#desperate house wives | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohbother2 · 3 months

Note

Hi! I don't know if you write for Adam, but this man has me in an unholy choke hold and I've literally read through all the Adam fics on this site already. I am begging, on my hands and knees, for you to please write an Adam x female reader smut oneshot. Literally anything you want.

I absolutely loved your Lucifer close proximity fic btw!! You're writing is literally insane and I just know you'd do Adam's character justice!

Thank youuuu

Thank you!! Sorry this is coming out so long after you sent it in, but hope you guys enjoy!

Also to other ppl reading this! I've seen your lovely messages in my inbox and I 100% intend on responding to them I'm just swamped with Uni work at the moment. But thank you all so much!!

This is literally pure smut btw, minors DNI!! Adam is very Adam in this. Lmk what you guys think I love to hear your thoughts! Especially because Adam is so hard to write!

Tag list - @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

Adam x f!reader - After a Shitty Meeting with the Blond Short-Stack

To put it bluntly, Adam had had a particularly shitty day, and that was saying a lot considering there were absolutely no bad days in heaven. This day, however, had seemed to drag on for an eternity, and by the end of it he felt like punching a whole through every window that he walked past on his way home from work, having to walk instead of fly because he was too furious to trust his wings not to give out on him if he became too lost in thought.

To summarise, he had had to meet Lucifer today, the pompous, prideful, wife-stealing piece of short-blonde-shit that lorded about Hell as if he wasn’t banished there purposefully for his sins. The meeting wasn’t in person, with him attending from Heaven and Lucifer attending from Hell, but simply being within any sort of presence of the blond gnome had his blood boiling and his fingers itching to grab the nearest weapon and shove it through his chest. And today, well, Lucifer had gone too far.

Sure, Adam may have started it with some comment about Lucifer’s daughters failing redemption-business, and how the timer was ticking until the upcoming extermination, but really, who was Lucifer to dare let your name spill from his lips? In a mockery of your and Adam’s relationship no less.

That self-entitled little shit-eating smirk had graced Lucifer’s ridiculously rosy cheeks, and he had dared insinuate he could steal you right from under Adam’s nose the next time you went down to Hell, just like his two previous wives. He was thankful for his mask which had concealed the utter shock-horror that had overtaken his features at the insult, but he also wished Lucifer would have seen his absolute unbridled hatred once he had rebounded from the insult: if looks could have killed, Lucifer would have been incinerated on the spot. The comment had riled Adam up so much that Lute had had to step in to steer the meeting back on track, and it had taken all of his self-control, and Lute’s, to stop him from immediately teleporting down to Hell and blasting Lucifer to whatever the fuck came after Hell. He grumbles to himself angrily, hand rubbing at his temples as he finally reaches his front door. God, he just wanted to have a drink and go to bed, where hopefully he would dream about murdering Lucifer and lording it up with you above his grave. Maybe you guys could make out right next to his grave, that would really prove a point.

He slams the front door shut harsher than he should have, and immediately storms through the house, desperate to just see you in one of the rooms – he’d even break into the bathroom even if you were mid-shit if he had to, he just had to see you.

“Babe?” He calls, wings tucked tightly against his back as he prowls the corridor, poking his masked head into each room he came across, finally relaxing when he saw you relaxing with a book curled up in the loveseat in the living room.

“Adam!” You grin over at him, and the tension in his shoulders shifts at the sight, releasing a tight breath as you perk up as he approaches, tucking your bookmark back into place and waiting for him expectantly. Of course you would be here, he reprimands himself, furious that Lucifer could get to him in such a way; where else would you be? “How was your day? You had that meeting right? Did it go well?” You rapid-fire your questions, and you suddenly frown as he approaches. “You’ve still got your mask on, it didn’t go well.”

“Yes, hello sugar, it’s nice to see you too, damn.” He mutters, frustrated at himself for being so easy to read, and frustrated at you for reading him so easily, finally coming to a stop before you. “Can’t a man just wear his cool-ass mask? I just forgot, okay?”

“You can do anything you please, I’m just worried.” You look up at him sympathetically, and he immediately knew his tough-guy act was immediately lost on you. Who was he kidding? Today had been particularly shit, and he just wanted to be with you. Not to ease his worries, no, no, he was secure in his relationship, confident in his charm (he was fucking Adam, who could compare?) but just… because he wanted to be with you.

He wasn’t even convincing himself.

“Want to talk about it?” You ask softly, watching as he tugs the mask from his face and places it against the coffee table. His hair was a mess, and you could see the way his brows pinched into a light frown as he attempted to hide his frustration.

“Fuck no.” He shakes his head. “You’re right, the meeting went shitty. That pompous little prick-“ He cuts himself off, pursing his lips lightly as he stares down at you. He didn’t want to tell you what Lucifer had said. He knew you wouldn’t suddenly act on what he had said, but still, he daren’t even breathe the possibility into existence. “I just want to be home, with you.”

“I think I can help with that.” You grin, shuffling over on the love seat and staring up at him expectantly, an absolutely lovely smile on your rosy lips.

"What would I do without you?" Adam questions, sitting down next to you heavily and leaning in for a proper kiss. One of his large hands falls to your waist as he leans in closer, your back leaning against the arm of the armrest as he approaches, slender fingers weaving into the locks at the nape of his neck to hold him closer. He pulls away for a moment, pressing heavy kisses against your jawline, eyes closed to the world and enjoying the feeling of your fingertips against the nape of his neck.

"Is there anything else I could help with?" You utter softly, head tilting back to expose your neck. A sudden grin takes over your features. You were about to play with fire, but you couldn't help yourself. "Perhaps give Lucifer a talking to?"

"Why," he growls, pressing one last kiss beneath your ear before he pulls back, both hands falling to your twisted hips. "would you mention that old fucks name when I have my lips against you."

"Just trying to help." You bats your eyelashes playfully, a laugh escaping you at his furrowed expression.

"I seem to recall you saying 'anything I please' not only five minutes ago." He leans closer, a hand grasping the armrest you leant against, caging you in with a devilish grin. "This is how you can help. Distract me."

"Adam!" You mock, palms sliding up his biceps and resting against his chest as you lean further back, further from his lips. His eyes narrow in frustration. "I fear you have misunderstood-"

"You know exactly what you were doing, babe."

A flash of pearly white teeth as you laugh again, fingers pulling at his lapels to drag him closer. "I'm afraid I don't."

His lips cover yours as a hand slides beneath you, a hand grasping firmly at your ass as he sucks all air from your lungs, a moan rewarding his efforts. Adam moans as a hand tugs at his locks, pulling your waist closer as he bores down, a knee sliding up your skirt and forcing your legs to part, falling freely without encouragement. Your red silk skirt bunches up around your waist, guided by his hands to expose your milky thighs to the cool air. You gasp against him.

"You going to be good for me?" He mumbles against your lips, large hands guiding your hips, thigh rubbing at your heat through the thin layer of your underwear. "You going to be a good girl and distract me?"

You hum in response, vocalising your pleasure as his tongue slides into your mouth, not even bothering to put up a fight as Adam hungrily licks into your mouth, grip forcing your hips to shift against his own as you grasp at his biceps.

"You’re such a fucking tease." He moans between kisses to your skin, hands tugging fabric from your collarbone as he kisses lower. "If I wasn’t as generous, I’d make you do all the work tonight." He presses another deep kiss to your lips, caging you between his arms and nestling between your parted thighs. "Lucky for you I’m fucking pissed."

"Adam." You groan quietly, eyes fluttering as he licks his way down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your hot skin as he yanks your top down your shoulders. He doesn’t bother unhooking your bra, splitting it down the middle with a grin and ignoring your complaints with a harsh bite into the skin of your breast. Adam grins against your reddening skin as his free hand comes up to grip your other breast, rolling the bud tightly between his fingers as he sucks and bites around the swell of your breast. He groans at the feeling of your hands gripping his broad shoulders, fingers edging closer and closer to his wings, hips rolling forward and cock twitching in his garments. He delves forward, warm mouth wrapping around a pert nipple without warning, Adam pays you no mind when you gasp at a particularly hard nip, suckling hungrily as his left-hand travels lower to press your hips up and against him. Your head lolls back as he groans around your bud, thrusting his hips against your clothed core. He continues, on and on, until the pained groans turn into pleasured whines, your thighs quivering around his hips and hands carding through his locks.

He pulls away for air, pressing sloppy kisses along the wet skin at your chest. "Look at you, I’ve not even touched you and you’re whining like a bitch." He groans, pressing a kiss to the swollen nipple pinched between his fingers. "I know I’m good, but this is pitiful babe. Fucking desperate.”

You had half a mind to remind him that he was the one that had stormed into your living room and practically demanded you attention after a shitty day, but with his mouth against you and hands gripping your thighs like his life depended on it, you were happy to remain silent, breathing airily as he sucked harshly at your skin.

“I’d be a pretty shitty husband if I just left my wife like this, huh?"

“Adam-“ You go to warn at his mockingly coy tone, him having played this hard-to-get game before and leaving you wanting until it was actually you desperate for his touch, and not the other way around. This time, however, he didn’t have the patience for such games, your voice dying with a hitch of breath as he latches onto your other nipple, free hand travelling beneath your skirt to the damp spot growing against your underwear. He circles the damp fabric, feather-light and teasing, not yet touching the place you craved the most.

"Adam, baby," You breath heavily, chest heaving as he continues to lavish a pert nipple with his tongue, hands tugging at his robe and sliding down the smooth skin of his chest. "Adam, please."

