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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year

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Show me where it hurts (part 2)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

GIF by aenhanse

(AO3 Mirror), Part 1, Main Masterlist

summary: You confront Miguel.

warnings: breeding kink, cum play, animalistic behaviour (not quite ABO), mutual masturbation, dirty talk, praise and degradation, Miguel eats ass like a fucking champ, general filth etc etc. very very 18+, minors dni (and i will b blocking!)

a/n: thank you for all the support for part 1! I will say, all the comments about relationship building and stuff do make me laugh a little bc this part is literally just p0rn with a teensy tiny bit of feelings.. but if you follow me this should be pretty standard by now.

wc: 4k ish

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You let yourself in again, but not until after pounding on the door.

You think he's home, the scent of something in the air. At first glance, his place is empty, but a mess : cushions ripped off the couch, kitchen ransacked of its contents, floor covered in blankets and clothes. It makes you worry: Miguel is so clean it's scary . He would never leave his place like this. You hear something from his bedroom and rush towards it.

He's there, back turned on the bed. But something's wrong. In sweats and a tank top, he's breathing heavily, clutching at the sheets.

"You shouldn't be here." He strains.

Eyes wide, you step closer. Is he in pain? Is he hurt? "Miguel. I just want to help. Did something happen?"

All he does is shake his head, unable to make eye contact with you. "I c-can't let you… please, bichita. It's not safe for you."

Your heart breaks at his helplessness, you get closer, and perch on the bed next to him. He jumps at the hand you place in his shoulder. Fuck. He's drenched in sweat.

"Miguel, please. Let me in… I'd do anything. Just let me help."

He groans with his head in his hands. "I know, bichita. That's the problem. I can't let you…"

You look at him properly now. He's writhing on the sheets, tense and unable to sit still. Guiltily, all you can think is how good he looks; pretty even when his hair sticks to the nape of his neck, when he groans lowly at your presence. Your eyes rake down his body, looking for a secret wound, or something he's hiding. When you spot it, you gasp.

Miguel is rock hard under his sweats. And he is massive.

It clicks. Ashamed, he makes hesitant eye contact with you. "It's not usually this bad. And it gets worse if I'm near someone I'm…" He breathes. "Someone I'm attracted to."

You can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the statement; of the situation. "I think that's just what erections do, Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, too annoyed to be as uneasy for a moment. " No , God, I meant my DNA. There's something wrong with me, something animalistic , that makes it ten times worse. I'm going crazy. Smell, taste, touch… and it doesn't just go away. "

You hum. "And what's your hypothesis?"

He looks at you, a little crazed, but he gets it. If you talk to him like it's one of your status reports, like it's another mission, maybe he can stop thinking about pounding you into the sheets and filling you up with his cum.

He clears his throat. " You . Gets worse when I t-think about you, or you're near."

You've got a hand on his thigh, rubbing circles that go straight to his head.

"What makes it feel better?"

Deep breath. "Touching myself. But I haven't… and I won't-"

"Why?" You smile like a Cheshire cat. Are you… enjoying this?

"I can't. You're a friend and it's a violation of your trust."

"It hurts. You're in pain. I give you full permission to give yourself some relief. You can touch yourself, for me. I want you to feel good."

His hips buck up involuntarily. Just thinking about it is driving him crazy. " Mierda. Stop talking like that-"

"Like what?" You bat your eyelashes.

"Like that ." He hisses. "Like you want to get fucked."

He squeezes his eyes shut, even more guilty. "I'm sorry. That's not appropriate at all. I shouldn't have… snapped like that."

You rub your legs together: you're fucking soaked. Like this, with his senses going crazy, you don't know if he can smell it, taste it in the air. The thought makes you even wetter.

You mumble. "Meant it, Miguel. I just want to watch."

Agonisingly slow, you sink to your knees in front of him. He watches, eyes wide, trying not to lean into it.

"Do you want me to beg? Because I will, if it makes you feel better."

He grabs his crotch, rocking into his palm. You're breaking him down, bit by bit.

"I think you like punishing yourself, Miggy. You think you deserve it. How long have you been like this? Weeks, I bet. When all you needed to do was ask me. I would've helped you over the phone if you wanted it. Told you how to stroke your cock, where to put pressure, asked you if it felt good. Think about how good it would feel. The relief. "

You rock on your heel and it doesn't go unnoticed. You light him on fire, and the thought of you getting off only pushes him closer to the edge. "Can I tell you a secret?" You whisper. He nods fervently. "I've always wanted you in my mouth. Just wanted to know what it would feel like; how pretty you'd look when you cum."

It's too much. His back arches, and he groans, spilling into his sweats. Astounded, you look up. So. Much. Cum. You didn't think a person could physically produce so much, but here he is, coating the inside of his boxers with it. Miguel, however, looks embarrassed: his first orgasm in a week and it's spilling into his trousers in front of a pretty girl like a teenager. He groans, covering his flushed face.

"Can I…?" Your eyes are wide in amazement. Shakily, he nods.

Is it bad for you to say he looks just like you imagined? Tan, long and with a bit of girth, and under all the cum he seems well-groomed. He's still half hard, which is impressive considering the sheer amount of cum splattered everywhere. Probably, he has the prettiest cock you've ever seen. As you pull down his boxers, your very obvious glee makes him pause.

"...you like this?" He seems genuinely confused, and it makes you giggle. You've flustered him, yet again.

Resting a head on his thigh, you look up at him through innocent lashes. Your other hand swipes cum off his tip, making his cock jump. "Could ask you the same. You're still hard."

"I can't believe…" He mutters. "You're gonna kill me."

"What do you want, Miguel?" You put a hand on his length, rubbing up and down ever so slightly. "You want to get off?"

"I want…" It makes him grunt all the same. He goes from wayward glances to looking you straight in the eyes. " You . I want you."

"How do you want me?" Deceptively innocent, you coax his length back to full mast with your hand.

How do you want me? There are a thousand thoughts flying through his head, and his brows tense with the weight of them. Head back, he leans into your touch. He doesn't want to scare you, with the way he's been thinking about that question long before you asked: weeks, months, years before now. You see him hesitate, and bite his lip.

Your hands still and he cries out, cursing the loss of warmth. "M'not asking again." A little softer now. "No judgement, Miggy. I just want to help."

Deep breath. "Anyway I can. Wanna fill you up with my cum. On top. U-Underneath. Mierda. I want your mouth. I want your sweet cunt. I-"

You silence him with a moan when you envelope his cock with your mouth. You close your eyes in bliss as you bob up and down. Just the tip, teasing , and he's already addicted. With a pop, you separate, pressing sticky kisses and kitten-licks to his shaft and torso. He can't take his eyes off of you: peeking up at him through wispy lashes, licking up his cum.

Pretty, plump lips smack at his tip obscenely. He can't help but think about how well it suits you; mouth around his cock like something holy. Precum pours from his slit and you lap it up, chasing his moans. Your own moans vibrate deliciously around him and he wraps a hand in your hair. Finally. You want him to enjoy this, to lean into your head-bobbing, and force your head down onto his dick. You want to feel him in the back of your throat, bullying into the warmth of your mouth and moulding you into the shape of him.

It starts with a little pressure at the back of your neck, deceptively subtle as he rocks his hips into your face. Making eye contact, you look up and feel your pussy clench around nothing. His eyes are lidded, gorgeous, mouth slightly parted and tongue darting out to wet rosy lips.

"You want it, hermosa ?" His voice has a different texture to it: deep and wanting and needy.

As best you can, you nod, humming affirmations around his cock. Oh God, of course you do. You want him; anyway you can, anyway he'll let you, more than he'll ever know.

He pushes you down, hard, cock hitting the back of your throat like a piston. You gurgle and choke around him, throat tightening in a way that makes him melt. You force yourself deeper, hot tears welling up at the corners of your eyes. Your hands claw at his thighs, nails digging so tight into the fabric you think he might bleed. Winding a hand down to your heat, you press your palm into that sweet spot at your clit and Miguel watches, hungry.

"Oh fuck , you feel so good. I'm gonna– m-mierda – m'gonna cum."

With a final tug, he pushes you down so your nose brushes at the curly hairs leading down to his cock, spilling into you with vigour. It pours down your throat and you drink it up with pleasure.

"All gone?" He asks, panting with exertion. In response, you open up your mouth, sticking out your pink tongue so he can inspect it. He stirs when he realises just how cock drunk you are: nary a trace of him left on your tongue.

Slowly, he brings a thumb to your mouth, and watches intently as you swirl it around, and suck on it keenly. The pressure makes him light headed, other hand reaching for your waist to pull you up. And pull you up he does, turning you around so he can take off your suit and have you seated on his lap, where you belong.

You let him, shrugging off the top half of the suit as he pulls down your zipper. Surprisingly gentle, he traces the slope of your shoulders, and down to your bare ass. He groans. No underwear, because of course , you want to kill him. You want him to die, pussy-whipped and half-hard. He pushes you towards the wall, back pressed flush against him. He drags his fangs across your neck and whispers into the shell of your ear, making your whole body shiver.

"Once I start," He kneads your ass, grinding his cock against you. You gasp. He's still hard. "M'not gonna be able to stop. And it's not going to be sweet, bichita . You leave now and I won't be angry . I–I'll give you space, whatever you want."

" Miguel," Head back, you moan into his touch, dragging his hand towards your slit, hoping he’ll relieve the pressure at your pussy. "I want it to hurt. I want to feel it tomorrow– fuck– f-feel it when I walk and know it was you . Need it. Need you , please-"

He bites into your shoulder, and you moan wantonly, back arching into his length. He places your hand on the wall, palms flat. Like the chaser after a burning shot, he soothes haphazard squeezes down your back with his mouth. Hot, messy kisses, as he sinks to his knees. He forces you to hinge at the hip. Breasts pushed against the cool wall, you gasp when you feel him spread the globes of your ass as he presses his tongue to your hole. He licks the length of your slit, and like a slut, you lean into it.

"Prettiest cunt I've ever seen, hermosa." He brings his hand to your clit, giving you a wet slap as he watches you shudder. Again, and again, until you cry out.

" Miguel, fuuuck."

How has he gone his whole life without hearing you say his name like that? Yet again, he almost cums in his pants, loosely shoved over his aching length. All he can do is watch as your holes flutter and clench around nothing, mesmerised.

"You'd look even prettier filled with my cum, hmm?" He presses a sticky kiss to your puckered asshole, before easing his tongue inside. One hand holding you open, the other comes to play with your pussy, swirling your wetness around your throbbing clit.

He tongue-fucks you with fervour, like a man starved: only coming up for air to babble obscenities.

"Tan bonita, bichita." Slowly, he eases his fingers into your cunt, scissoring them open and shut. He wants to break you apart with only his hands, if you'd let him. "So pretty– fuck. So soft, baby. Beautiful."

You're close and he knows it, fucking yourself on his fingers and face like a bitch in heat. Undeterred, he brings a thumb to your clit pressing down with juust the right amount of pressure.

"Wanna feel it, hermosa . Can you cum for me? All over my fingers like a good girl, just like that, así de simple."

With the way he paws at your pussy, all you can do is clench around his fingers. He guides you through a shaking, biting orgasm, licking up your cum with a flourish. Even with shaky legs you manage to turn around and pull Miguel up, and he follows eagerly. He looks fucked out already, eyes low and lips swollen with your slick. He motions to strip, stretching his tank top across the expanse of his chest and letting his cock spring free from his sweats. When you move to help him, he stops you, moving your hand from his tank to his solid torso beneath. He wants you to touch him; to feel your soft palm run across his skin, and sink into the warmth of your body.

One hand at your waist, he presses you against the wall, grinding his cock to your clit. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and they fit like they belong there. Close, impossibly close, and his pupils are blown, wide. It's like he can't decide what he wants to do to you, sharp red eyes darting over your lips, your neck, down to the juncture where you both meet. A paralysis of choice, and all he can do is drink you up in the low light.

And so, you make a choice for him, lips crashing against his, hand snaking around to guide his cock into your hole. He sinks into you - finally - and you swallow his moans in the aftermath. He's slow to start, eyes screwed shut as he gets used to how tight you are around him. Slowly, he rocks into you, the heat of his palm steady at the crook of your back.

Miguel opens his eyes, caging you in with his other arm. He's testing the waters, angling his hips to find the spot that makes you tick.

"I didn't-" He breathes. "Didn't think it would be like this."

You look at him in your haze, brows knitted.

"I thought that when I finally fucked you, it would be more romantic." He gives you a strained chuckle and warm smile. "This is better in some ways, though."

"Better , Miggy?"

"Real." Your cunt flutters around him, and his pace stutters. Not once does he break eye contact, something swirling beneath the surface. "Not in my head. God , that sounds pathetic."

You giggle into the crook of his shoulder. It shouldn't be possible, but his eyes soften even more. And then, his expression changes into something dangerous.

"I can't do this just once, bichita. You can't give me a taste and then take it away. Es cruel, mi vida."

As if to punctuate his point, you feel his tip slam into that spongy spot in your walls. His strokes become more calculated, punishing and exact, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout your body.

"Miguel – fuck– that's not fair- "

"Can't keep humping my hand como un perro , like a dumb dog, anymore." He brings both his palms to your ass, spreading you apart, and pulling you up onto his dick so your toes barely touch the floor. The slap of your ass against his thighs and heavy balls fill the room, pornographic in nature.

"Let-" Smack. " Me-" Smack. " Fill-" Smack. " This-" Smack. " Cunt. " Smack.

You babble into his ears, affirmations and praise that makes his heart and cock swell.

'So pretty, Miguel. Yours. All yours." You rake your hands through his hair, harshly tugging him closer in a way that makes him burn up. Clenching around his length, you wrap your legs around his waist. He barely falters, pulling away from the wall and slamming into you regardless. You've seen him like this before; fiery determination that flares up on a tough mission. Tunnel vision: a razor-sharp resolve that has manifested itself in a man hellbent on your pleasure.

"Miguel. Miguel, I-" I love you, I love you, I love you, I- " -wan' you to cum with me. Deep, please."

Now, his pace gets sloppy, hips stilling to drive himself as deep as you asked; so you can feel him long after you separate. Hot, sticky cum pumps into you and his balls strain with the effort of it. You claw your hand against his back, trailing delicious marks with your nails. When you clamp around him, you swear you see his eyes roll back - lost in the bliss of your cunt. Together, you come down from the high, bare chests panting against one another.

"Don't look at me like that." His lips graze yours, soft and plush. You stretch your chin upwards, chasing the trace of a kiss he refuses to give to you. Eventually he relents, leaning into a sweet kiss, arm wrapped around your waist.

He pulls himself off of you with a wet smack, gently carrying you to his bed. He places you in his sheets and you look beautiful, blissful, and fucked out. Cum drips onto your thighs and he feels a pang of possessiveness. His cum. His baby.

Clambering in to spoon you, he can't help but paw at your pussy, using his fingers to stuff his cum back into you, tracing lazy circles on your thigh with his other hand.

"I'm on birth control, Miggy. So no need to worry." You snuggle into his touch, bare skin against one another.

"Wasn't worried." He grunts, sounding almost disappointed. You catch his tone, intrigued.

"No harm in trying," You lilt, turning around to place your palms flat on the wide span of his chest. "You wanna fuck a baby into me?"

Nodding, he groans, head back into the pillow, and you push him onto his back. Pussy throbbing, you straddle his hips; thighs tight around his middle. You can feel him growing harder in the slick of your slit.

