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hoshigray · 2 months

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Satoru and Suguru having a competition over who can impregnate their sweet shared lover first, please?

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oh my goodness???....you got my attention.

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - canon divergence; implied geto is still a jujutsu tech sorcerer - satosugu taking turns with you - kissing; making out - lotus (geto) + eagle (gojo) positions - breeding kink - scratching - multiple orgasms - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, of get tf up) - cervix fucking - creampies - clitoral play (swiping) - pet names (angel, baby, my love, pretty girl, princess, sweetheart) - humor - mention of drool + heavy depictions of come/semen.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

“Oooh—Haahh! Ohhh, God, Suguu, y’ feel so good…!”

“You feel good, too, princess...Hgghh! Shit, Y/n—“

“Yo, can you hurry it up? You know I’m not a patient guy, Suguru.”

Gojo sucks his teeth while watching you get it on with Geto. It was one of those nights when they’d come home and surprise you together. Usually, one would be assigned longer shifts or missions (that one mostly being Gojo), and the other would return home to eat dinner and sleep with you. But there would be those days when they’d arrive home in unison and try to do whatever they can to have you enjoy these rare moments with all three of you.

Sometimes, it would be Gojo taking you guys to some delicious café that sells parfaits that you’d probably like or Geto having the idea to have lunch at the park and enjoy the sun together. But, of course, there’d be those days when simply being inside the apartment, talking about each other’s day, watching a random movie, and then snoring while spooning would suffice. Because it doesn’t matter what they choose to do; all three of you being at the same place is always the best!

Tonight, however, was one of those nights where they’d pull you aside, drown you in kisses and gropes, and carry you to the bedroom for a more intimate occasion. For tonight, Geto and Gojo wanted to fuck you in the hopes you’ll be with child. And what better way for the two best friends to go about such an eventful issue than by a competition to see who can fill you up the most?

Suguru has you propped on his crossed lap, your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands kneading your asscheeks as you bounce on his cock and wail out his name in pretty notes. This was about the third round of the night, your cunt wet and filled with both Geto’s and Gojo’s cum. The fluids stream down with every jump of your hips from the base of his girth to his balls, the sounds of your union so filthy with the groans and moans that bounce around the bedroom walls.

Geto sighs and burrows his chin into your shoulder. “Hahhh, oh, stop your crying, Satoru. You finished your turn and didn’t hear me heckle while you and Y/n were doing it.”

The white-haired man grunts with more complaints, to Geto’s dismay. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one who takes longer to finish,” he persists, even if his raven-haired friend frowns. “I don’t want you to be the reason my dick falls asleep.”

“Tch, what you should be worrying about is finishing too quickly when it’s your turn. You act like being faster is better…Heh, maybe you can’t handle Y/n better than I do.”

“You son of a—“

“Hey now,” you’re the one who mediates the growing childish tension between your husbands, turning your face to lock Gojo in a spell with your gorgeous, hooded eyes. “Be nice, Toru; it’s Sugu’s turn now, so you can have me however you want when we’re done here, okay?”

Like a heart-struck fool, pink shades creep into the helix of Gojo’s ears as he happily complies with your request. “Okay, my princess.”

Geto rolls his eyes at his friend’s display; what a total loser. As if he has room to talk because once you turn back to face him and kiss his cheek, his breath hitches. “Come on,” you whisper. “Don’t let him ruin your fun.”

The dark-haired one chuckles before claiming your lips with his, “Wouldn’t dream of it, angel.”

As you two kiss, you rock your hips more to create a steady rhythm on top of Geto. His girth stretches your vagina nicely, and with his pulsing veins, you can feel them rub on the velvety texture of your inner walls. It’s good that the pace is at a respectable tempo, allowing you to feel him at your wits and pleasure truly.

But the best part of this position is how easy it is to stimulate your clitoris. Every time you rock your hips against Geto’s, the bulb rubs against his body and has your frame jolting. It feels so fucking good, having your cunt stuffed with his girth member and graze your walls deliciously while your precious button is being pressed.

The pacing soon goes in sync, his subtle thrusts as you bounce your ass on him while kissing. Your mewls are taken by his hungry lips, sucking on your tongue to evoke more cute noises, your hand coming to the back of his head to massage and grab strands of his onyx hair. He’s so romantic with you and your body, the position making this intimacy so much more personal. Your chasm frequently clamps on his cock when you pull your waist up, making the man below you hiss at the grip.

He breaks the kiss, “Shit, you tighten around me so nicely…”

“Really?” You giggle, laying more kisses on his cheek and ears. It sends shivers down his spine.

“—Khhh, damn it, I can’t...” Suddenly, Geto thrusts upwards in a faster notion, and you scream to hold on quickly and follow his cadence. “Fuck, you feel too amazing, sweetheart…!” You can’t reply to him appropriately; your only responses are narrowed down to high-pitched whines and squeals. His hands wrap around your back to keep your body close as he chases his climax, his hot face melting with the sweat of your shoulder while he pushes his cock to meet your cervix. “Hmng! Hmmnn, I’m gonna cum, baby…!”

“Ohooo, me too, Sug’ruu, me—Tahhh! Ohhh, Jesus…!” Your clit keeps bumping onto Geto, your nerves getting activated with every rut. Shaky moans leave your puffy lips, and your hand scratches his back at every jab of your delicate cervix. You bring him in for another kiss – this one a lot more rushed and steamy – and your orgasm hits you both from the erratic speed of your hips.

You two sigh heavily into each other’s mouths, your body sinking into Geto’s gentle hold as his cock ejaculates his semen into your throbbing slit. His hands massage your back while his pelvis rolls to grind his dick and have your walls clench onto him more.

With a soft sound, you remove your lips from his, smiling gently while you brush his bangs off to view his left eye. “You love to finish strong, Sugu.”

He chuckles before kissing your nose. “Can’t help it if you drive me crazy, my love—“

“Alright, round’s over!”

Before Geto knows it, Gojo’s already on the bed, yanking you off his best friend’s lap and laying you down with your back to the sheets. He voices his discontent, trying not to appear too upset. “Excuse you? Can’t let me have a moment?”

“Nope!” He shoves a middle finger to Geto’s face, and the black-headed one almost pops a vessel. “I practically went limp after watching you two for so long. So obverse from the side and let me have my fun.”

“So annoying,” Geto mumbles under his breath, yet the milky-haired one chooses not to listen with a huff and places all his attention on you.

“Now,” Gojo turns to you with half-lidded cerulean eyes, a smile beaming too much that his dimples show up. He spreads your legs to evince your messy chasm; Geto’s come spilling down to the crevice of your butt as he massages your inner thighs. Fuck, so fucking nasty, it had him bite his lip. “You ready for more of me, baby?”

You titter, bringing your legs up your chest and spread to a V-shape. “Yes, Toru, thank you for being patient.”

He snickers while pushing his glans to meet your soapy folds, humming when the excessive come lubes your labia sufficiently for his cock to be inserted. The hug of your walls makes him moan, and you jerk as his left curve scratches the plush itch. “Fuuuuck, so warm and tight for me, baby.”

His arms support your legs in the air, and the position allows him to initiate with slow thrusts. Your purr at his movements; the curve has you howl with every push, stretching your pussy when he propels himself into you and rubs the upper wall of your vagina. Oh God, feels so fucking good…

You peer to where his dick is plunging into your cunt, silently awing at the mussy display of cum ringing around the base of his shaft and stringing to where your folds are. Holy shit, you chew on your bottom lip and move a hand to finger your clit, silently howling at the swipes you dance around your bud. “OhhhGod, hmmmm, right there…”

Gojo looks down and sees what you’re doing, and he chuckles, “Shit, you enjoying yourself, pretty girl? Hmm?” He ruts into you with sudden haste, and an abrupt hit to your cervix has you almost choking on air. “Like being filled up, huh?”

“Ahhh, y–yesss, I lov—Mmmph!!” He grinds his pelvis down, drilling his length deep inside to scuff your smooth walls. “I love y’r dick so much, Satoruuu…!”

“Awww, look at you playing with yourself,” the view excited him more, increasing his speed to pound into you. You cry out at the poke of your cervix, clamping onto him in response. “Ahhhh, there it is,” he coos while adding more weight onto you, making his rocks precise where he wants to hit. More shrieks fly out your lips, “Wanna be bred so bad, princess? Want me to fill you up again?”

Your head aches, ears ringing from the sloppy sounds of his dick rutting inside you, his balls smack your grundel with every push. “Ahhnn, mmoohhh, ye’sss,” you whisper.

“C’mon, angel, let me hear you.” Gojo places his forehead on your sweaty one, azure eyes examining your expression in a haze. “You want—Nnngh! Fuck…Want me to fuck a baby into you, yeah? Make you a mama? ”

“Yess, ’Toru, yesss!! Give me y’ur babiess, make me all fat and full!!”

“Heh, good, pretty girl; so good for—Khhckk!! Shit, shit, I’m gonna cum…” He brings his lips to yours, moaning to the kiss with you while his hips turn up to a volatile rate. Your whimpers are sucked and drunk by him, your eyebrows furrowed from the cyclical hits to your cervix and rubbing on your silky tunnel.

Your arms come around to his shoulders, beckoning him to deepen the kiss as your body gets ready for the orgasm that hits you like a train. Trembles climb up your frame, whines muffled, and drool slips out your mouth down to your chin. Your cunt contracts around his length, milking him into his own release and filling you with his essence, adding to the pile that squelches and trickles down to the sheets beneath you.