With a harsh nip he unlatches from your chest, peering down at you with dark eyes, the gold barely glinting in the dim light of the room, breathing heavy. A smirk tugs at his lips, brunet locks falling in front of his eyes as you continue to work yourself against his thigh, wide eyes shining and whining pathetically.

"Please, what?" He shifts, clothed cock pressing harshly against your groin, rutting once, twice. "Fuck you? Make you feel good? Feel better than anyone else ever could?” He rolls his hips again, you whimper. "Or, please stop? Leave you in this state? Return to my duties?"

"No, no- please," your breath hitches as he bites at the soft mound of flesh below your right nipple, a trail of red and purple left behind as he nips lower. "Please, fuck me." Your hands finally dig into his wings, close to where they joined at his back, fingertips digging into the feathers and tugging lightly. You can feel the way his hands tighten either side of your ribcage, and you can see the way his pupils dilate as a red hue creeps up his neck and flushes the skin of his cheeks.

"Fuck," he moans, cock twitching in his breaches. His thumbs dig into your abdomen as his hands clench against your hips, stopping you from moving against him. God, this was exactly what he needed after this shitty day. You must have been some sort of Saint in disguise. "You fucking tease, fucking hands in my-“ He has to stop when you tug again, and he glowers down at you as your nails scratch their way down the centre of his golden wings, the tips twitching as he tries to remain in control.

“Oh yeah, baby? That's how you want to do this?" His voice had deepened to the familiar gravelling husk that you loved so dearly, and you can do nothing but nod fervently, the sound going straight to your core. You knew exactly what you were doing toying with his wings, and he knew just as well as you what that meant. Adam takes in the sight before him; the heaving chest, the perfect slender column of your exposed throat, the exposed milky-white of your spread thighs, the wide glossy eyes just pleading for him to move. He breathes deeply at the way your skirt bunches around your waist, your whole body on show except from a pathetic soaking pair of underwear. "Fucking perfect."

A rough hand suddenly against your throat has you falling boneless against the armrest, eyes rolling as Adam’s fist tightens, his wings twitching upwards as your hands fall to noncommittally pry at his fingers around your neck.

"Hng, please-" You rasp, spreading your legs as far as the backrest of the loveseat would allow, hands clenching into the fabric of the sofa beneath you.

"You'll get fucked," Adam whispers harshly against your ear, free hand sliding your ruined pants down your thighs. "but not until I'm done with you."

"Adam-"

"It’s been a fucking shitty day," he begins, a singular finger sliding between your folds and gathering the wetness that had gathered. You whine, straining against his hold on your neck. "and the one thing that’s gotten me through it is knowing I get to come home to this perfect piece of ass." He grins, feeling your pussy clench at the tip of his finger. "So I’m taking my fucking time with you."

A singular finger finally enters your swollen, aching, core, mouth falling open in a silent moan at the contact, finally. The sounds that echo around the room are obscene, wet and thick as his fingers curl, digging against that sweet spot inside of you.

"You hear that, sweety?" Adam murmurs mockingly against your lips, the pet-name dripping with irony as he kisses down harshly, a kiss you could only hope to keep pace with, never mind reciprocate. "You fucking filthy girl." A second enters, easily, coated in your slick within seconds as he draws moans from your lungs. He leans back, watching you flush and gasp beneath his hands, fingers pulling non-comically at the fist he had around your neck. A third finger enters, and this time, he feels the stretch.

"God, Adam-" You squeal, hips raising from the loveseat as he continues, the sinful sounds only getting louder and louder. You moan with every thrust of his fingers, hands gripping at the material of your shirts beneath you. You groans at the fiery pain in your walls, but your eyes roll at the pleasure that had started to build.

"So fucking wet, and all it took was the thought of being with me. At least you know how lucky you are babe, fuck-" His grip tightens around your neck, a fourth finger entering, and you scream, or would have if you had the oxygen to. A pathetic choking wail comes from your throat, and you clench tighter around his digits, hips chasing his hand with every thrust.

"I'm- I'm going to-" You sob as he picks up his pace, the sounds omitting from you downright sinful. Your thighs shake as your body goes rigid, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Adam doesn't stop, eyes trained on his wife's face as you come undone beneath his fingers, hips jerking wildly as he thrusts and curls inside of you. It is only when your eyes flutter and legs fall slack that he stops, pulling his hand out from between your thighs with a sickening pop, fluid coating his hand and your inner thighs.

You blink heavily, gasping for breath as you finally return to your surroundings, feeling devastatingly empty but more than satisfied. Adam barely gives you a moment before he’s kissing you deeply, teeth tugging at your swollen lips and a hand winding into your hair to tug your head exactly where he wanted you. He doesn’t break the kiss as he scoops you into his arms, your hands grasp at his neck and shoulders as he carries you towards the bedroom.

He throws you down roughly on the edge of the side of the bed, shucking off his robe, trousers and pants quickly, hard and weeping cock springing free, red and painful at the neglect, balls heavy and painfully sensitive. You wiggle out of your red skirt, kicking it onto the floor as Adam clambers over you, knees pressed against the mattress. He slides his hand along your inner thighs, which part without question, gathering the wetness that coated them. He pumps his cock lazily, once, twice, abs clenching as he breathes deeply.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good you forget that cunts name.” He mutters more to himself, and it takes you a moment to realise who he was talking about. Ah, he hadn’t taken your comment about Lucifer earlier well. He never did. You can’t help but feel excited, as exhausted as you already were, Adam always got so competitive after a comment like that, and you always left the situation just as smug and satisfied as Adam felt. “Hope you haven’t got any important shit tomorrow, babe,” He comments, leaning over you and shrouding your smaller form with his large body, grinning down at you with a wickedness better suited to hell than heaven. “because it’ll be a miracle if you can walk.”

"You’re talking an awful lot." You comment, but your panting doesn’t give it the mocking you were hoping for. His wings flatten when your comment registers, and the golden feathers bristle as you continue. “You’ve yet to actually fuck me, I wonder if Lu-“

Without warning he thrusts forward, groaning hotly against your throat as his wings raise. You whine at the stretch, and your hands quickly burrow back into his wings as he bullies his way into you, forcing himself down to the hilt and not allowing you time to adjust. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name.” He hisses against your throat, biting at the skin harshly. He draws back, tip resting just inside your opening, and then surges forward, burying himself to the hilt, setting a brutal, staggering pace. You whimper in pain and pleasure at the abrupt pace, but fall into it as he thrusts, legs winding around his hips and anchoring him in place.

Adam groans into your skin with every thrust, unabashed and unashamed, the wet warmth between your thighs melting away his worries. His fingers dig painfully into the divots of your hips.

"You're my girl, no one else’s, my fucking girl." He groans, balls slapping against your ass as he thrusts, seizing your thighs and pushing them up towards your chest, folding you in half and giving you no choice but to breath and take it. "Clearly I’ve not been doing my job if you’ve had time to think about him, don't worry baby, I'll fix that."

"Adam," You moan at the new angle, his cock hitting that special spot inside with every thrust, legs shaking with every thrust. "please, please, please, I don’t-"

"Fucking slut, begging for my cock." He punctuates his sentence with a particularly hard thrust that has you keening, back arching from the crumpled bedsheets.

Suddenly, without warning, he pulls out completely and your high dissipates violently as you gasp and shoot upright, trying to tug him back down by his wings. "No, no, please-"

Large rough hands grab at your body as you are flipped around, hands scrambling for purchase and legs like jelly as you’re repositioned, locks falling into your face as Adam thrusts back in, hands gripping your hips as he pounds.

"You wanna act like a slut?" He drills his cock into you from behind, large hand pushing at your tail bone to force your back to arch. You comply easily, and you’re rewarded with a fist grabbing at the globe of your ass and slamming you back towards him with painful force. "I'll fuck you like a slut."

A tender hand runs up the column of your spine and you shiver, gasping into a moan as he gathers your hair in one tight fist and yanks.

"Oh! Oh Adam-"

Every slap of your ass with his hips has your head lurching back with the grip he has on your hair, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he thrusts, the harsh sound of slapping skin filling the room.

"Adam, ‘s too much," Your moans cut your sentence short, fists gripping the bed sheets as he pounds relentlessly, scalp stinging and pussy aching at the unforgiving stretch. "Please, I can't-"

"You fucking can." He growls, releasing your hair and shoving your head forward with a hand at the back of your neck, leaning forward to place wet kisses at the centre of your spine as he thrusts down. "I’m not done with you, so you're gonna fucking take it."

You moan pathetically into the bed sheets, fingers curling into the fabric either side of your head as your pussy throbs, a familiar searing heat coiling in your abdomen and tingling along your spine.

"We’re not done until you get that you’re mine, my bitch, and no one else can give you this, understand?" His large hands anchor themselves at your waist as he thrusts impossibly harder, sweat beginning to bead down his chest and stomach. No doubt bruises would be left behind, the thought of your perfect flesh, your perfect ivory skin, marred by his fingerprints only drives him further, his balls beginning to tighten.

"I'm- I'm - wait!" Adam doesn't listen to his wife's pleas, supporting your shaking hips with his large hands as he fucks you into the mattress, grinning past his exertion at seeing your thighs begin to quiver.

Your cracked voice mewls into the bedsheets as your second orgasm builds, panting pathetically as you brace yourself, tears of pleasure beginning to stream down your cheeks.

"Good fucking girl." Adam groans, feeling his own orgasm build, cock twitching within your walls. "Does my bitch finally get it? Huh?” Your lack of response doesn’t please him, and one of his large hands slaps the globe of your ass painfully as he continues his brutal pace. ‘'you gonna take it?"