You arch into him, tender hand around his throat. It's a sight he won't forget easily: you on top of him, the gloom of the night tracing the swell of your tits. An angel, all the same. You whisper something into his ear that gives him goosebumps; a full body chill that goes straight to his cock. "My turn, bichito."

~~~

"You never called." Miguel says, laying his head next to yours, after wiping you down with a clean towel. He hands you a spare shirt of his, and you put it on, self-conscious.

The two of you had fucked well into the night, making good on your promises. His stamina was relentless, pumping load after load into you, pussy-drunk and babbling. There was an intensity there that couldn't be explained: one that made both of you crazy for one another, burning you out between the silky sheets of his bed. Something you had initially attributed to his rut, whatever he had called it, but desperately hoped it was something more. How could this be just sex? After everything you had said and done, it would crush you: to taste the forbidden fruit and have it snatched away just as easily.

You had both laid there for a bit, afterwards, cock softening in you. Plugging up his cum, he had said, but it felt more intimate in the quiet calm of his bedroom.

"You didn't either." You throw back at him.

"That's not th-"

"I know, I know. It just felt weird, s'all." You turn from him, looking up at the ceiling. Counting the mottles and marks in your head, suddenly shy. After all the filthy things you've said and done to him, he still makes you shy. "I thought I did something wrong."

His heart breaks. "No, no , it wasn't-"

"Not just today. Last time…a-and the time before that, honestly. We see each other less. You're always busy with something. Felt like you were avoiding me." Rubbing your temples, you sigh. "S'why I cut some corners on the mission. Made mistakes. I thought if I did well, and we had something to talk about…"

"Mierda." You can't bring yourself to look at him, to see the disappointment in his scarlet eyes. But it isn't disappointment, and it’s not directed at you.

"I wanted to call, but I didn't. Because I didn't think you would answer." Finally, you turn to see his brows knitted: swirling with shame, guilt, sadness. Quickly you add, "I mean, I know why now. I think. And it's really on me, I should've said something or-"

"I just… I didn't know what to do with it." He takes your hand in his, squeezing tight.

"...I don't understand."

"All this love I have for you." He says, impossibly soft. "I didn't know what to do with it."

You know him like the back of your hand and you've heard it all: angry, snarky, giddy, beautiful Miguel O'Hara. But this? Confirmation of the feelings you've held for years at this point, dismissed during late nights and pored over during lonely ones - this?

"And I didn't think you felt the same way, how could you? You're beautiful, and smart, and you have this… way of making people burn as bright as you. So I poured myself into work. That's all I know how to do, bichita. Work. Suffocate under everything. You don't deserve it."

With the way he says it; resigned, matter-of-fact; you want to cry. Still, he hangs on to the notion that he must earn it : that his claws are too sharp and fangs too bloody for redemption. For love, for life, for good things. Miguel O'Hara; doing what needs to be done. Alone, always.

You come closer to cup his chin, to make sure he's looking at you. There can be no ambiguity, no gray area when you say what you want to say.

"You don't tell me what to do, O'Hara . " You press a kiss to his cheek, and another to trembling lips. "I decide what I deserve. No-one else does, not even you."

"It's not like you listen to me, anyway." He says with a shaky smile.

Sitting up slightly on your forearms, you place your head up on his chest. Listening to the steady thump-thump of his heart. You don't need your super senses to know that he's alive, that he's here. The look in his eyes; you couldn't explain it if you wanted to.

"Bichita." You say, out of the blue. No doubt due to your poor pronunciation, he winces. "What does it mean?"

Clicking his tongue, he waves it off. " Very vulgar, you don't want to know. I mean, I shouldn't really-"

"Hmm." Shaking your head, you feign ignorance. "It's just that Lyla said it meant sweetheart, or little bug... terms of endearment, I think was the phrase."

"She said that?" He frowns. "Lyla's filling your head with nonsense, m'afraid. It's sarcastic. Post-ironic, metatextual… it comes across completely different in Spanish, mi vida."

"Post-ironic? That's not even the second most pretentious thing you've said today…" Giggling, you bury your head into his chest.

"Of course not. I reserve my best stuff for you."

"Real classy, O'Hara. Bet you say that to all the poor women that end up in your bed."

"Nope." He hums. "Just the ones I've been in love with for the past two years."

He pulls you closer, smiling into light kisses on your shoulder, the fat of your stomach, your thighs, on your cheek. Kisses everywhere, anywhere he can reach.

"Just you, bichita." He breathes into your skin. "Only you ."

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#i lied lmao #lots of feelings #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 x reader

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zarameraki · 5 months

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˖°🦇 ࣪𖤐 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 ˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mention of suicide 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 bodyguard x senator’s daughter 𖥔 porn with plot 𖥔 banter 𖥔 sarcastic mmc x fmc who’s tired of his bs 𖥔 neck kissing 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 praise 𖥔 soft toji 𖥔 biting 𖥔 nipple play 𖥔 toji’s not an ass for the first time 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔 dirty talking 𖥔 bathtub sex 𖥔 small pillow talk 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 5.9k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this is my first one-shot and of course it had to be about my favourite unhinged man. i promise it’s good, y’all. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

You hated being the senator’s daughter—burdened by the title you never chose. Despite the grandeur that surrounded you, you despised the life you were born into. The opulent dinners, the endless social events, and the constant scrutiny from the public were chains that bound your spirit.

If you had any spirit left to spare.

You yearned for a life of your own, away from the suffocating expectations that came with your father's political stature. You resented the polished façade you had to maintain, the carefully crafted image that hid your true self. The constant presence of the media felt like an unrelenting spotlight, casting darkness over your desire for anonymity.

The large ballroom was ablaze with sparkling lights and the murmur of conversations mingled with the soft strains of a live jazz band. You found herself at the center of attention, a reluctant participant in the grand social affair, unwillingly cornered by a persistent suitor your mother had chosen from the roster. Apparently, his family wealth and business ventures were the most fascinating topics he could think of.

You wore a forced smile and desperately sought a way out of the conversation. Your eyes darted across the room, searching for an escape route.

". . . you see, our corporation has been at the forefront of innovation for decades," the suitor boasted, gesturing expansively with his hands. "We practically built this city. My great-grandfather was a visionary, and my father has expanded our influence globally. I'm destined to take it to even greater heights."

“How wonderful,” you muttered. The suffocating aura of the suitor’s self-importance lingered in the air. Just as he reached out to place a possessive hand on your arm, a deep, graveling voice cut through the conversation.

“Careful,” warned Toji. His eyes, sharp and vigilant, locked onto your suitor’s hand, which froze in mid-air. “Take a step back, and we won’t have a problem.”

The suitor, momentarily taken aback, withdrew his hand with an affected chuckle. "Ah, my apologies. I was only admiring your bracelet. It's exquisite, really."

You shot Toji a glare as you replied, "Thank you for your compliment. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be returning home now. Senatorial matters to attend to, you understand."

His eyes narrowed, and he attempted to regain control of the situation. "But surely, darling, you wouldn't want to miss the grand finale of the evening. There's a surprise performance that my connections secured."

Before you could respond, Toji stepped forward, a stern expression on his face. "The evening is over, Mr. Mahito. She has other obligations to fulfill."

Mr. Mahito, a name you’d forgotten at his ‘hello,’ glared at Toji but wisely chose not to challenge the imposing figure. With a forced smile, he nodded and said, "Of course, I understand. Until next time."

As if.

Toji couldn't help but scoff under his breath, earning a side glance from you. "Does he ever run out of compliments for himself?"

You sighed. "He's harmless, Mr. Zenin. Just trying to impress, that’s all."

"Harmless, maybe, but annoying as fuck."

You eyed Toji with curiosity. "Why the sudden interest in my love life, Mr. Zenin? Jealousy, perhaps?"

He smirked, a rare hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "Jealousy? Princess, I guarantee you, I'm far too professional for such bullshit.”

You shot him a playful glance. "You know, if you were a little less broody and a bit more charming, you might have a chance."

His facade cracked, and a genuine smile played on his lips, that scar stealing your attention again. "Charm has its time and place.” He opened the back door of the limousine and nudged you inside. “I prefer to keep you safe."

Toji was insufferable just as he was tall. Dressed in a compressed black t-shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and chiseled torso, he exuded an air of quiet intensity. The long, dark tendrils of his hair poked his half-hooded eyes that always carried a mist of amusement. He was a silent guardian who navigated seamlessly between your shadows and the limelight.

You remember the first day your father had introduced your newly assigned bodyguard. All you could do was ogle the devilishly handsome man and pray your father and his security detail didn’t hear you swallow too hard or sit with your legs clenched together.

You appreciated the fact that he was fantastic at his job. At least in the first couple of months. But after you’d started your fourth year at university, Toji practically glued himself to you.

It was like he was your shadow, and you couldn’t escape. You get it, Dad was a senator, and security is essential, but did they have to assign you the clingiest bodyguard on the planet?

You’d gone on a blind date a few weeks back with yet another pretentious finance head, and Toji had himself stationed on the table adjacent to yours. When your date had stepped out to use the bathroom, Toji leaned over the table, and you remember how his biceps had flexed and that infuriating smirk played at his lips.

"Princess," he drawled, using that irritating nickname he's given you. As if being the daughter of a senator automatically made you royalty. "You should smile more. It might help with those lines forming on your forehead."

You hoped he choked on his own smugness.

But then there were those moments when the loneliness crept in, and the isolation became too much to bear. In those moments, his sarcastic banter was a lifeline, a distraction from the weight of your responsibilities. You found yourself craving the very company you claimed to detest.

You caught him smirking as you glanced in the rearview mirror, and for a moment, you forgot about the suffocating expectations, the political games, and the constant surveillance.

It's just you and Toji.

The soft hum of the elevator filled the air as you and Toji stepped into the sleek, mirrored enclosure leading up to your apartment. You looked like you had just stepped out of a battle with a jungle cat. Your eyes, once vibrant, were now shadowed with fatigue, and your normally impeccable hair fell in disarray around your shoulders.

You sighed, the weariness evident. "I can't believe this day. Non-stop meetings, interviews, endless parties, and galas. I feel like I've been running a marathon in heels."

"Well, at least you made it out in one piece, Princess."

You fired him a tired glare. "Don't call me that. You know I hate it."

"Sure thing, Your Highness," he replied, a teasing edge in his voice.

As the elevator smoothly ascended, your legs wobbled, and you swayed slightly. Without thinking, you reached out for support, your hand landing on Toji’s muscular arm. He felt the sudden weight and turned to look at you, eyebrows raised to the roof.

"Whoa there, easy," he said, his voice softer than before.

You blushed an outlandish shade of red. "I'm sorry. I'm just so exhausted. I didn't mean to—"

Toji cut you with a grin, his tone filled with mock concern. "Princess, if you're going to faint, at least do it gracefully. No need to ruin my reputation as the best bodyguard in town."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile played on your lips. "I'm not going to faint. Just a moment of weakness. That’s possible for even women like me, you know."

He chuckled. "Well, weak moments can be dangerous, especially in this line of work. You never know who might take advantage."

The elevator pinged, announcing their arrival at your floor. You straightened up, a renewed sense of determination in your eyes. "Thanks for the concern, tough guy, but I'll manage." You punched in the key code of your apartment door, the security light flashing green. "You can head home now. I’ll be fine from here."

"Oh, absolutely, Princess. But you know the drill—protocol and all. Can't leave the precious cargo unattended until it's safely delivered to its destination."

Your patience was wearing thin as you turned and brushed chests with the jester in black. “Mr. Zenin, for the hundredth time, I don't need an escort to my front door. I can handle myself."

Toji chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "Sure, sure. But what if a rogue pigeon attacks you on your way in? Or a gust of wind blows too hard, and you lose your balance? It's a treacherous world out there."

“We are indoors. There’s no rogue pigeons or a windstorm.”

Toji wore his stubbornness alongside his pride. “Just doin’ my job.”

You sighed, realizing arguing with him was futile. "Fine, come in if it makes you feel better, but then you're leaving."

"Sure," he said, holding the door open with a flourish as you entered the sterile, monochromatic apartment. From the high ceilings to the marble flooring, it was all your mother’s idea. For God’s sake, it was your apartment. You wanted earthly tones, Persian rugs, and a cat. A European tabby. You have wanted it since the day you were born because being an only child was like living in a house full of ghosts.

Your heels hit the floor with a muted thud, and your shawl cascaded down in a haphazard swirl as you brushed it off your shoulders. You sunk into the plush armrest of the couch, sighing deeply as you closed your eyes, attempting to shake off the fatigue that clung to you like a second skin. You were beginning to regret the three glasses of champagne to tune out tonight’s event.

"So, I’m guessing you’ve got another glamorous night in the political arena tomorrow, huh?" Toji asked.

You opened your eyes, your gaze meeting his, and managed a weak smile. "You have no idea. Sometimes, I feel like I'm caught in a never-ending dance of smiles and handshakes."

He pushed himself off the doorframe and strolled toward you. "Well, lucky for you, I'm a decent dance partner. Just not sure about my smile and handshake skills."

You wanted to tell him he had a nice smile, that the scar really added a touch of mystery to him—a mystery that kept you on your toes. He also had really large hands that you found yourself staring at during meetings or drives.

You ran a hand through your hair, loosening a few strands that framed your face. Toji’s eyes lingered on you, a subtle appreciation in his stare. Without thinking, he stepped in front of you, his fingers gently tucking the stray hair behind your ear.

"You've got a talent for getting yourself into these messes, Princess," he remarked, his voice low and intimate. His touch lingered, brushing against your cheek and then down to your neck. Unintentionally, his fingers traced the soft skin.

Your breath caught, the unexpected contact sending a shiver down your spine. You met his eyes, finding a silver of vulnerability in his usually cheeky behavior. For a moment, the air crackled with an unspoken tension. Toji, realizing the accidental breach of boundaries, withdrew his hand, mumbling, "Got a bit carried away there."

Your tired eyes softened with a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. "It's okay, Mr. Zenin. Just . . . let's just chalk it up to exhaustion.”

He straightened up. "Yeah, exhaustion. That's exactly it."

Nodding, you stood from your spot and awkwardly patted his shoulder. “You can see yourself out."

He raised a fascinated brow at the gesture, the scar curling up in a half-smile.

As you made your way upstairs to the bedroom, you couldn't shake the feeling of Toji’s calloused fingertips circling from your ear, knuckles softly brushing your cheekbone and down to your neck. The sensation lingered, sending shivers down your spine.

You entered the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth building within you, turning on your bathtub’s faucet. The running water drowned out your racing thoughts as you undressed. Your fingers traced the curves of your body, and your eyes, filled with self-doubt, studied your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The image staring back at you was proof of years of dieting imposed by your mother's relentless pursuit of the perfect political image.

You sighed, shoulders slumping, yet the boulders of burden settled upon them refused to fall. As you raised your head, you caught a glimpse of someone in the reflection behind you. “What the f—” A chill ran down your spine as you turned around, heart pounding.

There, in the doorway, stood Toji, his green gaze fixed on your face.

“What the hell are you doing here?" you demanded, wrapping your arms protectively around your breasts, hand covering your lower region.

Toji’s eyes softened, his usual sarcasm substituted by concern. "I heard you talking to yourself. Thought you might need some company."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That's not an invitation to barge in!"

“I'm your bodyguard, and part of my job is to make sure you're secure, even if it means guarding you in your own bathroom.”

“I'm perfectly safe in my own bathroom. Besides, you're not my babysitter."

Obviously, he ignored you and took a step closer to the tub, his eyes never leaving yours. He turned off the faucet just as the water was at the perfect level. His hand dipped in the steaming water. “Hot.”

“Oh my god, get out!”

“Get in.”

“What?”

“Get your ass in the tub.”

You rolled your eyes but didn't back down. "I'm not getting into that bathtub with you hovering over me like a hawk."

Toji sighed exasperatedly.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by a crack in his patience. "What's so urgent that you can't leave me alone for five minutes?"

He hesitated for a moment before smirking. "I want to wash your hair."

"Wash my hair?" you echoed.

"Yeah. I heard it's the latest trend in personal security."

You shouldn’t have chuckled, but you did anyway. Everything about this situation had blown out of proportion, escalated from zero to a million, and put an interesting mark on your otherwise professional relationship with your bodyguard.

Toji extended his hand, a silent invitation. You were at his beck and call in five seconds, lowering your hands from your bare body, and not once did he check you out. However, the tick in his jaw and the subtle flare of his nostrils easily gave him away. You accepted his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours—his touch was firm yet gentle. You gingerly stepped into the embrace of the steaming water, sinking low until it covered your shoulders.

Toji wet your hair before squeezing a handful of shampoo into his palm, his hands strong yet gentle as he began to work the lather into your hair. His fingers moved in rhythmic circles, massaging your scalp with a skill that spoke of experience. The sensation of his touch, combined with the warm water, created a cocoon of comfort. The tension in your shoulders seemed to melt away, replaced by a strange but welcome calm.

"Seriously, though, why are you doing this?” you asked. “Bodyguards aren't typically known for their hairdressing skills."

Toji flashed a wry grin. "Rumor has it that a well-groomed princess is a happy princess. Plus, it's in the fine print of the bodyguard handbook—section 37, subsection B: 'Haircare Duties.'"

“But I’m not a princess.”

“Not to me,” he murmured.

As the water streamed down your back, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the tranquility of his caretaking. "Mr. Zenin," you whispered, your voice a gentle hum, "this is a side of you I never knew existed."

He chuckled softly, continuing to pour water over your hair. "I wear many hats, Princess. Tonight, I'm just Toji."

Your eyes opened, meeting his gaze. “Toji.”

He paused for a moment, his hands still in your hair. The only sound was the rhythmic patter of lingering water droplets leaving the faucet. You could feel the shift in his demeanor, a subtle tenseness that hadn't been there before. It was as if the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.

He cleared his throat, a nervous habit you had never noticed before. “First time you’ve said my name.”

Oh.

In a daring move, Toji let his fingers linger on your neck, his touch feather-light. Your breath hitched in your throat, or maybe it was his hand curling around your trachea that stopped it. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours. If he kissed you now, you would never look at your bathtub as a source of taking your own life again. If he kissed you now, you would never look at him the same again. If he kissed you now, you’d drown in it. It would be the only time you willingly would without coming back up for air at the last minute.

Your hand reached up and cupped the back of his head as a green sign. Toji leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. The world seemed to hold its breath as he lingered there for a moment. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, he parted your mouth with his tongue, seeking permission, and you welcomed him wholeheartedly.

But as quick as the kiss happened, the quicker he pulled back.

“Fuck.”

Your heart sunk.

Fuck, indeed.

Confusion and hurt flickered across your face as you struggled to comprehend the sudden twist in your actions. You hadn't considered the consequences, the potential risks that a romantic entanglement could pose to both of you. The weight of your privilege and his responsibility pressed heavily on both of your shoulders. "Toji, I thought . . .”

He suddenly stood, and you reached out with your hand, grazing his arm, frightened that he was going to walk away and leave you wallowing alone in your guilt. "Well, well," he drawled, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sardonic smile. Slowly, he tilted your chin up with a gentle touch. "I never thought I'd see the day when the senator's daughter would be so desperate for her bodyguard's attention."

A flush of embarrassment crept up on your cheeks, and you tried to pull away, but Toji’s grip on your chin remained firm.

“Desperation suits you, Princess," he continued, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite place. "But remember, we're playing with fire here."

"You're one to talk, Mr. Zenin. Who kissed who first?"

His laughter echoed throughout the bathroom. "Touché, sweetheart. Touché."

You lowered your eyes, hugging your knees to your chest. “Whatever. You can leave now.”

“Leave? Not a fucking chance.” Toji’s boisterous laugh made you jump. He started taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. “It’s your turn to wash my hair.”

“W-What?”

He responded by unbuckling his belt and lowering his trousers, leaving him in his boxer briefs. Your hands covered your eyes when he was completely naked and incredibly erect. “What, you’ve never seen a naked man before, Princess?”