Gojo nibbles on your lip as he pumps every last bit of his load into you, his tongue twirling with yours until he removes his face from yours. He smiles, dimples greeting you with disheveled strands of snow-white hair sticking to his forehead. Too distracted by his charm for him to sneak in more harsh thrusts to your aching frame.

You gasp aloud, “—Ohooo! Satoru, nooo! I’m too sensitive nowww..!!”

“Mmmm, sorry, princess,” an apology with a smile doesn’t match, placing a kiss on your forehead as you wail for him while he ruts into your vulnerable slit. “You just feel too good, can never get enou—Owwww!!”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Witness to the entire thing, Geto smacks Gojo with a house slipper before pulling him off you and throwing him to the side. The blue-eyed man looks at the other with an annoyed face. “I should be asking you the same thing, you psycho; what’s with the assault!?”

“Did you forget? Your turn is up,” indigo eyes narrow with a dark glint. “So why are you still moving?”

“Oh, quit yapping, giant earlobes! Can’t a guy squeeze in a few more before I get off…Or what, you scared I’d make them pregnant first? Your frail soldiers can’t compete with mine, is that it?”

“Hah, you tell me, blue-eyed snowflake; you’re the one still trying to fuck into them like you’re afraid your load isn’t enough. Poor guy; can’t be a sore loser too early, now.”

“Choke on my dick!”

“You first.”

The two bicker back and forth while you observe, unable to find the right cue to intervene as you’re still in a daze. You sit on your side, feeling the liquids inside you exit your frame and slide down your thighs.

As they fight, you remember that you had forgotten to tell them that you took a birth control pill earlier today after they texted about returning home together. It wasn’t until after dinner that they said they wanted to try and fuck and fill you to the brim, practically dragging you to the room before you could utter a word to them about the contraceptive.

…Oh well, surely they don’t mean to have a baby right this moment. Plus, there will be other times! So, for now, you watch your husbands argue before you while shaking your head with a smile.

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

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suguruplsr · 3 months

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i feel like a small kink-that-isn’t-such-a-kink-but-i’m-calling-it-a-kink that kento has is watching you squirm from overstimulation.

specifically your hands during sex.

“move ‘em.” kento grits out, voice shaky as he fucks you from behind. you whine at his command, ignoring it and holding onto the blanket underneath you just a bit tighter. he watches how your fingers crunch the fluffy fabric, body trembling once he gives you a thrust that rubs your g-spot. you mewl, head falling onto the bed with a force on the back of it. his larger hand slides from your head down to your chin, turning it sideways against the bed. “what did i say sweetheart?” he mumbles, halting his movement. his soaked cock stays full into you, wet and sticky cum mushed around where you two meet. you whimper, trying to push back. his tip nudges where you need him, but your wanton moan is greeted with a spank of your ass.

“you’re not listening, hm?” kento quips, rubbing your hot ass cheek and leaning down. your back further arches, “s-sorry, just..” you try to explain yourself, but the teetering moans leaving you as his dick rocks into you do you no justice. “my baby’s so needy..” kento smiles, kissing the side of your cheek, his peppered kisses going down below your jaw, a slick of wetness in its wake. “c’mon sweetie, let go f’me.” he coos in your ear, fresh regal cologne filling your senses. you purse your lips, following his words obediently and letting your hands relax. you didn’t even realize how hard you had clutched onto the bed, hands aching a bit and fingers red.

swiftly, your face is turned straight into the blanket, hands pulled behind you and wrists locked by just one of your lover’s hands. without words, kento begins pounding your cunt how your need it, loud squelches and sounds of the mess that you two have made. your whines and moans fill kento’s head, his eyes stuck on how your ass jiggles with each thrust into you. the skin slowly brightening with juices that leave your soaping pussy. however, his view trails up, feeling your wiggling fingers scratch at his hand. god, you’re so cute. even if he can’t see your lewd expressions, he just knows you’re losing every bit of sobriety you had left, letting yourself go dumb on his cock. your fingers stretch before digging into his skin, but with the thick head of his cock angling just too good, they widen again, matching the sound of your higher moans. “please! please! please— make me cum!” your words rip through you, sobbing and shaking. kento groans, he can get used to studying you like this..

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bagofshinyrocks · 6 months

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Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?”

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips.

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room.

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

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ttsukiimi · 6 days

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〃★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ the jjk men n how they treat you after s⍣x. - submitted by anon.

〃★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ nanami x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, gojo x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader, aftercare, brief mentions of smut (mdni), unprotected s⍣x, creamp⍣es, fluff, established relationship, rough s⍣x, reader referred to as (baby, doll, sweetheart.)

────〃ଘ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 - second thoughts…

Nanami is always considerate of you. And he’s considerate of your preferences—preferably the things you enjoy most in bed. So, when you tell him you want it rough, albeit a little hesitant, he’s right on it. And he gives it to you good. Plowing you so hard, fucking you so good the bed starts to rock back and forth with the weight of his thrusts. The headboard bangs against the wall in tandem with your wanton screams and moans of more, the same sounds that keep him rooted deep inside you.

Nanami gives it to you almost too good—to the point that, by the time he’s done with you, leaving your cunt a creampied-mess, you’re shaking and your chest’s heaving for the breath he’s so greedily robbed you of.

With a fondness in his eyes, Nanami wipes your tear-stained cheek with his thumb. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, attempting to ease the trembling of your lips—to no avail, considering every part of your body is quivering at this point. Your head turns and you look away in embarrassment—you can’t possibly be the one in such a state after asking him to be rough with you.

Nanami smiles at this and places his pointer under your chin, turning your head back in his direction with his finger. “Tell me you’re fine.”

You nod again, finding yourself unable to talk. “With words, my love. I need words.”

“I-i’m fine, Ken. Promise.”

“You’re still shaking,” his voice’s a whisper now, breath fanning past your neck from his proximity. “Tell me I wasn’t too rough, please.”

“Kento—it’s fine. You were perfect.” you reassure, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, planting a quick yet searing kiss to his lips. “I just feel a little gross that’s all.”

After those words Nanami, being the perfect husband that he is, hurries over to fix you a nice, warm bath. And, per your request, he steps in too, and you both end the night basking in each other’s warmth in soft light and vanilla scented bubbles.

────〃ଘ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 - I’m doin my best!

Satoru’s always up for a rough session with you. The way you sound, the way you feel, the way you try and fail to escape from his thrusts—he loves it all. Especially when you’re crying and telling him how good he’s making you feel in both broken sentences and inhales for breath, scratching your manicured nails down his back in a pleasurable burn while doing so. The sight of your fucked-out face alone is enough to have him ready to make you bear his child, and your pussy—oh, don’t even get him started.

Satoru would go to hell and back for a mere second inside your warm, tight cunt.

And, saying that, he might’ve just went a bit too far—too rough this time. Because, as he finishes up inside you, spurting his hot seed deep into your womb—he wasn’t kidding about making you have his child—you’re shaking more than usual.

His brows furrow in slight concern, and his big hands caress all over your body as if asking if you’re okay.

“Baby?”

“H-hm?”

His lips slide against the skin of your shoulders. “You good?”

You open your eyes and give him a look—closing them again because doing anything makes your body feel even more sore. “Yeah, i’m fine. Just shaking because you went too soft.”

Satoru, on the other hand, doesn’t catch your sarcasm, and he’s about ready to get hard again when you flash him another look and slap his hand away.

“Satoru.” you heave, now trying to pull him closer. “I can’t even move. Do something.”

At that, he’s hurrying over to the bathroom and getting a washcloth, dampening it and scurrying back to you. Satoru’s surprisingly intent on cleaning you, more focused on tidying you up than your pussy which is just a mere inch away from his face—surprisingly not him at all.

Afterwards he’s tending to your every need, assuring you that there’s no need to feel ‘gross’ every time you say so.

Satoru Gojo really tries his best with aftercare.

────〃ଘ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 - ‘Kay, on it!

Well, Toji is nearly almost always rough with you in bed. There’s just something about it that he can’t get out of his system. And he even feels like sometimes his body’s really doing it out of habit—maybe even instinctively.

But, perhaps it may not have been that same instinct that drove him this particular time—and with the way you’re quivering more than usual, Toji thinks so too.

Then again, he just can’t stop himself from being too rough on you when you look so helplessly up at him when he’s plowing your lil’ pussy, and especially not when your moans fuel him on so much to the point where he has to hold you down so you don’t try and squirm away from his ruthless thrusts.

Wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, you hiccup. Toji raises an eyebrow as he gazes down at you, wondering what he should do—you’ve never shook this much.

And he would be concerned but, there’s a sadistic part of him that’s secretly enjoying the sight knowing he’s the one to have you like this.

“T-toji.”

“Hm? Yeah, doll?”

“Can you get me some water, please?”

Before you can even blink he’s back with a refrigerated bottle of water, cold just to your liking. You smile, thanking him and gulping down the liquid, placing a kiss of gratitude to his lips afterwards.

“Toji..”

“Yes?”

“Can you, uhm, clean me..?”

A smile finds it way to his lips. Toji finds it cute how you’re hesitant to ask him such a question.

After some minutes he’s back with a damp cloth to wipe you with, though that’s not all. He’s carrying you bridal style to a warm bath waiting just for you, placing you in carefully as if you’re made of porcelain.