"Please!" You finally wail, pussy clenching at the sheer anger in his voice, and beneath all the brovado, the desperation to know he’s doing a good job. And by God he was doing a phenomenal job. "So fuckin’ good Adam. I’m yours- yours.” You choke into the mattress when you feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hips stuttering at the praise. “Don’t stop. Adam, please, please-"

You wail pathetically, second orgasm crashing over you as you convulses beneath Adam’s cock, toes curling, legs only propped up with his large hands as you cry. “So, f-fuck– good.”

"Fuck." Adam groans as his own orgasm hits, balls tightening as he thrusts again and again, jerking uncontrollably as he empties inside of you, pumping his hips desperately. You can feel the air around you shift as his wings twitch, flapping powerfully with the concentration he pours into his final few thrusts, impossibly deep and hard as his arms flex against your lax figure. "Ah." He grunts, thrusting once, twice, collapsing on top of his shaking wife, cock buried to the hilt. His sweaty forehead presses between your shoulder blades, breathing hotly against your damp skin as you breathes shakily beneath him, catching your own breath as the aftershocks of your orgasm course through you.

"Fuckin’ perfect." Adam mutters gruffly against your skin, kissing tenderly as he straightens, hands landing on the globe of your red ass, slowly pulling his cock from you with a hiss. He watches with dark eyes as his cum gathers at your entrance, pushing a small trickle back in with a slick finger, causing you to gasp in surprise.

Large hands, far gentler than they had been mere moments ago, grasp your waist and manoeuvre you around, laying your panting frame back onto the edge of the bed. Adam leans down to kiss you sweetly, rough hands grabbing a thigh each and pulling them up towards your chest as he leans, tongue slipping into your mouth and licking into your cavern as he repositions, a soft sigh falling from your lips and your hands dangling leisurely from his broad shoulders.

He pulls back from the kiss, and you watch him with hooded eyes, unaware of the position you had found herself in until a thick cock-head presses at your weeping entrance once again. You look up, still panting, and Adam cannot help but feel utterly devoted to the sight in front of him, cock twitching back to full capacity; your cheeks shining from the tears that had spilled, lips puckered and swollen and invitingly red from the way he had nipped at them, the smattering of bruises that decorated your neck and chest. You were truly a vision, not a holy one, but absolutely divine to him.

"Adam, wait - I can't." You whimper breathily, hips pulling away from his cock. Too sensitive, too raw. Despite your reservations, Adam can see the way you breathe in suspense, the way your fingers flex against the bedsheets in anticipation. Hell, you weren’t even trying to close your legs in his grasp. You really shouldn’t have mentioned Lucifer’s name if you didn’t want this. He was nowhere near done.

"No?" He questions sarcastically, hands still pinning your thighs to your chest, golden eyes staring deeply into your own. "Looks to me like you can still talk back, that won’t do babe." Hands still grasping your milky thighs, Adam leans down, grinning before pressing a soft kiss right against your clit. You jerk, a cry falling from your lips. "Come on, sugar, you’re really tapping out so soon?" He rubs his cock against your folds, his cum coating his own flared tip, and your pussy flutters around him; you hiss out a whine. "What a shitty husband I’d be if I left you wanting, and from the look of you, I know you’re not done." He rubs his cock against you again, balls gathering the cum that had dribbled from your opening. You look up at him fervently, and you can see the determination in his heated gaze, and oh how that look had your core tightening as he leant impossibly closer. "Is my wife really done? I think she can take one more, one more, for me."

You groan as he enters again, slowly, cock dragging against your slicked walls, and a squelch emitting from your conjoined bodies as he finally bottoms out again. Your legs twitch in his hold, and he grinds his hips, fighting the urge to thrust.

Your mouth hangs open silently, eyes fluttering at the stretch to your over-sensitive core. Your nails tear at his shoulders uselessly, trying to distract yourself from the all-consuming pleasure, and the delightful sting has Adam clenching his jaw as he tries to remain composed. You can hear the shuddering breath he takes as he fights his instincts, pulling back just as slowly as he had entered, until the weight of his cock presses just inside your opening, and then thrusts back in, setting a slow, steady, hard pace.

He recaptures your lips in a searing kiss, biting at your lip until you allow him to snake his way inside, sucking the little air from your lungs as he pants into you, brows furrowed in concentration as he fucks into you with his hips and licks into your mouth hungrily. This time, he allows your hands to dig into his wings from the start, his own hands remaining perched on your thighs and pinning you down to take his harsh thrusts. He grunts when your fingertips delve back into the ruffled feathers, stretching them out beneath your touch and covering your body possessively beneath his larger frame.

"S-Shit babe.” He groans between thrusts, pace increasing silently. You can do nothing but moan pathetically, pussy aching and throbbing as your fingers dig deeper into his wings, and his shoulders tense at the intense pleasure that sparks all along his spine. "Fucking careful.” He tries to battle back his control that had begun to slip, and decides insulting you would mask the way your simplest of touches nearly had him finishing then and there. “F-fucking whore."

You simply groan, eyes rolled into the back of your head and hands blinding searching for purchase as that tight coil begins to wind in your abdomen, hips beginning to shift against his quickening thrusts. Your voice pitches and cracks as he pummels that special spot inside of you, and your hands clench into fists in his wings. "Oh God- Adam, right there, fuck – so fucking good."

“I know baby, I’m fucking good, I know.” He grits through clenched teeth, ever the egoist. Despite his parroting of the compliments as if they were simple facts, the compliments go straight to his head and his cock, and something in his chest tightens at the way you continue to babble his praises.

A particularly hard thrust has you gasping. "Adam, you’re so- so-" You couldn’t finish the sentence, but he got the message, and nearly cums with his next thrust, biting into your collarbone to distract himself from the praise.

Adam groans, balls already beginning to tighten. He yanks you closer as you continue to beg, forcing you in half as he pounds into you, cum spilling from around his cock as he thrusts again and again, your thighs slick with it.

"Adam, please." You pant, all air forced from your lungs as he drills into you over and over again, pussy struggling as Adam’s cum is forced from inside you to make room for his cock. "I'm all yours."

"Fuck, baby." He groans, balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. He releases your right thigh, free thumb pressing into your swollen clit and rubbing hard. "Cum for me, I know you've got one more. One more and I'll fucking fill you, one more."

You shriek at the pressure on your clit, head thrown back as your legs shake. Chanting 'yes, yes, Adam, fuck.' between wails.

"You can take it, 'fuckin' take it."

He swallows your scream with a kiss when you finally tip over the edge, your hips shaking against his own as your stomach erupts in a fiery jolt of pleasure that travels from the tips of your toes to your fingertips, back arching from the bedsheets. Adam swears against your lips, nails almost breaking the skin of your thighs as he cums, shoulders and wings tense as he humps tightly, burying himself to the hilt and pressing as much of his weight onto you as he could.

"Fuck, there you go." He groans, thrusting lazily, pressing you into the bedsheets, all of his weight forced onto your hips. "There you go."

You moan pitifully as his cock fully burrows itself to its hilt, both hands coming up to cradle the back of Adam’s head and shoulders as he allows his full weight to rest on top of you, face pressed against the crook of your neck, soft lips gently mouthing against a blossoming hickey, hips finally ceasing their aborted thrusts. You wrap your legs loosely around his hips as his hands curl beneath you, resting flat against your spine and securing you in his embrace. You sigh at the new angle, finally able to breath fully, and relaxes into the sticky sheets below, allowing Adam to lick at the bruises covering your neck and chest.

"You okay, baby?" Adam mutters softly, voice still unusually deep and gravelly as he comes down from his high, warm palms sliding against your sticky skin in some semblance of comfort, blunt nails scratching a light comforting pattern against your skin. He lifts himself up lightly, still burrowed within, sweaty brunet locks falling across his face and tickling your forehead.

"Never better." You grin, exhausted and blissed-out, a familiar ache beginning to settle deep within, but uncaring for the discomfort after seeing the poorly-masked worried devotion in your husband's eyes. "You’re amazing, you know."

"I know.” He hums cockily, and you swat at his arm playfully as he grins. “I supposed you aren’t half bad, too.”

Your head tilts in mock-offence, but the exhaustion and complete and utter satisfaction cloaking your eyes has you looking seconds away from passing out, and he chuckles at the sight. He studies you for a moment, mapping the flush to your cheeks and chest, the fraying of your elegant hairdo, the wet streams on your cheeks and the puffiness of your lips. His eyes travel lower, following a stream of bruises that caress your ivory skin all the way down to where your bodies conjoin. His eyes flicker back up and he grins cheekily, unapologetic and somewhat proud.

With a comforting pat to your thighs, Adam leans down for a far more tender kiss, grunting against you as he removes himself from you, dick falling free as he clambers up the bed and carefully tugs your spent body along with him, nestling you tightly into his side as his wings drape off both edges of the bed. He grunts, tugging you further onto his chest, and you giggle as you swing your arms around his chest and neck, cheek pressed against his shoulder and his own pressed against the top of your head, strong arms encircling your waist and pinning you close.

“I should rant to you more about my shitty days if you’re willing to cheer me up like this.” He grumbles to himself, eyes closed as he breathes deeply, and you feel the rumble of his chest beneath you. “I can feel you looking at me. Shut your mouth and enjoy the moment unless you want to piss me off again.”

“I didn’t even piss you off in the first place,“ You defend, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “but if you fuck me like that when you’re angry I’ll have to get you angry more often.”

