Cregan’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained calm, unwavering. "And you? Would you refuse to marry because you do not want to fulfill your family’s duty? You and I are alike in that way. We both know what it means to be bound by responsibility."

The words struck a chord in you, though you hated to admit it. You had been raised to understand duty, to know that sacrifices were often necessary for the sake of family and the realm. But this was different. This was your life, your future. And yet, there was a part of you that recognized the truth in Cregan’s words. He had not chosen this either, but he had accepted it with grace that you could not muster.

"Perhaps we are alike," you said slowly, your voice dropping. "But that doesn’t mean I have to like it."

Cregan’s lips quirked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I would expect nothing less."

The exchange, though still tense, seemed to cool some of the burning rage in your chest. There was a steadiness to Cregan, a quiet strength that you found infuriatingly difficult to hate. But that did not mean you were ready to forgive your brother, or accept your new life with ease. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

As you resumed walking toward the castle, Silverwing let out a soft, almost mournful sound from the godswood. You glanced back at her, your heart twisting with conflicting emotions. She had been your constant companion, your source of freedom, and yet here she was, nudging the man you were supposed to despise.

"Traitor," you muttered again, shaking your head as you continued forward, Cregan by your side.

The gates of Winterfell loomed ahead, dark and imposing, the firelight from within flickering against the cold stone walls. The North may not have been your choice, but now, standing on the threshold of your new life, you realized you would have to navigate this frozen world with all the cunning and strength that the blood of the dragon afforded you.

And perhaps, just perhaps, you would find your own way to bend it to your will.

The great hall of Winterfell was warm, its hearths roaring with fire to push back the northern chill. The scent of roasting meat filled the air, mingling with the bitter tang of strong ale and the rich aroma of spiced wine. The long tables were packed with northern lords and their ladies, all toasting and cheering in celebration of the union between the Princess of House Velaryon and Lord Cregan Stark. The sound of their voices blended with the clatter of plates and goblets, rising in a cacophony that should have felt joyous but grated on your nerves.

You sat beside Cregan at the high table, stiff in your seat, the fur-lined Stark cloak still draped around your shoulders. It felt heavy and wrong. Across from you, Cregan’s son, Rickon, was seated, his bright grey eyes wide with awe as he watched the revelry around him. The boy couldn’t have been older than six, with dark hair like his father’s and a mischievous smile that peeked out from behind his solemn expression.

Rickon had been quiet for most of the evening, but now he looked at you with curious eyes, clearly fascinated by the idea of a dragonrider in his home. "My lady," he said, his voice soft and hesitant, "do you really fly on a dragon?"

You turned to him, your irritation melting for a moment at the boy’s innocent curiosity. "I do," you replied, offering a small smile. "Her name is Silverwing. She’s resting in the godswood now."

Rickon’s eyes lit up with wonder, his small hand gripping the edge of the table. "Will I be able to see her? Father says dragons are fearsome, but I’d like to meet one."

You leaned closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you ask nicely, perhaps Silverwing will let you get close. She’s not so fearsome when she likes someone."

The boy grinned, his earlier shyness dissolving, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. But the reprieve was short-lived, as Cregan spoke up beside you, his deep voice cutting through the air.

"Rickon will have plenty of time to meet your dragon," Cregan said, his tone even but his eyes flicking toward you, unreadable. "Though he’ll need to understand that dragons are dangerous creatures, not pets."

You straightened in your chair, bristling at the implication. "Silverwing is no pet, Lord Stark. She’s my companion, and she is only dangerous when she has cause to be."

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a faint smirk, but there was something colder behind his gaze. "I’ll take your word for it, Princess. Though I suspect the people of Winterfell would appreciate not being roasted in their own hall."

You narrowed your eyes at him, your fingers tightening around the stem of your goblet. "I doubt your halls are warm enough for that to happen," you snapped back, your voice laced with sarcasm. "Perhaps that’s why you need the fire of dragons to melt all this ice."

The tension between you and Cregan was palpable, even amid the noise and laughter of the feast. He met your challenge without flinching, his expression hardening. "Perhaps," he said evenly, "but here in the North, we don’t rely on fire to keep us alive. We endure the cold as we’ve always done."

You leaned closer, your voice dropping so only he could hear, though there was no warmth in your tone. "I didn’t come here to endure. And I certainly didn’t come here to freeze."

Cregan’s gaze was steady, unyielding, but he said nothing in response. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other, neither willing to back down. The flickering firelight cast shadows on his face, making him look more like a wolf in the dim glow. You felt your frustration bubbling up once more, the weight of everything pressing down on you—the forced marriage, the cold, this unfamiliar life.

But then, a voice from the tables interrupted your silent standoff. "The bedding!" one of the bannermen shouted, his voice slurred with drink. Others quickly joined in, their cheers rising in volume as they pounded their fists on the tables. "To the bedding ceremony!"

The call spread through the hall like wildfire, and suddenly all eyes were on you and Cregan. You felt the color drain from your face as the implications of the chant washed over you. The idea of being paraded to bed with Cregan, in front of all these men, made your stomach turn.

Cregan, too, seemed to stiffen at the noise, his face tightening as he glanced around at his bannermen, their enthusiasm for tradition clear. But you saw something else in his expression—something that surprised you. He wasn’t pleased, nor did he seem to relish the idea of the bedding ceremony. If anything, he looked just as displeased as you felt.

"No," Cregan said firmly, standing from his seat, his voice cutting through the din like a blade. The hall fell quiet, the lords and ladies turning to him in confusion. "There will be no bedding ceremony tonight."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, but Cregan’s gaze remained fixed, unyielding. "The princess and I will retire when we choose. I will not have her paraded through the halls like some prize for you to gawk at. This is a union of honor, not spectacle."

His words were met with a mixture of disappointment and begrudging respect. The lords who had been calling for the bedding ceremony fell silent, though a few still exchanged glances, their faces flushed with drink and unspoken protests. Cregan turned to you, his expression softer now, though still guarded.

You were surprised, though you tried to hide it. Of all the things you had expected from him, this was not one of them. He had spared you the humiliation, something you hadn’t thought he would do.

"Thank you," you muttered under your breath, barely audible above the crackling fire and the low murmur of conversation. It wasn’t a warm thanks, nor was it filled with any sense of relief—just a begrudging acknowledgment of what he had done.

Cregan nodded once, his eyes flicking briefly to Rickon, who had been watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. Then, turning back to you, he offered a hand. "Come. We should retire. The hall will quiet soon enough."

You hesitated, staring at his offered hand, before reluctantly taking it. His grip was firm, but not harsh, and you allowed him to lead you through the throng of lords and ladies. As you walked, you felt the eyes of the room on you, but there was no jeering, no laughter. Only silence and the crackling of the fire.

Rickon followed closely, his small feet shuffling against the stone floor, and though the evening had been tense, you felt a small warmth for the boy. As the three of you left the hall, the sound of the feast faded behind you, replaced by the quiet, muffled howling of the wind outside Winterfell’s walls.

The corridors of Winterfell were dimly lit, the torches casting flickering shadows along the stone walls as Cregan led you through the cold, winding passageways. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of the evening, but the noise of the great hall had finally faded, leaving only the echo of your footsteps. Cregan’s hand was still at your elbow, his touch gentle but firm as he guided you deeper into the castle.

You were tense, your body rigid, every muscle taut with the emotions you had been holding back since the ceremony. The weight of the Stark cloak hung around your shoulders, but it was more than that—the weight of duty, of expectations, of a life you hadn’t chosen, bore down on you with every step.

At last, he stopped in front of a heavy oak door. The thick wood was carved with simple designs, its iron handle cold to the touch. Cregan released your arm, stepping back slightly as if giving you space. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the unspoken understanding between you.

"These are your chambers," he said quietly, his deep voice low in the silence. "I thought it best for you to have your own space. You’ll need time to adjust... to everything." He glanced at you briefly before turning his gaze back to the door. "I won’t impose myself upon you, not tonight, nor any night until you wish it."

The relief that swept over you was unexpected, but it was there nonetheless. The tension in your shoulders loosened, though only slightly. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be bound to this man, to this place. But at least, for now, you had this small mercy.

You looked at him, your lips pressed into a thin line, searching for the right words. It took a moment before you could speak. "Thank you," you muttered, the words awkward on your tongue. You didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but the bitterness in your heart tainted even this gesture of kindness. "For this."

Cregan’s eyes softened, though his expression remained stoic. "I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I hope, in time, you’ll find it less burdensome." He paused, his gaze meeting yours with a strange mixture of patience and understanding. "Goodnight, Princess."

With that, he stepped away with his son in tow, leaving you alone in the flickering torchlight. You watched him retreat down the hallway with Rickon, his tall figure and boy's smaller one, both disappearing into the shadows before turning toward the door.

You pushed it open, stepping into your new chambers. The room was dim, lit only by a few candles set on a wooden table near the hearth, and a small fire crackled quietly in the grate. The furnishings were simple but finely made—a large bed with thick furs draped across it, a sturdy chair by the fire, and a small window that looked out over the courtyard below. The cold draft slipped in through the cracks in the stone, but the warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep inside you.

With a heavy sigh, you closed the door behind you, the latch clicking softly into place. Alone at last, the tension you had been holding onto all evening began to unravel, bit by bit. The firelight danced across the stone walls, but it did nothing to lift the weight that had settled in your chest.

You moved slowly to the bed, shrugging off the Stark cloak and tossing it onto the chair. It felt too heavy, too suffocating. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared into the flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

And then it came—the overwhelming, crushing wave of emotion you had been fighting back all night.

You had been strong. You had kept your composure, had held your head high even when everything inside you screamed for freedom. But now, in the quiet of your chambers, with no one watching, the dam broke.

Silent tears began to fall, hot and bitter as they streaked down your cheeks. You hadn’t cried in front of your brother, nor in front of Cregan, but now, alone, you allowed yourself to grieve. For what you had lost. For what had been taken from you.

You thought of Dragonstone, of the sea crashing against its black shores, the salty wind that had always carried a sense of freedom with it. You thought of your mother, Rhaenyra, her fierce love and unyielding spirit. She had fought so hard for everything she had—her throne, her children—and yet here you were, far from her, bound to a place you did not belong. Would she have wanted this for you?

And then you thought of your brothers. Jacaerys, with his sense of duty and stubbornness, always trying to do what was right, even when it hurt. You knew he thought he was helping you, securing your future, protecting the family. But it felt like a betrayal. You had followed him into the North, trusting him, only to find yourself trapped in a cage of ice and stone.

Your thoughts drifted to Lucerys and Joffrey, their youthful energy and the laughter that had once filled the halls of Dragonstone. Would you ever see them again? Or would they be mere memories, fading like the warmth of the fire as you sat in this cold, unfamiliar place?

A soft sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you silently mourned the life you had left behind.

In the quiet of the room, with only the crackling of the fire to keep you company, you allowed yourself to feel every ounce of sorrow, every pang of regret. The tears came faster, and for a long time, you sat there, letting the grief pour out of you.

Eventually, when the tears had slowed and your chest ached with the effort of crying, you wiped your eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. You were still here. Still trapped in this fate you didn’t want.

But for tonight, at least, you were alone. And for now, that was the only solace you could cling to.

The cold wind bit at your face as you raced across the snowy courtyard, your heart pounding with desperation. The distant silhouette of Vermax, Jacaerys’ dragon, loomed against the grey sky, his wings shifting in anticipation as Jace made his final preparations to depart. You could see him there, standing tall and resolute, his back to you as he adjusted his saddle. Each step you took felt like a battle, your feet sinking into the snow, but you pushed forward, the icy air burning in your lungs.

"Jace!" you called out, your voice cracking as you approached. He didn't turn, and panic surged in your chest. "Jacaerys!"

This time he heard you, his head turning slightly, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. He kept his focus on Vermax, brushing off your distress like it was a mild inconvenience.