You kiss him again, stroking his forearm lovingly.

“Can you order us some takeout too?”

“On it.”

────〃ଘ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 - uh, where do i start?

Initially, Choso’s very nervous about going rough with you. His palms are sweaty, his eyebrows are furrowed together in a tight knit and he’s asking if you really want him to. He simply wants to make sure that you’re not acting on impulse—because, as soft as he may seem, he can really give it to you.

And he does—hard. Albeit, maybe too hard. He’s never gone so rough to the point where you shook after sex, and that was Choso’s first worry.

He expected you to at least calm down after a bit of time but your body kept continuously quivering.

That’s when Choso begins to scold himself. Maybe if he wasn’t so addicted to your body, your pussy, the noises he discovers you make when he’s harsh with you, then maybe you’d be alright.

But there was no denying that he was hooked on everything about you.

“Cho..think i need a massage.” you groan, falling back onto the bed after a failed attempt at getting up. “my back’s so sore.”

“I-i’m sorry, baby, I—“

You cut him off with a kiss; one that diminishes his every worry and gives him reassurance. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

Nodding, you turn around onto your stomach, hissing at the pain in your limbs—he had really stretched you to your limit tonight. “Yeah, just, massage please.”

With a hum of acknowledgment, Choso begins to rub your back, his big hands working at the knots in your shoulders, and he smiles with every sigh of relief that leaves your lips.

By the time he’s done, you’re just about ready to have him fuck you again with the way that he’s touching you so sensually—but the gross, sticky feeling between your legs cancels out that thought.

But a pleased sigh leaves your lips—you have the perfect boyfriend and idea to get rid of that.

“Cho, baby, let’s shower.”

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gyuwoncheol · 7 months

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Sir, Please.

Pair: Wonwoo x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut. 18+ only (MDNI).

Summary: Wonwoo doesn’t mind keeping you at the edge if it means watching you fall apart.

Warnings: Dom!Wonwoo, Sir! kink, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex (stay safe, children), squirting, clitoral stimulation, lots of making out, creampie, pussy slapping (like once), overstimulation, dacryphilia, breast play, wrist pinning, dirty talk, use of pet names (Sir, good girl, darling, love, baby, sweetie), glorious aftercare (Wonu is the best), fluff. Please let me know if i missed something. Not proofread, might come back to fix up errors.

WC: 3k

Author’s note: First smut piece for Wonwoo my love. This was only supposed to be post-sex cuddles fluff but thought it was the right time to finally write smut for my favorite boy. As is the plot of this piece, good things come to those who wait 😏 Enjoy!

Tagging fellow Wonu lovers @multi-kpop-fanfics @playmetheclassics for the chaos.

“What’re you doing?” Your boyfriend quizzed, your bare body still on top of his, a cheek resting against his bare chest.

“Doodling,” you mumbled casually as your finger continued to draw lazy patterns on his side.

“Darling, it tickles.”

“I don’t see you flinching.”

“You’re on top of me. If I flinch, you might fall.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You craned your neck to look up at him, flashing a wide grin momentarily, “then suffer.”

You shook along with Wonwoo as he laughed at your reply, a strong arm secured tightly around your torso, while his free hand cradled the back of your head.

A large smile was permanently etched on Wonwoo’s face as you both laid in comfortable silence. When he had collapsed onto you just minutes ago after reaching his climax, he had asked so nicely if he could stay inside a little longer and who were you to complain? You’ve craved for this kind of intimacy with him for awhile now after being both so busy with work.

“You’re lucky i love you,” Wonwoo declared as he kissed the top of your head.

You hummed in response, trailing your fingers again on his side, nails lightly scratching on his skin, “did you just write ‘i love you too’ on my ribs?” He laughs, and you nod an affirmative.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and snuggling more into your boyfriend’s chest. Now would be a good time for time to stand still. The setting sun casted warm hues of light inside your bedroom and while the airconditioning was cold, Wonwoo was radiating just the right amount of heat to keep you from shivering.

“I’ve missed you,” you blurted out.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed this,” another kiss was placed on top of your head, “i’m sorry i’ve been so busy.”

“I’m sorry too,” you sighed, resting your chin on his pecs to face him. “I wish i had more time to visit you in practice, or even just see you for lunch.”

“That’s okay, darling. We’re both just in our busy season. It will be over soon, yeah?” This time, Wonwoo’s palm was rubbing circular motions on the small of your back. “I was thinking we should go on a vacation when this all boils over.”

Your eyes grew wide, excited at your boyfriend’s suggestion, “really?”

“Yeah, maybe the countryside? Or out of the country? Where do you want?”

A blush crept up your cheeks at Wonwoo’s gesture of letting you choose, but honestly, you could’ve just stayed at your home and it would be okay. The last time you had a vacation, he made you choose the place too but this time, you didn’t really have a shortlist of destinations. You craned your neck to kiss his lips shortly, “surprise me?” You smiled shyly, “maybe somewhere peaceful and with fresh air? Anywhere as long as it’s with you is all I want, darling.”

“Okay, i’ll plan it out.” He confirmed before rolling you both over so his body hovered above yours

“Where are you going?” You pouted when he made a move to slip out of you.

“I need to clean you up, sweetie.”

You hooked a leg around his waist in retaliation, not at all ready to feel empty just yet. You attempted the most doe eyes you could muster, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes and clenching your pussy as you did so, “Don’t you wanna fuck me one more time?”

Wonwoo scoffed at your question, the corner of his lips pulling into a devious smile at your sweet tone, “can’t get enough, darling?” His voice was lower by a few octaves, enough to send a shiver through your spine and a gush of wetness in your cunt.

“N-no, sir.”

Wonwoo smirked at the nickname before doing an experimental thrust. When your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he simply chuckled before dragging his cock out slowly and then swiftly burying himself to the hilt, rendering you even more speechless than you were. He could feel the rhythmic spasming of your walls, causing him to grow harder and harder.

You cupped his face to bring it closer to yours, kissing him and sucking at his lower lip. Wonwoo smiles in the kiss, amused at your neediness especially when he feels you lift your hips and roll them on his.

“Eager are we?”

“Wonuuu,” you whined pathetically, clawing at his back.

“Wonu?” he questioned with a glare, pinning you to the mattress agressively, “that’s not what you called me minutes ago, darlin’”

“Well, I don’t know where he went. Maybe if you give me what I want then I’ll start calling you it again,” you smirked, dragging your nails a little more harshly on his skin making him hiss.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, only to dive into your right breast and suck harshly at the bud, eliciting a loud moan from you. He snakes his hand in between you both, thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, immediately feeling you clench around his dick again.He mutters something about you being responsive but it flies over your head as he picks up his pace. The slide is much easier given your mixed cum and your new arousal so it takes him record time to hit your sweet spot. Every ridge and vein on his cock drags against your walls in a way that’s more delicious than awhile ago.

“S-sir, pl-pleaasee,” you shake, the pit of your stomach tightening as you arch your back.

“Does my darling want to cum?” The nickname sounds sickly sweet as it rolls off his tongue and it only helps you get closer to the edge.

You nod your head repetitively, chants of ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh’s’ spilling from your lips, but then Wonwoo withdraws his hand from your sensitive bud and stills inside of you, a vice grip around your body as he licks the shell of your ear, “you don’t get to cum until I say so.” The words were loud, clear and firm, in a tone you knew all too well.

“But Won—“ you cry out loud, tears forming in your eyes as you feel your climax painfully float away.

“Nuh uh,” two harsh thrusts are delivered straight to your gspot as your boyfriend hooks one of your legs on his shoulder, “Call me wrong again and I will not let you cum at all.”

“Fuuuuck,” you mewl from the way his cock rams into you with the new angle, following it up with whines at the thought of getting no release, “S-sorry, sir! ‘M sorry!”

“There it is. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo mocks, “now be my good girl and hold it out for me, yeah?”

You’re a incoherent mess as you try to obey him, but it isn’t so easy when his large cock is abusing your sore, sloppy cunt. Words of filth pair each one of his powerful thrusts.

“My dirty little whore”

“So fuckin’ needy for my cock.”

“Can’t get enough of this pussy.”

“Your pussy is mine.”

“All made for me.”

You were letting out moans of pleasure as Wonwoo pounded into you mercilessly, the knot in your stomach making itself felt again.

“Fu– ah! Fuck, s-sir! Please!” You asked, but it only fell on deaf ears. Both your wrists were tightly pinned with just one of your boyfriend’s large hand above your head and his blown out pupils were looking right at you.

“Make me cum, make me cum, make me cum, please!!!” you begged shamelessly, voice shaking and legs closing in as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm.

“Not. Yet.” Wonwoo withdrew fully from your hole and you shrieked at the loss, your hips lifting to chase after his dick only to have it slammed down by his free hand.

“Sir!!!” You scowled, eyebrows scrunching and eyes wide, anger and pain washing away yet another failed orgasm.

A proud, lopsided smirk appeared on your boyfriend’s face. He licked his bottom lip, enjoying the torture he beset on you despite his painfully hard cock.

“What?”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking, you knew that much.

“Nothing,” you cowered and blinked back your tears, erasing the anger in your face much to your dismay.

“Good girl.”

You swallowed thickly, squirming once more when Wonwoo tapped his heavy length on your pussy, coating himself with your slippery wetness— not that he needed any more of it— before purposely slapping your swollen clit with his angry red tip. The stimulation from that alone already had your toes curling and it took every fibre of your being to not just unravel right there.