“You want to go again?” Adam questions deftly, the exhausted surprise yet underlying giddiness in his voice almost making you laugh, if not for the fact that you were utterly and completely spent.

“No, no, I’m more than happy. I was going to say we should shower.”

He ‘humphs’ like a child, heavy arms not moving as you try to wriggle away from his grasp to begin running the shower. “What’s the rush? Give me ten minutes.”

“We’re disgusting.”

“Five minutes.” He mutters, rightening his hold on your waist. “You never know, in those five minutes you might want to go again, and then we’d save having to wash ourselves again, save the water bill and all that shit, y’know?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You married me.” He backhands childishly, pulling you in closer to his chest. “So that we can be disgusting together. Now shush and stop talking, I was enjoying the moment.”

2K notes · View notes

wxxpingangxls · 2 months

Text

Girl Next Door

+synopsis; a new, single and smoking hot neighbour moves in next door and you offer to babysit his son while he’s busy at work…money isn’t the only payment

+content/warnings; black reader but no explicit description, typical suburban wives, reader and nanami are around the same age (early 30s), both single parents, reader has a daughter, set in the early 2000s, messy sex, desperate!nanami (he hasn't had good pussy in a while :((((( ), sloppy pussy eating, fingering, squirting

+pairings; black!milf fem!reader x dilf!nanami

The moving van obstructed the view of the new home owners moving in a few houses down from your home. The sounds of young children giggling and conspiring among themselves resounded around the neighbourhood as you and the other wives gossiped about the new neighbour.

“So, what did you say after she commented on the dress you wore?” one of the woman asked you as you peered up from your pink mug. “Ugh don’t even get me started on her. She took one look at me and assumed I was stone cold broke! Can you imagine that?” you exclaimed, raising both hands up in disbelief.

“Oh my God! Major hunk alert!” you snapped your head towards the direction in which of the girls were pointing at. The moving van had moved and in your line of vision was a tall man in a blue shirt and suspenders. His blonde hair was smartly slicked back and his designer watch blinged in the daylight.

“Woah…” you gasped, your mouth wide open and salivating. You could see his pecs and arms bulging through the material. "I think it's only fair that we give our new neighbour a warm welcome..." you smile, whilst reaching towards the basket of freshly home-baked sweet treats and pastries.

You swore you only came over to offer to take his son to the park to accompany your daughter while he unpacked at his new home. Yet here you were, on the cleared out dining table, while the children lay asleep in one of the separate rooms. Your halter neck dress was bunched up around your waist and your pink Dior strappy heeled sandals were long disguarded somewhere around the home. Your hot cunt was leaking as you silently waited for him to get back to work. Your hands were back in his hair, griping tightly as his tongue flicked up and down your heated cunt.

“Mphmmm, just like that Kento…” the moans of his name further egging him on to make you cum again. It’s been way too long since you come to an orgasm this good. With the divorce proceedings finally settled and custody matters dealt with, you haven’t had time to do anything. It also didn’t help that you couldn’t find a baby sitter to take care of your baby girl whilst working.

But having this mouth watering, leg opening hunk of a man between your legs, all your problems seemed minor and oh so trivial. His mouth suckling on your small bud, making your legs bounce up in ecstasy. Kento groaned as he shook his head side to side, smearing your filthy secretions all over his face and your thighs. You whined out loud, sensitivity and overstimulation getting to you, while this man just enamoured himself in your sweet filth. Hunger and carnal desire is all that fuelled him on.

Kento’s calloused hands gripped onto your thighs, his biceps flexing every time he put extra weight on your legs to stop you from shaking. Your back arched as he slowly slipped a finger into the slick hole. “Oh, fuck, s’good…” his finger left your pulsing cunt as he started rubbing your clit side to side.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you pretty girl,” his voice resounded around your mushy mind. You nodded, too far gone to acknowledge what exactly he was saying. “Come on, give it to me baby,” he whined out loud, bucking his hips into the air for some sort of relief. Drool seeped as your cunt squeezed around nothing, his three fingers rubbing hard against your soft clit.

His lips found his way to your thighs, sucking marks onto them as your breathing hitched.

“Have you squirted before?” he asks stopping momentarily, whilst sitting up to make eye contact with you. “What?” you reply completely drained from his teasing.

“Come here,” his large hands wrap themselves around your thigh and brings closer to himself to distract you from the fact that he was sliding two fingers into your cunt.

Your walls immediately tighten as his fingers curl up, finding your gooey spot. “Oh! Good…S’good!”

“I need for you to relax for me sweetheart, okay?” he looked down at your bubbling eyes as you nodded feverishly. “There’s a good girl,”

His large free hand runs down to your stomach as the other fingers roll themselves further into your cunt. Your moans further increase in pitch. His hand finally places itself on your lower stomach before pressing, hard.

Kento watches in amusement as he eyes your face contorting into that of pleasure. “Relax sweets,” he quickly mutters as he notices your feeble attempts to try and squirm away.

“Wait…Wait!”

Your cunt squelches and squeezes around his fingers as you start gushing against his abdomen. “Yeah…just like that!” he whispers softly “There it is…Fuck!”

Your legs are shaking and your eyes tearing up as you try and catch your breath while he helps you ride out your high.

You said your goodbyes and gave your blessing to the new neighbour next door and his small son. Your own child lay peacefully asleep in your arms, her small snores reverberating in your ears. Kento Nanami shut the front door, letting out a deep sigh.

He silently sat and hoped that the girl next door hadn’t seen the huge cum stain in his brand new tailored work trousers. After all, all he did was eat out your sweet cunt. But give it time, soon enough, he’ll come running for more than just the taste of your sweet cunt.

#nanami smut #nanami fluff #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #nanami kento #nanami x black!reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut

584 notes · View notes

konigsblog · 15 days

Note

i have an idea of dbf!konig and reader. perhaps konig has a wife and reader is incredibly jealous of her. likes konig so much they cant help but want to pounce him, even if he's married 👀

dbf!könig cheating on his wife with you.

cw; cheating, dbf!könig, age difference/gap. 🔞

a part of you knows how wrong it is to help könig cheat on his wife, but your desire for könig's love and affection overpowers your morality. you don't focus on what's right and wrong; instead you're more focused on getting into könig's boxers for a one nightstand, or maybe a couple.

you're ridiculously jealous of könig's wife. you have known könig for quite a while and only recently has he shown interest in you. he visits your house often and sometimes spends time there with you while your father is gone and his wife is away at work. a part of him feels the urge to get into your panties, but instead of re-enacting his gross and horrible fantasies, he brushes them off as intrusive thoughts.

another part of könig is aware that this is wrong and that deep down he truly does feels the desire to cheat on his loving, caring wife. eventually, the thoughts come back too often and after going back and forth with himself, he finds himself wandering to your house holding a spare key to your front dorry, underneath the plant pot outside on your porch. he finds you in your bedroom, startled by his sudden appearance and presence. he knows he's hit rock bottom and has become depraved for his best friend's daughter.

not only is he betraying his wife, but your father as well—his best friend. although könig brushes off these thoughts and instead finds himself working his meaty boner into your folds while recording the entire thing for himself. he grumbles out hoarsely while you scratch down his muscular, broad back and plead for more noisily. your tears soak into your skin and your moans only get louder with your tight cunt squeezing könig's lengthy, veiny dick perfectly. the easily addictive texture of your gummy walls pulsing around his wet, swollen cock while he apologises for being deranged and desperate. he drives his broad hips into your tight rear repetitively while cursing himself out, going on for hours before sneaking off into his home, into his wife's loving arms. wives

it's a secret you two keep with each other, going back to each other when you're really desperate. könig keeps a secret phone with all the videos saved from your times together, where he calls you and messages you the most perverted things ever.

#orla speaks #tw: cheating #tw: age difference #tw: age gap #könig x reader #könig x y/n #könig x you #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig cod #konig call of duty #cod konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig #könig #könig mw2

364 notes · View notes

vampcubus · 11 months

Text

𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : kyojuro, tengen + wives, giyu, tanjiro, inosuke, zenitsu, and hantengu clones.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : nsfw, fem!dom!reader, pegging, lots of fingering (m!receiving), all boys are subs here, mommy kink for zenitsu’s, praise kink, slight brat taming?, dacryphilia, overstimulation, dumbification, fauxjobs, face fucking, wing play, spit roasting, strap referred to as cock because that’s hot, kamaboko trio are aged up.

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔

— Kyojuro hardly needs convincing because he trusts you with his pleasure. If you tell him that it’ll feel good, then who is he to question you? especially when you look so enthusiastic about it.

— Kyojuro doesn’t expect there to be so much prep required, but his impatience is washed away when he feels your fingers pumping inside him for the first time. He’s reduced to a sniveling, whimpering puddle in minutes, bronzed skin dripping with sweat as you stretch him wide open to take your fake cock. And the strangled cry he makes when you brush over his prostate is heavenly.

“That feels so good!” Kyojuro babbles, heavy cock leaking pre all over his quivering abs. He’s already aching, so desperate to cum and you haven’t even started fucking him yet. It’s embarrassing, but he feels too good to care. Especially when he feels you squeeze a third finger into his greedy hole, his jaw going slack at the stretch as you fuck him open further on your nimble fingers.

“Gods— fuck, it’s so good. You were right, this feels incredible! Please, don’t stop.”

And he whines so pitifully when you consider him stretched enough, clenching down on your fingers when you go to remove them.

— Prefers it fast and rough, where you’re fucking him absolutely stupid, hands anchored to his hips to keep him from being pushed up the bed with each brutal thrust. Manhandle him, spank him, wrap a hand around his throat, it just makes his cock even stiffer.