“Once,” you mumbled. You weren’t a virgin, a secret only you knew. It was during the first-year of university when you’d hooked up with one of your mother’s best friend’s son. Both your families had high hopes of an engagement, but you were against the idea. Thank goodness for that. He’d lasted about five minutes into the sex before collapsing on top of you. It was a painful disaster.

“You just signed a man’s death wish,” Toji said, settling into the tub with you. The water sloshed around him, cascading over the edges of the tub and creating small puddles on the marble floor.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” you whisper breathlessly.

"Taking a bath? Now, now, sweetheart. Don’t be mean." He reclined against the tub's porcelain edge, the water clinging to the contours of his muscular frame. “Why are you so far away? Come here.”

Your body defied your intentions as it glided away from the corner, moving towards him. His left leg extended while the right one bent, with the cap of his knee emerging from the water. Your small hand cradled it, guiding you closer until you were seated just inches away from his erection.

Toji splashed water over your face, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“Toji!”

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.” He tilted his head back, accentuating the chiseled contours of his jaw. His chest resonated with laughter. “You’re so pretty when you blush for me.” His large hand slithered to your nape and tugged you forward, claiming your lips in a feverish, powerful kiss, where his teeth pulled your bottom lip and sucked on it. It frustrated you that, once again, he broke away first, leaving you to whimper. “Turn around. On all fours.”

The questions fizzled out on your tongue. “Are you going to . . .”

“Fuck you?” He arched an eyebrow, the damp strands of his hair swaying in sync with the tilt of his head. “Fuck yes.” His lashes lowered, giving his eyes a dangerously dark glint. “Unless you don’t want me—”

“No!” The words slipped out before you could stop them. “No, I never . . . I want you to.”

“To what?”

Oh, he was really a dick. “I . . . want you to fuck . . me.”

He wet his bottom lip. “How do you want me to fuck you, sweet girl?”

Your chest rose and fell in synchrony with the ebb and flow of the situation. “I don’t know. I’ve only had sex once.”

“Baby, there’s a major difference between having sex and being fucked.”

On cue, your legs instinctively clenched in an attempt to find relief. “Are you clean?”

Toji raked his fingers through his hair and made a spinning gesture with his finger. Your body followed the motion, turning away from him and gripping the tub’s edge. “Wanna know a secret, Princess?”

“Uh, sure.”

The heat emanating from his chest pressed against your back. “I got a check-up the day I was assigned to you.” A sentence that visibly made you shudder. Of course, the insufferable bastard had planned this circumstance ahead. “I knew that sooner or later, I’ll have the senator’s daughter naked and needy underneath me. That I’ll have my cock buried deep within the tight walls of her sweet, sweet pussy, as she milks every last bit of my come. That I’ll watch as it drips out her hole and down her soft thighs.” He extended his arm and delicately lifted the drain plug with his fingers, allowing the water to gracefully swirl away from the bathtub. “I jerked off to the thought almost every night.”

“So, you accepted this job just to get a chance to sleep with me?” Your confidence tanked, and your body prepared itself to leave the tub. “Go to hell—”

Toji wrapped his palm around your hair three times, pulling it taut as he drew you back, pressing you firmly against his chest. “I wasn’t finished talking.”

“Let me go!”

“Know what I do when I escort you to your apartment, Princess?” He wasn’t gentle with cuffing his hands around your neck, immediately silencing you. “I wait like a fucking dog outside until you’re asleep. Then, I walk back in, clean up around your kitchen and living room because you’re too tired to do your chores, and after playing your maid, I tuck you into bed. I watch you sleep, even letting you hold onto my hand, until the moon exchanges for the sun. And I’ve been doing this for the past six fucking months.” He jerks your head to the side, his glare cold and cutting. “So, no, Princess, I didn’t accept this damn job to fuck you. This was just a side perk.”

"Oh," was all you could manage to say. The mystery behind the polished kitchen sink, the mugs and dishes neatly stowed away, the meticulously organized closet, and the unexpected peaceful nights of sleep settling within you finally unraveled. The source of your newfound stability, one that encouraged you to gradually wean off your anti-anxiety medication, was none other than your bodyguard who, unbeknownst to you, had been quietly tending to your well-being in the shadows.

Toji's gruff voice murmured near your ear, interrupting your contemplation. "You're mine, not only in body but in soul, sweet girl. No one—absolutely no-fucking-one—gets to lay a finger on you when I'm around. I won't let you out of my sight, not even for a moment."

You nod, curving your cheek and giving him a simple, soft kiss. “Will you wash me afterward?”

“Every time.”

“Will you sleep alongside me?”

“Every night.”

“And day?”

“Every day.”

“You promise?”

Toji didn’t answer, and you didn’t want to push the fantasy any further given your roles.

You’d made up your mind and rested your head back on his shoulder, a smile naturally splaying at your lips. “Don’t hold back, big guy.”

Toji kissed the side of you neck and nudged you forward so you were gripping the tub’s edge once again. His calloused, rough hand ran down your spine and settled on one-half of your ass. “So soft here.” He delivered a forceful slap, firmly grasping the flesh between his nails, stretching your skin taut, then spanking you again and again and again until your pussy was practically salivating for his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so wet already, baby.” He spat on his fingers and slipped through the slit of your soaking pussy, circling your swollen clit in fast motions. “When’s the last time anyone’s fucked this neglected pussy? Made you spread your legs and rubbed your pretty, puffy clit?” You moaned and broke into choppy gasps, pushing your ass closer to his fingers. “Your private tutor didn’t teach you a lesson on patience?”

“Toji, please.”

“Shh. I know, I know.” He mocked your desperation, gathering your hair in his fist. “Let’s see how many fingers my sweet girl can take.” Toji drove in two digits before you could blink, a maniacal chuckle escaping him as he skillfully moved them in and out, savoring the sounds of your pleasure-filled cries. “Yes, baby. Oh, yes. One more, okay?” His ring finger forced itself in, eliciting a groan from both of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He rested his thick fingers inside your warmth for a minute, feeling you clench and suck him in.

“Toji— Too much—”

“Not enough, sweet girl.” He began moving, easily hitting the spot that had your toes curling inwards. “You can take it, baby. I know you can take it.” You proved him by grinding back on his palm. “That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Such a good girl.” The squelching sounds crowded the bathroom, your release seeping out of you without you knowing. You cried out as he relentlessly thrusted his digits, gathering your sticky mess on his fingers and bringing it to your lips. “Taste how sweet you are.”

Your mouth covered his slick, white-coated fingers, tongue wrapping around them and suckling them deep towards the recesses of your throat. The sounds of you gagging made him grunt and sink his fingers ever further before pulling them out abruptly, strings of your saliva and release bridging the space in between.

Toji, with a sly grin, licked his fingers clean, shooting a playful wink at your flushed and flustered demeanor. “Delicious.”

Arm around your waist, Toji easily carried you back and turned you around so you were facing him, straddling his sturdy thighs. A rugged exhale escaped his lips, akin to someone who had endured a grueling day of manual labor. With muscles flexed, he extended his arms on either side, creating a protective barrier around the edge of the tub.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, drinking in your figure.

“Thank you.”

“No, baby. You don’t say “thank you” to me if I compliment you. You say “I know,” and move the fuck on.” He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, cupping the side of your waist. You jumped when he flicked at your stone-hard nipple. “You’re sensitive there, huh?”

You mumbled, “Everywhere.”

“Speak up, sweetheart.”

“Everywhere,” you said with a volume that made him tip his head back and study you through the hooded slit of his eyes. “What you did, with your fingers, it felt good. Really good.”

“I know,” he replied, winking. “Want me to make you feel fucking fantastic, sweet girl?”

You nod, anticipating his next—

“Sit on it,” he said languidly.

“What?”

“Sit on my cock, Princess.”

He truly had a way with his words.

And you had grown accustomed to them.

Rising on your knees, you stumbled forward and aligned yourself on his ramrod erection, white beads of pre-cum leaking from the pink tip. He gripped the base of it, allowing you to sink down on his long, girthy length.

“Shit,” he breathed out, head lulling back.

“You’re—You’re too big.” The words strained out of you as you sought a comfortable position to move in. “Oh, God. Toji, I don’t think—”

He swallows your following words with his lips, cradling your flushed face in his hands. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Get yourself comfortable because, in a minute, I’ll make you forget the word ever existed.”

“Oh, God.”

“Toji, baby. The name’s Toji. Fucking say it.”

“T-Toji . . . ”

He lowered his head and grasped your left breast, fondling it like a stress ball as if his stress levels were beyond the roof. You mewled when he pinched your nipple and stretched it out, heating it between his fingers. His lips latched onto your right breast, cheeks concaving as he sucked hard.

You were a lost cause at that point, watching him nibble the swollen bud between his teeth, giving you that devilish smirk. “Fuck, baby. Your nipple tastes so sweet.” His tongue circled around it, pulling it taught in his mouth. “Maybe I should make you a mother just so I get to taste the milk that’ll leak from them.”

“You’re so dirty,” you whispered, ignoring the sudden film reel of you and Toji and your children gathered around a Christmas tree in an apartment smaller than this, in a life quieter and more private than yours. You needed clinical help.

“I know you’re thinking it.” He released your nipple with a pop and kissed your lips. “Soon, sweetheart.”

Soon?

Toji didn’t allow you to overthink anymore before grappling your ass and raising it high off his cock, until only his tip remained in you. “Hold on tight.”

He pounded you down.

You yelped and stabbed your nails into his shoulders, shouting out, “Fucking hell!” which, obviously, made him burst out laughing, all while ramming you down on his cock, burying himself to the hilt.

“Toji—ah!”

Tears streaked down your cheeks, which he quickly wiped away with his tongue, kissing each eye as if it were your mouth. He thrusted up into you in a staccato rhythm, gripping your nape to keep you steady in place. Your high-pitched whines and empty complaints fueled him to push both of your limits.

“Don’t let this get to your head,” Toji gritted out, a layer of cockiness in his voice, “but I’ve never once fucked anyone in this position.”

Well, that made you feel special, you supposed.

Actually, it made you want to try harder to please him. If you did well tonight, you could try every position in his book. So, you pressed your hands against his pecs and swirled your hips in circles, slowing his thrusts so you could take control. He was fascinated by your body, by your sudden superiority, settling his hands on your waist while you rode him insistently.

“Look at you riding my cock, baby,” Toji muses. “Look at you go. Just like that, come on. I know you can move faster.” He admired the movement of your breasts, the sweat-beads that crystallized on your skin, how your drowsy eyes rolled to the back of your head. You felt his cock twitch uncontrollably within your hot, sticky walls, felt the thick tip of it penetrate the spot that pushed you to the precise of your orgasm.

But your exhaustion caught up to you faster than your climax, causing your body to grow limp and slump against his chest. Toji embraced you, settling one hand on the back of your head and the other on your ass.

“You did well, baby,” he whispered into your hair.

“Don’t lie to me. You didn’t come.”

“Neither did you.”

You nuzzled your nose in the crook of his neck, circling your shaky arm around his strong neck. “I’m close, Toji. I’m almost there. I promise.”

That’s all it took for him to drive back up into you, grunting expletives and praises in your ear—fuck, oh, fuck, ah, fuck, such a good girl, my sweet fucking girl, oh, your pussy is so tight, so pretty, made just for my cock—while holding you flush against his sweaty chest. You kissed his temple and clutched his hair, breathing in the scent of your lavender-honey shampoo and his natural musk. He continuously mumbled, “Come on, baby, come on. Come for me. Come on my cock, sweet girl.”

And you did. With a cry that hitched in your throat, with your nails dragging down his shoulder blades, with his teeth sunk into your neck, with your bodies sweat-struck and panting like wild horses.

Toji drew you back and ran a hand on your cheek, brushing away the damp strands sticking to your cheek. “Good?”

You breathed out through your open mouth, the organ inside your chest hammering to break out. “Fan . . . tastic.”

He smiled warmly, not the arrogant-cocky kind you were used to receiving, and pressed his lips to yours. No tongue, nothing. Just a simple, chaste kiss. “Time to wash up, Princess.”

Switching from the tub to the shower stall, you began to wash Toji’s hair with your lavender-honey shampoo. You anticipated his complaints, but all he did was sit silently on the seat, using a loofa to clean your body. He complimented the curves of your figure, even taking a sneaky nip at your breast, then chuckling at your reaction. Like a gentleman, he dried off your wet body, combed through your wet hair as he blow-dried it, and then it was his turn, but of course, he forced you onto his lap while you did.

“How’d you get this scar?” you asked as you two lay in your bed, naked with your limbs tangled with each other. For the past hour, all you’ve done is trace your finger over his brows, his sharp, pointed nose, and his lips. “You don’t have to tell me—”

“Family. That’s all.”

“Okay,” you whispered, snuggling your face under his jaw and wrapping your arm around his torso as far as you can.

“You’re clingy, aren’t ya’?” he teased, hooking your leg over his hip.

“Was I too out of character for you, Mr. Zenin?”

You felt his smile on your crown accompanied. “You’re not a character, Princess. You’re a real person.” His hug around your sore body tightens as if you’re about to escape any minute. “It’s overwhelming how real you are, Y/N.”

“Did you just call me by name?”

He raised a brow, voice laced with charming sarcasm. “Was I too out of character for you, Y/N?”

Your hand cupped his cheek, stroking the scar by his lip. “You’re perfect, Toji.” You kissed the wound, the middle of his lips, and the tip of his nose for a good measure.

“Stop acting cute and sleep, Princess. You’ve got a tea party in the morning.”

Groaning, you decompress in his hold. “Goodnight, Toji.”

“Night, sweet girl. Dream of me.”

“You, too.”

“Always.”

2K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 7 months

Note

Demian is a clone of Bruce and Talia son whom died thanks to his grandfather actions. The pit failed to bring him back. Well back to them the timing of him being placed in the pit was the second time Jack and Maddie Fenton got their Portal to open just long enough to spit out a very hurt boy.

"I do not see why the Superboy being a clone is such a problem, Kent," Damian grunts, cutting off Clark mid-vent of Conner. He had come to part take in his first ever Sleep Over with Jon.

While the boys have gone upstairs to set up Damian's sleeping place Bruce once again tries to speak about mentoring Conner. It's not as bad as when Conner was first found but things were still strained between them.

It didn't help that whenever Clark fought against Lex's newest scheme, he would fall back to his mistrust of Conner. Tim's mood continually worsened around that time, too, since his boyfriend always returned to him slightly more broken by Clark's inability to trust him.

"You can not tell me the man of steel is so close-minded?"

"Damian," Bruce warns, but his son only raises a brow. He crosses the room to stand before the man of steel, crossing his arms over his chest to copy Alfred's disappointed stance.

"I'm not close-minded for being weary of a clone." Clark starts, face shifting into a defensive scowl.

"I am a clone, and you do not seem to mind my presence. Why is Superboy so different? Surely not the fact he has a boyfriend. I remind you said boyfriend is my brother-"

"What do you mean you are a clone?" Clark cuts in, voice laced with shock. Even Bruce seems baffled by his words when Damian glances at his father.

He squints at both men, trying to figure out what they are playing at.. "I am a clone. You are aware of this."

"No, I certainly am not aware," Bruce grunts, taking a threatening step forward. "What happened to Damian?

"Nothing happened to me, Father. I am standing right before you," Damian gestures to his healthy body. Jon chooses to fly down the stairs with a cheer, and he gives him a look that has the super son pausing. "Our fathers are behaving strangely."

Jon doesn't hesitate to blast his laser eyes at Clark with a quick "Sorry, Dad!"

"Johnathan Samuel Kent!" Clark snaps, having dodged the surprise attack but only barely. The boy freezes in the air, staring wide eyes at his parent, but Damian snaps out his arms and moves to lift his friend into the air with a quick

"I'm sorry! You can ground me when I get you free of mind control!" He shouts, flying right out the window. Bruce tries to stop them by flinging a net at them but Damian counters with his own batarang. The two are dots on the horizon as Damian's voice fades.

"We shall free you soon, Father!"

Bruce narrows his eyes at them but holds up his arm when Clark plants his feet in a position he usually makes when he's about to take flight. It speaks of the trust and years of friendship that the other man stays rooted to the kitchen tile instead of chasing his child.

"What is it, Bruce?" The man asks with slight impatience.

"They seem convinced we knew of Damian's status." Bruce holds up a hand again when Clark opens his mouth to argue. "Let me check something."

In quick motion, he pulls out his phone and places a call. Placing the speaker on, despite the fact Clark could have easily heard every word without it, Bruce holds the phone between them as Tim cheerfully answers.

" 'Sup B."

"Chum, is Damian a clone?"

".....ugh yeah? You know that."

"I do?"

"Yeah, you do. He said so when he first showed up. I mean word per word, "I am not like the rest. I am a copy of perfection, made from the DNA of Father and Mother in an artificial womb." Tim says mockingly, repeating what Damian had said the first night Bruce and the rest met him.

"He meant a literal copy. " Bruce repeats, mystified. "Does that mean I have another son out there?"

Tim goes silent, as his boy tends to do when he knows something but is unsure how to say it. Bruce barely refrains from snapping at him to tell him everything. Tim has a bad reaction to what he sees as disapproval. They talked about it plenty together and with Dinah on what triggers his issues stemming from his upbringing.

"B......Damian was made because Ra's killed the original. In a mock duel when he was nine." Tim's voice is gentle, but it does nothing to soften the devastating blow his words cause. "They tried to save him in the Lazarus, but he never rose. They had enough of his DNA around to make Damian two years later and forced him to match the original's age. Ra's had everything in his files, and Damian has talked about his original plenty of times. I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

Clark places a firm hand on Bruce's shoulder, speaking softly, but he can't hear him. All he can hear is the ringing in his own ears as he realizes that, once again, he has lost a part of his family. Distantly, he knows Clark has helped him into a chair, but he can't really understand his surroundings.

It's like he's watching himself from outside his body as Clark takes the phone out of his slack hold to speak to a distressed Tim, who frantically asks if he's alright.

"What-" he chocks after a moment. "What was his name?"

"Oh, Bruce," Clark whispers in a sympathetic tone as Tim answers.

"Danyal. His name was Danyal."

It's a lovely name. He weeps into his hands for the boy it belongs to as his best friend holds him through grief. They tell Tim to find Jon and Damian so he can break down in private.

A few states over, Danny Fenton sneezes violently three times. His friend Tucker gives him a teasing smile.

"Oh, some girl is crying over you!"

"As if" He laughs punching the other in the arm "Who would cry over little old me?"

Master Post Link

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #The Orginal #Damian is Danny's clone #Itf Danny had a nickle for everytime he been clone he had two nickles which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happen twice #Yes he left Danyal life behind him #He's Danny now #The supersons were halfway across the country when Superboy caught up to them #Tigger warning: Disassociation #Grief #Very little but there #Jon trusts Damian to the point he only needs a look before taking action

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mondaymelon · 11 months

Text

— "𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂...𝗰𝗿𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴?" ♥

:feat~ xiao, kazuha, scaramouche x gn!reader:

⤷ slight angst + comfort n fluff (oops i made kazuha’s part abnormally long) ⤷ They make you cry.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis

At first, XIAO doesn’t understand that his words have cut you.

He was always one with a blunt, yet sharp tongue, never afraid to speak his mind or to criticize your actions on the slightest whim. After all, why should he be hesitant? His power is common knowledge - as an illuminated adepti, there’s few who can rival his dexterity.

But he never expected his words to hurt you. Xiao has never fully understood human emotion. He’s always isolated himself from the foreign concept, determined to separate him and such… frivolities. Emotions are for mortals, and he is not one of man. In his manner of thinking, he’s just helping you improve yourself, so why are you…

“Archons, Xiao. It’s always about my mistakes. My mistakes, over and over and…” Then your wavering voice cuts off as you swallow, hard. What did he do wrong? Why were you acting this way?

That’s when the aloof yaksha notices the crystal teardrops spilling from your eyes, running down your cheeks and staining the skin it trails. The slight hitch in your shallowed breath and the way you stray from his touch, trembling, anxiously wiping at your tears.

“...Love?” He isn’t accustomed to seeing you like this, avoidant of his gaze and so… vulnerable. “Wait, please-”

“Archons, love. Please, look at me.” Xiao takes your wrist in his gloved hand, his grasp cautious yet firm. His voice is pleading, quiet, strained with desperation.

“No, I… I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His voice shakes as he tries to meet your eye.

“Love, you are perfect. I never meant to say otherwise.” Please, believe me.

“I’m sorry. So please…” He detests the way he’s acting, heart racing so shamefully, yet still embraces you tightly, skin cold to the touch.

“Stay by my side.” ♥

KAZUHA’s eloquent wording is one that never ceases to amaze, so it’s only a twinge of misfortune that causes a misunderstanding to form.

As a poet, the way he speaks is quite ornate, a manner in which people may not comprehend. However, that’s never exactly been a problem when it comes to the communication of the two of you. You understand Kazuha, and that translates to his speech as well, so in a way, it’s only natural.

Yet…

“The show was incredible, wasn’t it?” You take Kazuha’s hand, and follow his gentle tug on yours as he leads you out of the crowd, smiling back at you. The white haired male, being the traveler he was, decided to take you for a night out in Liyue Harbor, where the two of you first ate a fine dinner, and just finished viewing a performance from the Liyue Theatre. Your heart still raced from the night’s breathtaking sights and wonders.