You should’ve known calling him ‘sir’ would lead to this, but behind the tearful denials, you knew immense pleasure awaits.

“Siirrr, p-please! I n-need it.”

“Shhh. Patience, darling. We’ve got lots of time.” The demonic chuckle Wonwoo let out had you whimpering pitifully, your hands fighting to break free from his hold.

It seemed your boyfriend was hell bent on prolonging your agony when he simply continues to endlessly tap his shaft on your clit as he pumps himself.

Wonwoo was not usually loud in bed, save for his occasional grunts and broken groans when he falls into bliss. However, he’s decided now would be the perfect time to make matters all the more worse for you. He was being loud about it all, no holds barred. The squelching noises of his dick against your wet lips is now easily drowned out by the guttural moans Wonwoo has let slip past his mouth. You thought his dirty talk is music? Well, this was a symphony.

You had thought you wouldn’t get close this time around since he wasn’t inside you but the relentless knocks on your clit and the obnoxiously loud moans of your boyfriend have proved you wrong. Your hands balled into fists and you squeezed your eyes shut, mentally fighting off the ball of pleasure in your lower abdomen.

“Look at you, fighting so hard,” Wonwoo snickers, pressing down the tip of his cock to your clit in slow circular motions, “show me how good you are yeah?”

“Yes yes yes! ‘M good! Your good girl, promise!” You were so far gone, pliant to each one of your boyfriend’s requests.

“So wet, you’re soiling the bed,” he points out the obvious, “what a fuckin’ mess.” Wonwoo saw another shiver run through you, indicating you were seconds away from release. So for the third time that day, he denies you of the very thing you crave for, letting go of your wrists and then landing a sharp smack to your pussy before completely backing away to watch you spasm and curl up into a ball of needy tears and pathetic whines.

Your head was spinning and your senses were more than heightened. The slippery feeling of your arousal between your thighs were making it harder for you to squeeze them shut and stay still. Wonwoo simply loomed over you, giving you enough time to stabilize your breathing and let your failed orgasm ebb away. He knew that if he’d put so much just as one finger on your skin, you’d cum right away. Contrary to his actions, he wanted you to cum, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you cry for it first.

“S-sirr,” you sobbed.

A gentle touch carefully landed on your calf and when you didn’t flinch away, Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, “Yes, baby?”

“Please,” your voice barely above a whisper, “n-need you…”

Whatever other words you had planned were swallowed by Wonwoo in a searing kiss. It was sloppy and messy, his skillful tongue darting to yours, teeth biting at your lips. You both moaned in unison when he impaled you on his cock once more.

“So big,” you groaned, initially amused at the delicious stretch until you realised, he’s had to hold off his own orgasm too.

Wonwoo gives it his all, jackhammering into you like it would be the last time. The sound of moans and skin slapping skin reverberate around the room. And then, there it is again, a coil so tight on your stomach, you fear you’re going delirious to the point of no return.

“Wo— Sir!” You quickly correct yourself, losing the least bit of dignity you had, tears drenching your cheeks, “i’m b-begging, p-please…”

The gentle kiss on your nose set a stark contrast from how his cock abused your sopping cunt, but relief finally took over you at the words whispered in your ear, “so good for me. Let go, baby. I got you.”

A strangled cry ripped out of your throat, your orgasm gloriously hitting you like a tidal wave. Wonwoo continued to talk you through it while holding down your convulsing body and slamming his hips into you, the sight of your pussy creaming his cock eventually producing broken moans from him.

“B-babe, too– ah! Too m-much!” More tears fell on your face as Wonwoo did deep snaps, his pelvic bone grinding on your clit.

“C’mon baby, m’ close. S-so close!”

Incomprehensible noises tumbled out of you when your boyfriend buried himself deep, pushing onto your sweetest spot and stilling there. Between his guttural groans, the perfect ‘O’ shape of his mouth and the thick loads of hot white cum that flooded your velvety walls, another coil snapped within you, a new round of arousal seeping out of your spent hole, except this time, much wetter and hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuuuck, darling,” Wonwoo trembled as the last of his nectar oozed out, “did I just make you squirt?”

“Fuck off,” you scowled, wishing you had more energy to wipe the smug look plastered on your boyfriend’s face.

“So I did?” Wonwoo pursed his lips and scrunched his nose, a look you very much love but absolutely hate right now.

You let your bottom lip jut out in a pout, your brows drawing to the center of your face, “how could I not when you edged me like that!”

“You’re cute,” was his only response, very slowly slipping his softening cock out of you. Your sweet boyfriend peppered kisses all over your face, replacing your frown with a smile. “Did I make you feel good, darling?” He asked genuinely, not wanting to ever subject you to something which you didn’t enjoy doing.

You gave him a shy nod, pulling him closer by his neck to close the gap between your mouths and share a loving kiss, much like how it was way earlier. It didn’t take long for you to part, your lungs still recharging to full capacity after having all the air knocked out of you.

Wonwoo gave you more time to recover, resting his head on the crook of your neck to leave soft kisses on your skin, especially on the blooming bruises he left in his wake.

“Darling, you can’t sleep yet,” he shook you gently when he noticed your prolonged stillness.

A small whine escaped your lips, “but Woo… i’m tired.”

“I know, i know,” he hushed softly, “but we need to get you cleaned up and also, change the sheets. I’ll make it quick.”

You had no time nor energy to protest. You were simply being carried bridal style into the bathroom, your boyfriend making sure you peed before he went on to wash up yours and his sweaty body with warm water. He was so so tender with his touch, especially in all parts between your legs. He’d keep an observant eye to every reaction your face made, careful not to cause any pain.

“Can… can you be mine?” you squeaked, and Wonwoo giggled at the drunken look of love on your face. Every time you think nothing can top sex with your boyfriend in your own little list of World’s Most Wonderful Things, you’re reminded that aftercare by him exists.

“Darling, i’m already yours,” Wonwoo chuckles.

You noded with a grin, brain really starting to drift off into slumber, “I like that.”

He fixes his glasses by the bridge of his nose after giving you a once-over, now dressed in cotton panties and one of his large navy blue shirts which hung mid-thigh on you.

Wonwoo lifts you up to sit on the bathroom counter before cupping your cheeks to meet your eyes, “baby, can you sit here and wait for me for about 10 to 15 minutes, please? I need to change our sheets.”

He had expected you to whine and retaliate, knowing you were always extra clingy after sex, but you simply nodded and smiled. You think you felt his lips on your forehead but you aren’t too sure.

The moment Wonwoo slips out of the bathroom, you’re fighting not to fall asleep, but 15 minutes is long, and maybe you can just lean your head a bit on the cold marble tile—

“Let’s get you to bed, love,” the tall man chuckles as he lifts you in his arms. You swore it hadn’t been fifteen minutes, not even ten! But then he walks past your bed and out of your shared bedroom. The light of the hallway enough to stir your brain awake.

“Where are we going?” You ask, nuzzling your face on the crook of his neck as he cradles you into another room.

Wonwoo laughs at your question, “We have to take the guest bedroom for the night, darling. You’ve soaked through our mattress.”

#svt #seventeen #svthub #svt x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt fic #seventeen fic #svt one shot #seventeen one shot #svt image #seventeen imagine #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fic #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo one shot #wonwoo x reader #paula writes ✨#paula writes smut

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luveline · 12 days

Note

I wanted to know how Aaron Hotchner would react to discovering the existence of a daughter (something from college perhaps), she would be his copy both in appearance and personality

—Hotch has a surprise visitor and the world spins on a new axis. daughter!reader, 2.2k

readers physical traits like hair and skin colour are not mentioned, but she is described as looking like her mother (also not described) and as sharing some characteristics with Hotch!<3 I also altered canon so that Hotch meets Haley after college

“There is a kid in your office.”

“Morgan?”

Hotch pulls his phone away to check. D. Morgan blinks on his phone screen. It’s a slightly absurd sentence.

“There’s a child in my office?” he asks, returning the phone to his ear.

“I’m standing with her right now. She won’t tell me who she is. Anderson let her in.”

“How old?” Hotch asks, scratching his cheek. God forbid he steal two minutes of peace in the bathroom.

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m twenty two,” a feminine voice says.

“You said kid,” Hotch says, frowning.

“Anyone under twenty five is a kid to me. Are you on your way?”

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and hangs up, dropping the small body of his phone into his pocket. Twenty two isn’t a kid, it’s a year younger than Spencer was when he started at the BAU; Hotch doesn’t underestimate the intelligence of young adults. Why you’re in his office is another thing. He can’t have one day without inconvenience.

Hotch makes his way into the BAU office and up the stairs to the half level where his own office resides. Morgan leans against the door with his arms crossed, standing to attention when Hotch passes.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Hotch says.

Morgan nods, sending a curious gaze at you before he leaves.

You’re dressed very formally for someone your age, but it’s not as though this is different from the norm of the building. You have on a dark shirt with a starched collar and a fitted blazer, a crisp skirt, and leather Mary Jane heels, one pressed flat to the back of the other.

You stand when he comes in.

“Mr. Hotchner?” you ask.

“Yes?” he asks.

You have a small file in your hand. Paper with worn edges pokes out of one side as though you’d been looking through it and put it hastily away, and the Manila file itself is fresh.

“Do we know one another?” he asks.