— Can cum from prostate stimulation alone, but his back arches so beautifully when you wrap your fingers around his cock and stroke him in tandem with your thrusts.

— Kyojuro thinks it feels the best from behind, especially since he can fuck himself back into your cock in that position. And there’s just something so captivating about the feeling of you draped over him, his muscled back to your chest, your hands exploring every inch of flesh you can reach… he’s in heaven, he swears it. He feels like he doesn’t deserve you in those moments, where all he can do is take all the overwhelming pleasure you shower onto him.

— If you decide to peg him in missionary, he loves to wrap his thick legs around you and cling to you. Fold him into any position you like, he’s just happy to be there and stuffed full of you.

— He has a great ass, perfect for spanking and spreading apart to watch the toy splitting him open.

— Kyojuro is a vocal partner, and even more so when he’s being fucked, almost sobbing as you fill him to the brim with your strap. So I wouldn’t recommend pegging him unless you’re prepared to wake up everyone in the house or have a means of keeping him quiet— which believe me isn’t an easy feat. His moans are loud, even when gagged. He can’t help it! you’re fucking him so good that he forgets to control his volume.

— He’s talkative too, babbling nonsensical praise and endearments that are almost too sweet for the situation. Kyojuro’s a passionate lover, one that isn’t afraid to tell you just how much he loves you whilst you’re rearranging his guts. You can tell when he’s really getting close to cumming because the chants of, “I love you I love you I love you-” start up. He’s honestly too cute :(((

— Kyojuro’s seeing stars when he cums on your strap for the first time, ascending to the astral plane as he seizes and sobs with every pulse, cum spurting so aggressively out of his reddened cock that he almost paints his own face with it. It feels like his orgasm goes on forever, the endless stream of seed only stopping when he’s emptied all of it.

— Very polite when his brain isn’t complete mush, and almost always asks to cum when he has the mental capacity to. Kyojuro always thanks you afterward. Gratefulness is important to him.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈 + 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

— Take a look at that man and tell me he doesn’t let his wives peg him. You can’t. He likes prostate stimulation a lot actually, and will even stretch himself for your viewing pleasure. He loves the attention <3 Though if you truly insist on stuffing him full of your fingers yourself, he’s sure as hell not gonna complain.

— Tries to micromanage a lot of the process, making sure you’re comfortable, and while that’s sweet, he needs to relax.

“You’re thinking too hard, Tengen. Let me take care of everything, yeah?” You persuade, crawling up his oiled body to kiss his face, plastic cock bumping into his. He shudders at the sensation, and you simply can’t resist wrapping your fingers around both lengths and stroking them together. The action elicits a deep groan from the larger man, but he catches your wrist before you get carried away, magenta eyes capturing yours in a heated stare.

“Guess you’ll have to fuck me thoughtless then, darling.” That’s all the encouragement you need to shimmy down his body and slot yourself between his strong thighs, spreading them dramatically just to hear him chuckle. “Sure you got enough lube on- oh, shit mmm.”

The slippery head of the toy presses against his hole, effectively shutting him up.

“You’re not the first man I’ve topped, just the most mouthy. Now kindly lay back and talk less,” you tease. And when you push in, he lets out a long breath that crescendos into a delighted moan as finally, he feels you slide home.

“Need me to hold my legs up too?” Tengen snickers through the fog of being filled, cock heavy and twitching against his quivering tummy. Your hand smoothes over his belly, and briefly you’re taken by the image of his stomach bulging, a prominent bump moving beneath your palm. It makes you darkly curious if he could take bigger toys.

“I can fold you in half if I need to,” you insist playfully, hands stroking up and down his hips and thighs as he adjusts. “How’s that feel? Good? — and if you say flashy I will pull out.”

“You’re really giving me a handicap here, b-but feels fucking amazing, babe. Don’t go easy on me, I wanna see how you handle me.”

— And when you finally get to fucking him, all that confidence just melts away. His head tips back, magenta eyes rolling in their sockets as you rearrange his guts, bullying that spot inside him that makes him cry out all girlish-like.

— I know Tengen screams bratty bottom, and while yes he can be, he’s also incredibly sensitive. He’s pretty sassy when you’re using his cock as a toy, but being the one to take it is a whole other beast. He's often so absorbed in being picked apart, that those witty remarks all but disappear from his mind.

— Doesn’t care what position you fold him into, but he does know the angles that feel the best, and will auto-correct on his own, or directs you to exactly where he needs you to be. He’s very in tune with his body and knows precisely what he likes by now, so if you ever wanna get him drooling and begging, just listen to him. Even if he’s too fucked-dumb to speak, he has physical tells so just pay attention.

— Don’t be afraid to tag in the wives for backup if you need his legs held apart or some extra hands to tease him with.

— Nothing better than fucking into him while he sobs into Hinatsuru’s lap, or spit-roasting him with a strapped Makio fucking his throat whilst you fuck his ass. All the better if Suma wriggles under him so he can rut into her pretty pussy. He won’t last very long that way, but will happily endure multiple orgasms until you and the wives have finished using him.

— Has a thing for being tossed around if you’re physically capable, and moans enthusiastically when you grab a handful of his gorgeous ass or spank it. Take him by the hips and fuck him on your plastic cock like a doll, he likes the rough treatment.

— Enjoys his punishments a little too much, so he’s difficult to discipline when he’s determined to get under your skin. He does it just to get you to snap and pound him into next week, making him cum till nothing comes out of his abused dick.

— Let him ride you!!! You will not regret it for a moment, that man will mount you without a second thought, grinning like a cat until he slides down onto you. Just imagine this large man desperately bouncing on your lap, heavy, neglected cock bouncing cutely with each movement, smiling deliriously as he loses himself to the pleasure. Perfection.

𝐆𝐈𝐘𝐔 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐎𝐊𝐀

— Giyu’s a bit nervous, naturally, but he trusts you and that goes a long way. He may not understand your desire to peg him, seeing as you’ll essentially be getting no pleasure from it, but he’s nothing if not bound to your whims — no matter how lewd they might be.

— The prettiest princess whilst taking your strap, dark lashes fluttering, thin brows pinched, and pink lips parted in a silent moan as you take your time stretching him on your fingers.

— Giyu tends to get a little spacey when he sinks into subspace, unable to focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure of you teasing his prostate with your fingers. By the time you’ve got him properly slicked and prepped, he’s nothing but a blissed-out puddle, already going a bit limp. All the easier to manhandle him into any position you like.

And when you finally press inside, his pretty blue eyes are staring widely at the ceiling, lips parted in surprised pleasure. You’ve done a good job preparing him, so it doesn’t hurt, but it’s not necessarily comfortable either. He’s twitching all over, whining under his breath as he adjusts to being filled by something thicker than your fingers.

“You’re doing such a good job, Gi,” you murmur against his temple and instantly his cock twitches and his insides go a little more lax. Your hands smooth over his narrow hips and thighs in soothing motions, fingers encircling his flushed-red dick as you bottom out inside him. “Look at you! Taking it so perfectly.”

“Please,” Giyu whines, and it’s hard to tell if he even knows what he’s begging for. His hips shift, a soft rut against yours that could easily be mistaken for an involuntary jerk. But then he rolls his hips again, more insistently this time. “Please, Y/n.”

“Please move or please stop?” you chuckle, delighted by the faraway look on his face. You haven't even started fucking him yet and he's losing himself.

“Please move! Need it so bad, please fuck me!” You’re a little shocked by his shameless plea, wondering just where your bashful Giyu has gone. Your socially challenged lover was ordinarily too shy to beg properly without coaxing, and here he was begging you to fuck his ass. It’s enough to have you swimming in your own slick.

— Giyu is so easily fucked dumb on your plastic cock, pretty blue eyes rolled back and pink tongue hanging out as you bully the head of the toy against his prostate. Don’t try to ask him questions, he won’t be able to give you a coherent answer aside from mewls.

— Praise him, tell him just how delectable he looks taking your plastic cock, his pretty dick jumps against his flat belly when you do. Baby talk to him, call him your good boy, he gazes at you so adoringly through his long dark lashes when you do.

— Giyu soon becomes a slut for being pegged and has to fuck himself full of his own fingers in between missions in a futile attempt to replicate it. He gets frustrated because his fingers are a far cry from the real thing, and don’t feel as good as your own fingers pumping inside him either.

— Some days you’ve hardly got one foot in the door before he’s pouncing on you, dragging your hand to the prominent bulge in his pants he got from thinking about you. Panting and whining for you to, “Please fuck me, wanna cum!”

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎

— Gently now, you don’t want to break the poor thing. Not yet anyway. Tanjiro’s painstakingly shy about taking it up the ass, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks aflame with a bright red blush as you stuff him full of your fingers. He’s trembly and sensitive, hand clutching yours tightly as you stretch him for something bigger.

— He quickly gets lost in the foreplay, practically melting into the futon the more you finger him, stiff cock twitching against his belly. Looks so heartbroken when you take your fingers away, asking what he’s done wrong.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, baby. You’ve done everything perfectly actually. Always so good for me,” soothes him instantly, dark lashes fluttering at your reassurance and praise. But the feeling of emptiness without your fingers to plug his hole has him whimpering again.

You catch his pleading gaze, but his wine-red hues snap down to your hips at the sound of squelching, where you’re slicking the faux cock strapped to your hips. His head falls back into the futon with a moan at the sight.