You finally caught up to him, grabbing his arm, your fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak with a desperation that you couldn't hide. "You can’t just leave me here," you pleaded, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out in a rush. "Jace, please. I’ll die here. The dragons… they die in the North. I can’t stay."

Jacaerys finally looked at you, his brows furrowed in frustration. "Y/N, stop this." His voice was stern, but there was a weariness in his tone, as if he had expected this but hoped it wouldn’t come. "You’re being dramatic. You won’t die here. You’ll adapt, just like you always do. You’re strong, stronger than you think."

You shook your head vehemently, tears already welling up in your eyes. The cold air stung your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of your tears, but you didn’t care. "You don’t understand," you whispered, your grip on his arm tightening as if holding onto him would somehow change everything. "I don’t belong here. I’m not built for this place, for this cold, for these people. And Silverwing—she’ll suffer here. Dragons don’t thrive in the North. They wither. And so will I."

Jacaerys’ face softened, but only slightly. He let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "You’re stronger than this. You’ve always done your duty, Y/N. You’ve faced worse than cold. You’ll survive this, too." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if it was that simple, as if this place hadn’t already started to crush you.

His words cut through you, and you pulled back slightly, your hands falling to your sides. He didn’t understand—he couldn’t. The North was foreign, hostile in ways that went beyond its cold. It was a land of ice, of silence, where the warmth and fire of home felt like a distant memory.

"Do you even care?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you regretted it as soon as you saw the flash of hurt cross his face.

Jace took a step closer, his hand resting gently on your shoulder now, his expression softening as he realized just how much this was breaking you. "Of course I care," he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "But this is what’s best for us, for the family. Cregan will protect you, and in time, you’ll find your place here. I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone."

The tears spilled over then, no longer restrained. You hated this, hated that you were crumbling in front of him, hated that you felt so weak. "You’re leaving me here," you choked out, barely able to speak around the lump in your throat. "You’re abandoning me."

Jacaerys frowned, pulling you into a hug despite your resistance. You felt his arms wrap around you, strong and warm, and for a moment, you wanted to push him away, to scream at him. But you didn’t. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, your body shaking with silent sobs.

"I’m not abandoning you," he murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m giving you a chance to do something great, something important. You’re more than just our sister. You’re part of the realm’s future. I’m sorry you feel this way, but this is bigger than either of us."

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His eyes, those familiar brown eyes, were filled with both sadness and resolve. He wasn’t going to change his mind, no matter how much you begged. "What about Mother?" you whispered. "What would she say if she knew you were leaving me like this?"

His expression faltered, the mention of your mother clearly cutting him deep, but he held firm. "She would want you to do your duty, just as she’s always done hers. You’re more like her than you realize."

You shook your head, wiping at your tears, but it was no use. They kept coming. "I don’t feel like her. I feel... lost."

Jace sighed, his hand cupping the side of your face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. "You’ll find your way. You always do." He kissed your forehead, his touch tender but brief. "I have to go."

You watched in silence as he turned away, walking toward Vermax with a steady, determined stride. The dragon’s massive head lifted, its green eyes gleaming as it sensed its rider’s approach. Jacaerys mounted with practiced ease, settling into the saddle, his gaze fixed ahead as if the weight of leaving you behind was already something he had accepted.

"Jace!" you called out one last time, your voice breaking. But he didn’t look back.

The great wings of Vermax unfurled, casting a long shadow over the snow-covered ground as the dragon prepared to take flight. You stood frozen, your tears falling faster now, watching helplessly as your brother, the last tie to home, prepared to leave you in this strange, unwelcoming place.

With a powerful beat of his wings, Vermax lifted into the sky, the gust of wind from his takeoff sending snow swirling around you. You watched, numb, as the dragon rose higher and higher, carrying Jacaerys back to the place you longed to return to—Dragonstone.

The sound of his wings beating faded into the distance, and soon, they were nothing more than a dark speck against the pale sky. You stood there in the middle of the open field, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your tears freezing on your cheeks as you watched him disappear.

Alone, you fell to your knees in the snow, the icy ground biting at your skin, but you didn’t care. You were alone now, truly alone. And the weight of that realization crushed you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Jacaerys was gone.

And you were left behind.

[ssahotchnerr]

aaron totally panicking at seeing his secret partner (reader) as a witness or being involved in a gruesome crime and just abandoning his duty to rush to her side and comfort her. 💗

like imagine reader is having an attack after witnessing our unsub in the interrogation room and aaron noticing it's his love when he reads the case file and running across the precinct to hug her!!!!

i all honesty i just need some minor angst and MAJOR fluff but i hope this doesn't inconvenience you <3

love youu <33333

the other side

i took this in a small different direction but the main idea is there you're a genius <333 wc; 1.1k cw; blood description (nothing too graphic), panicked reader, soft aaron, hurt to comfort

if aaron could have it his way, you would never know the true horrors of the world, or more specifically the sadistic people within it. and while that wasn't entirely possible, he would do whatever it takes to keep you away from it.

that's what he told himself every morning, either with you asleep next to him or when he awoke states away, when he questioned why he continually chose to take on the wickedness of human behavior.

not only because it was who he was, not only to help others, but his need to prevent it from reaching you. or jack. if he couldn't rid of it completely, at least he could partially control it.

in return there wasn't much you knew about his job - well, you knew, but he spared you the specifics.

and so, the very last thing he expected to see was you walking into the bullpen, escorted by a detective. a shock stricken expression plastered on your face. your shirt littered with small dots of red.

shit.

"excuse..." aaron spoke to the team, not even completing his sentence as he beelined straight towards you, whatever he was preoccupied with long forgotten.

your name left him in a breath as he approached you, still in disbelief you were here, followed by an "are you hurt?"

you clutched onto his forearm immediately, your fingers gripping onto the fabric of his suit jacket. you acknowledged him. you recognized it was him. you heard him, but you didn't hear him.

"hey, sweetheart." he tried again, his tone of voice on the desperate side. "are you hurt?"

"no. it's not mine." you finally breathed out, tears lining your eyes. "i was just, standing there and, and..."

"okay, that's okay." aaron nodded his head towards the agent, silently indicating he had it from here. he took ahold of your hands. they were trembling. "you're okay now. i have you."

"i- i just..."

"i know sweetheart. i know." he said soothingly, squeezing your hands to get you to look at him. what he was met with, shattered his heart into two. "c'mon, let's get you cleaned up.

he's never seen your eyes like that.

still clutching onto your hand, aaron led you up into his office to retrieve his go-bag - by no means was he about to leave you alone, or out of his sight for that matter - then back out and into the nearest bathroom. he was working at a hurried pace, eager to get you away from everything for a moment.

he escorted you swiftly inside, shutting the door behind the both of you.

once you heard the click of the lock, you let out the smallest breath of relief, thankful for the sudden solitude.

more than anything aaron wanted to pull you into his embrace, to provide the comfort he knew you needed. not only was he not sure if you were okay with being touched right now, if it would just be too much, but also due to the blood on your shirt.

so he did what he could, taking your hands into his.

"are you sure you're not hurt?" he could've asked if you were alright, but he didn't find a reason to, he knew you weren't. in addition, he needed the confirmation you were unharmed one more time.

you nodded, leaning against the edge of the counter.

"here, i'm going to take your shirt off." he looked at you, his brown eyes gentle with caution. "is that alright?"

again you responded with a short nod, instantly reaching for the hem of your shirt yourself.

he pushed your hands away softly, pulling your shirt over your head for you. your hands were still shaking, and he wanted to do it for you, to take care of you.

he set it aside, in case it were to be needed for evidence.

next, and thankfully, his bag also contained a washcloth. he was quick to soak it with warm water, beginning to gingerly wipe away any specks of red he could find.

although there wasn't much blood on your skin, aaron had a solid understanding of what you were feeling. once someone's own made contact with your skin, the sensation was incredibly difficult to get rid of, or simply felt permanent for a day or two.

he would make sure you would take a more thorough shower at home later, but for the meantime, he wanted to make you feel as clean and comfortable as possible.

once he was finished, he guided your arms into the sleeves of his spare shirt (which also happened to be your favorite, he always made sure to pack that one specifically to feel closer to you while away). he purposely took his time buttoning it to a close, not wanting to rush you back out there.

"i'm so sorry." his thumb and pointer fingered fiddled with a button as he spoke.

confusion arose on your face, replacing the persistent panic. "why're you sorry?"

once he finished the last one, analyzing your hands, turning them over despite the fact he was confident nothing still littered your body. "that you witnessed this."

"it's okay." you timidly offered, not convincing in the slightest.

"it's not. no." he couldn't take it any longer - pulling you into his arms. the contact finally slowed his rapid heartbeat, while you immediately melted into his chest, as if nothing could hold you up anymore. "what can i do?"

"just hold me." you mumbled into his chest, your arms tightening around his middle.

the two of you stood like that for a moment, aaron's hand taking strides along your back. he also placed a kiss behind your ear, the one spot he could currently reach.

"i just want to keep you safe."

"i know. and you do. and it's okay if you can't all the time."

he sighed, brief defeat in his voice. "i can try."

your embrace on him only tightened more.

he loosened his hold, still keeping his arms around you but being able to see your face. he let out a heavy breath, hesitant with his next question. "are you okay with being questioned?"

you wavered, silently contemplating for a moment. no, you weren't, but looking at aaron in front of you, the man you loved, changed your mind in an instant. if this was what he dealt with on the daily, you could be brave. you could be brave like him, for him.

you nodded slowly, your voice cracking mid-sentence. "will you be..."

"i'll be right there with you." he confirmed your thought immediately, placing a kiss to your forehead. "i'll be right there. we'll do this together."

[pedge-page]

Closer

sub/Himbo!Joel Miller x F!Reader

can be read as a follow up to Safe or standalone

Summary: you give Joel exactly what you both want, and he feels closer to you than ever before.

Warnings: Sub!Joel, Himbo!Joel, Mommy kink, Breeding Kink, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, face riding, oral F! receiving, premature ejaculation, preg, Joel gets called puppy

18+ ONLY

- - - -

He’s barely thrusting in and out any more. Just pathetic grinding and unrhythmic humps with pathetic whines and unrhythmic grunts.

You squeeze the fat around his hips, your legs dangling off to each of his sides. His head tucked low with his sweaty forehead resting atop your breasts his eyes remained glued to the spot where he disappears into your sopping cunt. where the two of you are Joined. Connected. Close.

He lets out a harsh gasp. “I made—mmmmffff—Mommy my cum dump,” he hums proudly. His brows suddenly furrow in concentration when your warm walls tighten.

"Where did you learn that? Who said that?"

His hips slow their pace. Eyes refusing to find yours after such a bold statement. Embarassment washes over him. “Um... Tommy said... you were like my cum dump... because I keep dumping my load inside you.” Joel stills entirely, the downward cast of his face giving way to his guilty conscious.

You squish his cheeks and make him look at you like a grown man. There’s such a thrill buried inside you when he perks up at direct eye contact from you, even when you're scolding him, like you were granting him such luxuries to be acknowledged. “Don't listen to Tommy. Mommy tells you what you need to know.” 

He nods obediently, picking up his frantic thrusts again with renewed security.

Your nails claw against his broad, sun speckled back. The reminder of his muscled form doesnt deter your control over him in the slightest. and he doesn't mind surrendering to you entirely either.

His harsh pants fan across your throat, pulling him closer in to your warm embrace. Your body bounces back and forth with each rock of his cock plunging into you. Soft lips kissing away the sweat under your jaw. You can feel the smile crinkle around his cheeks pressing against your shoulder. Joel feels so capable yet so protected with you. He never wants to leave your comfort.

You can tell from the high pitched puppy noises he’s making mixed with the swell of his cock reaching deeper inside your pussy that he’s getting close. Working to secure yet another generous load of his seed inside you.

“Hey,” you coo, kissing his forehead before bringing his eyes to meet yours. God, he looked so perfect like this—all lost and dazed, not a thought behind those eyes except Mommy’s cunt, Mommy’s pussy, MommyMommyMommy. He’s half listening, so pussy whipped out of his mind, but you know he’s going to love your next words:

 “We're gonna have a baby."