You look familiar. It’s possible he would’ve known your parents —it could make sense. A colleague or acquaintance assumed he could help you with something, and you in your naivety you made your way in.

“I think you know my mother.”

“And she was?” he prompts. Not impolite, but needing to move forward. He’s very busy.

You take a small step back. “Mr. Hotchner,” you say again, something nervous in your eyes as you lift your chin, “I don’t want to waste your time. I’m aware I might sound foolish, or that this… might not be something you want to hear, but. My mother told me you met in college, and that…”

You bite your lip.

He’s incredibly confused now. Not one to let a stranger suffer whether in real pain or awkwardness, he opens his hand. “Can I?”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

You don’t want to pass it over, but you do as he’s asked.

The photograph is a shock, held with a paperclip to a magnolia sheet of paper. It’s of Hotch, undoubtedly, a much younger Hotch sitting on a bench with a woman he recognises immediately. He only looks at her, and he knows why you’re here, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Do you remember her?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

“She says you’re the only man that could… possibly be my father.” You hold your hands behind your back.

He lifts the photograph. There’s not much else to look at, only your photo ID, your birth certificate where he is glaringly not listed, as well as your mother’s birth certificate, and proof of her enrollment at George Washington University.

You look a little teary. Trying very hard to be sober, as you have been since he laid eyes on you, but clearly getting more and more upset as time goes on. He’s feeling a similar ache, a searing pain in his chest, staring at you from over the Manila folder to really, really look at you. He swears he can see something of himself in your face, though he’s not sure what. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking.

There’s certainly some of him in your frown.

“I think you should sit down,” he says softly.

You sit down immediately in the chair you’d inhabited a few minutes ago.

He’s not sure what to say. Are you sure it could only be him? Is your mother? But you’re looking at him with an expression he practically trademarked, whether he wanted to or not, and the proof is in his hands: you’re your mother’s daughter, and Hotch would have slept with her almost twenty three years ago. He doesn’t need much time to do the math.

“I realise my word alone isn’t a lot to go on, sir, so– so if you’d want to, I’ll of course submit for a paternity test. Or if you want nothing to do with me, that’s okay too.”

“It’s not okay,” he says, closing your folder.

Your eyes widen just a touch.

“Can I sit with you?” he asks.

You push your chair back to make lots of room. He sits in the chair besides yours, cautious that being across a desk from you is insensitive, or cold, at least.

He looks at you and he’s sure that you’re his. The longer you sit there, the more sure he becomes.

“I do want a paternity test,” he says, watching your tight nod.

He believes you. And truly, if he was unsure of what you’re saying he’d still give you grace now, because the first time you meet your father should be full of love. He should’ve been there to hold you in one arm twenty two years ago, he should’ve been there for you through everything he’s already missed.

“But I believe you,” he says.

“You do?”

“I’m a very good judge of character. I know that you believe what you’re telling me completely,” he says.

“How?”

“When you’re nervous your hand drifts to your chest, but you didn’t move when you suggested I’m your father. You haven’t once checked the door or looked toward the camera in the corner of the room.” And the full truth. “I want to believe you.”

“Why?” you ask.

“You look like your mother, but…” He lets himself smile. “You sound like me.”

You laugh under your breath. “Hopefully not so deep.”

“I’ve had it described to me as mellifluous.”

“I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I can remember. My mom didn’t talk about you much, but I’ve always wondered. She told me she didn’t know who you were, and…”

“And you believed her. Any child would do the same.”

“She’s made mistakes.” You look to him with eyebrows gently pinched, asking him to understand. “But I looked you up. When she told me your name, I looked for you online, and… I always thought I never needed you, even if I wanted to know you. I thought you might want to know me. I thought that a man like you would want to know.”

There’s something you’re not saying. Hotch doesn’t mind. “Of course I want to know you.”

You chance a smile at him. “You really believe me?”

“You were expecting me to turn you away.”

“No, just– I’m not a kid, even if your colleague said so. And I’m not an image of you, I don’t have your eyes. All I have is that photograph. There's not much evidence to go on.”

He sees no reason why a young girl like you would walk into his office and tell him who you are. Self preservation insists on a paternity test, and soon —UnSubs haven’t ever done something so conniving as imitating a family member yet, but there’s no prediction for evil— but Hotch has an inherent sense of the truth.

“What do you do?” he asks.

You frown. “Sorry?”

“What do you do?” he asks again, “You’re dressed like a lawyer.”

You nod with a smile you’re pushing into a flat line unsuccessfully. “I’m at GWU. For law, like you and my mom.”

“She only just told you who I am?” He speaks each word carefully.

“The photo fell out of an old album, and I had a funny feeling. I asked her about it and she said I’m too much like you. She admitted it like the secret had been eating her alive.” You look at your hand on the armrest. “We aren’t getting along right now.”

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you. Or me,” he says honestly.

“I don’t know either.”

Hotch is expecting a lot more awkwardness than he feels as he puts his hand over yours. You stay very still.

“Thank you for coming here today.” He gives your hand the barest squeeze and stands. “Have you eaten? I could take you out for dinner,” he suggests.

You stand with him. “Are you serious?” you ask, gentle and pleased at once.

“I think you have a lot to tell me, and I’d love to listen.”

“You’re not working?”

Sometimes, sometimes, there are things that can be worked around or held on the back burner. You and Hotch go for lunch.

—

Aaron Hotchner knows many important people. Your paternity test takes a day, less than twenty four hours from the time you both submit samples, but you have a class you can’t miss and he’s sure you’re nervous, so you don’t meet again for two days regardless. By then, you both know the results. (And Aaron’s had to have a very strange conversation with his wife, in which she doesn’t believe him, and then has to sit down.)

He can admit to being far more protective of you once he knows the truth for sure, though he knows it before the results come back. You’re his daughter, and he’s left you without a father for two decades of your life, your formative years, time he can never get back.

He doesn’t even know what to do. How can he make up for it? Twenty two years of birthday cards? He feels like buying you a diamond necklace with a stone for each year, and then he wants to buy you a house, but mostly he wants to give you a hug. He thinks about it for so long the morning before he’s scheduled to meet you again that it makes him as upset as he’s ever been in his life, desperate to say sorry to you and your mother and furious with her for keeping you a secret.

He thinks of all those years without an inkling of your existence, and now you’re the only thing he can think about. His remorse makes him sick.

You’re smiling when you see him. For a millisecond, you look like Jack.

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner!” you say, standing from the table, your formal dress and cardigan pressed neatly, your hands held behind your back.

‘Mr. Hotchner’ will need to be fixed quickly, though he won’t force you to call him anything else. He can’t help himself, however.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly.

You pause, and you laugh. “This is weird.”

He doesn’t mean to make it weirder, but he opens his arms, and he waits for an indication that you might not want a hug before he leans in to hold you. You’re still so young. There’s still time for him to be a good father to you.

He can’t say everything he needs to in his hug, and at the end of the day he’s a stranger to you; you probably don’t want him to hug you for too long. But he rubs your back, and he promises himself that he won’t let you down twice.

Your arm curls tentatively behind his back. For a second, you press your face to his shoulder and breathe.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away.

Your lip twitches to one side like his would when presented with such heavy sincerity. “I’m okay. How did, um, Haley take the news?”

“She just wants to meet you, okay? You’re part of my family now.”

You give no indication you’ve heard what it is he’s saying to you, or whether you like it as you sit down at the dinner table. He quite likes that some way, somehow, you’ve become like him, but he wonders if he might not love it so much when he asks how your mom is taking this new development and you just smile.

“We’re going to tell Jack about everything this weekend,” he adds. “He’ll be excited, if no one else.”

“And Haley doesn’t mind?”

“She’s not going to ask you to babysit anytime soon, honey, but no, of course she doesn’t. He should meet his sister before she’s too old for legos.”

You actually laugh.

Dad humour transcends age, and for that, Hotch is grateful.

—

only after I finished did I wonder if I misinterpreted the request and this was supposed to be x reader with a shared daughter so if that’s the case I’m sorry original requester!! and I can totally write that if that’s what you meant 🫶❤️

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds #aaron hotchner and daughter!reader #aaron hotchner fluff

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horrorartsworld · 4 months

Note

ok so there is a thought that is scratching the back of my brain..

IMAGINE ALASTOR manspreading, with his smirk maybe looking at shy/reader, and how is trying to not to look at him.

he would be so sneaky and doing that on purpose!!!

like i’m going crazy don’t mind me…

a/n: UGHHH YES!! nothing crazy about it sweetheart that cheeky bastard would try something like this 😭

QUITE LITERALLY did a little mischievous giggle at the thought of this cause…alastor sitting slutty HELL FUCKING YAYEAH

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

A manspreading man

alastor/shy f!reader

warnings: just a radio demon spreading his legs for jesus

part two !!

Charlie had called everyone down to the lobby for a special meeting in hopes to get the whole crew together to see their individual progression on redemption.

Seeming as though everyone had showed up and settled down right away with no fuss, Alastor sitting in his big pillowy arm chair as you sat across from him on the sofa next to Angel dust and everyone else in their usual spots.

The meeting starting as soon as the last demon sat, but for some reason you couldn’t focus as you noticed out of the corner of your eye at the way Alastor was sitting.

Not his usual prim and proper way that he did but full on in a manspread his body leaning to the side lazily where he had his chin placed in his palm, while his microphones pole rested against his inner thigh, hand always firmly wrapped around the neck of it.