“Indeed it was.” He closes his eyes, a sign that he’s content, and you can’t help but widen your grin. “The main casting role, the lady with the flowing dress, was exceptionally talented. Just from the way she glided about the stage… you can tell she’s experienced, and blessed with bountiful potential.”

You nod along, albeit a little awkwardly. There’s nothing out of the ordinary for the two of you to discuss such topics, but for some reason, the way he’s speaking about her just makes your insides want to crawl.

He’s still droning on, eyes sparkling. “...Then, at the final scene, when she began to sing… say, Love, why don’t you try theater? It might suit you well. Maybe one day you’d be on a stage, just like her.”

What the male meant was: try theater out, you’d do well.

But what you heard, instead, was: you should do theater too. then you could be as brilliant as her.

You hated the way it felt like he was comparing the two of you, weighing which one held more worth.

“I know! We’ll be staying here for a while, so why don’t I sign you up for…” His voice trails off as he lets go of your hand, aware of the tears that are starting to form in your wells. “Love, what… what’s wrong?”

“Kazuha… please, stop.”

“...What?” He seems genuinely clueless, but clasps but your hands in his, a worried gaze written all over his face. “No, I…”

“Please stop comparing me to her. I already know I don’t deserve you… it’s just…” Fuck, now you really couldn’t stop the way the droplets started rolling down your cheeks, stray tears falling from your eyes and splattering onto the wooden planks below. All of your discomfort seemed to infuse themselves into the shameful adrenaline that was coursing through your veins, because you had worried if you weren’t good enough for Kazuha. Someone as lackluster as yourself, going out with a handsome young swordsman, intelligent, kind… he was loved by many, and you…

“...Love, please!”

When did he get so close? He’s leaned in, concerned, crimson-eyed gaze trained onto your every movement. “What are you even thinking about, to be breathing so heavily… no, c’mon love, look at me.” And when you do, eyes meeting his, his mouth morphs into a somewhat smile. “There must’ve been a misunderstanding.”

“Because you are most certainly superior to any other person in Teyvat.”

“And of all people, you…”

“I am the one not worthy of your love, so don’t ever say that again.” ♥

SCARAMOUCHE doesn’t care at all, why should he?

He said some stuff that you took too close to heart, so what? If he hurt you, why should he fret over it? You’re strong enough to take it. All he said was one or two harsh words that merely came to mind, so there’s no need for you to be all wounded over it, either.

“Yeah, you’re pathetic.” Scaramouche scoffs at you, one hand on his waist while the free one makes sarcastic motions in the air. “You can’t even get one thing right, can you?”

The “thing” in question, in fact, was making Scaramouche dinner. You added a pinch too much salt, and now the male seemed to act like you’d committed a grave offense upon humanity… but then again, he was always dramatic, so this time shouldn’t be any different, right?

“I… I tried my best…” Your voice trails off as you cringe under his undermining glare.

“Clearly, your ‘best’ wasn’t enough.” His jeering tone is enough to make your heart shatter as you glance up at him, eyes wide. You don’t realize you’ve begun crying until you feel the sensation of tears spilling down your cheeks, falling from your eyes with silent melancholy as you seem to choke on your own words.

“Why are you… why are you crying?” You’re scared to look up at him, whatever expression he’s making, so you keep your head down, pitifully wiping your tears away.

“I’m not.”

“Sure you aren’t.” His voice is airy as he rolls his eyes, frowning at you. What, now you get to act all disheartened? What did he even do to upset you?

“I’m not crying.”

“C’mon, Kuni. It’s okay to say if you’re sad. Here, cheer up, and I’ll give you this flower, okay?”

A voice echoed in his head.

“...Huh?”

And it’s strange, really, how the sight before him mirrors one from long before. The way your eyes hold so much sorrowful desperation, the way you seem so broken inside, and most of all, the way the tears that run down your face seem achingly familiar.

“Shit.” His voice seems small, too small. “Wait, love, I-” His voice cuts off as he sighs, unsure of what to say. The beating of his anxious heart overpowers all noise.

“Love, I was… joking. I don’t mean any of it.”

“You being here is a blessing of itself.”

“Archons, please know how much I love you.” ♥

(a/n) i accidentally made xiao's part the shortest i am a disgrace to humanity

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berriwritertingz · 3 months

Text

follow me | e. landry

content: filthy smut, oral (fem receiving), kinda obsessive and dark ethan

pairing: ethan landry x afab!reader

summary: after everyone fell asleep, you and ethan ventured off to have your own fun

note: i literally wrote one paragraph of this and then dropped it but my ethan obsession is back after months

it was chad’s idea to have a big sleepover after finals. everyone’s worries and stress draining away with some drinking, music, and movies. the night started out strong with everyone in pajamas playing drinking games and having awful dance battles. but as the third movie dragged on, the talking stopped with the movie plot slowly growing uninteresting. the absence of conversation hinted at the reason, everyone had fell asleep. bodies scattered across the living room with chad's thunderous snores filling it. but as you looked over ethan's eyes met yours, wide awake and fixed upon you.

“i guess we’re the only ones awake” you smiled softly, standing up off the loveseat you two were sharing.

you two weren’t close at all. only speaking to each other when the group hung out and shared glances in shared classes. but you couldn’t lie when you said you had a small crush on ethan. his tall frame towering over you whenever he asked for a favor. soft whiny voice that made your face get warm whenever you heard it. pretty brown eyes that were always focused on yours when you talked. the same ones that were now so innocently trained on you.

“uh…yeah”

he was distracted to say the least. your nipples straining against your white tank top and tiny pink shorts riding up your squishy thighs. you stretched spreading your arms wide causing the shirt to hike up your soft belly. ethan couldn’t help but shift in his seat at the sight, a boner growing in his loose sweatpants. imagining what it was like to bury his head between them. he tried to look away but frankly he didn’t want to. he loved how squishy and smooth your thighs looked in the dim room light.

“do you want to come to my room? i have the new spider-man.” you suggest. hands placed on your hip and thumb pointing to your bedroom in the shared apartment. ethan didn’t hesitate, nodding eagerly and stood up slightly stumbling over the bodies littered around the room, following closely behind you.

ethan’s focus was completely on the game eyebrow’s furrowed and tongue slipping out the corner of his mouth. you stared at him in awe practically squealing at how cute he looked. both of you practically cuddling on your bed watching the tv screen as he expertly clicked buttons on the controller. you were sitting on the bed beside him leg perched over his while you watched him play the game. everyone knew you were a touchy person so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to casually have limbs wrapped around your friends. plus even if it was a problem ethan didn’t say anything about it.

“can you help me?” he asked peering over at you, noticing you staring. his cheeks a blaring red.

“yes, of course!” he had a problem with one of the missions not understanding the combos. you placed your hand on top of his showing him exactly what the controls were. ethan couldn’t focus on a word you were saying as your tits were pressed tightly on his arm. his mind wondered to how cushiony and moldable they would be in his hands. imagining leaving pretty marks on them that you would have to cover up.

you smelled a lot like sweet vanilla and it was addicting. he was obsessed. but he didn’t want to seem like a weirdo and sniff you. even though that’s all he wanted to do at this very moment. the boner in his pants grew again even though it never fully went down. but he couldn’t escape this time. as grabbing a pillow or shifting around would bring too much unwanted attention.

“you got it?” you ask softly sending shivers down his spine. he couldn’t do anything but nod as he feared he would unintentionally moan.

his hair tickled your face as he nodded causing you to notice how close you really were. they looked so enticing to touch and before you could think you reached your hand out. but decided against it, not knowing if he’d be comfortable with it or not.

“you can…touch me” he answered eyes still on the tv.

you grinned in excitement as you reached up to touch his hair. once the fluffy locks hit your hand you were in awe. they were soft and surprisingly smelt like strawberries. you reached your hand deeper into his hair massaging his scalp. ethan leaned into your touch groaning softly at the contact.

“mmh does that feel good sweetheart?”

ethan moaned in response pausing and setting down the controller. he loved the feeling of your acrylics running through his hair and scratching his scalp. he always has had a crush on you. he was quite literally obsessed with you. in ways he refused to admit. but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t stolen a few of your panties when you weren’t home. or purposely sat beside you during hangouts so he could learn your password to see private photos.

he relished in the feeling for a moment but he felt as if he was going to burst through his boxers. he turned and peered down at you, doe eyes hooded with lust. you were already looking at him feeling the tension rising. afraid that this could go too far and he wouldn’t feel the same way you did. you pulled your hand back but before you could get too far he swiftly caught it with his. eyes flickering from your rosy lips to your sultry eyes.

“ethan-“

before you could finish he had your lips in a deep kiss throwing the controller to the other side of the bed. his lips were soft and worked eagerly against yours. he then pushed you flush under him quickly moving in between your legs pressing his hard on to your core. wanting the kiss to be deeper you slipped your tongue in his mouth. he didn’t catch on right away but soon his tongue worked skillfully against yours. you whined gently as one of his hands was placed behind your head pulling you closer and the other trailing up your shirt.

your hands moved from around his neck to the hem of his shirt pulling it up eagerly. he obliged tossing it not really caring about where it went. when he looked back down at you he almost groaned at the sight. your lips pouty and swollen from kissing him, nipples now fully hard and on display to him through the thin fabric. legs wrapped across his waist practically rutting against him.

“oh fuck me…” he groaned practically ripping your shirt from your body.

you giggled softly at his eagerness but that was quickly replaced by soft moans as ethan kneaded your breast between his hand. placing small open mouth kisses on your neck sucking and biting the skin. he wanted to leave an obvious mark on you knowing a few classmates had a crush on you. he soon kissed his way down to your soft mounds suckling on your nipples harshly. your hands flew to his hair tugging it causing ethan to shudder under your touch. soft whimpers sending vibrations through your spine.

he stopped for a bit sliding his hand into your shorts. eyes mischievous and lustful with his hair wild from you playing in it.

“can i taste you y/n” you nodded shyly. the brown haired boy causing fires to ignite from the bottom of your stomach and thighs slick with arousal.

“please”

with this ethan pulled your shorts down with ease leaving you completely naked as he still had pants on. his hands roamed across your sides to your thighs dragging them teasingly. it made you feel exposed, your head shifting away from his avoiding eye contact.

“you’re so pretty” he complimented getting situated between your legs. he held you close with his hands on your thighs pulling you eagerly towards his mouth salivating at the site. you shuffled uncomfortably at his staring getting slightly embarrassed. but that washed away as he licked a long stride up your slit. it was unexpected and caused you to let out a loud moan.

you quickly covered your mouth remembering everyone was still only a hallway away. ethan chuckled slightly followed by him attaching himself back to your core. sucking your sensitive bud harshly. whining as your back arched into his mouth.

“ethan i can’t be quiet, we should-“ he cut you off again by kitty licking your core. you bit your lip hard, eyes screwed shut and your hands flew to his hair. his eyes rolled to the back of his hand causing a soft moan to escape from him.

“let them hear you.” he ordered, eyes looking up at you through hooded eyelashes. you sat up a bit meeting his eyes. the way he looked so innocent yet filthy made the fire in your stomach grow.

you tried your best to keep your moans soft but the feeling of his finger entering your heat caused your moans to go up an octave. you unsuccessfully pleading for ethan to slow down his movements on your sensitive bud. but he didn’t, noticing your movements against his tongue. fingers gripping his curls harder than before. he was in love with the way you tasted not wanting to break away. the feeling of inside of you making his head go hazy imagining what it would feel like to be his shaft instead.

you couldn’t hold back anymore. using a pillow to stuff your face in as ethan thrusted into you with an ungodly pace. telling you how good you taste and sound. you whined and whimpered repeatedly as he refused to let you go. tongue working eagerly to make you come.

“e- i’m gonna mmh i can’t”

before you could say anything else your orgasm washed over you. thighs shaking around his head. eyes forced to the back of your head and loud moans muffled by the pillow.

ethan finally slowed down letting you ride your orgasm out on his tongue. he kissed your abused clit gently earning a soft whine from you before connecting his lips to yours. tongue moving inside your mouth so you could taste yourself. you could feel his hard on through his sweatpants as your hands scratched his back.

he began to slide them off but was interrupted by loud knocking on the door.

“can you guys shut up? it’s 3 am!” mindy yelled from behind the door.

pt.2?

#ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ghostface #scream #dark!fic #dark!ethan landry #ethan landry ff #ethan landry fanfiction #ghostface ff #ethan kirsch #ethan kirsch x reader

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moonsaver · 2 months

Text

You're certain your professor hates you.

Dr. Ratio was by no means someone who would go easy on you. His unmatchable merit meant almost unreachable standards of discipline and wit, and that extended a rigorous course with a passing percentage of 3%

You and the very few classmates you've had all were aware about what was to come once you signed up for his classes. Continuous, strict teaching, constant supervision, problems so hard it took days to solve. The worst exams were the open book ones – they lasted days.

At some point, your classmates decided to study together as a strategy. All of you would collectively study like maniacs and it did end up with gratifying results.

At least, for everyone else. Except you.

No matter what you did, your grades plummeted more and more from the previous exams. And Dr. Ratio was no shy of calling you out on it, telling you with a looming stature to meet him after class, the strain in his voice already enough for your blood to run cold.

Somehow, however, everytime after class when you sat down with Dr. Ratio, he seemed agitated, but nothing more. Of course, he didn't go easy on you when it came to pointing out every detail of a mistake on your paper, and that was the worst part you had to tolerate. Afterwards.. he was alright. The condescending tone in his voice as he instructed you to read the reference materials wasn't exactly tolerable, but it was better than being called an idiot, a buffoon, a failure in every language he possibly knew.

Although, what would annoy you even more was your study sessions were confined more and more to his office hours. After a few more failing grades, he would extend the amount of time you'd have to sit across him in the suffocatingly silent, sterile room with only an expanse of books that you occasionally interacted with, and a few necessities.

Every time your hand stopped scribbling, or your eyes stopped scanning the text, he would tap the table with a finger, and ask, "done already?" And you'd immediately continue, replying with a meek, "no". Sometimes if you took a while longer to answer out of hesitance, his sharp gaze would snap to you, looking up from one of his thick books, his reading glasses perched lower so that his eyes peeked out from above the lens. That would be enough to snap you from your trance, and get back to writing frantically.

But the arrangement was fine. Until he started getting uncomfortably closer.

Sometimes, he decides watching your eyebrows furrow in frustration is much more entertaining of a pastime during his break to rest his eyes. His office chair creaks a bit as he leans forward, his elbows perched on the desk, resting his chin on intertwined fingers. This was arguably more intimidating to you – his gaze was unimaginably heavy. And you're sure he's aware of it too – his eyes watch the obvious trembling of the pen in your hands, and the tensing of your jaw, as the realisation he's observing you thoroughly flashes in your eyes.

If you weren't so exhausted after taking your leave,you would have at least had the energy to think he was.. enjoying your discomfort.

And things only got worse from there. Sometimes he decides getting up from his chair and looming intimidatingly from behind you is better. At times, he leans down, too close for comfort, his breathing hitting the shell of your ears as you feel his eyes scan your work, and you. Sometimes, a waft of his scent hits your nose. You're sure he can smell yours, too.

In this position, it only gets worse. His arm sometimes rests across your back and his hand hangs firmly on your shoulder, his other hand pointing out a mistake you've made, and moves your writing hand to the exact spot. His condescending voice practically reverberates through you, his warm breath mixing with the cool air around your ear, making you flinch if you're caught off guard. You can only hope his observant gaze didn't see it.

Unfortunately, as helpful as the after-class lessons are, it seems it's not successful enough to get you to pass his course.

At some point, you're in his office almost late in the evening, the entire vicinity is devoid of people, echoes of usually quiet machinery are heard in the hallway. You sit across from him, head hanging from shame, and dread. He sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair, folding his legs.

He'll have to try.. other methods.

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freedomfireflies · 3 months

Text

I Love You*

Summary: The second part to Yellow* and One for the Money*

The one where you tell Mr. Styles you love him and you wonder if he'll say it back.

Word Count: 3k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, blow job, multiple orgasms, brief Daddy kink, Sir kink

I love you.

Three little words that feel so big in such a small room.

Mr. Styles remains still. Unmoving. So quiet, you wonder if you actually said the words aloud or if you only thought them.

But you can feel his heart racing. Can hear the subtle hitch in his breath as the seconds tick by. And you know, undoubtedly, that he heard you.

You clear your throat. “You don’t…you don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

There’s another long lull between your admission and his response. He shifts in your arms before finally he finally nods once.

And that suffices as his reply.

Truth be told, you feel relieved. You aren’t even sure why you said it at all, much less now. And after such an intimate scene. Especially when you knew he most likely wouldn’t say it back.

But you don’t blame him for that. Mr. Styles has never been the overly romantic, affectionate type. You don’t expect that to change just for you. You’re happy with the relationship you have. You like that you stay at his apartment more than your own. You like that he dedicates his free time to you. And you like that you work together and play together.

He’s more than just your partner and your boss. He’s…yours.

“Sir?” you whisper, and you feel his hand tighten around yours. “Are you all right?”

He nods again. Quickly. Strained. “I’m fine, Peach. Are you?”

You nod, too. “Mhm. I’m better now. Promise.” A beat. “Could we start the scene again?”

He lets out a sigh and finally looks up to catch your eye. “Maybe later. We’ll see.”

You pout and feel that anxious twist in your stomach return. You don’t want to end this moment on a sour note. The note where you had to safe word and make him stop only to tell him you love him and surely freak him out. You want to go back. Start it all over again. Do it right.

He notices your frown and tilts his head. “Peach,” he warns. “Don’t.”

“But—”

“I said we’ll see,” he repeats sternly. “If you’re good, I’ll consider it. But if you want to argue with me, you can sit here, achy and dripping, with nobody to touch you.”

You bite back a whine. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He pats your hip. “I’ve got a few more emails to answer before dinner. If I go, will you be all right until I’m done?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He takes hold of your chin. Firm. “I want your honesty.”

“You have it.”

He hesitates. There’s a tension here, between you. An unspoken strain and an edge you’d give anything to smooth out.

You can tell he wants to resolve it. He’s a problem solver. It’s in his nature to fix things. And that’s how this whole arrangement was started in the first place.

But how can he fix what he knows he broke?

He kisses your cheek. Quickly. Gently. “Be good while I’m gone.”

And with that, he leaves you. He turns off the camera, puts his clothes back on, and disappears into his home office.

You spend the next several hours trying not to stare at his closed door. Or thinking about how it ended. What you said. You delete the footage off the SD card and vow to never speak of this day again.

He feels so far away, even if it’s only a few hundred feet. But there’s an ocean between you now and you are lost in his sea.

Dinner is good. You order Chinese and it’s delivered right as he’s exiting his office for the night. You do your best to put things back to the way they were before. You talk—a lot—and he listens. He’s quiet. Nodding along without much commentary. He picks at his food and you know something is still on his mind.

You hate it.

He cleans up while you go take a shower. You take your time, allowing the water to wash away your regret. Make you clean again. Until each mistake has been swept down the drain.

The two of you will be okay. You have to be.

When you get out, you find him on the bed. He’s got his reading glasses on and a book in his hand and he looks…

Ethereal.

You’ve always been attracted to him. How could you not be, when he has a jaw like that and abs that could grate cheese? But somehow, he looks even better like this—relaxed. At peace. He’s still wearing his fancy slacks and white button up. But the sleeves have been rolled to his elbows and he’s left the first few buttons undone.

You step further into the bedroom and he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s engrossed in his novel, glasses perched on the tip of his perfect nose as he flips to the next page. And you smile. Your insides already aching as you crawl onto the end of the mattress and allow your towel to fall away.

When the bed dips, he glances up. Briefly. He notices the feral look in your eye and the way you’re moving toward him. He knows what you want and thankfully, he doesn’t deny you.

He looks back to his book. “How was your shower?”

“Good,” you murmur. You reach for his belt and slip it through each loop until you can toss it toward the floor.

He’s quiet.

“How’s your book?” you ask and he hums.

“It’s all right. Not entirely helpful but I like the subject.”

You grin. You adore when he sounds studious. “That’s good.” You pull his zipper down and reach inside his briefs.