A fat grin spreads over his entire face before his lips are parting in an “o,” slamming into you one last time balls deep. He’s so excited that he cums. His movement stops altogether, groaning with an eye rolling orgasm, spilling his hot creamy spend into your already fertilized womb.

You laugh at him. “Happy, you're making me a real Mommy?”

"Because—because I put my cum inside mommy!"

"Yes sweetie.” yours lips find his, sucking away his pants. "And you're gonna be a Daddy."

"I did—“ he gasps loudly, trying to talk and catch his breath—“I did a good job.” He’s wrecked but trying so hard to recognize the reward of his hard work. The thing you had been promising him for ages finally come to fruition and its because of him. He should be proud. He knows you’re proud.

"Baby will grow better if you keep putting more in,” you tease, hands creeping over his ass and pushing him further inside you, forcing his seed to your cervix.

“Mommy,” he whines, knees rutting forward so he’s grinding against your mound. You can feel each ripple of his glutes flexing underneath your fingertips. 

“Are you being selfish? Doesn’t Mommy get to cum?”

He nods, fearful that you would think he’s leaving you out. Even if he would forget to please you, Joel’s only purpose is to please you, fulfill your needs and empty his balls into you and breed. Only in this case, he's the livestock sperm-bank to your nurturing and greedy will.

“Roll over.”

He switches positions so fast, the back of his head slamming into the pillow, body jittery with excitement. He only briefly misses your warm cunt, worried over the cum that is still there.

“Good puppy boy,” you praise.

If Joel had a tail, it would be sprained from how hard he’s wagging.

You climb atop Joel's face. 

He immediately sees the pearly drops of his cum starting to seep out of from your slit. “No! No no Mommy it's leaving your pussy!"

You pin his wrists down with your knees, and he almost cries at the tortured sight of it slowly dripping from your throbbing cunt, down your folds and on to his chin.

"Then you'll put more in. Shhh. It's okay, don't panic. You’ll have more cum to put in me.”

Joel steadies his breathing as you stroke soothingly over his scruffy cheek. He knows you'll take more and more from him as you please, but he really needs to let this go if that's what you command. you know better than he does, afterall.

Your thumb and finger clench his cheeks tightly, wakening him to your attention. 

“But it's my decision. I decide what to do with you cum. Your body. Your cock. I decide what's best for you."

He nods, mouth muffled as you sink yourself onto his face. He eagerly laps at his messy seed from you like honey straight from the hive. He gets lost in it, the salty thick taste invading his buds, humming with his pretty lashes closed. His gentle hands, all rough on the exterior but so loving with intent, slide up along your middle until he's gently splayed a palm over your lower tummy, dreaming, wondering, hoping, excited to feel it swell so soon knowing he put a child in you. The room is so quiet. Intimate just between the two of you. Your fingers dance over his, layered on top and rolling each roll of your pussy onto his face. His eyes open and you smile warmly at him. You feel his breath hitch at the sight of you, so enthralled to be so much closer to mommy, tied together, physically and emotionally, than ever before.

Permanent Taglist:

- - - -

More: Mine is Mine

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96

[pink-tea]

cute genes

☆ pairing: choi soobin x afab! reader

☆ smut

☆ word count: 3.2k

☆ sub! soobin, dom! reader, slightly dark content !!!, dubcon technically bc baby trapping, toxic behaviors (baby trapping is not okay you guys!!), riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, milking, use of the nicknames "angel" (extensive use) and "bunny", nipple play (like a lot)(both receiving), tit sucking, breeding kink

☆ soobin is worried that one day he'll have to choose between his relationship and his career. you make sure that he never has to

// heyyy...how's everybody doing? (´∀｀；)

you should be ashamed of what you’re about to do, for what you’ve been doing. throwing away the condoms and riling up your poor little boyfriend all day so that when you tell him not to cum, you know you’re setting him up for failure. his desperate cries of “please please please” doing nothing as you grind down on his pulsating cock. 

“come on, angel. you can do better than this, can’t you?” you ask softly, raking your nails over his chest and hard nipples. he writhes underneath you at the touch, letting out weak noises as he shuts his eyes in a desperate attempt to concentrate. it prevents him from seeing your smug expression at his struggle, sighing contentedly as you grind your clit down into his pelvis. 

“can’t,” he pants, bunny lips red and slick from all the foreplay and subconscious biting he does while trying to quiet himself down. “please, I really don’t think I can,” soobin whimpers, opening his glossy eyes to look up at you. you groan at the sight, the blonde so pretty and pathetic underneath you that it makes him cry out when you roughly grind your hips down again. 

“you’re gonna cum already?” you ask, watching as he quickly nods, lashes fluttering when you don’t even stop your pace to talk to him. “but I’m not gonna cum yet,” you sigh, rotating your hips in a slow circle. you reach a hand down to card through soobin’s hair, pushing the sweaty bangs on his forehead out of the way. “you have to get punished if you don’t do what I tell you, you know this,” you patronize, grabbing a fistful of the strands so that you can lightly shake his head side to side. 

he whines at both your words and the slightly disorienting feeling, desperate to please but so desperate for release after what you’ve already put him through. he recognizes the word punishment, and if he wasn’t crying already, he’s sure he would’ve teared up because he’s trying so hard to be good. it feels so unfair, and he doesn’t even know that it’s because you made sure it would be unfair for him. 

knowing that he’s being set up for failure makes something inside you bask at the control. it’s bad that you’re lying to him; it’s even worse that you’re making such a big decision without even considering what he wants, but isn’t it for the better? he’s been growing so much as an idol, more and more of your shared time spent on rescheduled dates and rushed intimacy. 

you know he’s been stressed; you can help with that. but you also know that lately he’s been growing less and less confident that he’ll be able to still be the love of your life, along with being a successful idol. 

you’d never make soobin choose between you and his dream. instead, you decided to make sure that he wouldn’t be able to choose. your sweet boyfriend, sweet soobin who would probably condemn himself to the furthest circle of hell before he abandoned his girlfriend and child. sweet soobin, who wouldn’t think of leaving you or your kid because he’s just too good of a person to do it. 

it just makes sense; it was the only other option besides forcing soobin to quit his true passion (which probably wouldn’t work in the first place), and you just didn’t have the heart to do it. besides, even if being pregnant would be a less than wonderful experience, you’d be able to do it if it were for soobin. you’d go through the weeks with only facetime calls and the texted ‘i love you’s for him and your future child. 

imagining your baby with soobin’s bright eyes and adorable dimples makes your heart fond. knowing that he'd be forced to forever come back home to you makes you determined. 

“don’t want a punishment, wanna be good,” soobin whimpers out from beneath you, causing you to sigh in mock pity. you let both your hands fall to hold his face, his cheeks wet with both dried and fresh tears. he’s always been a pretty crier. 

“bad boys have to get their punishment,” you explain softly, not being able to stop the small smile on your lips when soobin only responds with a high-pitched and needy whine. “even if they’re trying to be good,” you hum, letting your hands trail down his neck as you continue the moment of your hips. “surely you’re not trying to get out of your punishment,” you suggest, adding a tiny mocking gasp to your words. 

quickly, the blonde shakes his head. “n-no, would never!” he exclaims, eyes squeezed shut as your nails rake down his shoulders and slip to his collarbones. “wanna be good, wanna be really—” the words get caught in his throat the moment your hands trail down from the dip of his collarbones to his perky nipples. 

the reaction is immediate. a sob of anguish is ripped from his throat, his back unintentionally arching as his hips thrust up to meet yours. "no, no, no, please,” he tries to plead, head thrown back, and the hands that somehow found themselves on your waist leave a bruising grip. you ignore his cries, rolling his sensitive nipples under the pads of your thumbs. 

“if I didn’t know any better, i’d think you were about to cum, angel,” you say casually, only receiving a choked noise from soobin as he thrashes underneath you. it’s amusing, the way you bounce on top of him as a result of his desperate attempts to escape. he's so fucked-out that he doesn’t even realize that he’s working against his own interests, slamming harder and deeper into your warm cunt every time you come back down. 

“[your name], please, i can’t—i can’t!” he doesn’t even manage to finish forming his words before he’s shaking underneath you, the hands on your waist holding you down firmly as he thrusts up one last time. a chorus of moans and whimpers make their way to your ears as you watch Soobin’s face. his eyes are shut tight, a few stray tears making their way past his pretty lashes from the force. 

you feel him shoot warm ropes of cum inside you. it’s messy and gross, and it’s just the way you wanted it as you stop your ministrations on his nipples. tutting and shaking your head, you bring a hand up to tap his cheek. 

soobin opens his eyes at the cue, his pathetic gaze pleading and apologetic as he stares at your faux frown. your brows furrow as you look down at him, sighing dramatically as you pull back to sit down properly on his now-softening cock. “look what you did…” you scold, already feeling the way his cum is trickling out of you to form a disgusting mix of fluids at the base of where the two of you meet. 

“i’m sorry,” soobin chokes out, lips trembling as you smooth your fingers over adam’s apple. 

“i know,” you respond simply, placing your hands back on his tits. He shudders as you resume playing with his nipples, letting out a whimper when you start to ride him without warning. his hands fall from your waist, and soobin’s embarrassed to think about how the way you’re using him like your own personal fuck toy is making his sensitive dick harden all over again. 

“tell me what you’re thinking,” you breathe, soft pants leaving your lips as you adjust your pace to finally chase after your own orgasm rather than soobin’s. a strangled noise builds up in soobin’s throat at the sight of your tits bouncing, and the hand that you end up placing on his thigh for a better angle heats up his skin. 

“sensitive,” he manages to say after a few moments, struggling to process the pleasure that leaves his spine tingling. his dick is hard again, struggling to keep up with how your pussy swallows him, uncaring of what he’s feeling as you grind your clit onto him for the friction. “m’ not gonna last,” he tries to warn you, voice climbing into a higher pitch when you abandon the bouncing to roll your hips back and forth. 

“that’s okay, baby,” you reassure him, grabbing his hands and moving them so that his palms are full of your breasts. “you’re not supposed to,” you simper, groaning in satisfaction when Soobin obeys your silent demands and starts to play with your nipples. he swallows thickly, dick twitching inside of you as the flesh of your breast spills out between his fingers. 

“i don’t wanna get punished,” he insists, thumbing over your nipples despite his conviction. you smile at his words, cooing softly as you place your palms back on his toned stomach. your shadow looms over him, and like this you’re given a clear view as to how soobin’s gaze seems transfixed on your breasts, the pervert.

“baby, your punishment’s already begun,” you inform him, voice sweet despite your intentions of milking him dry. this information finally snaps soobin out of his daze, brown eyes catching yours with an almost comical look of shock and dismay. 

“but–”

“mm-mm, no buts,” you chastise, placing a hand over your boyfriend’s mouth to halt his complaints. “you get what you deserve, you take what I give you,” you remind him coldly. you can feel the way Soobin chokes on a tiny sob underneath your palm, his saliva slicking up your hand and no doubt making a mess out of his mouth as he struggles not to buck up into the overstimulating pleasure of your warm cunt. 

“that’s it,” you praise as he goes pliant and silent underneath you, minus the whines and groans that get muffled. “you’re gonna let me milk your pretty little cock, since apparently all you’re good for is cumming inside and making a mess,” you tell him, removing your hand from his mouth and wiping the mess of saliva on the bed sheets next to you. 

“not all I’m good for,” he whines in protest, making you hiss in pain when he accidentally squeezes your breasts too hard. 

“yeah? what else are you good for?” you ask tauntingly, raking your nails down the expanse of his stomach and enjoying the small mewl that slips past his lips at the pain. “good at looking pretty and fucked out? good at laying down and letting me have my way with you?” you list off, endeared by the small glare soobin manages to give you through his teary eyes. 

“all you have to be good at right now is taking your punishment and making me feel good. is that too much to ask for?” you huff, leaning down to brush your lips against his cute ones. 