Your eyes working like a pinball machine going back and forth from Alastor to Charlie in a shameful display of checking him out during an important meeting like this one, but something about him sitting like this was a little unusual yet so mysteriously sexy.

As you were deep in your daydream about it Alastor took notice chuckling lowly to himself as he then faced you, playfully lifting his hips up acting like he was adjusting himself when really he wanted to mess with you.

You instantly snapping out of your brain fog as your breath felt like it had been sucker punched out of you, not knowing what to do with yourself in this predicament as you shifted around in your seat uncomfortably as if trying to run away from his mischievous eyes causing Angel to shoot you a confused look because of all your movement.

Alastor’s usual grin forming more of a smirk now as he sees your cheeks turn a bright shade of red enjoying every second of you loosing your composure like this, all from him sitting so openly.

You then did the unspeakable as you raise your hand awkwardly to give a pitiful excuse of why you had to leave the meeting for a moment to run to the little ladies room, when really you needed a second to catch a breather.

Not noticing that a certain someone had followed in the shadows….

“Why’d you run off darling…I was just starting to have some fun~” you jump startled seeing as he was towering over you from behind in the mirror of the bathroom.

“I-I just needed a moment…” stammering as you practically wanted to scold yourself for your silly girly urges, not daring to look up at him out of embarrassment.

“A moment to think about me…hmm?”

#☆⋆｡𖦹 my writings #☆⋆｡𖦹anon’s #☆⋆｡𖦹 alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbinhotel #hazbin #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor

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jaegersdevil · 1 month

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fresh out the slammer [sukuna x reader] cw: singular mention of sa w/c: 1.1k a/n: all characters mentioned are 22, shoko is your best friend.

"you're not meant to be here."

the man who stands at your doorstep scoffs. your 6 foot 3, pink-haired ex takes up the entirety of the doorway, and you have to force down the urge to jump him.

you tilt your head when he doesn't answer. "ryomen, you need to leave. right now."

a single eyebrows arches. "i know damn well you ain't talkin’ to me like that."

rolling your eyes, you know he won’t do anything you say. so, opening your front door wider, sukuna steps inside, his left hand scratching the back of his neck.

“see, being nice isn’t that hard,” he teases, glancing at you over his shoulder. sighing, you close the door, eyeing him wearily as he lingers in the hallway.

“new key hook?” sukuna smiles, pointing at the wall.

you shake your head in disbelief. “why’re you here?”

sukuna raises his eyebrows, spinning to face you. but you realise your mistake too late.

with the door at your back and nowhere to go, you’re cornered by your ex-boyfriend. yet, he seems to know exactly what he’s doing, with his tongue poking his cheek as he approaches.

“where were you on sunday?”

your breath hitches in your throat when he runs a finger along your collarbone, but you won’t let him get you that easy.

“nowhere,” you insist, staring him down. he always said you were brave for doing that — you were the only one to ever do so.

“funny,” the corner of his mouth turns upward. “i heard something different.”

you give him no reaction. besides, what’s it to him?

“ok, and?”

“ooo,” he laughs deeply, his head tilting. “so it’s true.”

“ryomen—“

“come on baby, you know that’s not my name to you.”

“ryomen,” you press, putting your hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. “you need to leave.”

the faux pout he gives you makes you want to slap him, but you can’t bring yourself to do something so heinous to him.

“fine,” you concede. “yeah, i went on a hinge date, so what?”

“so what?” sukuna mutters bitterly. “it’s not ‘so what’ when he tries to force himself on you, baby.”

your face heats at the mention of it. “sukuna—“

“and you didn’t think to tell me?” he presses his hand on the door behind you, his body dangerously close to yours.

“i was scared,” you whisper, gaze on his chest to avoid his eyes. you notice his body visibly relax, his head hanging closer to yours to hear. “i knew you would do something about it, and i didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“you don’t need to worry about me,” sukuna asserts, his finger under your chin to lift your face towards his. “it’s already been taken care of, and i’m still here.”

your eyes widen slightly, head moving to look at his right hand on the door. spread on the brown wood is his hand, larger as always, the pale skin on his knuckles red and purple and bloody and you’re shocked you didn’t see it before.

reaching up, you grab sukuna’s hand to cradle it in your own. “you’re joking.”

“you’re not a joke to me, sweetheart.”

sighing, you side step him, holding his injured hand in your own. he follows mindlessly behind you, checking out his left hand that is just as bloody as the other.

entering the bathroom, you don’t need to tell him where to sit before you dig the first aid kit out of the cupboard beneath the sink. you hadn’t had to use it in a while.

“kuna,” you murmur, observing his hands. he doesn’t reply. instead, he watches you, like he always does.

faces level, you set everything onto the counter. standing between his thighs makes your body feel numb. and when one of his hands covers your hip, you focus on the other.

sukuna doesn’t flinch when you clean his knuckles with alcohol, and doesn’t object when you smooth frozen band-aids over the particularly bad cuts.

“thanks, baby,” sukuna says, not checking to see if you cleaned them correctly—you always do.

“don’t mention it,” you dismiss flippantly, putting the red soaked cloth in the sink and the aid pack back in the cupboard.

the silence is comfortable but charged with something you don’t want to acknowledge. the muted chatter from the tv in the living room penetrates the bathroom wall, and you come back to your senses.

“does shoko know?”

“she told me.”

you sigh, if she couldn’t get her hands on your hinge date, she’d tell someone who could—and he did.

“he had a bruise where you punched him,” sukuna quips. “but i may have made it worse.”

you twist your lips sheepishly. “yeah, well, i wasn’t letting him get away that easy.”

“that’s my girl.”

the comment makes your stomach flutter pathetically.

“you wanna stay over?” you blurt, face warm.

sukuna knows better than to tease you right now, so he nods, and stands from the closed toilet seat.

you swiftly leave the bathroom, pacing down the hallway to curl up on the couch. sukuna walks in idly, taking in the space he’s spent so much time in. one thing catches his eye, and then he’s poking fun at you.

“nice picture.”

your eyes dart to where he’s looking on the bookshelf, and god forbid, it’s a photo of the two of you at tokyo tower. but, you’re not embarrassed.

“yeah, i look hot.”

sukuna chuckles, sitting next to you and propping his feet up on the coffee table. “you look hot all the time, shut up.”

drawing in a breath, you can’t contain yourself anymore. you circle your arm around his neck, fingers threading through his pink locks. sukuna turns his head toward you, lips inches apart.

“feet off the table.”

“don’t tell me what to do.”

you snicker, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“fresh out the slammer,” you joke. “and you come here.”

“of course,” sukuna looks confused. “where else would i go?”

you bite the inside of your cheek to stop your emotions from showing.

“i don’t know,” you glance down at when his fingers play with the drawstring of your sweatpants. “a new girl?”

“please,” sukuna scoffs. “like anyone else would put up with my shit.”

you give him a deadpan look.

sukuna rolls his eyes. “you’re my pretty baby, i’ll always come home to you or whatever,” he says lazily.

you run your thumb over his cheekbone. "kuna.”

he raises his eyebrows in question, but he knows what you’re asking.

“i need something from you," you mumble, tracing his lips with your eyes.

"oh yeah?" he smirks, voice low. "and what's that?"

you shrug, licking your lips. “nothing.”

sukuna rolls his eyes and lifts your hips up and over him, your knees bracketing his thighs. you squeal softly, forgetting just how strong he is.

sukuna shifts his hips underneath you. “you’re so—”

“kiss me.”

you don’t have to tell him twice.

#jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk #jjk x reader #— ann writes!

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textmel8r · 11 days

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

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

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugarmommy! reader , sugarbaby! toji , smut , submissive toji , finger sucking , masturbation , oral sex (f!receiving) , profanity

୨୧˚ an; so not happy with my writing in this one, probs will rewrite it one day but here, have a couple thousand words of smut🗣️ this is lowkey another filler but lowkey not at the same time? i wanted to fit in another intimate moment before shit goes south awooooooo

You were not fibbing when you said you knew your way around the kitchen. “Holy fuck,” Toji all but moans, tearing into another piece of tender meat with his canines. It was juicy and seasoned almost too much, just the way he likes it. He squints across the table, where you eat in tandem with much better manners than he could ever hope to have. “Who taught you how to cook like this?”

You shrug bashfully under his gawking, wiping your mouth with a dainty stroke of the napkin you had placed in your lap. “I traveled a lot in between semesters at college. Italy, France, Denmark…” You list a few more places that Toji wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. “Those European countries do food so good, I guess it inspired me to give my best shot at it as well.” Self taught, huh? Yeah, you seem like the type to succeed in everything you try.

The man nods, ultimately wishing he had more to add. He wishes he had just an ounce in common with you, a smidgen of relatability to offer. But he doesn’t. Toji didn’t finish school. He’s never left Japan. He’s never cooked a damn thing from scratch in his life. You must’ve caught on to his struggle and decided to show mercy by adding, “actually, right now we’re eating steak au poivre.”

“Steak au po–” He cut himself off before inevitably butchering the name. “What is that? French?”

You’re nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I happened upon this dish when I was staying in Bordeaux with a few college mates.” There’s a sweet smile tugging sheepishly at your lips as you recall the memory. “I fell in love with it the second I tried it, and asked the manager right then and there for the recipe.”

Toji shakes his head with disbelief, talking with his mouth full of food. “You’re just full of stories, aren’t you?”

“Some would call me experienced, yes.”