Still, he doesn’t so much as flinch. He reads and he pretends as though you aren’t currently dragging your palm along his hardening cock. He pretends your tits aren’t mere inches from his grasp and he pretends that he can’t see the way you’ve already begun to drip.

You take him in your mouth. Your tongue is wet and ready and you swing your leg over his thigh in order to brace yourself against his lap and take him fully. He’s large. Incredibly large and you forget that sometimes until you feel the way he curves down your throat.

You pull back and spit only to watch the way it drips down his length until you can smear it around the way you want.

“Peach,” you hear him say and you look up. He moves the book aside to see you. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

He reaches down and pinches your cheek. “Watch it,” he warns and he’s strict but somehow kind. “I thought I told you to wait.”

“I did wait,” you argue before sucking on his tip. You pop off and lick your lips. “All day. Couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Hm.” He moves his hand to the back of your head and tugs you away. “I’m not sure I should let you.”

“…why?” You straighten up. “I’m okay now. I want to do this. And you never got to finish—”

“Peach—”

“—which I know isn’t the point,” you amend quickly, remembering what he said before. “I know. But I want to make you finish. I want to make you feel good. Especially after what you did for me.”

He frowns now. Sighs. Takes off his glasses and sets down his book. “I’m your dominant and your partner. It is my job to take care of you. I don’t do it because I want something in return and my kindness is not transactional. I care about you. I want you to be okay. Always.”

I care about you isn’t exactly an I love you but it still makes you smile. Really, really big.

“I know,” you whisper. You squeeze his thigh. “But I feel…edged.”

He smirks. “Do you?”

“Mhm.” You dip back down and drag your tongue up from his balls. You notice his jaw tick. “And if you really want to take care of me and make sure I’m okay…you’ll cum in my mouth.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He considers this, fingers tapping over the hard cover of his book. Then, he nods once, and slips his glasses back on. “All right. I’ll let you have your way just this once. But once you’re through, you’re to get into this bed and go to sleep. Is that understood?”

You nod eagerly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Go ahead.”

With that, you continue your sucking and fondling while he continues reading his novel. The bedroom is eerily silent except for the loud echo of your wet, enthusiastic lapping at the large cock sitting proudly on your tongue. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if he won’t give you your own orgasm before bed, you’re content to have him just like this.

It doesn’t take long until he’s twitching in your mouth. He doesn’t look at you or watch the way your cheeks hollow or the way his balls look in your pretty hands, but you know he’s desperate to. You can tell by the way he turns the page. The way he grips the book and tries incredibly hard not to rip it in half as he moves to the next chapter.

You don’t slow. You keep going, even as his legs flex beneath you. As his chest takes in labored breaths. You want to get him there and he subtly nudges his leg further into your cunt to feel your arousal smear across his skin.

You do everything you know he likes, even though the camera is off. You suck and squeeze and give him everything you know he likes. Because this performance is just for him. The way you moan, the way you swallow, the way you bob and take more of him than you think you ever have before.

You’re his good girl. His investment, his toy, his.

And moments before he finally releases himself all down your throat, he tosses the book aside, grabs a fistful of your hair, and yanks you off.

“Get on,” he grits and tugs you closer.

You don’t need to be told twice. You scoot forward and line him up just so before he takes hold of your hips and helps you sink down. Things move quickly and he doesn’t have the patience to wait any longer.

And it’s beautiful, this moment. The way he stretches you open. And even if there’s a slight burn from the intrusion of his thick cock, you revel in the pain. Both of you groaning the moment you feel it.

And you know he won’t be able to hold off much longer.

“How did it taste, Peach, hm?” he asks as he fucks up into you. “How did it feel to have me in your mouth?”

“Good,” you pant. You claw at his curls. “So good, Sir—”

“Yeah?” He slaps his hand against your ass and you mewl. “Like to take my cock, don’t you? Like to be my dirty little slut—"

“Yes—”

“Like to feel me down your throat…have me cum all over your tongue.”

You make too many noises and he reaches up to pull your lip with his teeth. He kisses you and groans into your mouth and this is what sex should be. Rough and hard but filled with adoration.

“What a fucking whore,” he groans. He tugs at your hips. Watches the bulge in your belly with every thrust. “Begging to suck my cock, wanting to make Daddy feel good…guess I don’t give your mouth enough things to do, hm?”

You shake your head and wilt in his hold. He rarely refers to himself with that nickname and hearing it now almost tips you over.

“So fucking wet,” he exhales and you look down to watch with him. “S’fucking pathetic, isn’t it? Didn’t even have to touch you to have you dripping.”

He’s right. He always is.

He pinches your clit. Takes your nipple in his mouth and lets his large hands scratch down your back—your shoulders blades, your spine, your ass. And you have never felt safer than here in this moment with him.

“Cum,” he says, and he nips at your skin until it’s littered in marks and memories.

“Cum,” he whispers, and he pulls on your hair and wraps it around his fist to bare your throat to his teeth.

“Cum,” he pleads, and he kisses you—hard—until the room is spinning and you finally let go.

You unravel together. A collection of moans and cries and tangled limbs as you make a mess of each other. And you don’t care—about any of it. About what was said earlier, about what wasn’t said, about the way he looked when you said it.

You cling to his strong shoulders and you kiss him hard and you indulge in the feel of him dripping from your cunt.

But he’s not through. He pulls you off his cock and flips you onto your knees until your ass in the air.

You feel his tongue. Dragging up your cunt, tasting the remains of his cum, your cum, everything. He spanks you—hard. Paints his mark across your skin and leaves it there just so he can admire it.

“Say it,” he hisses and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Wha…what?”

“Say it,” he says. He spanks you again and nips at your pussy. “Say you love me.”

You clutch the duvet and your thighs are shaking. Your mind feels fuzzy. “I…”

Another slap to your ass and you’re overstimulated and wildly sensitive. He fucks his tongue into your dripping hole and grunts at the way you keen and you’ve never felt this kind of beautiful confusion.

“Say it.” He holds your thighs open and nearly suffocates himself as he mouths at you. “Fucking tell me you love me. Tell me again.”

You shake your head. You don’t understand. “Harry…”

Wrong. He slips his fingers inside and fucks his cum back into you. Fast. Lewd. Loud. “Come on, Peach. I know you want to. Know you do….so say it.”

And maybe this is a trick. Maybe this is some cruel, sadistic game just to make you lose but you can’t think straight when he’s this close. When he’s bending your body to his salacious intentions and treating you like a toy.

“I love you,” you whisper. You screw your eyes shut. “I do, I love you, Sir.”

He curses. Groans. “Again.”

“I love you.” You fall onto the bed stomach first but he doesn’t stop. He flips you around and he looks at you as he eats you. “I love you, Mr. Styles.”

His lashes flutter. You reach for his hair and tug it with your fist and he moans into your cunt before drinking you down. Spitting on your pussy just to smear it around and thrust it back into you.

You arch. “Shit, I love you—I—”

You cum again and he enjoys every second of it. He pulls you as close to his face as he can get you and lives inside the sound of your strained whimpers.

And when you finish, he leaves your clit with a satisfied pop and licks his lips. You watch him crawl up your body until he’s settled atop your chest and you smile lazily as he reaches up to run his hand down your cheek.

“My sweet Peach,” he whispers and kisses you hard. You taste everything. You taste him. You taste the desperation woven alongside his tongue. He kisses you until you can’t breathe and he only stops so he can stare at you a little longer.

You brush your fingers through the damp curls along the back of his neck. “That was fun.”

He’s quiet. Studying you closely and you feel as though you’re being graded on a test you didn’t know you were taking.

Then, he murmurs, “I don’t say it.”

Your heart skips. You don’t have to ask what he means. “I…I know. It’s okay. I don’t expect you—”

“I don’t say it because I’m afraid I can’t live up to it,” he continues. He ignores you. “Because the last time I did, I couldn’t deliver on what it meant. My love didn’t look the same as hers did. I said it. And she still left.”

Your other hand finds his shirt. You trail your touch over the exposed skin of his chest and you feel the way his heart races. “I know.”

His brows furrow. “I want to say it,” he says softly. “I want to. For you. Because I do. And I don’t want this to feel unfair—”

“It doesn’t,” you assure him. “I promise. I…I figured you wouldn’t say it back and I was okay with that. Because it doesn’t change the fact that I do.”

Another beat. “I’m worried you didn’t mean it.”

“What?”

He sighs and sweeps his thumb along your jaw. “You’d been anxious, and you were scared. You said none of your other partners had ever been kind to you in moments like that, and…sex is intimate. It can change the chemistry in your brain and maybe…maybe you didn’t mean it—”

“I did.” You grab his face and you make him listen. “Harry, I meant it. I still mean it. And I’ll mean it tomorrow, too. And the next day. And the next.”

His expression softens.

“And I meant it long before today. I wanted to tell you tons of times and I didn’t because…I don’t know. I didn’t want to scare you,” you admit and you both smile. “It is a big word. But it’s just a word. It means nothing without action. And even if you can’t say it, you show it every day. And that’s all I could really want.”

He dips down and nuzzles his nose against yours. “I don’t deserve you, Peach.”

“No,” you tease. “No, you don’t.”

You kiss again and his body feels good against yours. His heart feels good against yours.

Then, he exhales, "I love you."

And you don't say anything. But you smile. Because you know everything he's giving up just to offer you what you want to hear.

Minutes go by before you finally change the subject and say, "You know, I kind of wish we'd been recording all that. That would have been some great content."

He laughs, relieved, and the sound is so incredibly beautiful.

“Next time,” he says and you grin as he holds you closer. “Tonight…your love belongs to me.”

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY CUTIES!!! Granted, this wasn't exactly a Valentine's blurb BUT LISTEN IT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH!!!!! ASLFJSF

I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH and hope you're having the best day! No matter what it looks like or who it's with ♥️

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @caynonmoondreams @daphnesutton @ilovec0lbybr0ck @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz

968 notes · View notes

calmcoldevening · 3 months

Text

Slashers x child!reader [PLATONIC]

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, brothers Sinclair, Mark Hoffman

Tw: mention of murdering, violence, drinking

Thomas Hewitt

• You came to the Hewitts almost as a baby, you were the child of one of the victims. Surprisingly, you were left behind. Or rather, Luda stood up for it, she couldn't let them kill such a baby. Besides, she was always ready to take a new child under her wing again if he needed it.

• Thomas was a little confused, he couldn't figure out if he liked you or not. In general, he always wanted a family and children, but he knew that he would not have it because of his appearance and lifestyle. And so you came into his life.

• At first, he will be very hesitant about spending time with you in principle. He's just afraid of breaking you with your fragile baby bones. Besides, Thomas is not sure how to react to your frequent screams and tantrums, it pisses him off a little.

• Over time, he will really get used to you. A man will hold you in his arms most of the time if he is not busy working in the basement. Thomas will hold you tightly to his chest, clutching the diapers you were wrapped in, and looking down at you with warmth and love.

• Even if you screamed a lot when you saw Thomas's face, you always calmed down. It warmed his soul very much.

• The only problem was the food, because you were obviously very small and had to be breastfeed. Fortunately, there was enough dry mix in that victim's bag for the first time. Then Hoyt had to drive around the city.

• Thomas was very protective of you, always watching over you and taking care of you. You literally didn't get off his hands, constantly clinging to his clothes and long hair. He didn't mind. A man often kissed you on the forehead, gently stroking your tiny cheeks with his big hand. He loved hugging you so much and he was glad that you liked it too. Thomas's hands were carefully dressing you and washing your fragile little body. He never hurt you, not in any way.

• Thomas made a baby cot for you, which was in his room. Although you often liked to sleep with him. At such moments, you would unsteadily stand on your baby legs and stretch out your arms in his direction. The man's heart sank. He gently took you out of the cradle and put you next to him, hugging you protectively. You cooed and smiled as you fell asleep in comfort.

• Thomas was very happy about your first steps. It was difficult and slow, but he patiently sat on the floor two meters away from you and waited, arms outstretched in an embrace for you. When you finally found some kind of balance, you walked slowly towards him, giggling happily. You hugged him tightly. The man almost cried, watching the formation of his baby.

• He was looking forward to your first words, hoping that you would actually talk, unlike him. At first it was a strange babble of children. Thomas was almost sure that you would call Luda mom, even though the thought of it hurt him. When you said the awkward 'Dada', he started crying. Thomas hugged you tightly to him, kissing your baby face and body. God, you were so sweet, so precious. He felt such a pleasant warmth in his chest when you called him daddy, your daddy. Thomas thought he would die of happiness on the spot. Now you were his little ray of light, his child.

Brothers Sinclair

• You were the victim's child. Lester found you in the backseat of the car. He awkwardly picked you up and pulled you out of the car. He was the youngest brother in the family, so he understood absolutely nothing about children, he understood at most that what needed to be taken care of, for example, like a dog.

• Lester brought you to the Sinclair house. Vincent was in the workshop, and Bo was sitting on the couch, with his feet on a small table in front of the sofa, and enjoying drinking beer. The appearance of Lester, and even with a child, greatly strained him. Really, what should he do with such a baby? You didn't look more than five months old. Considering his childhood, Bo hated children, although he could take some care, after all, he participated in Lester's upbringing, one way or another. And it was still quite a big shock for him. There wasn't a single woman in town who could tell them what to do with you, the men were confused. When you woke up, you started screaming and crying. You were scared that your mom wasn't there. Rude men terrified you even more. I wanted to hide somewhere, but you couldn't do anything.

• The situation only improved when Vincent arrived. He was the most gentle and understanding of all the brothers. Vincent grabbed you out of Bo's rough hands with a little alarm, hugging you to him and stroking your head. Bo just rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen. You snuggled up to Vincent, feeling safe at last. You weren't crying anymore, but you were whimpering softly against his chest. You were scared and hungry. You clutched a man's clothes in your little fists, wanting to be comforted and cared for.

• Vincent, like the others, didn't know much about children. But unlike his brothers, Vincent was naturally quite sensitive and kind, he could not leave the child to these jerks. The man pressed you against his warm sweater, giving you peace of mind. He gently stroked your little body, checking for wounds or damage. Your diaper was full. Not the most pleasant part. Maybe you were really too scared. Vincent asked Lester to go back to that car and bring everything there that could be useful for the child. There was a whole bag of toys and baby food, as well as enough diapers and some clothes.

• Vincent immediately bathed you and gently changed your diaper and clothes. Then he fed you from a bottle. It was a little awkward, but he liked to see that you finally felt calmer. You were lying in his arms, making baby noises and greedily swallowing milk. Your eyes were red and swollen from crying. The man hugged you protectively, stroking your little tummy.

• In total, Vincent took care of you. He fed you, dressed you, and bathed you. Lester used to play with you a lot. Bo didn't pay much attention to you, he just went to the city to buy children's things.

• As you grew up, you started spending more time in Vincent's basement. You saw him without a mask and so gently grabbed his scarred cheeks with your soft baby hands, it made him cry. He now had a small cot in his workshop with lots of pillows and blankets. This is where you played while he was working. A man made you wax toys that you really liked. He even taught you how to sculpt wax yourself. Now you had your own little collection of wax ducks. You called Vincent Dad. When you did it the first time, he cried, hugging you tightly to him. Although Bo is sometimes very jealous of your brother, because Bo is just an uncle to you.

• You've become very friendly with their dog, Jesse. Jesse always protects you from the next visitors to the city.

• They tried to pick you up a couple of times. Once it was a married couple. The woman held you tightly in her arms, saying that these people in the city are monsters, and that she will become your mother and take care of you. You threw a tantrum asking Dad to come over. The couple almost ran out of town until Bo shot them in the back of the head. Vincent pulled you out of the dead woman's tight grip and held you close, stroking your hair. You cried and squeezed his neck, asking Dad not to leave you anymore.

• In general, you are a child who grew up in cruelty, but the Sinclairs themselves never raised a hand against you. You were cared for and loved. Bo especially loved giving you a lot of gifts. So you've grown up to be a mentally healthy child with them.

Mark Hoffman

• You turned out to be the child of his dead sister. At first, it even hurt a man to look at you because you looked so damn much like your mother. But he understood the responsibility. Mark realized that you are the only thing he has left of his sister. Besides, you didn't have any relatives anymore, and the man didn't want to take you to the orphanage. So he took custody of you.

• It was difficult. Mark was already tired with his job, so taking care of the child only added to his stress. But he tried. For you. For his sister's sake.

• When you were still young enough, a man often left you alone at home, even though he understood that it was unsafe. At that moment, his depression reached its peak, and he simply did not see any other way out. He started drinking. The man spent almost every evening at the bar, getting drunk to unconsciousness. It was after midnight when he returned home. Mark came into the apartment, heading to his bedroom, and your face greeted him. Your chubby baby cheeks were red and wet with tears, but as soon as you saw Mark, a slight smile blossomed on your face. You were already standing freely in your cradle, so when the man entered the room, you desperately stretched out your arms to him, muttering an inarticulate 'dada'. It broke a man's heart. In an instant, the intoxication was gone, and his whole being was filled with a vile sense of guilt. You were afraid to be alone, afraid of being abandoned again, and he was so brazenly leaving you alone in an empty dark apartment. But Mark couldn't help himself, he was in pain too. And so it is almost every day.

• When you went to kindergarten, he often picked you up later than everyone else. Fortunately, your teacher was a good woman and spent time with you personally, playing together. You were a smart and funny kid, but you still had trouble speaking, you didn't speak. Perhaps the fact that your 'dad' never responded to your attempts to talk to him because of your abilities influenced you.

• One day Mark got off work a little early, hoping to pick you up. He was standing in the hallway in front of your kindergarten room, his hand on the door handle. He saw you laughing while playing with the tutor in the playroom. You threw your arms around her neck and joyfully shouted "Mommy!". It broke Mark's heart. He was such a bad father, such a bad guardian. You drove home in silence this evening. Already at home, you didn't understand why Mark was so sad. You tried to hug him or ask for his hands, but the man just looked away. When he put you to bed, he knelt in front of your bed. The man took your little palms in his hands, kissing them gently. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"She's not your mommy... I know I made a mistake, but she's not your mom. Please.. don't do that anymore. I'll get better. I'm really going to get better. I treated you badly, I understand, but.. But I can't help myself. I miss her too, your mom.. the real mom..."

• You didn't quite understand what he was saying, but you leaned closer and put your arms around his neck. Mark hugged you convulsively, pulling you tightly to him and burying his nose in your hair.

• It got a lot better after that. Mark tried to drink less and spend more time with you. He took you to the park, amusement park, cinema and cafe. Now he knew the names of the characters in your favorite cartoons and bought you toys with them. The man bought you a lot of sweets and just treated you gently.

• "I want a balloon... Daddy!" Mark looked down at you and a pleased smile spread across his face when you first called him that. His chest was filled with warmth. He found a reason to keep living.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #the leatherface #child!reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair house of wax #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair #mark hoffman x you #mark hoffman saw #mark hoffman x reader

578 notes · View notes

giuliettagaltieri · 5 months

Text

Dance of Mutual Seduction

Pairing: Husband!Gojō x Wife!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru is only a man.

Warning: pointless overthinking, deflowering, explicit smut, p in v, unprotected sex, hints of dub/con, mild somnophilia, breeding, size kink, corruption kink

Word Count: 1918

6 of 9

Gojō feels like he is being watched.

He turned around as he brushed his teeth but found nobody there.

His eyes narrow, straining to see if someone dared to lay tricks in his own home. But he found none.

Was it you?

The man bent to his right to steal a quick peek at you from the bathroom doorway, but you are exactly where he left you, in your vanity, still staring at nothing in particular with your brows twisted in deep concentration.

Gojō finishes up in the bathroom and joins you in the vanity to snatch his phone from where it rested next to your parfums.

Upon seeing him from the mirror, you hastily grab your hairbrush, just so you would appear to be doing something relevant with your time, and not just staring on the empty space.

“Someone seems distracted today.” Gojō says without looking at you, as he was checking his phone.

Ignoring his statement is the safest path you can follow.

You flinch when a droplet from his arm comes sliding down your neck. “Gojō-sama, let me dry you?” You sigh at him and he nods, his eyes still stuck on his screen.

“Problem?” You ask as you lean back on the vanity to rub his head with a towelette.

“Nah.” He says and you drop the topic.