“is that too much, angel?” You ask, hands reaching up to hold on to his shoulders. 

“no,” he groans in response, leaning up to capture your lips with his in a way that distracts you with fondness. normally a sweet kisser, soobin is messy. his saliva wets your lips as he barely manages to keep the two of you together, some of his own drool making its way down his chin. it’s adorably pathetic, the way it takes so much effort just to kiss you while you fuck him dumb. 

“i'm already close again,” he whines pitifully into your mouth. 

you don’t respond, sliding one of your hands back down to meanly grab one of his nipples and twist, and it’s all it takes before soobin cums with a cry. his hands fall off your chest, one grasping desperately at the pillow under his head while the other twists in your sheets. he’s hiccuping through each breath, and all you can think about is how you’d do anything to keep him all to yourself forever. 

you hum in appreciation as you watch him—the way his eyes screw close and his nose scrunches as his back arches off the bed. his cum is still warm inside of you, and you wait for his body to stop shuddering and drop back down before you grip his shoulders and start to chase your own release. 

soobin gasps in sensitivity at the movement, warm hands flying up to grab at your waist in a futile attempt to slow you down. 

“wait, ’m sensitive, [your name] please, it hurts,” he cries, and it's all in vain as you do your best to milk him for a third. 

you ride him with just a bit more desperation than usual. it’s already been too many weeks since you’ve been off birth control. you don’t even realize how hard you’re staring at soobin, as if you’re trying to memorize every detail of his face in the case that all your efforts go out the window and this is the last time you see him. that’s until another tear slips out of soobin’s eye, and you know that you’d never let that happen, idol career be damned. 

cooing, you lean down and lick the tear off his cheek, your pretty little boyfriend whining at the wet sensation. “i thought i put your hands somewhere,” you comment offhandedly, watching soobin’s eyes flutter in confusion before his brain catches up to your intentions. with a small groan, soobin’s hands are back on your tits, and you laugh at the way his cock twitches in your cunt. 

“think you can you give me one more?” you ask sweetly condescendingly, placing a wet kiss on the same cheek you’ve already defiled. soobin can only pout, giving you a quivering nod as his thumb covers your nipple, eyes fixated on it.

determinedly, you pick up your pace on soobin’s cock. he’s semi-hard, but he’s whimpering and whining and he’s twitching from overstimulation, despite the fact that he still makes a valiant effort to get hard again. his stamina was pretty decent, but you’re set on milking a third out of him. 

“just—just go a little slower, please,” he begs, limbs growing heavy and he’s struggling to keep a solid grip on your tit as you bounce. 

“if you have the mouth to complain, you might as well suck on them,” you scowl, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair just to hear soobin’s gasp when you yank his head up. 

“can’t be a good little breeding bitch when all you do is complain instead of cum,” you add on, soobin whimpering at the harsh words. his lips are in a wobbly frown, and with much effort he lifts himself high enough to sloppily take your nipple into his mouth. he desperately kneads the other with his hand, and you let yourself moan at the disgusting visual of soobin’s drool running down his chin and onto your chest. 

“so messy,” you comment, using both of your hands to keep soobin’s head up to your chest as you ride him. sometimes you pull the strands of his hair to see him jerk, guiding him to your other nipple as your thighs burn and your speed begins to slow. 

he’s hard inside of you, and there’s an embarrassing amount of cum frothing at the entrance of your cunt. there’s fluids all over soobin’s cock and pelvis, and you can’t help the way you drag your clit through the wet filth as you slow your hips into a grind. 

“angel,” you gasp, pulling Soobin off your nipple with a loud ‘pop’ so that he can look at you with his fucked-out gaze. he hums in acknowledgement, going pliant in your hold once your hands slide down to cup his face in both palms. 

"help me cum,” you demand, and soobin only needs a few seconds before he’s wordlessly dragging a thumb over your clit as you pick up your pace. you lean down to kiss him, taking a lip between your teeth and tugging as his eyes threaten to flutter shut once more. 

and it only takes a few more moments with the dizzying drag of soobin’s thumb over your puffy clit before you’re moaning into his mouth and riding through your orgasm. soobin answers you with his own soft moan, the noise breaking into a weak sob as your pussy clenches down on him. he cums inside of you for the third time with a weak pulse of his cock, giving you one more peck on the lips before he falls back onto the sheets tiredly. 

you huff in amusement as you straddle him, catching your breath before you roll over to drop down next to him and let him slip out of you. there’s a wet squelch that follows, but you’re too busy trying to catch your breath before a cuddly soobin quickly begins to latch onto your side. your heart aches at the affection, and you turn to face him so that he can bury his face under your chin. his hair tickles your nose.

“good job, baby. took your punishment so well,” you praise softly, running your fingers through his hair to try and soothe the way you kept tugging on it earlier. soobin hums in contentment, an arm wrapping over your waist to tug you closer. 

“you called me your breeding bitch,” he pouts into your shoulder, making you chuckle. 

“you like it. maybe you’ll even get me pregnant,” you joke, dead serious. soobin snorts at the implication, still unaware of the fact that you two are actually trying with every time you fuck him into the mattress.

“maybe. we’d have cute kids,” he shrugs, and you hold onto him just a bit tighter. 

“you think so?”

“'course,” Soobin yawns. “can’t go wrong with my genes,” he brags cheekily, and you give him a light smack on the shoulder that he whines about. 

when you actually tell him around 4 weeks later that you’re pregnant, soobin swears that the world around him goes completely quiet. then he’s a stuttering, disbelieved, and stressed-out mess over the phone. 

“what do you mean you're pregnant? i thought you were on birth control?” and you lie easily, telling him that this must’ve been one of those rare cases where the medication didn't work. 

then there’s a long pause, and you’re worried that soobin might actually make you march up to a clinic and correct this mess of a situation before you’re met with the telltale hiccup of soobin’s ugly cry. you immediately hush him and reassure him that it’s alright, that everything will be fine. 

soobin feels terrible; he feels so guilty that he hadn’t been mindful enough about cleaning up and showering after sex. he feels like he’s ruined your youth and that he’s burdened you with a child, even though the two of you aren’t even married yet. you tell him it’s ok, that you don’t blame him and that you’re willing to make this work. soobin promises to come see you as soon as he can and promises to faceTtme the moment he gets off work to properly talk about all that’s going to happen. he’s calmed down with your words and reassurance, but you can tell he’s still frazzled.

the last thing you say to him is “i love you,"  but before that, you can’t help but joke that, hey, at least our baby’s guaranteed to be cute with your genes.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes ch 8

masterpost Danny did his best not to float through the building. His chest buzzed pleasantly with cheerful nerves. Jason had let him into his haunt and let him meet a family member: it was only fair to reciprocate with a little vulnerability. He was more than a little nervous that his interests weren’t cool enough. But Jason was actually listening to him, not rolling his eyes or hiding boredom at how many details Danny rattled off. It was really nice. It made him want to find out what Jason was passionate about, too. It made him want to curl under Jason’s arm. Like, lift it up and insert himself in the warm space between Jason’s body and arm. He could just sneak on in there-

Hmm. Wait. Danny blinked as he tracked his train of thought back. PDA? He stole a glance. Probably not a good idea so early into hanging out. It would come off clingy. Since Danny was legitimately a clingy motherfucker, he had to play it cool for a while to trick Jason into a false sense of security. He was trying to be on his best behavior still. 

“Oh hell yeah, we’re going to the Ring Nebula.” Jason was reading the signage, bright eyes tracking everyone moving around them and steering them effortlessly. Danny noted the multitasking with a sort of puzzled admiration. He could walk in a crowd or he could read, just one of the two. “What’s a nebula?” An incredibly subtle aura washed out from him with his self assurance and confidence. Jason just felt so in control. It was incredibly reassuring to be around. Crowds parted for him and all Danny had to do was keep pace. 

“It’s the remains of a star.  That’s a Messier object, actually. There’s a white dot at the center which is a white dwarf and then around it there’s helium, hydrogen, oxygen-” Danny cut himself off, embarrassed. He was so messy, oozing excitement all over the place. He reeled himself in and cleared his throat. “You can read about it when we get there.”

Jason frowned very slightly.

Danny felt his stomach twist. 

“What’s a Messier object?”

Oh. Danny relaxed. He talked with his hands as he explained the French astronomer, barely noticing the crowd swell that nearly bumped into him. Jason put an arm over his shoulder and steered him away. Danny absently recognized the assist but didn’t have any processing power to think about it right now. 

Jason let him go on for most of the date, which Danny would probably be embarrassed by later. In the moment, he basked in the attention. It was just nice, okay?

“I should head back.” Jason said with regret. His arm clenched just a little harder on Danny’s shoulder. His hand was warm where it hung down Danny’s chest. “Gotta get Duke his bribe and then get ready for work.” 

Danny waited for a moment. He didn’t want to step away. But maybe Jason didn’t either, because he didn’t take his arm off.

‘One of us has to move first.’

“Yeah, of course.” Danny regretfully disentangled himself, ducking out of the hold. He was a grownup or whatever. “Better get a move on. What are we getting for Duke?” They’d only snacked on ice cream while they were in the planetarium. 

Jason checked the time on his phone and let out a huffing sigh. “I don’t have time for my original plan.”

‘Because he humored me here for two hours…’

“Gimme a sec, I’ll call him and ask what he wants me to pick up.” Danny nodded in response and started jogging down the stairs out of the building, trying not to look like he was listening in. He didn’t want to listen in, he just had really good ears.

Ring once, ring twice. Then Duke picked up the call.

“Hey,” Jason said. “I-”

“Hey yourself,” said an unfamiliar voice that definitely was not Duke. It was sweet with malice.

‘Did Jason’s little brother get kidnapped while we were out?’ Danny wondered, struck still with horror. He stopped with one foot hovering over the next stair and wheeled around to look at his date.

Jason looked thunderous, brow pulled low and teeth showing. “Fuc- why do you have his phone?” Jason’s tone went high and aggrieved.

Danny prepared himself to beat the shit out of a living human. It wouldn’t be hard. 

“Because I am his favorite older brother. Obviously.”

Oh. The fight left Danny’s body in a rush.

“I am pressing X,” Jason snarked. He squeezed Danny’s shoulder and guided him into movement again. “Give it back to him and get out of my house.”

“Tu casa es mi casa,” said the man who had to be the infamous Dick, balcony infestation. “Why do you care?” His tone was so innocent that Danny sort of wanted to turn on his heel to escape whatever older shithead sibling fuckery this was. “Aren’t you busy making kissy faces at the summoning guy?”

Danny bounced off of Jason’s chest when he stopped walking midstep.

‘How does he know that? Jason didn’t say anything, right?’

“And, follow up question for Jay, does this make you a monsterfucker?” Duke howled with laughter in the background. Danny noted the betrayal. 

Dick sounded gleeful as he pushed on the topic. “He’s dead, right? What supernatural romance genre are you in? Is he going to take you to his creepy castle and keep you there? Does he have an ancient enemy who might kidnap you? Do you think he could carry you away when he rescues you? Are you looking forward to that?”

Danny huffed and yanked Jason’s hand down to bring the phone closer. He hit the speaker. “Of course I could carry him. But I would not keep him in my creepy castle against his will, you jerk,” he fumed. “And I don’t have any ancient enemies! At last, no one that I haven’t already beat up. It’s fine. Shut up and go away.” He crossed his arms.

Jason was bright red. Dick started laughing hysterically on the other side of the phone. “This is- hi, Danny!” he cackled. “You have a creepy castle, though? For the record?”

Oh no. He felt a rock form in his stomach.

‘I probably should have kept my mouth shut.’

He looked at Jason’s feet guiltily. Belatedly, he let go of his grip on Jason’s wrist.

“You sound great, wanna meet up? I need to hear about how you’re so sure you could carry my little brother away from danger. It sounds romantic.” Dick cooed. Ew. Danny bristled. This was bringing up all sorts of Jazz related trauma.

“He will not be meeting you.” Jason took the phone back. “Ever.”