His brow raises. Experienced? Was that a come on? Toji gives way to his own quaint smile, jutting his chin toward you. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Steak au whatever.”

You oblige his request, repeating the name back slowly so he could attempt to grasp it. “Steak au poivre. Now you give it a go.”

Toji finishes chewing the mouthful of peppercorn-laced meat, swallowing it down with a swig of the Château Cheval Blanc you’d poured at the start of the meal. Some fancy French imported wine is what he gathered from the long winded description you waxed as you topped off an extravagant glass for him. Wine never really appealed to the man—he usually went for the harder shit. The type that you knock back from lowball glasses. The type to get you piss drunk after three rounds—but it was all you ever drank. It was safe to say he was becoming accustomed to your tastes. Maybe the sweetness wasn’t so terrible. He clears his throat, putting embarrassingly too much effort into his “steak au poivre.” It doesn’t sound pretty the way it did leaving your mouth, and he grimaces. “Can’t fucking do it.”

“I thought you sounded good.” He scoffs at that, but you click your tongue. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just leave the French speaking to you.” The plate before him sits scraped clean. You’re still working on your dinner. Fuck, you’re a slow eater. “You know any more?”

“Any more French, you mean?”

He nods along with a gruff hum, swishing his tongue around his teeth, collecting anything left over of that smokiness from the peppered steak.

“Hm. Tu m'as manqué, Toji.” You hide your grin behind the rim of your glass.

Thick forearms crossed over chest, he croons a deep, barely-there chuckle. “I heard my name. Tell me what you said.”

“No way,” you chortle.

“Ah, c’mon. You’re all blushy.” He licks over the chappedness of his lower lip, knowing gaze latched onto your lips. It was hypnotic, your smile. “You say somethin’ dirty about me, ma’am?”

The way in which your eyes widened coquettishly at the accusation had Toji’s heart beating just a bit more erratically. Like a fawn, he thinks. All that was missing on you was a white, cottony tail.

“If I said something dirty, It would have been in a language you could understand.” Finally, you take the last bite off your dish as well. Hopefully that means dinner is officially over; Toji has been craving dessert since he stepped foot in your house and got showered in ‘welcome back’ gifts. “I’m not the type of woman easily embarrassed by my sexuality. I thought you would have picked that up by now.”

He persists. “What are you embarrassed by?”

“Toji.” His name is spoken sharply, a verbal warning that he was tiptoeing the line. Threatening to shatter that layer of thin ice he stood upon. This is what he’s been needing. This is what he’s been fucking needing.

“I’ve been thinking about you, ma’am.” Any semblance of a filter is long gone, melted by the sheer heat of his desire. His limbs feel heavy, hands tumbling into his lap. They rest on the wide surface area of sweatpant-clad thighs, just sitting there. Feeling himself. “This entire week, I’ve been thinking.”

You seem to get the implications of his confession. “In a sexual way?”

“Yeah.” That’s a white lie. To be truthful was to admit that the sexual thoughts Toji let himself think about you were the minority. Objectifying you in the depths of his mind wasn't enough. He thought about your breasts, sure. He thought about your curves, and your ass, and your mouth, and every other body part that would grant him pleasure. But that wasn’t enough for Toji. Fixations of his tended to lead him astray from fantasies, instead breaching carefully saved memories stored within his brain catalog. When he touched himself, it was more or less to remembrances of mundane tasks you’d dealt him in the past. All the times you had bestowed little gifts and knick knacks on a whim just because they reminded you of him. Or when you drag him to the outlets with you for a shopping spree and he’ll act miserable the entire time, but you both knew it was a horribly crafted facade. Or even, like now, when you’d treat him to dinner because you worry over him and his eating schedule. The little things really counted; a revelation that scared Toji shitless, so he opted to ignore those budding, foreign feelings and replace it with familiarity: lust.

“Toji, honey, are you alright?”

What? His breathing pattern was off kilter, and the muscles of his jaw flexed unconsciously. When had he started palming himself? His right hand had grown a mind of its own apparently, because when Toji stole a glance downward, there it was; kneading roughly at the bulge between his meaty thighs. How desperate was he? To go dormant like that, so consumed with the thought of you that he began to instinctually masturbate himself not even five feet away from where you sit. And why… Why wasn’t he stopping?

“Can we fuck now?”

“Oh.” You barely look shocked. Not the slightest bit appalled like he expected you to be. Instead, slide off a ring that took purchase wrapped around your middle finger. A sigh escapes you as you place the band on the table. “I still have more to ask you. I wanted to know how your work trip went.”

Toji shakes his head, something akin to a toddler trying to get fed vegetables. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t wanna talk about work.”

“Why not?” You frown, leaning forward against the tabletop. “Was it bad?”

He knows what you’re doing. Trying to make him spill any details about his job. Well, he won’t give in.

A heavy sigh slithers out hoarsely from the deepest part of his lungs, and Toji presses his palms to the table, pushing himself up. He stands tall, much like the tent at his crotch, and slinks along the roundness of the dinner table, walking his fingertips across the top all the while. “I don’t want to talk,” he reiterates, breathy and abrasive.

Finally, Toji stands before you. Still, you are seated, unbothered by the towering man’s presence. No, you’re swirling your wine glass sophisticatedly, lips pursed into a narrow line. Like you’re the slightest bit irritated with his persistent defiance.

God, you won't even look at him.

Or maybe, you were never irritated at all. Toji cops a second glance to your lips, finding the faintest ghost of a frown. “You’ve been acting so… so removed. Ever since you left.” Now you’re looking at him; Toji shudders under the intense fire that billows behind your eyes, wide and wetted with worry. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things. I want your trust, Toji.”

You have his trust. Every last crumb of it resides in the palm of your soft hand.

“... And I know that it’s stupid—I’m stupid for wanting that from you. I know what this relationship is, and I know that there are these unspoken boundaries, but I—I can’t—”

It was the first time he’d ever heard you speak with such a volatile expression. There was a tremble of uncertainty in your vocal chords, carrying into the skittish dialogue that tumbled out in rambles. Something about such a show of pity from you, his Y/n, made his guts churn like butter. He can’t listen to this any more. With swiftness, Toji dives down to press his mouth against yours, swallowing the words that die on your tongue. One hand grips the back of your chair, the other holds the roundness of your cheek. He feels your gasp, feels the way your shoulders jolt in surprise, but he doesn’t release you.

This was really only his second instance of kissing you. The first had been in his bed, with his groin pressed to yours, tongue fighting its way to the back of your throat with greedy fervor. This second kiss was anything but greedy, though. Despite the ache that roiled at the base of his stomach, Toji didn’t serve you a kiss that reflected his desire. Tongues never met and spit was never swapped; just lips on glossed lips.

At last, Toji reluctantly peels away. Lipstick residue feels heavy on his mouth, and he knows he probably looks foolish donning remnants of your dark lip lacquer, but he doesn’t move to wipe his skin. The circular bottom of the wine glass clinks as you clumsily set it down, freeing your hands. They branch upwards, finding his face. A pair of thumbs rub the sensitive pads of flesh beneath his eyes, massaging out those ugly, darkened bags that have accumulated as a result of many sleepless nights. It feels orgasmic, the way you handle him.

“I trust you.” The words are out in the air before he has time to think.

You brighten, sunshine hiding in the crevices of your smile. “You mean that?” You ask him, hands petting down the sides of his neck.

He meant it wholeheartedly. The amount of trust left within Toji was scarce. Too many bad people fucked him for life; showed him the meaning of the phrase ‘trust is earned.’ So it really fucking freaked him out how quickly you came to earn it. A little over a year-–that’s how long he’s known you—you’ve have plenty of time to fuck him over. To batter him. And yet, you haven’t. All you’ve ever shown him was kindness and consideration and warmth and everything else Toji never knew how bad he was thirsty for.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I trust you, too, Toji.”

He wonders if he deserves that. Because really, what has given you besides his annoyingly closed-off dickhead attitude? He provides fuck all, but you still stick around.

Toji doesn’t say anything. He swoops once more, capturing your lips in a hungrier kiss than before. All the playful innocence is tossed aside, forgotten in lieu of Toji’s devastatingly furious need to consume you. Tongues finally greet each other in a spittle-slicked tango; he dominates yours with ease, worming behind your teeth just to collect your sweet flavor. Wine, he thinks. You taste like your goddamn expensive ass wine.

He feels feverish. One-track minded, hyper fixated on you. On your crossed legs underneath the table. “Fuck,” Toji breathes into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip.

Your hand clashes against the hard wall of his chest, patting it softly. A wordless signal that you need some air, so he retracts. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

The plea goes in one ear and falls right out the other. Toji leeches against your neck, dragging the flat of his wet tongue over that little throbbing pulse point. His teeth grate against your flawless skin, completely none the wiser that you’re even talking to him. You thwack the back of his head, and he lurches into the crook of your shoulder, muffling a groan.

“No marks, I’ve got work.”

His eyes roll, face still burrowed against you. He couldn’t give less of a shit about your job right now.

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” “Gimme a sec.” He’s still licking below your jaw, making his way down. This stupidly lavish house had been cursed with three levels, your bedroom holed up at the very top floor. Like hell Toji was going to part ways with your glorious body so you two could safely make it up the two ridiculous staircases. Fuck that.