“Dry yourself right after the moment you step out of the showers next time, please.”

Gojō smiles at you briefly and places his phone by the vanity. “I’ve been doing this since I was a child. I’ll be fine.” He closes his eyes as you wipe his cheekbones and jaw.

You don’t respond, lips only forming the smallest of pouts.

“Fine. I’ll dry myself after showers next time.” He says with his smile bleeding into his voice.

A smile too graces your lips and you proceed to wipe at his torso. Gojō watches you like a bird of prey, watching and waiting for the moment you will hesitate and break. But it does not happen.

Truth be told, your proximity and the unsecured way you tied your robe was doing something to him instead.

Gojō followed the soft jiggle of your bosom and his breath hitches.

“Are you alright, Gojō-sama?” You asked worriedly. Your hands pull at his forearms to bring him closer so you can look at his face.

Much to your surprise, Gojō slips from your hold and heads straight to his closet and you can only tilt your head to the side as he fires curses after curses, you even heard muffled screaming.

He comes out a moment later with his clothing askew and his hair sticking out to every direction, as if it had been gripped with frustration.

“I have to go train the new guards. I’ll be busy the entire day, don’t look for me.” He said in one breath and he saw himself out.

You are left standing there by your vanity, the damp towelette still in your hands.

Have you done something to upset him?

Were you too forward?

Or perhaps…you gasp loudly, almost in indignation.

Does his affections lean not to the opposite sex?

You cup your mouth as you pace around your room.

He formed a really close friendship with the rogue sorcerer in high school. Also, he was not discreet in his interest in a lot of feminine matters.

Oh no. This is not good. What are to become of the heirs that your clans expected you to make?

Should you perhaps try to act more masculine? You fall on the chair with your mind not being able to keep up with your thoughts.

No.

You shall use your feminine wiles.

This is what you were trained to do.

Nevermind your husband not being interested in women. You will entice him to bed you. You swear it!

Oh, but how should you do that? You received lessons but you were never able to put them into practice.

You will die of embarrassment should you fail to succeed in seducing him.

In the planes farthest from you in the estate house, Gojō has his own hand clutching his jaw.

His thoughts were not irrational, he is certain of it. It is expected between a married man and woman. You will have to consummate your marriage with him sooner rather than later.

But you were young, and so bright-eyed, believing like nothing in the world could go wrong.

Will he dare to ruin your innocence?

A fighting dummy to his right receives the blow for the unanswered question, making it crumble to a heap of hardwood on the ground.

The men who were to spar with your husband unconsciously take a step back, a drop of cold sweat seeping from their foreheads.

You were pacing in your shred chambers the entire day.

Fixing any imperfections, adding more aromatic oils that more and more dulls your senses.

You have gotten tired of pacing from where you stand and then to the vanity that you have gone to and started holding a hand mirror to fix a hair that was astray or to wipe at any moisture that dared to ruin the powder of colors on your face.

When the sun started to retire, you had already gone and exhausted yourself, enough to make the bed appear so enticing that you simply had to lie in it.

Your body that was still covered by the robe was sprawled on the bed, your hand finding your husband’s pillow on its own.

And it was how Gojō found you.

In the middle of your matrimonial bed, hair spreading like a curtain under your head, chest peeking out of your robes as you curled around his pillow.

And his resolve melts.

You are woken up with the bed dipping, and immediately you are smothered by the smell of your husband’s sweat and musk.

Your thighs clench involuntarily.

“Gojō-sama?” You ask sleepily but his only response was his nose skimming your cheek while his battle-hardened hands work their way inside your robes, his coarse palms finding the globes of your ass.

Your mewl was swallowed by his lips.

“My name’s fucking Satoru.” He groans against your lips.

It was difficult to comprehend everything when your senses were under an onslaught of stimuli.

His arm snakes under your shoulders, his hand gripping your nape to pull you closer. The heat between your legs flows freely as his large fingers prod at your delicate flower.

“Let me have you.” Gojō groans against your chest.

Your hands rake through his snowy hair as you nod frantically.

“P-please!” It came out more desperate than you would have wanted, but his boyish chuckle made you fall in a trance, you wanted to hear it for eternity.

You cannot believe you have gone through the trouble the entire day, thinking he would not be interested when he is worshiping your body in ways that would make the goddess Aphrodite blush.

Your husband’s mouth was not only adept for spouting quick wit but also in making you reach the highest of heights. It felt like falling and floating at the same time.

When he hovers over you, everything comes to a standstill as his tip catches on your entrance.

Gojō was murmuring apologies after apologies against your shoulder as his length fills your tightness. You were seizing up to him, mouth filled with garbled discomfort as you choke on your sobs.

It was not at all like the heaven his mouth and fingers gave you.

This was painful, and so utterly filling, he had you stretched to your limit around him.

Your tiny hands pound on his broad back, feet kicking up the air by his sides.

Tears stained your pretty cheeks as your hair stuck to the moisture of your face and neck.

Gojō groaned out promises, that it will all feel good, that he will take care of you. And his hands find your hips, his fingers almost bruising your warm supple flesh. Gojō’s mouth parts as he rolls his hips against you. Feeling your twitching walls, like warm wet velvet wrapped around him.

Your breath hitch with every sharp thrust and Gojō falls numb to everything else. His nose flares as he takes the deepest breath as if just surfacing from the clutches of the waters so deep. It almost scares you how his hands cup under your knees and push them till your thighs meet the softness of your belly and chest.

And when Gojō crushes you under his weight from wanting nothing else but to cram his cock into your insides, your eyes cross with your brows scrunched so prettily, lips parting with a choked gasp.

Gojō’s hooded eyes stare at your face as he fills you again and again, the muscles of his thighs rippling with every pound of his thickness inside which almost curves just to force itself to fit. A shiver runs through your spine as your slick spurts out with every thrust, coating his thighs as it meets your swollen lips, dampening the bedding as it drips down when he pulls back just so he can shove it back in.

You were losing your mind, body writhing under the mass that was your husband. You can tell that he too was feeling what it was that is overcoming you. You have never heard him breathe as fast, as ragged, never, not even in the fights you have witnessed. But right now, his eyes were all scrunched up, mouth parted as he almost heaved. He did not look at all different from a man drunk with pleasure.

“N-not deep enough.” He groans out, annoyance marring his face.

You had no idea what he meant, he was as deep as physically possible. You were about to protest when he smacks a palm on your bum, leaving you whimpering before he hikes your legs up until your feet rested on his shoulders and he drops his weight on you, squeezing your thighs in between your bodies.

Your mind cannot comprehend how Gojō was able to fit himself further, filling you so so deep with his girth.

With the lewdest scream that ever graced Gojō’s ears, your orgasm washes over you like a shower of molten gold, lighting every vein aflame. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hands scramble to his arms, searching for something to anchor yourself into in fear that you might explode into little stars. You gasp, clawing at his back as your tiny cunt flutters around him, making it impossibly tight.

Gojō seethes, his own breath hitching as he attempts to roll his hips but his tip starts spewing his thick seed against your plump cervix. The tightness forced his cum to seep from the crevices and leak to your bum.

And exhaustion overwhelms you. Your eyelids feel heavy, it felt like such a burden to keep them open. Your hands lay limp against the mattress, and your thighs, still squashed between your sweaty bodies, your feet still hung on the air as your husband catches his breath against your chest.

It was as if he was breathing you in, like his head rewired itself and was asking for you and had forgotten about air.

You cannot bring yourself to blame him, at this moment, air be damned, all you wanted was to be smothered by your husband. With your hearts and breath in sync, bodies still joined and nectar flowing as sleep slowly carried you away.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojō satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru smut #arranged marriage #where the blue roses grow

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misctf · 11 months

Text

Getting Over Him

Amanda wiped a few tears from her eyes as she looked into the mirror at her puffy eyes and ruined makeup. This was supposed to be a fun weekend trip with friends. But she didn’t want to be just friends with Brad. She had come to love everything about him: his kind personality, his respectfulness, and physically- he was exactly her type. But while Amanda developed feelings for the blond college jock, he never seemed to view her as anything more than a friend. But she always hoped that maybe one day he would.

“I just wish I could get over him.” She mumbled, drifting off into an uncomfortable sleep, barely registering the odd symbols glowing on the wall.

Meanwhile, Brad sat at the edge of his bed, feeling like shit. He replayed the events of that night in his head- Amanda bringing up her feelings and him awkwardly turning her down. Brad massaged his temples. He knew she had feelings for him, and honestly he had feelings for her. But he was hesitant, worried about their friendship.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” He mumbled, stripping off his shirt, pants, and boxers. He sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror, “Could use a good workout.” As he turned towards his bed, he noticed the glowing symbols on the wall around him, “What the fuck...”

He saw them when they first arrived, but didn’t think much of it given it was an older home. Now that they were glowing, his curiosity peaked. As he reached out to touch one, several glowing orbs emerged from the symbol, dancing around the room. Brad yelped in surprise, turning to leave, but suddenly finding he couldn’t move.

“What the hell? Help!” But his words were only a hoarse whisper.

“Is this him?” Brad felt a cold sweat wash over him as he heard the voice.

“Yeah that’s the one!” Another voice cooed.

“I can totally see why she’s into him.” Another voice giggled.

Brad was terrified. Sure the house was old, but haunted? There was no way. He moved his eyes around frantically, eventually landing on his own frozen form in the mirror across from him.

“Hmm but that seems to be the problem!” One of the orbs approached him, “She’s totally into blonds.” Brad watched in shock as the orbs moved through his hair, each blond follicle changing and becoming darker until settling on a dark black. Simultaneously, he involuntarily raised his arms, where a few more of the orbs tickled his pits, the hair there changing too.

“H-how?” Brad strained to ask the simple question.

“Hmm but that won’t be enough!” one of the orbs said, “She loves a clean shaven man.”

Brad recoiled as the orbs began to move across his body. Each area they touched, became increasingly itchy. He grunted in frustration as the itchiness became unbearable. However, the feeling peaked and calmed as hair follicles began to push out from his previously well-shaven body. Tiny black hairs emerged from his chest, shoulders, crotch, arms, and legs. The jock’s face was no exception as the dark hairs emerged, giving him a small beard. His body turned, so that he could see how hairy his ass and back had become. But to his horror, the hair began to thicken, covering him in a thick pelt.

“Almost missed a spot!” Brad raised his arms and the orbs worked on growing out and thickening his pit hair.

Brad felt his frustration building, “Why are you doing this?” He forced out. Brad was happy with his appearance- blond, clean-shaved, muscular- and he knew that women liked it too. He couldn’t be seen like this! And he couldn’t even imagine how long it would take to shave.

“He doesn’t seem to be enjoying it!” A voice whined.

“Don’t worry, we can change that!”

Brad watched as a few of the dancing lights moved towards his cock. He tried to move out of the way, but his resistance faded as they began to massage him, the pleasure causing him to moan. He had never felt anything like it- the sensation as they bobbed up and down on his cock, which had quickly hardened at the sensation. He could barely focus as they continued to dance around him, the jock’s mind consumed with pleasure.

“See! He looks so happy!” The one celebrated as Brad let out another silent moan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. His arms moved freely, as he rubbed his hairy chest and massaged his nipples, “See he’s sooooo into it!”

“Let’s focus now! Poor Amanda. Always attracted to guys with big muscles.”

As Brad rubbed his hairy chest, he felt his firm pecs start to soften. As he pushed on them, it felt like they were deflating- losing the definition he had worked so hard to get. The jock forced himself to open his eyes, doing his best to resist the pleasure. He wished he hadn’t. Brad watched as his muscular frame began to shift. His pecs had already deflated, and his abdominal muscles followed, quickly losing definition. His arms were not spared as his biceps and triceps atrophied before his eyes. The jock grunted as he felt his shoulders press in on themselves as his back muscles decayed, leaving him more narrow and lanky.

“Wa-wait, please... stop...” He said between pants. He let out another grunt though as a thin layer of fat began to cover his lanky body, a small paunch protruding from where his abs had been.

“Aww don’t cry Brad.” A voice cooed, “Just focus on the pleasure.” Brad moaned and threw his head back as the pleasure in his dick intensified.

“But while he’s definitely not her type now, there’s always still a chance.” A voice whispered, disapprovingly.

Brad felt a shift in his mind as his sexuality flip- a sudden need for cock down his throat or up his ass invading his thoughts. And as these thoughts became cemented, he felt an inward pulling from his dick. He watched as his manhood shrunk- as it did the pleasure there moved to his ass. He moaned as he grabbed his ass and explored his hole with his fingers.

“Th-this isn’t right!” He huffed, wincing at the higher pitch of his voice. He had never played with his ass like this, yet now he couldn’t help it, the pleasure there dwarfing anything he had experienced from his dick, “Y-you can’t leave me like this!”

“Don’t worry Brady.” A voice whispered in his ear.

Brad was about to respond when he felt an intense pressure in his head. It felt like something was trying to push him out of his own mind.

“Amanda likes him for his kindness and respectfulness.” A voice giggled, “I doubt she’ll care for slutty and judgy!”

The jock became aware of a new set of memories- his time sucking off the football team, the men who bent him over, and the nights he would spend clubbing and partying. He had become a total size queen too, only caring to suck or get fucked by hung men. And as these new interests blossomed, he could sense this new personality pushing him out.

“No stop!” He moaned, “This isn’t real!” He was holding on desperately to his old memories, to who he was.

“We’re doing this for Amanda.” Brad’s eyes widened in confusion, “Just give in to the pleasure.”

Brad moaned, trying to resist. Part of him knew if he gave into the pleasure, it would be over for him. But just as he got closer to climaxing there was a knock on the door. The orbs vanished and the symbols stopped glowing. Brad fell to the ground, huffing, his small cock still rock hard and his ass throbbing with pleasure.

“Fuck.” He whispered, moving his once restrained limbs, “Need to find Amanda.” His thoughts were a mess- his old personality still present, while the new one continued to try and dominate.

The former jock threw on a pair of underwear and opened the door, desperate to find help. However, standing at the door was one of his teammates.

“Shit!” Brad said, again wincing at his voice. Nick looked at him, seemingly confused, “You’ll never believe me man but...” Brad stopped midsentence, his eyes traveling down Nick’s muscular and bare torso. His eyes landed on Nick’s compression shorts, where an evident bulge was growing. He bit his lip- what would it be like to have that python down his throat?

“Oh uh hey man.” Nick replied, the confusion leaving his face, “You’re Amanda’s friend, right? Brady?” Brad felt his heart sink- did Nick not remember him? The concern dissipated though as Brad refocused on the growing bulge in Nick’s pants, “Uh so...” Brad continued to stare at Nick's bulge, “Uh yeah I was wondering if...”

Brad wanted to resist, to push Nick away and find Amanda, but as he stared at the growing snake in Nick’s shorts, he gave in, “I can help you with that.” Nick grinned and without hesitation, pushed Brad back into the room.

The next morning, Amanda woke up and slowly got out of bed. As she entered the hallway, she watched the door to Brad’s room open. She grew confused when a sweaty Nick walk out, a stupid grin on his face.

“What the fuck?” Amanda whispered.

“Oh hey Amanda!” Nick said, blushing, “Uh yeah, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head, “Uh thanks for bringing Brady.”

Amanda was about to ask what the fuck he was talking about, but Nick quickly darted to his room. She narrowed her eyes and walked over to Brad’s room, intent on finding out what that was all about.

“Hey Brad, what...” Her eyes landed on a man swiping on his phone in Brad’s bed, someone who she didn’t even recognize. But before she could say anything, something clicked in her head. That was Brady, her gay best friend. He had insisted he come along when he saw the guys who would be going. Amanda sighed, this was so typical of him, “So, had fun last night?”

Brady looked up from Grindr and giggled, “Hun, you have no idea.”

#male tf #male transformation #straight to gay #personality tf #wish gone wrong

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sweetdreamlandstuff · 2 years

Text

JJK men thinking of you while masturbating

NSFW / Minors don't interact / female reader

Summary: The title describes it perfectly, I have nothing to add haha. For Gojo, Nanami and Choso. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Warnings: fantasies about blowjobs, handjobs, spanking, sex etc. + low-key some of them are getting caught in the act

Part 2 + sequel to the scenarios here :)

Satoru Gojo

Gojo lets out a long breath when he closes the door to his office behind him. He plops down onto the couch, hiding his face in his hands. Fuck, he should really pull himself together. But since you’ve started working as a teacher at Jujutsu High this has been increasingly difficult for him.

Today you really tested his patience. He felt your boobs pressing against him when you hugged him and he scolds himself for turning off his infinity, allowing you to do that. And then your delicate hands smoothing over his arm. Sometimes he has the impression that you do all of that on purpose; bending down in your short skirts, touching him, looking at him with these fucking eyes.

Satoru is the strongest; but just thinking about all of this, about you, has his dick straining hard against his pants. He lowers his hands and sees the outline of his cock pressing against his trousers. This really is a problem. He has to do something about that. And he knows; if he goes about his day without getting a release he’ll get hard just laying his eyes on you. And he can’t let that happen.

So he lifts his hips up to pull down his pants and boxers. His cock springs free and he wraps his hand around it. He hesitates shortly. He feels guilty, perverse even for what he is about to do. But when his palm drags slowly along his length Gojo feels relief spreading through his body. The urge to get a release clouding his mind.

He loves it when you touch him, fleeting and shy, as if you’re testing the waters. But now he would love nothing more than to have your pretty, delicate hand wrapped around his throbbing dick, pumping into his swollen, flushed tip.

He lets his head fall back against the backrest, closing his eyes so he can picture you better. He imagines it is your warm palm that drags along his shaft. In his fantasy you’re kneeling between his spread legs. You’re peering up at him, your eyes observing him thoroughly as you fasten the movement.

Gojo increases his pace, suppressing a groan that dares to slip past his lips. He imagines you lowering your head, taking him into your mouth. He just knows you would be amazing at sucking him off; your cheeks hollowing to suck on the tip of his head before you take all of him inside. He imagines it’s your mouth instead of his hand that wraps around his dick. Fuck, you would look so beautiful with your plush lips around him, looking up at him through your batted lashes. A low groan rips past his lips as he feels a bead of pre-cum sliding down his length. He spreads it, coating his dick.

He imagines you bobbing your head, his hand nestling into your hair to guide you. “Such a good girl,” he mutters to himself. He sees your face in front of his eyes; the tears daring to spill over as you deepthroat his dick, the look of pure devotion in your hazy eyes. He sees the string of spit connecting you to his glistening cock when you pull away to catch your breath. Gojo increases the pace of his hand, concentrating on his sensitive tip.

His motions comes to an abrupt halt when he feels a familiar energy approaching. He shallowly lets his hand drag along his length when he hears the knock on his door. Shit. He perks up and opens his eyes. Gojo lets out a shuddered breath when he hears your voice from the other side of the door. His dick twitches in his hand and he tightens his grasp, almost punishingly, when he hears his name dropping from your lips.

And just for a short second he debates whether to just let you come in. To just let you see what you do to him. You would find him, his legs spread on the couch, his hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes half-lidded and his dick almost painfully throbbing in his large hand to get a release. His desperate state; all because of you.

But he doesn’t. “I’m busy. Come back later,” he calls out and hopes that you can’t hear the yearning in his voice. Because he isn’t sure if he would rather have you coming in, finding him like this. You call out an okay, and he still hears your retreating steps as he resumes his movement.

He lets his head fall back again and imagines that you came into his office. The look on your face, your flustered expressions and wide eyes as you find him jerking off to the thought of you. Satoru feels his orgasm nearing as he wonders what you would do to him; maybe helping him, jerking him off yourself. Or how you would wrap your mouth around him. Or maybe you would lose all your clothes, allowing him to watch you as you play with your tits before your hands glide lower down your body.

A deep groan rips past his parted lips and he concentrates on his sensitive tip as he wonders how your pussy would look and how it would feel as you lower yourself on his dick, inch for inch. His hips jerk up into his hand, two, three times before he tips over the edge. He groans as he imagines plunging his cock deep inside of you.

Gojo curses under his breath as his orgasm washes over him. His thighs tremble slightly as his hot, white cum shoots out of him. He jerks through it until he is left panting breathlessly and the drag of his hand is almost unbearable. Then he opens his eyes, watching the mess he made, a clear indicator that he must do something about this attraction towards you. Because he knows; next time he won’t be able to say no if you knock on his door.

Kento Nanami