This is really happening. You were going to put it in him, and he can’t find it in himself to be nervous any longer— just desperate and horny out of his damn mind, needily grinding his hips up as you tease the head of the toy over his rim. You torture him with several false starts, leaving him to whine in frustration just when he thinks you’ll have mercy on him.

“Y/n, please! Please I need it inside. You k-keep teasing me and I-I like it, but I can’t take it. Want you so bad it hurts,” Tanjiro sobs after a while, and the sight of his tearful eyes twisted in such raw desire makes you clench around nothing.

How can you tell him no? Especially when he grabs a handful of his own ass to spread himself like a slut. You only purr at the action, sadistic impulses melting away, now ready to give him everything he so desired.

And when you finally press the length of the toy to his hole, he’s thoroughly relaxed, taking you in without so much as a hitch. And when you’ve finally bottomed out, his pretty wine-colored eyes flutter open to gaze into yours, a soft and slightly self-satisfied smile etching onto his face. His expression crumples when you praise him for receiving you so well, and even more so when you give him an experimentally shallow thrust.

— Heavily prefers missionary because of the closeness and cus likes to see you, but he can be seduced into even the most humiliating positions.

— Want him face down ass up? Just say the word and he’s assuming the position, presenting his cute ass to you and looking over his shoulder all shy when you take your time admiring him. Blushes from his neck to his ears when you tell him to spread himself for you, eyes squeezed shut and face hidden in the blanket as he reluctantly complies. He stutters and pleads, “D-don’t say things like that, it’s embarrassing!” when you tell him his hole is cute <3

— Peg him in front of a mirror, make him watch his own debauched expressions as you fuck him senseless. Tanjiro is as obedient as they come, so when you order him to keep his eyes open, to look at how pretty he is, you can bet he’s moaning at his own ruined reflection.

— Intimacy is very important to Tanjiro, so no matter how filthily you’re fucking or how mean you are to him, he’ll want to hold your hand, to be praised when he’s doing well for you, to hear you say you love him.

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀

— Takes the strap like he was born for it, only too eager to present himself to you. He’ll even wiggle his ass at you enticingly if you take too long, and almost always grinds back into the strap when you press it in the cleft of his ass.

— Happily gives fauxjobs like he’s sucking a real dick, too cock-drunk to process that you can’t actually feel it. Press the tip of your strap to his kiss-bruised lips and watch as he parts them so eagerly, letting you fuck his throat raw. The idea of slicking up your fake cock to fuck him makes him leak and squirm, so helplessly turned on that he’s moaning around the toy as you fuck his face. And when he peeks up at you through those dewy blonde lashes, brown eyes nearly heart-shaped? 😵‍💫

— Favorite position has to be a mating press. He gets so excited when you press his legs to his chest, already rushing to thank you before you even put it in.

— And when you finally sink into his eager body, he keens so loud, head falling back as you slide home, filling him so completely. Whatever sense that may have remained is surely washed away by the overwhelming pleasure of your fake cock splitting him open.

— Zenitsu’s raging mommy kink is even more prominent when he’s bottoming, the name trickling out of his drooling lips before he can even think about what he’s saying. Because thoughts are for mommy not for babies, and he doesn’t have to worry about a thing while his mommy’s there to take care of him.

— He’ll beg you to make him cum on, “mommy’s cock” and loves to be coddled whilst you’re rearranging his guts, bullying that special spot inside him until he can’t possibly hold his seed in anymore. It feels like you’re forcing his orgasms out of him when you’re milking his prostate like this, fucking him so hard he’s being pushed up the bed by your thrusts.

“Is mommy making you feel good, baby?” You pry, knowing full well he hardly has any thoughts going through his pretty little head. He only moans in response, nodding frantically. He holds his legs up to his chest for you as you rut into him, brown eyes fully fixated where you’re connected, mesmerized by the sight of the toy sliding in and out of his stretched rim.

— Zenitsu needs lots of aftercare and reassurance afterward. He gets very emotional after his orgasm dies down, and is prone to subdrops with the sudden nosedive in endorphins. Cuddle him close to you, pet his hair, and remind him that you love him unconditionally. Sometimes you’ll be able to slip away to get a wet rag to wipe him down with and something for him to nibble on, but a lot of the time he’ll beg you to stay.

— Don’t skimp on praise either, he wants to know what a good job he did for you! Though if you go into lewd detail you might have his cock twitching back to life again and end up going one last lazy round.

“Thank you, mommy,” he sighs into the crook of your neck, still stuffed full of your strap and unwilling to move. “You always treat me so good, you know?”

“Anything for my baby boy, you deserve to be treated good~” you assure, scratching gently at his scalp with your nails. If he could purr, you’re sure he would be. Zenitsu can be a handful, but you’ll cradle him in your palms like the precious treasure that he is anyway.

𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀

— Inosuke can't help but giggle uncontrollably when he first sees you in the harness, poking at your plastic cock with an amused grin.

"HAHA, YOU HAVE ONE TOO NOW!"

— He’ll be the best at it! The self-proclaimed “king of pegging,” though truthfully, he falls apart when you stuff him full of your cock. Doesn’t know what to do with himself once you’ve fully seated yourself within him, an arm thrown over his eyes and breathing shakily as he adjusts to being stretched in such a way.

— Gets very embarrassed at the whimpery-mewl he makes when you find his prostate, practically shoving his whole fist in his mouth to muffle the next decidedly humiliating noise.

— Wriggly as can be when you’re trying to prep him, panting and shoving his hips at you, trying to fuck himself on your fingers.

— As expected, he’s feral whilst you’re fucking him, his blunt nails clawing at your back, and strong legs locking around your waist so you can’t pull out. And if you slow to a grind, he’s whining, trying to guide your hips faster with desperate bucks of his own.

— Inosuke's never one to stay still and let you do all the work, always planting his feet to meet your thrusts halfway. You'll have to hold his hips still, even then he fights you, too lost in ecstasy to hear your scoldings. He only stops when your hand claps down on his ass hard enough to leave a bright red mark, yelping out loud.

"Be still, piggy. I don't wanna have to punish you," you chastize, gingerly ghosting your fingers over the handprint you left behind on his pale flesh. He whimpers, muscular thighs shaking with the effort to comply with your request. "There's a good boy."

Your praise makes him drool a bit, soaking the sheets with his spit as you jut your hips into his repeatedly. He tugs at his own hair to focus on staying still, squealing when a well-angled thrust finds his prostate dead on. His upper body goes limp, cheek pressed to the bed, and hips in the air. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

You grin at the puddle your feral lover has become in just a short time.

"You're so pretty when you're well-behaved for me, piggy," you coo, grinning when all you get is a breathless giggle in response. His emerald green eyes look almost vacant, a dopey smile splayed on his kiss-bruised lips that makes you purr.

It seems you've fucked him dumb.

— Sounds almost pained when he cums, crying out hoarsely as he shakes and jerks with every vicious pulse. He clenches so hard around the toy you can hardly move at all and grabs at your hips to keep you from pulling out as he rides out his orgasm. Even after he's finished cumming, he doesn't want you to leave him empty. If he had his way, he'd fall asleep whilst warming your fake cock.

— Tanjiro and Zenitsu always give him strange looks when he's walking funny the next day and he only turns red when they ask why. Insisting that it was, "none of your business underlings!"

𝐒𝐄𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐎

— Bratty, sensitive, and growly the whole way through. Is practically glowering at you with those piercing red eyes as you spread him open and stretch him on your fingers. His glare only cracks when you brush over his prostate for the first time, mouth hanging ajar at the intense feeling.

— Prepare to dodge kicks to the head when he catches you staring, only baring his fangs at you when you scold him. Because who the hell are you to tell him what to do?

— Gets irritated if you spend too long on foreplay, impatiently fucking himself on your fingers and gritting his teeth when it’s not enough. Demands you to get on with it, to which you can only roll your eyes and comply, lest he changes his mind about letting you peg him at all.

— The best part is how his bitching cuts off the moment you slide home, the kanji for ‘anger’ glaring at you as he sticks his tongue out and moans like a bitch.

— Don’t try to take it slow with him, he won’t have it.

“Cut the lovey-dovey shit out and fuck me already.”

— Sekido wants you to be rough with him, so don’t be shy to manhandle him how you want him. Pull his head up by the hair when he can’t hold it up by himself anymore and tell him what a good slut he’s being for you, how he’s your favorite hole to fill even with his horrible attitude. Dig your nails into him, scratch your name into his flesh. He’s an upper-rank demon, it’ll heal in an instant.

— WE GOT A BITER! Seriously watch your neck cus he has a tendency to go for the jugular without much care for breaking the skin. Buries his fangs into your neck or shoulder when he’s close to cumming, and laps mindlessly at your blood as he tips over the edge. Growling and snarling possessive nonsense into your marred flesh as he quakes around the toy.

“You look pretty like this,” you purr and he jerks his head to the side at your praise, avoiding your enthralled gaze. At first, he tries to ignore you, but you take hold of his jaw and force him to look at you just as the tip of the toy grazes his prostate. His kanji-inscribed irises nearly rolled in their sockets, an aborted mewl toppling from his lips.

“Fuck! r-right there.”

“Aw, does that feel good, Sekido?” you can’t help but tease, and the threatening glare he fixes you with only adds to your amusement. “It looks like it does~”

“Shut up!” he spits, eyes squeezing shut when you throw a leg over your shoulder and angle your thrusts directly for his sweet spot. “I’ll kill you if you stop!”

— The more death threats you receive the closer he is to cumming <3

𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐈

— Urogi is not only eager to receive any sort of pleasure but quite demanding about it. He’s already high on the endorphins of your mere presence. So long as you're giving him all your attention, he doesn't much care what you do to him.