“Ever?” Dick scoffed. “I really doubt that. I don’t think you could keep him away from me for one day.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason somehow puffed up his chest. “Then come find me, jackass.”

“See if I don’t.” 

Danny scoffed. “As if I need his help to dodge some nosy dweeb,” he sniffed. “Bring it, balcony creep.” He hit the end button before thinking about it.

The staircase suddenly seemed very quiet. 

Jason and Danny looked at the phone for a moment. Then Danny frowned as he realized what he’d done. “I was going to like, go back home,” he pointed out uneasily. “But that doesn’t seem in the spirit of this shitty brother challenge. And, uh.” He cleared his throat. “You had evening plans, right….”

Jason groaned and paced a few steps. He ran a hand through his hair. Danny idly watched it and wished it was his hand there. “Uh… Sorry. I can tell him to fuck off, that you’ve got better things to do.”

“...I don’t have better things to do,” Danny admitted. “I kinda want to see if he can hunt us. He’s just some guy, right?”

Jason made a face.

“Just a human guy?” Danny repeated slowly, because the hesitation there was uh, really interesting. 

“You remember how we met, right?” Jason sort of shuffled in place for a moment before he herded Danny down the sidewalk in the direction they had originally come from. “I wouldn’t say he’s a normal guy.”

…Oh, right, he’s a vigilante. Danny snorted. “That’s cute,” he said, not even trying to avoid cockiness. “I’m not worried.” He cracked his knuckles and didn’t pay attention to how bloodthirsty his grin was. “I am going to destroy your brother in a game of hide and seek so brutally that you won’t be able to look up to him afterwards.”

Jason opened his mouth. He closed it, with a considering expression. “That’s hot. Yeah, show me what you have. I can skip patrol for the night.” He gave Danny a roguish grin. “Where to, first? We have an hour before he’s out on the streets. We can get dinner, strategize?”

Danny closed his mouth on the boast that he didn’t need to strategize. This was a perfect opportunity to spend an hour batting his eyes at Jason from across a candlelit table. “Somewhere nice,” he said innocently. “He won’t immediately look for us at a date spot, will he?”

[risuola]

AFTERCARE — GN. READER x SUKUNA RYOMEN

Sukuna would never say out loud that he enjoys taking care of you but he cannot deny it before himself.

cw: suggestive, mostly Sukuna being confused with his own feelings, smut... happened, but is not described, Sukuna has his own body, reader discretion is advised — 1,1k words

a/n: this one is a part of my kinktober prototype that didn't make a cut into the final lineup, but I thought I'll share it anyway :3

Ryomen Sukuna was never a man of excessive affection. Things such as love and care made for the foreign concept for the majority of his existence and it’s no wonder why when his heart, that he was certain was frozen for the last millennium, discovered the warmth of your existence right next to him, he was confused, to say the least. Unable to fully comprehend the reason standing behind his will to stay by your side after getting his own release.

“It could’ve hurt more,” he mumbled, smoothing his fingers over the aching muscles of your shoulder. In his head, it sounded reassuring – he wasn’t intending to hurt you, but his sheer power over your human body always caused some damage and it honestly made him wonder why he would even agree to be with you. 

You were drained, completely exhausted, half-conscious and panting over his chest where your head rested. It was one of those nights that from the very beginning foreshadowed some violence. That day Sukuna got home possessed by burning fury. It wasn’t often, he usually was good at managing his anger, at least to the point of not causing any damage to you, but sometimes, on the days like this, he was too gone for any kind of self-control. To his defense, first he declined your suggestion to take this to the bed where you wanted to make sure he’s going to let the steam off. He pushed you away saying that he will hurt you if he fucks you in that state, but you insisted that he’s not going to harm you.

And of course, he did. After many long and rough hours of the ruthless, punishing pace of his thrusts, after every harsh slap and strong grip, after all of the bites, sucks and scratches, your body was aching. It gave up under the sheer pressure of his demonic stamina and strength, and by no means you ever considered yourself weak physically. You were not some fragile human, but in the grasp of the king of curses, you were not much more than a mere mortal.

That night, Sukuna fucked a hole through your soul, with ease turning your brain into a boiling flurry, pushing your edges further and further until they snapped like a rubber band that’s been stretched a little too much. It hurt, but at the same time, there was a pleasure impossible to describe with words. Your body never failed to react to Ryomen, almost sadistically seeking lust where others would see malice and even in the state of absolute distress, he’s instinctively forcing those mind-numbing gestures all over the act. He knew how to angle his hips to hit the right spots inside of you, he knew how to operate along the sensitive places all over your skin to drive you crazy. Even while in the middle of releasing his anger, he unknowingly cared for you.

That care always become more vibrant when everything’s done. When you fall over his strong, toned frame breathless and sore, his mind immediately switches into the aftercare mode, which got installed into his software forcefully, violating every rule of being a heartless monster.

“It could have hurt more,” he cooed softly, failing to recognize his own voice, but it was alright. He accepted it long time ago. Somehow, to pamper you after he nearly broke you to pieces added up in his head and the absolute pliability of your body in his hands, the control he had tickled his ego. For Sukuna, it felt like a duty, like an inseparable part of the whole act of sex. When you two first started hooking up, he felt incomplete leaving you in the bed after he sucked out all of your life energy.

“That’s reassuring, ‘kuna,” you croaked out, your voice bearing a little bit of rasp from all the sounds he forced out of your mouth, and all the length that you took down your throat.

“I warned you,” he sighed, pulling you even closer before wrapping his hands around you in a way that allowed him to scoop you up from the bed. “Let me clean you up and you’ll rest, how’s that sound?”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course I will,” he reassured, turning on the water, somehow keeping you up in his embrace with just one of his arms. The strength his form held was unmatched, really. “I live here, after all.” Sukuna added, matter-of-factly, but truth was it wasn’t as obvious as it sounded. Even though your apartment was now a permanently shared space with the curse, he had no muscle memory to lay down every night to sleep. He was still learning how to act like a human, after a thousand years of living as a curse.

“Then, it sounds perfect,” you smiled softly and exhaled deeper feeling the hot water hitting your aching muscles. Relaxation began filling your system, the knots all over your body began to untie themselves and you wondered sometimes, how much of that relief was caused by the warm shower and how much of it was due to strong, manly hands that kept you up. You knew his abilities to heal and also, you knew that often he was using them to repair some damages you took during fights or due to your clumsiness – usually though, he would act like he didn’t do anything, brushing any questions off because admitting to willingly helping a human, even the one he loves, was still a little too much for him to settle for. So, you learned to ask no questions, only sometimes feeling a little playful to tease him about it, but overall, you chose not to bring up the topic.

Although Sukuna would never say out loud that he enjoys taking care of you, he couldn’t deny it before himself. It felt new to him to carry you so delicately and yet he was feeling the little contented sparks lighting up in his mind when he did that. He found it prideful to know you put your life entirely in his hands, that even though he’s a curse, you trust him with yourself when you’re vulnerable.

Washed and dried, the king laid you back down onto the bed as the procedure of aftercare continued. He allowed you to cuddle to his warm body, skin in full contact to skin and only then you began to fully relax, breathing in his presence and feeling the love he would probably never word right inside your veins. His calloused fingertips were painting shapes over the delicate skin of your body as he listened to your steady breath and the softest purrs, barely hearable through the sound of your exhales. He slowly circled around every bruise and bitemark he’s left on you that he had now access to and as he brushed over them, he made sure to heal them just enough for you to not feel any pain.

Sukuna’s aftercare isn’t all vibrant and flashy. He’s not the one to jump around you with blankets and hot chocolate, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[simplyholl]

The Villain’s Weapon Pt. 1

Summary: When you hit your head and lose your memory, you fall into Loki’s clutches.

Warnings: Eventual smut. Memory loss. Villain Loki. Thanos.

The battle was never ending. You and the other Avengers were never going to defeat Loki. He had taken Clint and Dr. Selvig using them against you as he took the Tesseract. It didn’t help that he would only show up every now and then to taunt the team. Otherwise you couldn’t locate him.

Loki fought against you. “We have to stop meeting like this, little one.” Loki teased. You used your magic, a cloud of blue surrounding you as you fought back. You underestimated the power you put behind it, the aftershock throwing you back against a boulder. You hit your head with a loud thud as your vision went black.

When you came to, a large man towered over you. You studied his face trying to place him. You couldn’t remember where you were or what you were doing outside. You didn’t even know who you are. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you, little one.” Little one. That was familiar. You obviously knew this strangely dressed man. You look down at your own apparel. You were wearing a leather catsuit, so you couldn’t say anything about him.

You hear fighting all around you. You sit up, suddenly scared of your surroundings. What was happening? Pain surges through your head, you place a hand on it. You were bleeding. Your suit was torn like you had been fighting too. You stand up, feeling a little dizzy. You grab the man before you, pulling him in for a hug. You don’t know why, but you trust him.

He said he was looking for you after all. The term of endearment he used rang a bell. If you were fighting, you must be on his side. He looks down at you like you have lost your mind. Maybe you haven’t hugged before and this was out of character for you. You quickly pull away.

“I’m so sorry. I think I must have hit my head too hard. I can’t remember anything. But you seem familiar. You said you were looking for me, so I just assumed.” He looks at you incredulously. “You really don’t remember who you are or what you are doing out here?” You look around again, not recognizing anyone or anything, but him.

“There seems to be a battle. I assume I’m on your side?” You look into his bright blue eyes as a smile appears on his lips. “Yes, that is correct. Those people over there are the Avengers. They are trying to stop me - erm - us. I’ll tell you more about it once we get back to our lair.”

Loki couldn’t believe his luck. He was waiting for you to come to after the nasty fall you had taken when your magic threw you back. You were powerful, but you didn’t have complete control over your power. With his help, you would be unstoppable. And now, you were on his side.

“She’s dangerous.” Thanos told Loki. “Right now, she isn’t. She doesn’t even know she has powers.” Loki argued. “This is perfect. I will train her, we will use her to fight the Avengers.” Thanos shook his head. “What if her memory comes back? It’s too big of a risk.” Loki paces the floor, “Trust me, she won’t. She took a nasty fall. Just let me try this out before we send the Chitauri.” “You have two months.” Thanos stated as he cut communication.

Loki set up a room for you. He conjured clothes for your closet, shoes in your size, everything you might need in order to convince you that you actually lived here. He found you on the bed, looking out the window. “I’ve come to dress your wounds.” You nod, turning toward him. He examined the cut on your head, green flowing from his hands as he healed it. He explained that he could use magic and apparently so could you. He was going to start retraining you tomorrow.

“The other cuts aren’t as severe so I will clean them myself.” He explained. You slid the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to give him better access to the wound. You gasp when the alcohol wipe touches your skin, causing the area to sting. You watch him intently, long pale fingers working diligently to patch every scratch on you.

“Lay back.” He commands, reaching for the hem of your tank top. You had a large cut just under your breasts. You do as your told, he rolls the fabric up just under your nipples. You hold your breath. Your skin prickles, turning into goosebumps everywhere he touches. Your nipples harden as he patches you up.

Loki notices how you are physically reacting to his touch. How your nipples hardened when he placed his hands on your stomach. How your breath hitched when he pulled your shirt up. The worst part was he could feel his pants growing tighter. He wasn’t surprised that you had that kind of reaction toward him. He was a god after all. But he never expected you to have that effect on him. His hands grew shaky as he finished bandaging you. “Good as new.” He murmured, yanking your shirt down to cover you.

“Loki?” He stopped his retreat from your room, freezing in your doorway. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” You get off the bed, walking toward him, pulling him in for another embrace. He reluctantly pulls you closer to him. You can tell he isn’t a hugger. His large hand smooths the back of your hair. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I was there too.” You bury your face into his chest, breathing him in. He looks down at you, expression unreadable. This is going to be a long two months.