“Toji, I’m… serious…” Your raucous pants of anticipation suggest otherwise. Toji has sunken to his knees, crawling beneath the table and finding a home on the floor before your seat. His kneecaps scream in discomfort as they pin heavily to the wooden floorboards, but Toji bears the pain well ( he’d always been somewhat of a masochist ). Your legs are still crossed, one knee hinging over the other.

“Open these.” Two calloused hands cuff around the thinnest parts of either ankle. Your legs were conspicuously smooth; did you shave for him? There is an attempt at delicacy when Toji pries your legs apart, and it makes you giggle.

“Here?” You laugh more. Toji suspects you’re patronizing him in a way. “I haven’t even cleared the table. Are you really so impatient?”

And here Toji thought he exercised his patience well. He didn’t jump your bones the second of his arrival. No, he waited like a good boy until after dinner. “I’ve waited for this the whole week.” Restless hands walk up those porcelain calves, strong and lean from working in high heels. They wander up, hooking beneath the junctures of your knees; Toji uses his celestial strength to his advantage, maneuvering both legs with ease until he’s got them resting comfortably over his broad shoulders. Toji turns, cocks his head to give a serpentine lick to the inside of your thigh. Then a bite. “Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll fucking die.”

You peer down at him. “Don’t talk like that.” You feel yourself. Small hands groping your chest, sliding lower and lower. “You’re not going to die.”

His mouth feels sticky, like there’s a spoonful of honey under his tongue. “I might.”

Your heel drives into his upper back, an impish little warning that makes him throb all over. “Don’t talk like that, I said.” Those manicured hands have garnered Toji’s full attention. They descend all the way to the hem of your luxurious dress, wrenching into its hem. It’s the sexiest sight Toji had ever seen: you pulling your dress up with the quickness of a sloth, inching the fabric up until it scrunches around the dip of your waistline.

“These are hot,” he murmurs, thumbing the waistband of the scarlet panties. They were tight, sinking into the ample pudge of your hips and soft tummy. So fucking beautiful, he thinks, the contrast between deep red lace and the flesh of which it lays upon. The perfect, little present gift wrapped in a low-rise lace thong. “Bet they cost a pretty penny.”

You spare a breathy exhale through your nostrils. “I don’t look at price tags when I buy things for you.”

You bought these just for him? “You spoil me.”

“You deserve to get spoiled, baby.”

He is so mind numbingly turned on. Sickening tendrils of appetence bleed into his vision, his lust coils around his limbs and guide his movements like a marionette. Toji thumbs your—his—panties to the side, soaking in the sight of that pretty pussy he’s longed to be back inside of since the moment he pulled out. His face is close, so fucking close that he can feel warmth radiate off your core and deepen his flush.

Perhaps this is how he begins his journey of repayment. Ever indebted to you, despite your odd relationship being a mutually agreed upon situation, Toji fears you’ve truly altered him. For the better or worse he isn’t sure yet; all he knows is that you make him feel good. Better than he’s felt in fucking ages. You said he deserves to get spoiled? Well so do you, too.

Toji eats you with erotic vigor, delving into the deepest parts of your cunt with his lascivious tongue. He’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t possess many skills. He isn’t terribly smart, nor is he gifted with great conversational skills like you. He isn't good at holding a real job. Isn’t very good at expressing himself. Not good at abiding by the law, or staying sober, either. But if ever there was an artistry in which Toji had full confidence he had mastered, it was oral sex.

“Oh, Toji,” you gasped, forcing his face deeper with a hand on the back of his skull. “Right there.”

Toji dug you out, excavating your hole with expertise. One hand slipped up beneath your dress, under your bra, pawing at your breast whilst the other busied itself in his pants. He stroked himself to the heady taste of pussy, fanning your clit with hot puffs of breath. You writhe against his open mouth, hips dancing, hands grabbing.

It’s more enjoyable like this, Toji thinks briefly. To not expect a wad of bills afterward in exchange for his velvet tongue. He eats you for leisure, because he wants to, and because you want him, and no other reason. It’s enough that you both need each other.

Toji groans loosely when you yank his hair, getting off on the way you move his head to your liking. “Suck my clit,” you instruct quietly, and he obliges with upmost obedience, nose nuzzling against the tuft of hair at your pubic bone.

Toji opens his eyes for the first time in a while, then thanks God he did. You look something like a goddess, celestial and righteous in the way your body works against his face. Using him to cure an insatiable desperation, with your lids screwed shut and head tossed back on your shoulders. “Are you gonna cum?” He sits up on his haunches a little taller, a little more alert now to fully experience your orgasm. “Cum in my mouth.”

He begs for it. Begs like a little bitch. Over and over again, mumbling the mantra between rough suctions to your swollen clit. Begging wasn’t like him. His father beat the beggar out of him many years ago, said it was weak to yearn for things so badly. The old man was right, Toji has never felt weaker than he does right now, knelt under the table with his head between your thighs.

“Oh my God.” Your voice is strained thin, each syllable pulled taught. The vice grip on his roots start to sting, follicles ripping from the scalp, but doesn’t tell you to stop. “Toji, fuck you’re so good.”

He’s good.

“You’re so good.”

“Mmn.” He squeezes himself, chokes his dick hard. Toji feels it when you cum. Warmth floods the cavern of his slack mouth, gushing and creamy. You fall silent, stunned by the force of your orgasm he presumes. Toji licks you through your high, guzzling down every drop of wetness that seeps from your spasming slit. It’s hot and gushy and messy; cum dribbles past his lips, collecting in beads that roll down his tensing neck.

Only when you blindly push at his face does Toji part ways with your center, leaning past your trembling hand to nuzzle into your stomach. It’s concave with an ongoing exhale; he nips at your navel. “Breathe.”

“Toji,” you whisper. On the come down, you’re a lot nicer; those needy, grabbing hands of yours now stroked down the tangled mess of his damp shag. He presses a handful of sloppy smooches above your belly button.

The erection trapped in the confines of his pants twitch at the dreadfully angelic drawl of his name. “Good?” His question is gruff and pointless as ever; anyone with eyes could tell you just had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

Your head lolls forward, rolling down to face him. Fingertips brush his chin, collecting the sticky residuals that dampened his stubble. You take your lower lip in between teeth when you bring those same soaked digits to Toji’s open mouth. He doesn’t resist you. Fingers are welcomed; he unhinges his jaw, baring the same holy tongue that just drove you to Heaven. You wipe cum-ridden fingers against the muscle, and Toji clamps around them in a vacuum-esque suction, looking up at you through dark lashes all the while. Your thumb traces the raised flesh on his upper lip. That ugly, jagged scar.

He catches your wrist when you move to flee his mouth, holding you in place. Sucking on you, touching himself along the way. Lapping between fingers, tonguing the thin web of skin there.

“So good, baby boy.” There’s the praise he craved, the praise he played oblivious to get. You claw deeper, jutting towards the back of his throat, pulling a scratchy gag from the man. What kind of fetish was this? You made everything sexy, even whatever this humiliation ritual was; watching him choke down slippery fingers with fat tears bleeding at his waterline. “You are so beautiful, Toji.”

“—oh en nah,” or no I’m not had there not been a barrier blocking his teeth from touching. Toji knows he’s an aged man, one riddled with scars and wounds and bruises and gauges and what have you. His skin is nowhere near perfect, baring disgusting reminders of what he does—who he is. Beautiful is what he’d call someone like you. Someone calm and serene, humble and kind. You’re a beautiful sight, and you’re also the complete and utter opposite of him.

“You are.” He wanted to be inside you for this. Toji had been daydreaming this scenario over and out in his head over the long haul of the week, going through the motions of his plan to fuck you. He’d give you everything tenfold, a barbaric fucking unlike your first time together. He imagined finally showing you his version of things, bending you over the couch first thing and blowing his load deep into your cunt.

Toji choked again, and a single thick tear fell from his lashes. You whispered sweet prayers, holding his face, wiping his eyes, fucking his mouth with fingers that tasted of your cum. It was a damn mystery how you rendered him so fucking pitiful, to be nutting on his knees into his boxers like this. A damn mystery.

His breaths are ragged when he explodes, hand and cock obscured by the sweatpants that sat low around his hips. Toji doesn’t stop pumping, tugging the shaft with long, hard strokes, wringing himself dry. Dark eyes weld shut, and he collapses against your thigh with a quake of exhaustion. Toji doesn’t know when you withdrew your fingers; the only tell that gave it away was the string of saliva that slapped coldly against his chin in the wake of your removal. He mewls, a graveling sound that sounds as if his voice box had been dragged through a sea of razor blades.

“You alright?”

A flowery hand slithers beneath his damp cheek, and suddenly his heavy head is being lifted. Toji is forced to meet your soft gaze; adoration brims in your eyes, as though you’re proud of him for creaming in his briefs like some flimsy virgin.

“Answer me, please.”

Toji smacks his mouth, preparing for his voice to project broken and fragmented. “I’m fine.” He could do without the pity; you were cautious to a fault. He wasn’t made of glass.

“You’re filthy.”

He grumbles, feigning grumpiness and averting his eyes off to the side. “I just had your pussy in my mouth.”

You bend at the waist, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. Toji melts against you, cradling your face with his semen-stained hand. You don’t seem to mind the wetness. He’s pouting against your mouth, childlike. “I wanted to cum inside you.”

You latch onto his nose, nibbling the point. “Let’s go clean up.” There’s a telling smile etched onto your lips, and your mouth finds his ear. Whispering ever so sensually, “I have a big shower in my bedroom.”

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