— Giggles between moans, sounding delirious as you fuck him stupid on your strap. Watch the talons, he’s less than careful with them, especially when he’s being fucked within an inch of his life. And he’s not very apologetic when you point out the angry red scratches he leaves down your back.

— Equal parts compliant and bratty. He ultimately just wants to get off, but he gets immense joy out of picking on you, so he can be a handful and a half. His wings are sensitive though, so if you ever want to make him talk less and squeal more, just bury your hands in the downy feathers and watch his jaw go slack with bliss. Changes his tune so quickly.

“H-hey wait, not my— ahn! That’s not fair you— oh, fuck! You know they’re sensitive!” Urogi whines as you caress the prickly appendages with your nimble fingers, delighted with how he quivers all over from the attention.

— His wings often curl around you when you’ve got him on his back, brushing up against your shoulders. He coos at you when you nuzzle your face into them, eliciting a satisfied, avian trill from the demon beneath you.

— Praise him as you peg him! Tell him what gorgeous wings he has, how pretty his long black hair is when you've got a fistful of it, how he makes the most intoxicating expressions for you. His golden eyes are rolling back into his head, a delirious smile painting his lips as your hands graze his neglected dick. He thrives off of your affirming words, so impossibly joyful to have your focus.

— Urogi is predictably loud when he’s bottoming, sobbing, mewling, and giggling as you fuck his brains out. A screamer if you get him worked up enough, which isn’t very hard, because he’s more sensitive than he lets on. Though his moans get so shrill they hurt your ears a bit, he sounds so pretty with his voice all high-pitched that you hardly care if your ears bleed.

— Not afraid to climb into your lap and fuck himself silly on your strap and we love him for that <333 even flaps his wings when his legs start to turn into jelly. Moans so sluttily when you fuck up into him from below, leaning forward to drape himself over you and bite and suck at the tender flesh of your throat.

𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐓𝐒𝐔

— Aizetsu is built to be pinned down and pegged actually, and looks a damned treat when he’s stuffed full of your strap. He’s so pretty it hurts. He’s amazingly pliant beneath your hands, shyly presenting himself to you and melting into a blissed-out puddle of a demon when you stretch him unhurriedly on your fingers.

— Constantly murmuring about how good it feels, especially when you find his prostate, going slack-jawed when you focus on that spot.

— Aizetsu’s tune changes when you finally sink the toy into him, suddenly crying out how it’s, “too much!” or that it’s going to break him. But his traitorous hips grind back onto you regardless of his protests, cock drooling pre all over your hand as you stretch him impossibly wide on your plastic cock.

— Treat him gently. Rock into him slowly but purposefully, reminding him how precious he is to you. Compliment him enough and you might be able to coax him to keep his eyes open, peering up at you through his wet lashes and a dark blush over his pretty face.

“D-don’t look at me like that,” your sweet demon lover whines, and you only quirk a brow, hips slowing to a methodical grind. He hisses, shoving his hips at you in protest.

“Look at you like what? ‘Zetsu?” you ask, teasing him with a leisurely pace a while longer before speeding up again. His face contorts in bliss, kanji-inscribed irises tipping up and tongue slithering out to lick over his fangs. Your pupils dilate at the lewd expression he’s making, lips parted in slight awe of this gorgeous man beneath you. You look at him like he’s the loveliest creature to walk the earth, and his heart clenches, tears springing to his eyes again.

“Like that! Like you… fuck like you’re gonna- oh gods fuck. Mmh! Not- so- fast! I’m- g-gonna- cum!” He cries out, his words punctuated by particularly harsh thrusts into his greedy hole. His walls cling to you with every retreat, making it harder to pull out and shove the toy back in.

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” you pant, tongue dipping out to swipe over your lips as you watch him fall apart with dark fascination.

— Aizetsu cries, cries, and cries when he cums from his prostate for the first time, shaking and sobbing inconsolably as he experiences what has to be the most intense orgasm of his life.

𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐔

— Dare I say most eager of the clones to be pegged? 👀 Karaku has no shame to speak of, so when you propose the idea to peg him, tapping your index fingers together all shyly, he’s ready to bend over at that exact moment. It’s a little funny actually, how needy he is to be filled, especially after he gets a taste of prostate stimulation.

“Hurry up! I’m starving here,” Karaku complains, and you only roll your eyes. Karaku referred to pleasure rather strangely, like it was something to be eaten. He always seemed more like an incubus than a demon. The eager way he eats you out as if he was trying to feed off of your excitement surely made it seem that way.

You smooth a hand over his plump behind and lower back, hand smearing lube over your strap, and then dipping into his hole to slick his insides as well. Karaku shivers violently, walls clenching down on your fingers, trying to keep them inside. He growls lowly as they retreat, but his hips wiggle in excitement as your plastic cock replaces your digits.

— Karaku moans like a whore when he's stuffed full of your fake cock, arching and trying to contort his body to be able to see you sinking in and out of him in every position. Mans is impossibly flexible, so you can fold him into just about any position.

— I wouldn't say Karaku is picky about how he's getting fucked, but he certainly knows what he likes, and he'll direct you where he needs you if you let him. Knows just how to angle his hips to have you scraping against his walls just right, upper body nearly going limp when you find his prostate.

— I'm sure it's a given that he's a nymphomaniac that isn't happy unless he's getting fucked. The bright side to that is you can curb his bitchiness and bloodlust by tempting him with promises to fuck him senseless.

2K notes · View notes

44st4rs · 3 days

Text

SORCERER DRIVE!

༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ PAIRINGSؘ: Pervert Neighbor!Gojo Satoru x Fem!reader

˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ WORD COUNT: 12.2k

˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ CW: dubcon, noncon voyeurism, perverted themes, teasing, exhibtionism, groping, male masturbation, use of sex toy, talks of wet dreams, phone sex, implied voice kink, oral(f & m receiving) fingering, heavy clit play, slight themes of possessiveness (gojo just really wants you) public sex, multiple orgasms, begging, pussydrunk!Gojo, couch sex, pussywhipped!Gojo, creampie, overstimulation, aftercare

˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄XOXO, CHRIS: It’s finally here :))) Literally so proud of this fic. I put aside all my other wips for this and God, I’m just so excited to share it with you guys :P

˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ WANT MORE?ؘ

pt. 2 ft. Toji (TBD)

Sorcerer Drive.

It’s a quiet neighborhood away from the buzz of the city, casted away by freshly cut grass, swaying trees, and a piece of mind. The suburban street holds twelve pristine homes—no more and no less. Some of these homes hold couples, families, and even singles; all escaping from the hectic life of the city. Its occupants aren’t what many would call typical however, each life sharing in its vibrancy.

Sorcerer Drive is also home to one Gojo Satoru, the twenty-eight-year-old man of unhinged transparency. He’s kind, open with his home, his heart—and his intentions. He’s persistent, a little too persistent to get exactly what he wants. His signature ruse of soft words and sly manners are all cause for harm, stringing along one too many housewives during the days he had off.

He knows it’s wrong to invade but it’s the attention he seeks, longing to fill some hole in his iron-clad heart. Every woman he sets his eyes on can never really commit to Gojo, some wary of his hidden natures. His sought-out success is usually foiled by the first date, ruined by a degrading facet he can’t repress all that well. It’s unfitting for a man like him to act in such a way, unable to subdue his perverse ways.

As far as Gojo’s aware, he’s always been like this, falling apart in the presence of women. He can’t help it, the desire that sits deep within his belly. There’s something about a woman that throws all of Gojo’s coherency out the window and pulls his insatiability to mind. He’s dangerously in love with every quality of those who tease his eye. He can’t go without wondering how his latest muse would look beneath him.

Even in his neighborhood, his perverted tendencies still bled through his new persona. He’d stare at whatever crossed his way—the tops of breasts jiggling during the morning runs of the housewives, snapping pictures of the many panties slips creeping out from the shortest of dresses at cookouts, even shamelessly ogling at how the wives shower their husbands in kisses.

Block parties were his favorite, he’s cocky with the husbands but flirty with the housewives. He knows all the tricks to pull, what to say, where to touch playfully, just to simply chase some fleeting attention for those around him—solely to end with him gaining yet another enemy.

Yet, in the three years he’s lived in the quiet neighborhood, Gojo’s never known what the company of a woman can do for him. None have ever been welcoming of his antics, both bold and suggestive. He only thrives off what surrounds him, gathering his collective moments of joy.

And it’s been that tragic cycle for as long as he’s known…until fate pulled on his tattered string.

There’s a house before his own, a shade of a pretty blue with its complements of white. And for as long as Gojo’s lived on the street, it’s never known the feeling of holding life. However, it wasn’t until just a few days ago that the desperate call for company was answered, the pitted sale sign finally freed from its staked prison.

Upon sight of the sign’s removal, Gojo’s imagination hasn’t found rest. He could begin to think of who his mystery neighbor could be—though, he hoped for a beautiful woman without the strings of a relationship or a family. He hoped for someone who was free for bonds of a family, could take in him for all he was, perfections and flaws alike.

Even now, he’s found himself whisked into the fantasy world of his living room window, watching the gathering clutter of brown boxes on the lawn of the neighboring house. Why, Gojo’s bubbling with an excitement so rich, he’s abandoned the breakfast he’s worked so hard to prepare. The icy hues of his eyes linger along every corner of the opposing house’s window, desperate to gain some insight into his soon-to-be acquaintance.