Part Two

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @xorpsbane @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @itsybitchylittlewitchy

[football-and-fanfics]

The Medic #18 - Jude Bellingham

Who: Jude Bellingham Request: hi, so this request is about jude getting injured or just plain stressed on the pitch to the point where he has a panic attack. you (the medic) come and try to calm him down but it progressively gets worse, but obviously after like 10 minutes he does calm down. after that, you bring him off pitch and comfort him by like hugging? not like a ship just pure fluff :) thank u! Requested by: @pinkishpearls Word count: 1132 Warnings: contains descriptions of panic / anxiety attack.

Already when he was changing into his kit before the match, Jude knew something was off with himself. The nerves he felt prior to England's first group stage match of this Euro 2024 weren't strange per se. They stood at the start of a big and important tournament, so nerves were normal, but not like this.

Whatever caused his nerves to spiral so out of control, was doing a demolition job on him already. Jude's hands shook as he pulled his shirt over his head, and his breath was high in his chest. Everything happened in a blur to Jude, as a panic so feral took a hold of him and he had no way to get himself out of it again. But the team was counting on him, so, against his better judgement, Jude pushed through it and stepped out onto the pitch anyway.

---

Jude should have spoken up, told someone that he wasn't feeling right. That realization dawned on him not even 15 minutes into the match. He suddenly felt like he lost all control over himself. His entire body trembled and breathing became harder with each rapid inhale, as it felt like his chest was being squeezed to bits. The stadium swam in and out of focus around him.

Jude wasn't actively aware that he had sunk to the ground, sitting in a heap. The only thing he could focus on was how absolutely terrifying this feeling was, and how it scared him even more that he had no control over it whatsoever. People around him seemed to freak out, which did nothing either to ease Jude's still rising panic.

"Jude?" A soft, gentle hand wrapping around his wrist made Jude the slightest bit aware of his surroundings again. He glanced up to find you sitting on your haunches in front of him. "I... something's wrong... I'm scared." Jude managed to get out in between rapid, hitching pants of breath. You nodded understandingly. "I'm going to take you back inside, okay? We're going to take you out of the match and see what's going on."

You had needed only one look at Jude to know he would not be able to continue this match. Your hand around his wrist also doubled as a heart rate check, which you found racing, but steady and strong. Already you leaned towards the diagnosis of a panic attack.

Jude let himself be helped to his feet, but he looked like a deer in the headlights as he walked beside you off the pitch. You had the distinct feeling he was trying to keep it at least a little bit together as long as he was in view of the public.

And indeed...

You had set only a few steps into the players' tunnel when Jude broke completely. "I c-can't do it!" Everything about him shook with emotion, and tears were streaming down his face now. "What's happening to me? Why am I feeling like this?" "Jude, Jude." You moved to stand in front of him, resting your hands on his arms. "Calm down. You're having a panic attack. I know it's really scary, but I need to you to try and calm down." Jude frantically shook his head, gulping for air, and completely out of control over himself.

You recognized how this was going from bad to worse, and how you needed to diffuse this situation somehow. "Come on, we'll find some place quieter." You gently took him by the elbow and steered him into the first empty treatment room you came across. You ushered Jude inside and closed the door behind the both of you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Jude repeated the words over and over. He paced up and down the small room, trembling and crying. "Calm down, it'll be alright." You spoke calmly as you stepped into the path of his pacing. "I'm guessing the stress and nerves for today got a little bit too much. That's nothing to be ashamed of, but I do need you to calm down." Jude looked at you with eyes filled with tears. "I don't know how."

Your heart broke for him, so much hurt emanated from him. "But I do know what might help." You smiled warmly. "Come here." You opened your arms and invited him into an embrace. Jude didn't hesitate for a second. He almost launched himself at you, burying his face in your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around you. You answered his embrace by gently rubbing his back and speaking soft words of comfort.

It might not be the most conventional way, but it worked for Jude. Where he had been trembling and crying before, he finally seemed to calm down after a while. Still, he held on to your embrace, and you let him.

On the other side of the door sounded the stampede of players and staff coming back in for half-time. Jude made absolutely no move to go see his teammates in the dressing room, and you were fine with that. It was all up to Jude to determine what he felt ready for.

"No, get away from me! Tell me where he is, I need to see him!"

A sudden ruckus from outside made you and Jude finally release the embrace. The both of you easily recognized Trent's Scouse accent, and he sounded absolutely freaked out. You exchanged a look with Jude. "He's worried about me," Jude said softly. "Yeah." Those were exactly your thoughts, too. "Do you feel up to talking to him?" "Yes." Jude nodded. "I can't leave him this distraught."

You opened the door and poked your head out. A little further down the hallway stood Trent, looking panicked now, too. "Trent." You called him over. Trent sprinted over to you. "Is he in there with you? Is he alright?" "Easy," you soothed, "he's fine. He had a panic attack, but he's starting to feel better already."

Trent was relieved to hear your words, but still trotted past you into the treatment room. He flung himself at Jude, almost knocking him clean off his feet, and pulled his friend into a tight bear hug. "Thank heavens you're alright!" Trent exclaimed. "I was so worried." "I'm alright now." Jude tried to ease Trent. Trent released the hug and stepped back a few paces. "Don't mind if I needed to see that for myself. You scared me senseless just now!" Jude smiled a little awkwardly. "I'm sorry about that."

"So there's nothing seriously wrong?" Trent now turned to you. "No." You shook your head. "He's going to be perfectly fine. A panic attack feels and looks really scary, though." "Yeah." Jude passed a hand over his face, but a weary smile played on his lips, too. "I can definitely confirm that."

Tags: The tags list has been moved to the comment section. If you want to be added to the tags list, you can sign up for it through here.

Request an imagine Writing masterlist | Jude Bellingham masterlist

[buuniebaby]

ALL MINE. 🎀

includes: drunk sex (pre-negotiated), daddy kink, jealous possessive hamzah 💗💗💗

wc: 2.5k

here’s your porn.. i am sooo tired but literally first thing in the morning (my alarm is literally set to 5am) im finishing up some hcs and latina reader. 💗

thank you guys for all the support on my fics and being patient with me - it means a lot ! 💖

physical touch has always been your love language.

you’re a relatively clingy person in general, but your affection is doubled when you’re around your boyfriend. it’s always one of your hands somewhere - hip, thigh, arms, or even other places. he reciprocates it, being attached to you by the hip 24/7.

it only gets worse when you’re drunk.

hamzah’s in his car, grasping the wheel with an angry pressure, trying to keep his composure. it’s late - way too late to to be picking you up from the bar. he’s not necessarily upset at you for having fun, and he’s never one to control whether you go to parties or not, drink or not drink, but something about you being intoxicated with so many people around irritates him a bit.

he watches as you, your best friend, and a guy he doesn’t happen to recognize walk out of the door. whoever this guy is, he’s a little too touchy with you for hamzah’s liking. it’s like he’s trying to grope you but doesn’t want to be weird, but it’s still weird anyways.

he decides he’s been pushed a little too far off the edge when he slams his car in park and exits it.

you’re smiling up at him, head lulling back a bit. you’re fucked up, and he can tell. he watches as you droop back into the guy behind you, his walking pace speeding up.

he yells a loud, “baby?” trying to send some sort of signal to the man to show that you’re his. the moment he gets close enough to you to make contact with you, a big hand is yanking you by the wrist into his arms.

you immediately slouch into hamzah’s body, who picks you up over his shoulder and carries you back to the car. his grip is tight, as if someone was trying to steal you from his arms.

“hamzaahhhh,” you groan out, recognizing his possessive touch.

the car ride back is quiet - a mix of your boyfriend’s anger and your drunken sleepiness. it’s not that he’s angry at you; you’re not the problem here. it’s whoever he was, the man touching what belongs to hamzah.

“who was that?” he mumbles, speaking firmly under his breath.

“this guy who my friend.. she was trying to hook up with.. I think.” you mutter, remembering what you’re about to say as you speak it.

“you sure he’s into her? seemed more touchy around you.” he continues, keeping his eyes strictly in front of him.

“ew- don’t say that.” you drag as you speak, drunkenness prominent in your voice. you hear hamzah let out a chuckle under his breath. it calms him a little - he knows you’re better then that. it doesn’t end his irritation, but it makes him feel at least a little bit better.

“you’re mine, by the way.” hamzah says, hand creeping up to your thigh, the other still on the wheel. “don’t forget that.”

it’s still hurting hamzah by the time you get home. he’s aware that he may be being unreasonable, given that you’ve admitted you don’t have any attraction for whoever that was. but it’s the way you sway your hips drunkenly as you walk, thighs showing out of your tiny little dress - a sight he wants to hide away from the world, something that should belong to him. just the thought of anyone else being attracted to you makes him feel like his throat is closing up with anxiety.

as you’re turning the corner to go to your shared room, you force yourself to take a step back, doing a double take. you look at hamzah’s puzzled expression, trying to decipher whether what you’re seeing is real or you’re just drunk.

“you’re mad.” you state, looking at him straight in the eyes. you’re asking a question, but the way it comes out is firm. your brain is a little scrambled.

“m’not-“ he mumbles, stopping himself. “not at you.” he continues as he follows you into your bedroom.

you fall back-first onto the bed, closing your eyes and absentmindedly fidgeting with your fingers as you speak. “something happen?”

he scoffs a bit. you’re what happened.

“i guess you’re just.. really fucking hot. and other people know that, and it’s just like..” he rambles, pausing to think.

“like?” you tilt your head.

“like, i want you all to myself.” he says under his breath, sitting himself next to you on the bed. his comment makes you jolt up, sitting to face him.

you watch as he eyes you down from above. all you do is pout your lips, looking back at him with furrowed brows. you’re not getting it.

“you have me.” you say, firmly, scooting just a tiny bit closer to him. a hand trails to your thigh.

he lets out a deep sigh as he gathers his thoughts. you see his brain computing, like gears turning telling him what to say.

“i’m not saying you’re the problem.” he starts. “i know you’re loyal. i trust you.” you feel his hand move from your thigh to your hand, holding it gently, then giving it a squeeze. it’s a nice affirmation, but you still don’t understand what he’s getting at.

“just want you to be safe- don’t want anyone to hurt you. don’t want you just, trusting any guy at the bar when you’re messed up like this.” he says, rubbing his finger up and down your wrist. you lean your head on his shoulder, processing his words.

“yeah,” you sigh, closing your eyes on his shoulder. you can still feel his stare down at you, even if you can’t see it. “you’re right.”

that’s hamzah’s closure, his key to calm down and cuddle you in bed; rest his mind.

until he hears a quiet, “what if i want to get hurt? like, destroyed.”

“what?” he asks, peace interrupted. he’s turning to you, completely lost. you pout, and suddenly your hand has snuck out of his, now creeping over his sweatpants.

“especially by you.” you smile. now he understands where this is going. he shudders as you softly palm him over his pants. it’s not enough to get him going, but he can feel himself starting to get hard. “want you to use me like im your toy- because I’m yours, hamzah.”

and fuck, does that turn him on. you know exactly how to excite him, even when drunk. you’re pushing all the right buttons, making the possessiveness in him really start to come out.

his hand comes down on yours, bringing your movements to a stop. he breathes heavy for a second, but speaks firmly once his breath is caught. “you’re drunk, baby- i don’t know if you should-“

you interrupt him, coming in cold. “you don’t remember?”

he tilts his head back at you. “remember.. what?”

“i told you, when i was sober.. said you could do anything to me if i was drunk. said that for a reason, y’know.” you recall, giving him a big, eyes-dazed, woozy smile.

it comes back to him all then, and fuck, you’re right. he had completely forgotten about the whole conversation you two had, where you had given him permission to fuck you, even if you were intoxicated.

it’s a mix of that and the imagery in his mind from your prior words that causes him to mutter out a strangled “fuck it,” pulling your body on top of his. you can’t help but let out a squeal-like giggle: you’re finally getting what you’ve wanted.

he’s kneading at your hips before he can even pull you into a kiss. it’s messy when your lips press against his, sloppy kisses leaving spit around his lips.

his hand trails down to the bottom of your dress, pulling it over your ass. he pulls away from the kiss, wanting to see what’s down there, only to be met with a sight that fuels his possessiveness.