It’s one of these late evenings again where Nanami is glad that he decided to stay longer at work. The office is vacant, the space only dimly lit, as he stares straight ahead into his computer screen, trying desperately to concentrate on the numbers in front of him. But he can’t. He is tired and his eyes always dart back to you.

You both are the only ones that have stayed behind, continuing to work. He loves when that happens, because then he can observe you more openly. And he can see you like the other colleagues can’t; a little more relaxed, a little less composed. This might be one of the reasons why Nanami loves staying so late; working longer than the others just to see you in this state, admiring your features as the dim lights paint you in a luminous glow.

You sit on the desk in front of him, slightly to the right. He watches you work like that, your beautiful hands flying over the keyboard. He gets lost for a few seconds; watching you put your hair up, exposing your long neck to him before you stand up. You turn around, slight surprise in your eyes as you catch him looking at you. You shoot him a small smile “I’ll be right back,” you whisper before you walk out the door.

Nanami smoothes his hand over his face, letting out a long sigh. He really shouldn’t be such a creep. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But his tiredness wears him down, making his mind slow. He resumes his work and only looks up when he hears you coming back.

And when his eyes find you he’s afraid that they are about to plop out of his head. At first he thinks he is imagining it but after a few seconds he is sure that he isn’t. Even in the gloomy light he can see that you must have taken off your bra. Fuck. He tries not to stare, but he can’t tear his eyes away from your tits bouncing ever so slightly, your nipples outlined against the sheer material of your blouse.

Nanami clears his throat, his gaze trailing up to your face. You catch his eyes and there it is again; that sweet smile of yours. And even through the darkness he sees the glint in your eyes. Do you know what you do to him? Do you do this on purpose? His tired mind is too bleary to process what this would entail.

He tries to concentrate back on his work, this time not letting his eyes trail back to you. And after a few minutes he sees you moving from the corner of his eye. He perks up and sees you putting on your coat. You turn back around to him and he isn’t sure if he is only imagining the disappointment in your eyes. You’re probably just tired. “I’m heading home now. Are you staying?” You ask him.

Nanami clears his throat. “Yes, just a few more hours. I have to finish something.”

You nod, smiling at him. “Alright. Don’t overwork yourself, Nanami,” you mutter. He shoots you a small smile before you turn back around and leave.

He leans back in his chair when you have vanished. You really are going to be the death of him. He always tries to stay respectful; not once has he ever actively thought about you when he was touching himself. Every time he thinks about you in that way he scolds himself, feeling so guilty. He is a gentleman, through and through, and he shouldn’t do something like that.

But now he is just so tired. And so riled up from watching you. As he tugs down his pants and boxers he promises himself that this will be the first and the last time. This now will be the only time he will allow himself to indulge in the dirty thoughts he has about you.

Nanami closes his eyes, exhaling deeply as his hand wraps around his hard cock. He moves his hand up and down his length, slowly and thoroughly. He sees you in front of his eyes; sitting so prettily under his deck as you take his dick inside of your mouth. Your enticing eyes would look up into his as you let your tongue glide along the underside of his dick.

“Just like that,” he mutters to himself as he imagines you hollowing your cheeks, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes as you try to accommodate everything into your mouth.

Nanami increases his pace, smearing his pre-cum over his length as he imagines you bent over his desk. He would tug up your skirt, pulling your panties to the side to reveal your beautiful pussy to him. And then he imagines sinking into you, wondering how your walls would feel when they welcome him, warm and wet.

And then he would glide out of you again, watching your pretty pussy gush around his cock. His hand jerks his cock faster now, mimicking how he would pound into you. He sees your beautiful ass, jiggling with every one of his hard thrust. He feels his orgasm nearing, his flushed tip increasingly sensitive.

And he just imagines the sinful noises filling up the desk; the lewd, squelching sound of your dripping pussy and your breathless moans and whimpers. Your name slips past his lips and he groans quietly, as his thighs tremble.

Nanami is too wrapped up in his fantasy to notice the elevator dinging. He only perks up when he hears your sweet voice calling his name. And at first he thinks you’re calling out his name in his dream but then he sees your silhouette leaning against the frame of the door.

He is on the verge of cumming and he can’t help it, because then his name falls from your lips again. Your voice is soft and full of aspiration and the sound of it makes him go feral. He always loves when you say his name. But now that his hand is wrapped around his dick this alluring sound alone pushes him over the edge. Nanami loses any kind of shame. He cums, hard.

He tries his best to stay silent and struggles to keep his face straight. And as his mind is clouded he desperately hopes you can’t see anything. His dick twitches in his hand as the hot cum coats his fist white, dripping down his thick shaft and his balls. He hopes you don’t hear the quiet curse falling from his parted lips. He hurriedly lets his pulsating cock fall heavy against his thigh.

Nanami hears your voice and tries desperately to comprehend your words. But he still feels like he is wrapped in cotton, the lust cursing through his veins like honey. You ask him something, if he knows where your phone or keys are or something like this. His gaze is still a little hazy as he watches you walking further into the room. Your eyes widen slightly when you notice his half-lidded eyes fixed on you, almost deliriously.

“I didn’t see anything,” he mutters, his voice is strained and hoarse as he answers you.

“Uhm…Are you okay?” You ask, your face is painted with worry, as your eyes trail over his flustered face.

No, he obviously isn’t fucking okay. He is far from it. Because now after he has thought about you he knows, no other fantasies will compare to the ones he has about you.

Choso:

“Thanks for letting me stay over,” you thank Choso before you say goodbye and head home. He mutters a goodbye and closes the door behind you. His walk is sluggish as he plops himself back on the couch. He buries his face in his hands, before he opens his eyes again. And then he sees it; the shirt he has lent you to sleep in. It’s placed right next to him, folded together neatly.

A smile tugs at his lips as he thinks about how tidy you always are. He noticed that since a few months; you often creep into his mind and a smile appears on his lips like he is in love with you. But he isn’t of course. You’re just his friend. You two are friends.

And when he lays in bed, late at night and he tosses and turns you often appear in his thoughts. He knows he shouldn’t do what he does then; moving his hand to palm his cock, ashamedly thinking of you. He always feels bad after he comes down from his high. He is sure he shouldn’t think about his friend in that way.

And now his eyes are fixed on the shirt laying next to him. Choso can’t help wondering if you wore something underneath. He’s pretty sure that you weren’t. Just your panties and his t-shirt. He gulps. And before he knows it the shirt is in his hand. The material is soft, worn in from him. And now from you as well. His cheeks burn from the slight shame he feels but his hand moves nonetheless.

He presses the material to his face, inhaling the scent. Your scent. He can smell you clearly. And now you come alive in his imagination, Choso remembers how you looked wearing his shirt. The loose fit not able to conceal your tits or the curve of your ass.

And without warning his cock strains against his sweatpants. He sighs and he proceeds like he always does, tugging his pants down hurriedly, just to get this over with. He is disappointed at himself for failing like this again, for failing to stop this sexual attraction he feels for you. He wraps his hand around his cock, almost angrily.

He curses under his breath as he drags his fist up and down his cock, pumping into his swollen tip. He watches himself doing so for a few seconds. Then his thumb drags across his slit to collect the pre cum to smear it over his swollen tip.

He imagines you laying here in his lap, his large hands coming down on your ass, again and again. He would continue spanking you until the red mark of his hand can be seen clearly. And then he would plunge his fingers inside of your pussy, feeling how wet you are. He would tell you how dirty you are for getting so wet, asking you if you do this with all of your friends. A groan rips past his slack jaw as he imagines fingering you slow and teasingly. His calloused fingers rubbing your sensitive clit until you beg him to finally fuck you. But he won’t; he will take his time with you.

Choso increases the pace of his hand, urging himself closer to his orgasm. He thinks about you squirming in his lap as he thrusts his long fingers inside of you, again and again. He nearly feels your plush walls spasming around him, as you drip all over his fingers, even coating his wrist with your arousal. And he will continue to tease your clit until he has you gushing and whining.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he mutters, as if you were actually there with him.

And in his fantasies you look at him with beseeching eyes, wanting him to finally pound into you. Choso imagines sinking inside of you, bottoming out, feeling you wrap around his leaking cock so heavenly. And he would fuck you deep into the mattress, your drool staining the fabric dark until his name is the only thing that you can moan.

A whimper falls from his parted lips, the image of you screaming his name pushing him over the edge. His fist squeezes his cock impossibly tighter and with two fast pumps he cums. A deep groan falls from his lips, alongside your name, drawn out in a moan, like it so often does when he orgasms. His dark eyes fix on his hand, watching thick beads of cum sliding down his length, his hot cum dripping down his twitching balls.

He chokes on a moan when he continuous to pump into his overly sensitive tip, smearing his cum messily all over his hand and throbbing dick. He shallowly thrusts up into his fist to ride out his high, not being able to let go of the thoughts about you. That is until he grits his teeth, hissing and whining quietly from the overstimulation.

And you would probably not recognize your friend like that; his dark hair disheveled, his flustered face and the lust-drunk look in his eyes borderline feral. Normally, Choso is calm and collected, sometimes even withdrawn. But when he thinks about you like that he can’t keep himself quiet. At night or at day there are comments and sounds slipping past his lips he could never utter to you in real life, lewd, lecherous words. Desperate moans, breathless whimpers, choked groans as he gets lost in his depraved fantasies about you and your body, imagining drawing one orgasm from you after another.

And when he comes down from his high, his clouded mind slowly turning back to his normal state, he feels the guilt again. He grimaces at his soiled hand. He should stop with that, he really should. But Choso already knows; he simply can’t.

#Satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #nanami kento #Nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #Nanami smut #choso x reader #choso smut #jjk smut #nanami x y/n #gojo x y/n #choso x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #choso jjk

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tarjapearce · 6 months

Text

Grandma's Visit.

Warnings: Drama, mild angst, Strained Relationships. Comfort towards the end. No proofread

Summary: Conchata wants to meet Benji.

A/N: There might not be updates, but have this little piece as an offer :')

Hey

Gabriel's leg bounced as the main door was closed, a bit of a slam on it. His hands immediately fetched his phone.

Migue

Busy right now.

Drop that shit and listen

?? ¿Qué pasó? (What's wrong?)

Mamá va para allá, cabrón.

The fuck you mean she's on her way? Did you tell her where do I live?

Miguel, it's mom we're talking about.

The eldest O'Hara sighed and raked a hand over his hair. He was definitely not prepared for what laid ahead.

She wants to meet Benjamin.

Miguel's body tensed as his muscles flexed so tightly, one would think he'd break. And it wasn't far from the truth.

Conchata. Or Connie for her friends, was the ever annoying stone on his shoes. Miguel had refused to have her in his wedding. Not out of spite, rather for the notion he had of his beloved progenitor. He knew that trouble followed her everywhere and if it wasn't following her like an overly attached stalker, is cause she was the problem itself.

Conchata was anything but easy to be around. And things had gone even more acrid after the wedding. Miguel never told you about the fourty five minute call she made him just to say how much of a bad son he was for not inviting her over.

But Miguel knew better, if he'd had her, she'd either complain about everything, ruining the mood for everyone. Or she'd start making snide comments on you and he'd get pissed, some drama would ensue causing an even bigger and jagged rift between them and his wedding would be ruined.

"Hey"

Your gentle and soft touch grounded him, anchored his mind back to his body, as his attention snapped back at you.

"You ok?"

His eyes felt tired and heavy. Unable to meet your gaze completely.

"I'll be."

You cradled him in your arms and kissed the top of his forehead. The touch alone melted him. His own arms embracing your shorter form, that somehow did the perfect work of comforting him and ease his thoughts. But when it came to his mother, little good things came out from it.

"My... eh-" He cleared his throat, "My mother is coming for a visit"

Oh...

"What she could possibly want after so many years?"

"Meet Benjamin."

Even though his words seemed simple, the clenching of his fists until his knuckles turned white, only dictated it was far from being that. Miguel didn't fear his mother, but feared and hated the words that could possibly escape her mouth when things weren't her way.

His wellbeing would be the sacrifice for the visit, cause he'd do anything possible to avoid you or his children get hurt.

"I swear, if she says or does something stupid-"

"Mi reina, let me handle her, ok?"

Your lips pursed and your brows deepened in a soft furrow.

"I won't hesitate-"

"I know. But please. Just, let me, ok?"

Both of you knew that things weren't going to be easy, his distress was obvious, he knew you'd step in if necessary, but he had to face her, it was more like a closure for him than anything. His baby boy wouldn't suffer the dooming and cursing words she gave him so many years ago. Words he learned to loathe as he grew up.

"Alright."

----

Maybe Gabriel's heads up was a false alarm, because nearly a week had gone by. A week of pent up stress and anxiety from both sides. And you could tell from Miguel's demeanor changing.

Even though being loving and a great father remained on the top list, you knew better than that. He'd been found asleep in his office after dinner, or would shut out himself for some little minutes. You'd give him space, and when he needed you, he'd always know where to find you.

He didn't even required to say 'I need you' cause you knew. His body language over the years had been a great subject of study, specially when it came to anxiety and other negatives that always switched on whenever his mother popped up in a conversation, or when something didn't sit right in his gut.

He'd pace, pick at the skin around his nails hard enough to draw blood, chew at the insides of his cheek, drink alot of more coffee to keep himself awake, grumpier than usual, irritated, short replies for everything outside his beloved family.

With you he'd be clingier than usual, he'd spoil Gabi over to avoid thinking too much. He'd pour himself into being that amazing and loving parent he never had, but at night, he'd just hold you until he fell asleep. He'd clutch onto you so tightly that sometimes you'd have little bruises, barely visible ones, in the places he'd hold.

Your comfort skills poured into his preferred love language. Physical touch. You'd play with his hair until he fell asleep, a little purr coming from him before giving into sleep, you'd caress his back in soothing circles, letting the steady beating of your heart lull him to calm.

You'd kiss his face, showering him in affection, as if with every kiss a bit of his worries would go away.

The knock on the main door however interrupted his train of thoughts. You had gone to the supermarket to get some stuff you had forgotten for dinner. Relief washing over him as you now we're home, or so he innocently had thought. All air was caught in his throat upon seeing none other than Conchata on the front door.

Even for her age, Conchata had some beauty reserved. Her skin tone same as Miguel's, soft curls that lingered above her shoulders, deep brown eyes that if one looked close enough, would see the deep red in them. Tall and seizing him with a look he also learned to master.

A scowl disguised as a smile.

"Miguel. "

"Mamá."

A too common and long pleasantries shared between the both.

She hasn't aged much.

Miguel's mind chanted.

"You're gonna let me in to meet my grandson, or what?"

A bushy brow of his quirked, blasé and bored, but he stepped aside. His whole frame had curbed her for long enough.

Here we go

Her scrutinizing gaze was unstoppable against the nakedness of his home. Her eyes raked in every little detail out of place, loading her verbal ammo with it.

"Where is the baby?"

"Asleep."

Monotone and monosyllabic answers that matched his expression was all she could pry from him. It was ridiculous the amount of pictures you seemed to have about Gabriella. She saw her when she was two, then six. Staying in Miguel’s life wasn't something she actually liked to partake on. Too busy with her own demons and new boyfriends to care.

Why would she? He was already a grown ass man.

A man that refused to have her at his own wedding. A past resentment that has lasted over the years and her own mind had been feeding the fester inside her heart. It didn't help you had one of the wedding pictures scattered around the living room.

The few proofs she needed to see, to know she wasn't welcome, but knowing her son had his own now, was another excuse to see what kind of man and father Miguel had turned out to be.

His arms crossed on his chest as she sat down in one of the seats in the couch.

"Come."

"I'm fine here, thanks."

"I'm trying to be civil. The least you can do is obey your mother for once."

"Why you came?"

"I told you. I need to see my grandson."

"Whatever for?"

Her eyes hardened at his words, but a sigh escaped her lips.

"God, you're so like your father. Always mistrusting people."

"You need to leave."

Hearing her say such curse, made his heart beat even faster. Hands clenched tightly at his sides. Eyes away from her, like if the mere sight of her brought back so many unpleasantness he had fought hard to work them through.

"I won't leave until your... woman shows up and throws me away."

"She will."

"Of course she will. You're not man enough. Just look at this place. A mess."

"And?"

Miguel knew that paying and baiting into her games, would only hinder so. many years of progress he had done on his own. But would also mean to give her the attention she desperately seeked, even if it meant to do it the wrong way.

"What do you mean, and?! What does she does around all day?" Conchata huffed, " In my times the wife was the one that kept everything in check. I've seen nothing but a mess so far."

"Sorry for that."

Your tired and irked voice echoed from the kitchen's door. Miguel gave you a little smirk.

"Have been busy being a real mother this whole time. Miguel, mi amor can you defrost some vegetables, please?"

"Sure do. Found everything?"

You both were purposely ignoring her. A silent yet powerful statement.

You have no power here.

Conchata's eyes set like stone into you. How dared a tiny flea like yourself to speak to her in such way?. And even worse, how could his son be lenient in allowing you to be disrespectful towards her?

You had entered quietly, the heavy and draining aura could be felt even from outside. You had told Gabi to wait outside and rearrange the groceries in the meantime.

" Oh, I didn't know you had returned."

Your name rolling off her tongue felt wrong.

" It's my house too."

"Ah, of course. You didn't do a pre-nup. Te va a dejar en la calle, Miguel." (She'll leave you bare)

Conchata's gaze never left you, it only turned even more intense as her pupils followed you every step.

"I came here to meet my grandson. Where is Gabriella? "

Said precious child helped you to get the bags from your car, while Conchata opened her arms for Gabi to cuddle her. But everything that came out was her hiding behind you, while looking between you and her, as if asking permission.

"Do you want to greet grandma, baby?"

Gabi only recoiled back, hiding further from you.

"Guess not."

You shrugged and instructed Gabi to go to her room, your eldest baby ignored her grandma.

"Muy chistosa tu mujer, enseñándole a mis nietos a irrespetarme ." (Your woman is so funny by teaching my grandkids to disrespect me.)

Miguel had to roll his eyes and stare at her boringly as he pulled out the vegetables and put them to thaw while you clenched your jaw by the sudden resented babbling that came from your mother in law.

"Where is Benjamin? I came here to see him. And I'm sure you'd love to have me here again."

"He'll be up in a minute. Would you like a a glass of water?"

Miguel offered but Conchata was already set in making you as uncomfortable as possible. And when Benjamin was brought in, rubbing his sleepy and baby face, looking for you, Conchata stood and took Benji from Miguel's arms. Holding him with such disingenuous affection it made Benji to reach for Miguel instantly.

You tensed, and so did Benjamin as Conchata admired him. If it wasn't for the skin tone matching Miguel’s, one would think that Benjamin wasn't his. Benjamin had your curls. And not Miguel's soft waves. Benjamin was the splitting image of you with a bit of Miguel's DNA painted in a few selected places. Like his eyes and height.

"I'm actually surprised you managed to pop out his children. Miguel is... big. Got it from his father."

"Didn't care much about that, ma'am."

"No se parece en nada a ti, Miguel. ¿Estás seguro que es tu hijo?" (He doesn't look like you. Are you sure he's your son?)

You didn't know what infuriated you more. The fact that she hinted that Benjamin wasn't his, a shallow and not so subtle hint at Miguel's past, or the pleased smirk her mouth turned into after spilling out the venom and seeing Miguel's discomfit grow.

Some people couldn't be helped. And Conchata truly couldn't help but love hurting her son. But you weren't having it. Not when Miguel's eyes turned away from her, not in hurt but in such anger that even you knew things wouldn't end up good for neither. And still, he regarded her with uninterested eyes.

His lack of engagement at her taunts, made her even more lashing. Like a little child that refused to have her whims met.

Even worse when Benjamin started to fuss and reach for him with a nervous cry. Even he felt odd and icky around her. You took Benjamin from her, cooing and soothing him, but he wanted Miguel. Who gladly took his precious baby, away from Connie. Inspecting him for any damage to finally kiss the top of his forehead, reassuringly.

You're safe.

"Si ya terminó de incomodarnos, creo que se puede ir, señora." (If you're done making us uncomfortable, you may go, ma'am.)

Her eyes widened at your spanish. It was clear that you had understood everything she had said, but were wise enough to not lose your temper, yet you fought back.

"Remind me to never visit you again, please."

"As if you ever do that. And no, it's not an invitation."

"Escúchame bien, chamaco ingrato-" (Listen to me you ungrateful brat)

"Ma'am."

You weren't one for yelling, but your voice was firm enough to have three pair of eyes set on you, Benjamin's fussing stopped. Conchata's lips turned into a scowl at your words.