“wearing a slutty thong like this out?” he mutters, spanking you hard. “what if someone saw, baby? you know that pretty pussy is just for me.” he continues, rubbing over the same area he just spanked.

“m’sorry-“ you whine, but you’re cut off by your own voice, gasping as he rips your thong literally in half, pulling them off of you.

“it’s okay baby.” he smirks, holding the ripped panties in his hand. “you know that I’m the only guy who gets to see all of you.”

“also, ill buy you a new one.” he whispers, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. next thing you know he’s pulling your dress over your chest.

“no bra either baby?” he says, shaking his head, and suddenly another hand is coming down on your ass. “bad fucking slut.”

you grind your hips into him, apologizing with your body. you whimper out a helpless, “m’sorry, im sorry daddy-“

hamzah pulls back a little at that, pausing.

“what’d you just say?” he says, making sure what he just heard was real.

you continue to frantically apologize, a string of “m’sorry, im yours, i didn’t mean it,” until finally, you say that word.

“i’m sorry, daddy.”

that’s all it takes to get a rise out of hamzah. he’s slamming you down on the bed, crawling on top of you. his hips grind down on your naked body, dick still enclosed by his sweatpants, the friction sending shocks to your clit.

“my fucking slut,” he groans, “showing off her body to the whole fucking world.” his hips slam into yours hard, still fully clothed.

“you need me to mark you up? need everyone to know that you belong to me?” he angrily barks out at you, only making you wetter.

“please- wanna show you off daddy- bruise me.” is all you have to say for hamzah to start biting at your neck. he doesn’t stop at just a few hickeys, no, your throat is covered in bitemarks. he continues down to your collarbone, biting, suckling, nibbling - anything to claim your body as his.

he pulls away, admiring the redness all over your upper half. you’re like an art piece, painted with the red-hot passion coming from his body. you’re his muse.

a hand wraps itself around your throat, putting you in a chokehold. hamzah uses his grip to yank you out of your laying position. from there, he picks you up, pushing you down to the floor. you get on your knees, as if it’s an instinct.

“my pretty girl’s face, my fucking throat.” you hear him mindlessly mumble, untying and pulling down his sweatpants. you can see how hard he is through his boxers, cock nearly peeking out through the waistband. you feel your mouth water as he pulls it out, desperate for it to be inside you.

he slaps the head against your lips, once, twice, before you’re opening up for him. he goes slow at first, letting you dance your tongue around the tip, taking your time.

but hamzah is impatient.

it’s why he’s grabbing at the back of your head, forcing you down to the base. you squeal when your nose makes contact with the thick layer of hair against his skin, balls slapping against your chin. he holds your head there for a second, then lets you pull off for air.

you drunkenly smile up at him, spit slicked around your mouth. he slaps his cock against your face, making you squint your eyes. he laughs at how fucked-out you are, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“such a fucking slut.” he chuckles, deep and under his breath. “only for my cock.”

you smile up back at him stupidly, mouth still covered in slick. “only for your cock,” you repeat after him.

“mhmm? want it inside you?” he teases. what he doesn’t expect is your immediate reaction, excitedly jumping up off your knees and into his lap. you wrap your arms around his neck, bare chest pressed to his shirt.

“please, fuck- need your cock in me sooo bad daddy. want you to fucking use me, so bad, make a mess out of me.” you ramble, giggling as you speak. he grinds his hips up into yours as you relay your fantasies to him, turned on by how desperate you are for his cock, and his only.

“yeah? want it that bad, baby?” he says in a sing-song voice, teasing you. he grips his cock in his hand, touching your bare pussy with just the tip, but he makes sure not to slide it in. you nod, desperately, shaky pleads rapidly exiting your mouth.

“gotta do something for me first. that okay, baby?” he asks, and you’re nodding rapidly.

“mhm? what is it?” you ask back, eager for his cock.

“can you repeat after me, baby?” he softly asks, receiving another nod from you.

“im hamzah’s slut, and all of my holes belong to him.”

you don’t hesitate.

“im hamzah’s slut, all my holes belong to him, my pussy is yours- fuck!” you scream when his cock enters you. he doesn’t hesitate or slow for you to get used to the stretch. he’s claiming every inch of your pussy, going as deep as he can inside of you.

“fucking made for my cock.” he says, snapping his hips up into you at a cruel pace. “taking it so well.”

you can already feel yourself getting close. his dick prods up against that spot every thrust, and his words only make it feel better. you shudder at each brush against your sweet spot, thighs shaking softly against him.

hamzah only increases the pace, thrusting into you with vigor. it’s a brutal assault on your cunt, but god does it feel good. his hand brushes through his curls while the other pins you down to the mattress.

he feels you clench around him, and suddenly his thrusts switch from fast and eager to slow but deep. he follows you as you orgasm around him, planting his cum deep inside you.

he pulls out with a grunt, catching his breath while he admires your body. again - you’re his work of art. he watches as a trickle of cum leaks out of you, and he pushes it back in with his finger.

he’s claimed you.

you’re his.

he pulls himself out of his trance when your body moves out of its position. he remembers how drunk you are again, watching you as you reach to tuck yourself in under the covers. he places a kiss in your cheek before he gets in bed next to you, tucking the two of you in together.

it’s peaceful, domestic- it’s satisfying to him, the way he knows that you won’t get this with any other guy. even when you’re drunk, you still don’t protest his possessiveness. it makes him feel warm inside.

as much as you’re his, he’s yours.

[ryder-writes]

Your Daughter is Getting Bullied- Dad!Kiribaku x Reader

CW: Bulling, your kid has a bruise, implication of Kirishima dealing with SH in the past

A/n: I randomly got motivation to write angry dad Kirishima so here we are lmao.  It is not said whether you had your daughter biologically or if she were adopted. If u read my Dad!Bakugo fic and recognize your daughters name no you don’t. Also u can tell when I lost motivation💀

WC: 1.1k

Eijiro Kirishima was blinded by rage. He couldn’t see anything but red.

"What do you mean my daughter is being bullied?!" He yelled, demanding an answer.

"Mr. Kirishima, please calm do-"

"Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!" He slammed his hands on the principal's desk. "When I come to pick up my daughter I should not see a bruise on her arm!"

"Mr. Kiri-"

"No. I'm going home to talk to my daughter and partners about what to do about your unprofessional and incompetent school staff." He spat. He turned around and grabbed his daughter's backpack from the office chair before walking toward the door. He stopped in the door way and turned his head back toward the principal. "Expect a letter from my office." He snarled. He made his way to his daughter's classroom, controlling his breathing as he walked. Once he was calm enough, he walked into the classroom.

"Dada!" Enya yelled, running to hug her dad.

"Hey, Sunshine." Eijiro smiled. He turned to her teacher. "Thank you so much for looking after her."

"Oh of course, Mr. Kirishima. I apologize for not noticing sooner." She apologized. He raised his hand;

"No, no. This isn't your fault." He sighed. "I want to say thank you for being such an amazing teacher. Enya really enjoys your class." He chuckles under his breath, "She talks about it all the time at home." The teacher smiled.

"I'm thankful that I could teach your daughter."

"Well, we should get home." Eijiro said as he picked up Enya. "Say goodbye, Sunshine." Enya turned around and waved:

"Bye-bye! See you tomorrow!" Eijiro bit his lip.

-

Eijiro turned the key and unlocked the front door to your house. Enya immediately ran inside to go greet you and Katsuki. He sighed and closed the door behind him. He dropped his duffel bag (filled with his hero gear) and Enya's backpack on the organizer by the door. He walked into the dining room to see Katsuki at the dinner table. Enya was on his lap, talking to him about her day. Eijiro assumed he was reading, as there was a book folded on the table, as well as his reading glasses perched on the top of his head. You were across the way in the kitchen, cooking dinner. He walked over to you, letting his head fall on your shoulder and his hands grab your waist.

"Hello, Ei." You chuckled as you turned your head and kissed his head. He grumbled in response. "What's wrong, love?" You asked. You knew that it wasn’t good to hide your emotions; Eijiro taught you that. He buried his head deeper into your shoulder and mumbled something. "Hmm?" You asked for clarification. Your moment, however, was interrupted by a loud voice.

"WHO THE HELL DID THIS TO YOU!?"

"Katsuki! Language!" You yelled, leaving Eijiro's grasp and making your way towards Katsuki. "Now, what…happened..." You were in shock. Right there, on your daughter's arm, was a bright purple and yellow bruise. You immediately ran over and crouched down next to your daughter (who was still on Katsuki's lap). "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, it doesn’t hurt anymore." She answered. In your peripheral, you saw Katsuki's eye twitch.

"Okay, that’s good. Go change out of your uniform then we'll have dinner, okay?" She nodded and walked away to her room. As soon as she was out of earshot, Katsuki dragged his hands across his face.

"Fucckk." He groaned. "Why would anyone do that to her?!" He stood up from his chair and started pacing. You grabbed his glasses off of his head, just incase he accidentally broke them from his rage again.

"I don’t know, Kats." You sighed. Your heart sunk. "Do you think it's because of us?"

"What? No, of course not baby." Eijiro comforted you by grabbing your hand.

"I don’t know." Katsuki interjected.

"Kat!"

"What? I mean it's possible. I know for a fact that no one else in her class has three parents." He reasoned. You shifted your weight, uncomfortable with the fact that Katsuki was probably right.

"Okay, but that doesn’t have to be the case." Eijiro tried to reason. "There could very well be another reason."

"Like what, Red?" Katsuki took a step toward Eijiro. "Fuckin' tell me what else." Eijiro remained silent. "Can't, can you?"

"Guys." You sighed. They both immediately stopped and looked at you in unison. "Let's just ask Enya." You suggested.

 Eijiro chuckled dryly:  "Yeah, that might be better."

-

"So, Squirt, do y'know why you got hurt?" Katsuki asked. You four were now in her room, putting her to bed.

"Well, Abby pushed me into my desk today." She answered.

"Did she say why?" You inquired.

"Uh- she said it was cause I didn’t have 'good normal parents'." She made air quotes with her hands. Your eyes all widened . Eijiro immediately stood up and left, clenching his fists. You noticed Enya watching him leave.

"Don’t worry sweetheart, Dada just needs some time." You kiss her forehead tell her goodnight before heading out to where Eijiro had gone. You found him pacing around the living room, hands mindlessly scratching at his arms. You immediately walked over in front of him and grabbed his hands, ceasing his movement. You interlaced you fingers with his, bringing his attention to the semicolon bracelet he wore.

He exhaled. "Thank you." You hummed in response. "I just don’t know what to do. I want what's best for her but… she loves that school."

"That doesn’t matter if she's getting hurt." Katsuki remarked from the hallway. "I don’t care what she thinks. I'm not willingly let her go to a school where she's getting bullied."

"Her opinion is still important, Kats." You reasoned.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure."

"Okay, but I think Katsuki is right, Hun." Eijiro Let go of one of your hands to grab onto one of Katsuki's. "I don’t feel safe sending her there anymore."

You sighed: "Yeah, you're right. I just feel bad for her."

-

"Dada, why didn’t you wake me up?"

"Oh, sorry Sunshine. You're not going to school today."

"Oh." Enya paused. "Why?"

"Uhm, we just want to make sure that you're getting a good education." Eijiro rubbed the back of his neck. You and Katsuki both knew that meant he was lying. Luckily, Enya hadn't realized that yet. You walked into the living room, seeing him sitting on the couch on his laptop, talking to Enya who had just woken up. He was looking at new schools, since his patrol wasn’t until later. You called Enya into the kitchen, telling her it was time for breakfast. Eijiro got up and joined her as well (Katsuki had left already).

"Honey, can we talk real quick?" You asked.

"Of course." He answered, following you into the hallway.

"I was thinking, what if she gets bullied at her new school?" You whispered, voice laced with concern. Ei gave you a sympathetic smile.

"I don’t think she will. And, even if she does," He rested his forehead against yours "we'll be there for her."

A/n Pt.2: Okay, okay. I know the ending sucks, I had plans to write more I swear but motivation's a bitch. Anyways, if you enjoyed Dad!Bakugo and Dad!Kirishima, feel free to check out my masterlist, with more dad content.

[devilmademewriteit]

Joel Miller & Javier Peña Headcanons (Drabbles?) Part 3!

another smutty edition<3

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [both receiving], fem penetration, masturbation) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of hair pulling; bratty!reader; violence (slapping, choking, threats); mentions of pornography; description of a panic attack; step-cest; pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart, darlin, hermosa, cariño) dubcon/non-con (age gap, power dynamics, coercion, just a bunch o’ shady shit in general imsosorry)

No use of y/n.

Hello! In honour of 2K followers (woot woot!!!) here is yet another work of absolute FILTH. These just get more and more insane idk what to do w myself. Your requests r gonna send me straight to hell. Anyways, I love u all so much. Don’t forget to join the taglist, you can find the other drabbles on my masterlist, & part 3 of Salvatore coming soon!

-em<3

—

Javi loves when you take charge—God, it just makes him laugh. He watches you, faithful that you’re in control while you ride him, fingers coiling weakly around his neck. “Gonna come for me, Peña?” He lets your imagination run wild until he grows impatient, sitting up to crush you between his arms, fucking up into you at his signature brutal pace. “Where’s all that tough talk now, hermosa?” He sounds so soft, so gentle compared to the thrust of his hips—snapping to bruise against the supple skin of your thighs. You never know how he manages to last so long, only that by the time his hot seed is leaking down between your legs, you’re barely conscious, barely human, and squirming away from those fingers—that cock—stealing non-stop orgasms from your core. He’s only satisfied once you’re reduced to his personal little plaything.

“Where you goin’, baby? I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

Stepdad!Joel catching you and your boyfriend messing around in your bedroom; “Get out,” he growls, holding the door open as the young man scurries out, averting Miller’s violent gaze with his own downcast, darting eyes, hurriedly tucking himself back into his pants. Shame spreads like the wings of a Monarch across your heating cheeks. “Joel—I—” but he’s already too close, shaking his head in disappointment as he unhooks the buckle of his belt. “Didn’ think you were like that, baby…” and he’s pinning your shoulders down, covering your mouth with his calloused hand, muffling your protests to keep your little lesson private. “Pay attention, angel. F’you’re gonna act like a slut, you’re gonna get used like one, too.” Joel is huge, he stretches you far, far wider than your boyfriend ever could. When he bottoms out between your tight, silken walls, you can’t help your cry of surprise, of pain—of reluctant ecstasy. “Sshh, baby—don’t scream, don’t scream.”

“M’doin’ you a favour, see? Think you don’t fuckin’ deserve this?”

It had been ages since you’d last seen him. He’d gotten himself disciplinary leave—some shady business with an anti-Escobar group of vigilantes. But he’s back now (as your boss, no less) and so is that stupid-old-crush. And God, does he ever look good, sulking around in those navy fitted suits. Your heart had lurched when he’d recognized you—“Nice seeing a familiar face around here, ‘specially a pretty one like yours”—but working late tonight, finally on your way out the door, he commands it to a full stop when a worn-down, stressed-out Javier Peña calls you back into his office. “I-I don’t have a ride home, sir—I can’t miss the last bus,” as he dips down to brush kisses to the side of your throat, as his hands caress the valley of your waist, as he lifts you onto his desk, carelessly scattering confidential affidavits, narco-profiles, ball-point pens. “Oh, but you won’t last long, cariño—I promise,” and you believe him, because his thumb on that delicate, throbbing bud already beckons, pulls, drags you towards oblivion. Sooner or later, he would’ve had you like this—spread open on lacquered oak; thighs trembling in the cradle of his grip; fingers, helpless, tugging at his collar as his own curl inside you. You’re learning a new language: Javier’s native tongue.

“Not gonna say ‘no’ to your boss, now, are you, sweetheart?”

Slapping brat-tamer!Joel across the face after he spends hours teasing your dripping cunt; feeling him ripple with lust-soaked aggression when he finally pulls his damp cock from its drag-and-circle strokes against your clit. “Joel—fuck me, already,” and he claps the back of his hand across your cheekbone, yanks you down the mattress, settles himself to tower, cock in hand, right above your face. He wrenches your lips apart, slaps his length against your awaiting tongue—“Watch your mouth”—eyes alight with caution, irritation, warning. So, you respond, “Fuck you.” A big ol’ fist yanks you up by your hair—you know you’re being punished when he stuffs your filthy mouth oh-so-full with his length. “Yeah, fuck you too.” Every pained choke, the pressure of your hands pushing against the merciless, quick snaps of his thighs—it’s Joel Miller’s favourite kind of apology. He’s nonchalant, deceptively casual when he says it: “Nah, you don’t needa breathe—”

“—You’re gonna stop bein’ such a brat, or you’re gonna gag on an old man’s cock ‘til it fuckin’ kills y’a… whichever comes first, angel.”

On those rare nights he found himself alone, Javi liked to jack off, a glass of whiskey in his free hand. Sometimes with porn, most often without. When he did use the tapes, however, his go-to featured a dark haired man brutally fucking a girl into the dented pillows of a worn-in couch—God, she looked just like you. The real ‘you’ that was tough, incorruptible, a bit high-strung, and completely self-denying becomes a needy, cock-drunk mess at 6:12. Split wide open, taking it so rough, she whines, “You’re g’na m-make me come all—all over your c-cock.” If Javi doesn’t finish right then, he always does around the eleven minute mark, when her cheeks puff up around his fat tip, glassy eyes coming alive with that familiar, feminine devotion to male pleasure. When a forceful hand drags her lips down a long length of cock, that’s when Javi doesn’t stand a chance; he hangs off her every muffled, desperate word (and Christ, does her voice ever sound like yours): “Use me—please—use me, use me, use me.” In his twisted, sex-addled mind, he’s answering you, warm spend dripping onto thick, coiled fingers:

“I want to—fuck, wanna use every square inch of you, baby.”

The Jackson commune required all adults to take shifts patrolling the community; you’d been paired up with a far older, far more experienced, and far more… volatile partner. He rarely made conversation, but he got on with your dad, so it seemed like a good pairing, one that might teach you a thing or two—a rational decision. It wasn’t. Very quickly, you’d noticed his near tangible stares of hunger, the way his fingers clenched into white-knuckle-fists every time the weather warmed and your clothing got shorter—tighter. Soon, you’d made up your mind: you needed Joel. “Stop fuckin’ teasin’” he’d growled under the blood-orange glow of the southern sunset, grasping your flattened palm and moving it from its suggestive position on his chest, “M’not givin’ it to you.” Creeping in close, running your thumb across the sparse, silver-flecked hairs peppering his rigid jaw: “But I’ll be so good, Miller—I’ll listen, I can beg for it, too—please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“S’exactly the problem, darlin’. Jus’ one touch n’ I’d have you doin the dirtiest things for me… Fuck, wouldn’t be able to look your old man in the eye for months.”

Bonus Fluff:

Thank God they’d managed to stop the outbreak. It had felt like the end, at first, with the government-mandated lockdowns, people hoarding toilet paper and Lysol, going stir-crazy behind closed doors. And thank God for your neighbour, Joel Miller, who’d become something like your rock throughout those terrifying weeks. He’d never been close with your emotionally distant parents (really, who was?) but you were friends with his daughter, so he’d always treated you like one of his own. Until one Friday night, when you’d fallen asleep watching TV with Sarah and woken up to the thrum of your heart pounding against your ribs, beige walls closing in tight, the beginnings of a panic attack cresting throughout your shaking body. “S’okay, s’okay,” and he’d been there, cradling you in those blue-collar arms, cooing wispy, gentle comforts into the crook of your neck. The memory was mostly haze—but you kept the ghostly caresses of his finger tips smoothing the tense muscles beneath your skin, the near-kisses he’d brushed to your forehead, throat, and cheeks, and especially his look of restraint as he’d replaced your restrictive clothes with his own oversized tee. The next morning, you’d come to in his bed, nose nestled into the crumpled folds of his black t-shirt. Heat blossomed across your cheeks as the sunrise brought realization’s dawn upon you. “You jus’ wouldn’ calm down—” Joel’s concern had overwhelmed his tone as his thumb traced the apex of your cheekbone.

“Jus’ couldn’t stand to see you so… upset, sweetheart. Holdin’ you’s the only thing that seemed to do you any good.”

It took months of dating before Javi had been willing to surrender any personal information, any vulnerable thoughts to you. Christ, just learning his father’s name had felt like cracking the Da Vinci code. Instead of talking, whenever he got sad, angry, or upset, he soothed himself by stripping you down, shoving you onto all fours or holding your mouth open between his thumb and index—either one worked just as well. Somewhere down the line, you’d learnt that splitting you open left him more inclined to open up, himself. “Why is it always rough when you’re… unhappy?” It’s a timid question, posed with your cheek laid against his shoulder. First, he asks if you really want to hear the answer. Then, he responds with his eyes closed, shy strokes up and down the length of your spine. “Guess I like the control—feel so fuckin’ out of it when shit gets to me.” You go silent, startled by his honesty. “Does it bother you?” and he sounds nervous, concerned. “No,” you say passionately, ardently. “I like knowing I can help.” Smooth and quick, Javi cups your cheeks, pulling you up to straddle him and laying a fierce kiss at the altar of your swollen lips.

“You single-handedly brought me back to life, baby. Got no fuckin’ clue how much you do for me, every damn day.”

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo

(The rest of the tags will be in a reblog—I don’t want this post to crash b/c of the amount of tags lol).

[i-love-ptv]

I’m Crying While I’m Cummin’

JJ Maybank x reader

An: Hey Hotties! This is my first EVER fic (kinda just a blurb since it’s a littleeeee short.) I hope you enjoy!

Feedback would def be appreciated bbs!

(You’re hot if yk what song the title’s from 🤭)

Fluff + NSFW <3

JJ was always on top. Always the dominant one.

Yes, he’s had a few tourons ride him, but completely control him? It almost sounded foreign to him. He never even considered letting go; letting himself be taken care of.

That was before you came along.

Now, sometimes he finds himself thinking about what it’d feel like to let his thoughts exit his body while you take what you want from him. Milk his cock for all he’s worth until he’s withering underneath you.

Until he can’t think about anything except for you.

You, you, you.

Your scent is intoxicating, and he feels himself getting wasted on the smell of saltwater, sex, and your perfume. He can smell faint remnants of the shampoo you use and it makes him melt like the ice cream you licked off your fingers yesterday in the hot sun.

Your touch is warm: like the rays of sun beaming down on the obx.

The sun.

You remind him of the sun. You were his sun.

His everything.

He can’t help but think about how lucky he is to have you while you’re quickening your pace as you ride him. You light up his life, and right now, he really wishes you’d just choke him. He wants you to take every thought and every question out of his head until he can barely keep his head straight.

He begs, whines, and cries out to you.

Blubbering on about what exactly?

God, he doesn’t even have a clue anymore.

His speech is slurred, making you giggle softly in his ear. He feels your laughter rattle throughout your body, making you clench even more around his throbbing cock.

He lets out another hearty moan.

The sounds of the bed squeaking, and the slaps of your bodies becoming one floods his senses.

You flood his senses.

His eyes water as his throat tightens, he recognizes the diminuendo of the beautiful song you two have created together.

He thrashes around as you slick cunt takes every drop of cum out of his leaky, aching, dick.

The pair of you are scrambling around, trying to grab one another desperately; like your lives depended on it.

Life.

That’s what JJ thinks about as you coo sweet nothings into his sensitive ears.

He wants to feel this way forever: pussy drunk, fuzzy, and loved. Loved by you. At this moment he decided that he didn’t need anyone but you.

And he knows you’ll always be the one to make him feel this beautiful.