"Thanks for your visit."

"You know, you could've settled for something better-"

"Así estoy bien, gracias. Now, if you excuse us, We've got dinner to make. The door is right there." (Im just fine. Thanks)

She left with a slam that had Benjamin cry out of the jumpscare.

Miguel hushed and rubbed his baby's back in little circles to keep him calm before giving his pacifier.

" You ok? "

Your hand squeezed Miguel's for a moment while he kissed your temple gratefully.

" Yeah. She's gone. That's why exactly I didn't invite her to the wedding or meeting you."

"It's alright. God... she's-"

"Annoying. I know. Sorry you had to hear all that."

"Nah. I'm glad you taught me cause, damn... Her face upon hearing me speaking it, was priceless. And just for you to know, I was about to explain how we almost made Benji on the car."

Miguel snorted and nodded, knowing you would. You had each other's back and that wasn't up for discussion.

" Te amo."

You mumbled in his ear before stealing a kiss from his lips.

" También te amo."

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#gabi o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara angst #conchata o'hara #benjamin o'hara #mama o'hara #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #x reader #astv fanfic

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beanthesprout · 4 months

Text

Sweet Angel

Sub!Castiel x soft dom!afab reader

Castiel is feeling things he's never felt before. Things he thought he shouldn't feel as an angel. And you're more than happy to help him explore

Warnings: marking, oral sex (m recieving), pentrative sex, p in v, unprotected sex

All the boys were supposed to be out today. That's what they'd told you. Sam and Dean had taken Jack out on a hunt, and Cas was off with Bobby doing research.

You loved having the bunker to yourself. It gave you the opportunity to be more...free with your clothing choices. You loved and trusted your boys but you weren't keen on the idea of them seeing you walk around the way you were right now.

Panties and a t-shirt. No bra. And by God was it comfortable. No one was supposed to be back until the next morning, so for now you were relishing having the place to yourself.

You were wandering out of the kitchen with a beer, wanting to go back to the library to continue reading that book on witches you'd found. You were not expecting to see Castiel standing in the middle of the library, jaw dropped and face bright red as he saw you walk in.

"Oh fuck."

Cas just stared, mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but he just couldn't get the words out. Your embarrassment quickly turned to amusement.

Your eyes drifted down to see that he seemed to have a bit of a problem in his pants.

"You doin alright angel?"

He raised his hands to rub his face and turn away.

"I'm sorry. I-I wasn't expecting you to have so little clothes on."

"You're more flustered than I am." You snickered.

He stayed turned away from you and you could see he was trying to adjust his pants. You set your beer on top of a bookcase and walked up behind him to lean over his shoulder and whisper in his ear.

"You having some trouble there angel?"

You heard his breath hitch in his throat at your low sultry tone and he turns his head to look at you with wide eyes.

"I've never-I dont..." His gruff voice was full of confusion. You looked down to see him trying to cover himself with his trenchant.

"I can take care of it for you." You offered sweetly.

"How?"

You grinned and went around to face him and gently pushed him backwards so he stumbled into a chair.

He sat there, legs spread and wide eyed. His face covered in shock and nervousness. You kneeled in front of him and gently ran your fingers up and down the tops of his thighs.

"What're you doing?"

"Will you let me show you just how pleasurable it is to have a human body?"

Cas hesitated, his eyes searching your own for a moment before nodding.

"I need words sweetheart."

"Yes. Yes please."

A satisfied smile spread over your face as you let your hands slide down to glide over his inner thighs. He shivered as your touch went higher and higher.

Slowly you reached up to undo his belt and slowly tugged his pants down, murmuring at him to lift his hips for you, which he did immediately.

He watched you closely as you kissed up his thighs, letting out a gasp when you bit down on the soft skin of his inner thigh. You ran your tongue over the bite mark soothingly. You turned your attention to his other thigh, leaving bites and hickies all the way up.

"So sensitive." You murmured before sucking another hickey onto his thigh. Cas groaned loudly, his hands gripping tightly at the arm rests of his chair.

You leaned forward to press a kiss to his tip straining against his boxers. He sucked in a harsh breath at the action.

You gently eased him out of his underwear, enamored with the way his cock pulled free.

He whimpered when he felt your breath against it, watching intently as you licked a stripe from base to tip. He let out a strangled groan as you took the tip into his mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

You slowly took more of him into your mouth, watching his face contort with pleasure and his breath quicken.

You began bobbing your head as you took more and more of him in, eventually feeling him hit the back of your throat. He began messily thrusting into your mouth, the feelings overtaking him.

You reached up to guide his hand to your head and he immediately gripped your hair to start pushing you down on his cock. You choked a bit at first but quickly adjusted to his pace. His head lolled back as moans and groans loudly.

It didn't take long before his hips started to stutter and he tried to press you further onto his cock despite your face already being buried in his curly thick hair.

After a few more thrusts he finally emptied into your mouth, whimpering and moaning. You swallowed before gently pulling off.

Cas was panting heavily staring up at the ceiling, slowly he lowered his head to look down at you.

"You like that angel?" You grinned proudly.

"That was...unlike anything I've ever experienced."

You pressed a soft kiss to his thigh before reaching to pull his underwear back on, but he grabbed his wrists to stop you.

"What about you?"

"You don't need to worry about me sweetheart."

"I want you to feel it too." His voice was gruff, tone full of want. His eyes were intent and his cheeks were still flushed. You softened, it was sweet of him.

You stood up and leaned in to kiss him, which he happily accepted. It didn't take long until your tongue was in his mouth, he sighed at the feeling. His lips moved against yours, he was inexperienced but he was still trying. And you found it adorable.

He reached his hands up to hesitantly rest on your waist and you moved to sit on his lap, your thighs on either side of his waist. He made a small noise of surprise but continued kissing you hungrily.

You gently started to grind your hips against his, and the simple action had him moaning again and rolling his hips up into you. You grinding against him with your soaked panties was enough to make him feel that desperation and need all over again.

You'd started moaning yourself, the friction was immensely pleasurable, especially as you felt him grow hard again. God it was delicious.

You pulled back and started kissing his neck, sucking hickies onto his skin as you ran your fingers through his hair. You started to grind harder against him, enjoying the sweet breathy moans it pulled from him.

He knew he sounded pathetic, absolutely drunk on you despite being a warrior of heaven. But he really didn't care. The only thing he cared about was you and the things you were making him feel in that moment.

"More. Need more." He rasped out.

"Oh my sweet angel. I'll give you more." You whispered in his ear before nibbling his earlobe. He moaned in response, his hands tightening his grip on your waist.

You tugged your panties to the side and gently guided him to your entrance before sinking down onto him, gasping at the feeling. His fingers dug into your hips so hard you were certain there would be bruises.

You settled fully onto him, hands running through his hair.

"This what you were wanting Cas?" Your tone was teasing.

"God yes." He groaned.

Slowly you started to move on him, rolling your hips, finding the tempo that'd have both of you moaning and stuttering incoherently. His hands tugged your shirt off and he toyed with your breasts, pinching at your nipples and groping you.

And God was it good. He dragged against you in a way you'd never experienced before, and the way you fluttered and clenched around him had him crying out into your shoulder.

Over and over you murmured words of praise, encouraging him as he desperately fucked up into you.

It really didn't take long to reach your climax, clamping down on him as you cried out into his shoulder. He desperately kept going, trying his best not to release until you'd completely finished. And when you'd fallen limp against him he thrust into you a few more times before you felt heat fill you.

You both sat there for a few moments, panting as you held onto each other. Slowly you eased yourself off of him.

"Can you get me a wet washcloth please?"

He grunted and nodded, maneuvering you so you were sitting in the chair. He stood and pulled up his pants before walking off and coming back with a warm wet washcloth and kneeled down to clean you up. He froze though, enamored with the way his cum was dripling out of you.

"Cas?"

Your voice pulled him out of his stupor and he stuttered an apology before gently cleaning you up and helping you put your shirt on.

When he was done you stood up unsteady and he quickly moved to pick you up and carry you to your room.

"This isn't necessary." You chuckled.

"Of course it is." His tone made it clear there was no argument to be made.

"Well thank you." You pressed a kiss to his cheek and giggled when he blushed.

He set you down on your bed, bringing you a new pair of underwear.

"Thank you." He mumbled as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"You don't have to thank me," you chuckled, "I enjoyed it too."

"I just mean, thank you for giving me such a pleasurable experience. It's one I will never forget. And...I glad it was with you."

You practically melted at his words and hugged him from behind, "Let me know if you ever want to do it again."

He nodded in response.

You had a feeling he'd be coming to your room a lot more frequently.

#castiel #castiel smut #castiel x reader #castiel x you

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noted-aj · 22 days

Text

Feeling so tired, really falling apart.

hazbin hotel (some of) cast x gn!reader

comfort / angst headcanons

HCs for if the cast found reader crying in their room, yet they attempt to hide the fact that they were. reader is gender neutral, they/them are pronouns used along with Y/N <3

(SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT!!!) first post ever :3

characters included: angel dust, charlie, husk, alastor

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Charlie:

💌 - Charlie would definitely bring snacks or things that comfort you to your room.

💌 - She can be a bit much at times, and my accidentally pry too much.

💌 - I swear, her hugs could probably comfort anyone within seconds. Just imagine a soft yet intense cuddle sesh with her

💌 - She wouldn’t want to be too pushy, but would definitely offer to stay with them and help cheer them up.

A light knock sounded from your door and a soft yet somehow still energetic voice followed it. “Hey, (Y/N)?..” A small sniffle could be heard from the other side of the door, coming from you. A strained “Yes?” you said. The door creaked open, your head staring at the bubbly woman who stood in your doorway. “I just wanted to check on you, you haven’t been out of your room all day.” You swiftly wiped the tears from your face “No, no, I’m fine Charlie. Don’t worry.” Charlie gave you an empathetic look and walked over to your bed, sitting down on the corner of your bed. “Tell me how I can help.” She wrapped an arm around you with a smile.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Husk:

🍻 - Husker is definitely great at comforting others, but doesn’t like to do it to people he doesn’t trust or know.

🍻 - He would be similar to a father figure just letting you rant about what happened, but not trying to shut down your problems.

🍻 - Asks what kind of drinks you like and make them for you, or have Charlie help him find comfort objects for you

The door to your hotel room creaked open softly, but loud enough for you to hear. You wiped your eyes and stood up defensively, taking a few sniffles. A cat demon looked down at you slightly, a melancholic look on his face. You sighed and turned away from him, giving up the attempt to hide the fact you were crying. “You alright, kid?” You nodded largely, not saying a word. He looked down with you and then back towards your face, turned away from him. “..Would you tell me if you weren’t..?” You looked away shamefully, still remaining silent. He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a small smile “That’s okay. I’m here for you if ya need it.” He chuckled.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Angel Dust:

💒 - Depending on what you were crying about, Angel can usually always help in some way or another

💒 - His hugs are immaculate, he has 6 arms for a reason. And he’s soft as hell too.

💒 - He has a lot of problems as well, and I’m sure you two could have such a relieving vent & cry session together.

You walked up the stairs on the hotel lobby, not speaking a word to anyone in the lobby. You received a few concerned and confused glanced for someone who was usually striking up conversations, you didn’t spare a glance to any of them. “I’ll check on ‘em.” Angel walked up the stairs behind you, and paused before knocking on your door. He hesitated but eventually tapped his knuckles against the door and was met with a “Go away.” and a few sniffles. He opened the door lightly and frowned at your clearly upset state. “C’mon doll, you know you can talk to me.” He reassured and walked over to your bed, sitting on the edge and placing a hand on your shoulder.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Alastor:

📻 - Despite seeming so careless about everyone, he took pity on you when he saw your depressive state.

📻 - Will NOT leave you alone until you tell him what happened or why you’re so upset.

📻 - Someone hurt you? Done, killed. Someone accidentally hurt you? Also done, killed.

📻 - Won’t get physical, but will offer some advice.

(Similar to the last scenario)

You walked into the hotel foyer, looking around and only seeing Niffty dusting a window sill while Husk was slumped at the bar, his face stuck right in it. Alastor, Charlie, Angel, and Vaggie were nowhere to be seen. You saw this as a great opportunity to not talk to anyone. You sniffled and wiped your eyes with a huff, perking up the staircase and maneuvering to your room. As you closed the door to your room, you sighed and leaned against the door when you felt the tears come back again. All of a sudden, Alastor manifested in your room, towering over you. “Mind telling me about your melancholic facade?” He smiled at you, in typical fashion. “I’m fine, Alastor. Leave me alone.” He saw right through your persona, and his gaze narrowed. “Now, now, let’s not be hostile. Fill me in.” He sat down on your bed, patting a spot next to him.

authors note: i started this in early march and COMPLETELY forgot about it.. please request ideas, I NEED STUFFS TO WRITE BEFORE I RUN OUT OF MOTIVATION!!!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

#hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel platonic #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #gn!reader #comfort #hazbin hotel comfort #alastor x reader #angel dust x reader #husk x reader #charlie x reader #aaaaahhhhhhhhhhh #noted aj

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d-targaryenshoe · 1 month

Text

Forgotten Destiny - Anthony Bridgerton

Summary: When one wants a thing it does not mean the other lover would want the same thing, is it not?

Word count: 1543

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky into a tapestry of fiery reds and oranges, Anthony Bridgerton paused in his work, his pen hovering above the paper.

He glanced at you, as you were sitting primly on the edge of his desk, your delicate features set in a familiar expression of determination.

Your argument had been raging for the better part of an hour, and it showed no signs of abating.

The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension as if a storm were brewing, waiting for the right moment to break free.

You leaned forward, your voice taking on a pleading quality that only served to enrage your husband further.

"Anthony, I am your wife," you said, "and I am begging you to reconsider. We have three healthy children, which is just fine to me."

Anthony bit back a retort, unable to understand how you could be so content with your current situation.

"But y/n," he said, his voice strained, "don't you want to give our children the gift of another sibling?"

You sighed, your gaze drifting to the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "Of course I do, but yet I still think we shouldn't."

Anthony frowned, his eyes narrowing. "But why? What's the problem? You know that I can provide for any number of children."

You hesitated, unsure how to put your concerns into words. You glanced around the room, feeling a sense of overwhelm.

Your house was beautiful, yes, but it was also filled with so much noise and activity.

Three children were a handful even when they were well-behaved, and you worried that another one might push them all over the edge.

"Yet it is my body, Anthony," you began.

He looked up sharply, his expression softening.

"I understand that, dearest. I do not take your sacrifice lightly. But I feel like we are such a close family, and I want our children to have the same bond that we share."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

"I know you do, but sometimes I feel like we lose ourselves in being parents. I want to be a wife to you too, Anthony. I want us to have time for each other, just the two of us."

Anthony's eyes widened at this admission. He hadn't realized how much you had been craving your alone time.

He set his pen down on the desk and reached across the space between you, taking your hand in his. "You and me talking in my office isn't the same as spending time together?"

"No, it's not the same. This is us being parents, have a good night, Mr Bridgerton." You snapped before walking away and smashing the door closed.

Anthony sat there for a moment, stunned. He couldn't believe you had just left him like that.

He watched your retreating figure until you disappeared around the corner, and then he let out a frustrated growl.

He knew you were upset, but he couldn't help but feel like you were being unreasonable.

The next morning, Anthony awoke to the sound of one of the servants knocking on your door.

He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. It had been a restless night, plagued by thoughts of you and the argument.

He wished he could just apologize and make everything better.

When he finally dragged himself out of bed, he found you already dressed and sitting at the breakfast table, sipping your tea.

Your expression was still stony, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of hope at the sight of you.

He walked over to you, took a seat across from you, and gave you his most winning smile. "Good morning, my love. I hope you slept well."

You looked up at him, your eyes guarded, but not answering or saying a single word.

Anthony frowned, feeling the tension between you grow tighter. "Y/n, please," he said, reaching across the table to take your hand.

"I know we didn't part on the best of terms yesterday, but I truly am sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like you're not important to me."

Your eyes met his, and you retreated your hand, going back to reading Lady Whistledown's new gossip.

Anthony sighed, feeling defeated.

"Y/n, I truly am sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel unimportant. I just want what's best for our family. I want us to have another child, but I also want to make sure that we don't lose sight of the love and connection we share."

You looked up at him but turned your head towards the butler who stood at the door. "Finley, would you mind cleaning the table, It just got to me that I had a talk planned with the Duchess of Hastings."

Anthony frowned, his eyes narrowing. "And what would you like to discuss with her?" he asked warily.

"I'll be back in an hour or two for tea, Finley, thank you very much."

Daphne Bridgerton rose from her seat when you entered the sitting room, your graceful movements a testament.

"Y/n, how wonderful to see you!" she exclaimed, giving you a warm hug. "It's been far too long."

You smiled, returning Daphne's embrace. "It has been, hasn't it? I do apologize for not visiting sooner. I've been rather busy with the children."

You sat down on the plush sofa, and a servant immediately brought in a tray of tea and biscuits.

Daphne poured you each a cup, taking a sip before asking, "So, how are things going with you and Anthony? I must admit, I was rather surprised when Mama said he wanted another child."

You took a deep breath before answering.

"He does...at least he does," you admitted. "Anthony is so focused on his duty as a Bridgerton, we've been arguing about having another child."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Oh? have you?"

"Well, Anthony is headstrong that we should try for another as soon as possible, while I want to enjoy the time we have together as a family before we add to it."

"I see," Daphne said thoughtfully, taking another sip of her tea.

"It's a difficult position to be in, isn't it? On the one hand, Anthony is right in wanting to continue the Bridgerton line, but on the other, you both need to consider your happiness and the well-being of the children you already have."

You nodded, your eyes downcast as you toyed with your teacup. "Yes, it's been rather strained between us. I feel like he doesn't see how important it is for us to have that time together."

Daphne smiled sympathetically. "Well, I can understand where he's coming from as well. Anthony is a devoted father and husband, but he's also a man of duty."

Anthony cleared his throat as he entered the room, his eyes immediately darting between you two. "Ah, I didn't mean to interrupt," he said, his voice a little strained.

Daphne glanced up at him, her expression softening.

"It's quite alright, Anthony. We were just discussing the challenges of maintaining a happy marriage while balancing family obligations." She motioned for him to sit down. "Please, join us."

Anthony hesitated for a moment before taking a seat. He cleared his throat again and looked at you, his expression contrite.

"I know I've been insensitive. I shouldn't have pushed for another child without considering how it would affect us as a couple, and I never want anything to come between us. I just..." He trailed off, searching for the right words.

Daphne reached out and placed her hand on his arm, offering him a reassuring smile. "It's alright, brother. We all make mistakes. The important thing is that you recognize them and are willing to apologize."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You knew Anthony meant every word he said, and you loved him for it.

But you couldn't help feeling a twinge of uncertainty. You had been through so much already, and the thought of adding another child to the mix was both exciting and terrifying.

"I do appreciate your apology," you said finally, your voice quiet but steady. "But we need to find a way to move forward together. We need to decide what's best for our family."

Anthony nodded, his expression serious. "You're right. I want us to find a solution. I want to be the best husband and father I can be."

You considered his words for a moment.

"How about this? Let's wait until the end of the season. By then, we'll have had some time to reconnect and renew our focus on our family. If we still feel the same way, we can discuss the possibility of having another child. Does that sound fair?"

Daphne smiled encouragingly. "It sounds like a very sensible plan, y/n. And if you ever need someone to talk to or someone to bounce ideas off of, please don't hesitate to reach out."

The three of you sat in silence for a moment, each lost in your thoughts. But there was an understanding between you, a sense of unity that gave you hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, you could find a way to make everything work.

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