It��s almost unlike Gojo to express such childish whimsy, his fair skin roused with a cherry bliss. The highs of his cheeks and ears share in the same reality, dusted in its whimsical pink glow. The trilling giggles roll from his tongue, warming the air in its purity. He’s never found himself in such a state as this one, unsure of what really brews in the back of his mind.

He knows it’s something. It could be the joy of having a new face in the neighborhood, one who has yet to learn of his true natures. It could be the mystery clouding around said face, though he prays it’s the woman of his dreams. Needless to say, his reaction is a mindless one, the spill of words riddled with the confusion of intrigue and lust.

“God, I think I’m in love!”

A strained groan cuts through the air, Gojo’s uttering met with his own resistance. He’s reluctant to give into himself but can’t find anything to do except that. There’s a chance that his inspiring thoughts could be for naught, only to be met with the harsh reality awaiting him. The thick digits of his hand strum through the pure white locks of his hair, paired with a fatal sigh breaking the air.

Whether he is right or wrong. Gojo knows he alone stands in the way of discovering the truth. It’s because of that realization that he can swallow down his nerves—and pride—to make the first move in the unofficial game of cat and mouse, peeling away from his kitchen window and slipping out through his back door.

That lone thought fuels him, knowing that has to uncover the mystery before anyone else gets their hands on his muse. Gojo simply had to make the first impression, gathering his abundance of confidence to stroll through his front door, large hands sinking deep into the pockets of his navy slacks.

Dizziness dots his sights with patchy stars and all Gojo can do is bear the grave thumps of his heart clogging his sanities. “So much for that dopey build of confidence, huh Satoru?” the sole muttering to pass through Gojo’s lips as the fog of doubt doubles in its weight.

It’s the possibility that his hopes could be shattered upon the reveal of who now dons the title of his neighbor. He knows his whims can’t manifest into the woman of his dream but maybe the universe can smile down on him just this once…right?

Gojo peels his hands from his pockets, allowing for the pad of his digit to linger over the small button of a doorbell for a moment. He’s already come so far for second thought, being overwhelmed by the sinister blend of intrigue and lust flourishing all too well in his veins. The pearly whites of his teeth sink into the plush of his lips as he takes in a final breath, his finger pressing gently against the doorbell.

In a matter of seconds, the white door rips open from its post, revealing to Gojo a sight for sore eyes. It’s a dream turned into reality as the door rips from its post, all of his whims manifesting before his blown eyes.

Gojo’s breathing it all in, the woman leaning against the door’s frame with an arm braced for balance. He can’t begin to comprehend his thoughts, the composure he’s lost within moments gone to the wind. The heavy thumps of his heart chime at his ears once more the longer Gojo stares at your disinterest, a frigid wash of nerves licking across his skin.

There’s uncaringness riddled in the hues of your eyes—— the annoyance of interruption bleeding through to your spoken words.

“Listen, for the last time, I just moved here. I don’t wanna sign up for the—oh…hello there.”

Gojo’s still stifled in his thoughts, the presence of you rendering him numb. He had yet to speak without removing his eyes from you, scanning down the luscious curves hidden beneath the silk black robe. He clings to a scene quite particular in his favor, the supple mounds of your cleavage spilling from the robe.

“Um…,” your tone soaked in tender concern, eyelids narrowing in sight at the stricken man, “You look a little red in the face, sir. Are you okay, do you need some water or–”

The sinister blend of intrigue and lust flourish all too well in his veins as Gojo’s hand rushes to cut the air, the brash attempt to hold contact with you.

“I’m Gojo Satoru, 28 years old and I live right there, across the street…from…you!” His cherry-tipped ears are met with the delight of a giggle, your soft palm slipping into his own.

“Nice to meet you, Gojo. I’m Y/N! Call me your new neighbor!”

Gojo nods at your words, battling his snowflake-like lashes. He’s managed to pull you into a senseless conversation about the neighborhood, linked hands losing their strength. Your burning questions should matter to him, but Gojo’s too enthralled at serving his palm passing glances, the tingling warmth dancing about his skin.

“Fuck, can’t wait to see if her hand’s this soft ‘round me. S’ soft and warm, just squeezing at every inch of me,” Gojo’s unfiltered thoughts wandering to unreached highs.

It’s lewd in the way Gojo thinks, his mind far more deranged than what he’s led to believe. A switch flicks in his brain, his pervasive tendencies edging to ruin what facade he’s worked so hard to withhold. He’s seconds into a cliché trial of small talk, but can’t ignore how puffy your lips get when his words pull a giggle from your chest, or how your fingers rattled along the frame mindlessly.

It has him pondering—imagining—how puffy your lips could become against his own, smothered in a mess of spit and sparse bites. His cock thumps at the lewd thought, hoping that one day your thumb would work the same mindless pattern along his blushed head as you do to the wooden frame.

And he has yet to address the way your legs cross in your leaned stance, his thoughts hinged on the bundle of warmth residing between the chub of your inner thighs. He, your robe highlighting the little bow of your panties imprinting itself through the thin robe. One wrong move and he’ll see it all, the fat lips of your cunt just barely fitted behind pesky sheets of fabric.

Yet he’s so desperate to maintain the peace that Gojo has no choice but to shed his immoral self, his laggard breaths setting onto a steady pace. A subtle shake of his head is all it takes for what moments he can get, following his way back into the closing conversation.

“Well, I hope to see you around, Gojo.”

Maddening is the only thing fit to describe Gojo’s state, desperately searching to earn a minute more of his presence. He simply couldn’t return home, at least not yet. How could he willingly turn back knowing that you—the woman of his dreams—existed within fifteen feet of his reach? He had to find a way to entrap you, ensure that he’d be the only man to ever enter the temple of your home.

“W-Wait! If you ever—and I mean ever— need me for an extra pair of hands, I’m right here…unless your husband isn’t okay with that?”

“Oh, that’s not gonna be possible…considering that I’ve been divorced for the past two years. But since you’re offering, I’ll call on you!”

Before the moment can end, Gojo digs into his back pocket, pulling his phone out as another conversational segway.

“Can I get your number then? Makes it easier for both you and me.”

Gojo watches as you take the phone from him, thumbs typing away at the ten digits needed. He studies the focus that shrouds your features, imprinting every detail he can take. The gentle coo of your voice breaks his concentration, does eyes of a frigid blue falling in line with you.

“Here you go, hopefully, you’ll get a call soon…Gojo.”

All you do is give Gojo a giddy smile as you place the device back into his palm, before waving goodbye, bringing the door in delayed haste. You don’t know what you’ve done by revealing that detail to Gojo, the man stiff with an impressional glee.

The limited interaction plagues Gojo’s mind for the day’s remainder, the evening rolling around through his feverish daze. It’s been ensnared in his brain longer than he’s anticipated, his lewd thoughts following him into the night’s shower.

Water droplets bloom against his skin, washing away the snowy suds of soap and a sliver of his day’s sins. Gojo believed he had a handle on himself as he showered—until the white noise of silence leads his troubled mind to stray. He can’t get over how perfect you are, your smile, your voice, down to how the robe just barely protected you from him. He’d be lying if he didn’t want to see more, remembering how his digits twitch with the absurdity to strip your body down to the beauty of bare skin.

It’s such a thought that Gojo couldn’t help himself, his cock strained with a painful urge. Each droplet of the showerhead’s water struck him heavier than the last. The whimpers that rip from his chest are nothing short of chilling disgust. He didn’t want to lace his shaky hand around the thick tip, sealing the spry nerves in an etching fist.

His need for release has him so weak, his body trusting the brace of his forehead against the gray tile. He can’t ignore the ghastly sensitivity his body is forced to endure. From the building steam clouding his tiled chamber, his robust shower gel slicking him a cold sheen, he’s nearly crumbled beneath his own mundane actions.

Did you have to dress so freely, innocently provoking the hellish terror residing deep inside Gojo’s stomach. The pulling gush has yet to suspend, its heat swelling at his balls. He can feel the bloat of cum growing heavier than he’s ever bared.

That’s why Gojo brings his eyes to a close, filthy scenes obscuring his mind with images of you naked on his bed. He can see everything so clearly it’s utterly shameful—those legs of yours parted just for him, dainty fingers working hard at the cute bulb of your clit. Gentle, soft enough to coax shivering pretty moans from your chest. Gojo’s mentally noting how your touch trails between your folds to your glossy slit, two fingers barely fitting inside.

The tips of his digits tease the inflamed head of his cock with whispy swipes, foamy bubbles of pre trickling past his worked knuckles. Yet the crippling sensation isn’t enough for Gojo, bringing the full brute of his strength to strum about his cock. He doesn’t even have time to admire how his veins rise to meet his touch, the overwhelming rush of blood causing his head to spin.

“Just like that, k-keep going,—fuck, you’re so tight!”

He’s hung on the sight of you, weakened hips hoisting into the air with the swift delves of your fingers scarcely stretching your slit. There’s no comparison in his mind, knowing that your digits could never reach as deep as his cock could. You’re just barely scratching the surface of your body as far as he believes, leaving so much untouched yet so much to be discovered. He can almost hear you too, his mind conjuring the sweetest coos he has but to indulge.

At that alone, Gojo’s body falls into a shuddering hunch, his back folding at the breathless stir in his lungs. His slender hand lays waste to his poor cock, careless strides roaming from base to tip. To Gojo’s demise, it’s all in vain. He can’t handle the recoils of his strokes, the insufferable drag towards the bed of messy white hair freeing breathless moans from his chest. Even the force he strived to maintain shattered in his hands, bare thighs bearing the rippling waves stinging at his balls.

“You’re gonna keep playing with that pretty pussy fr’ me, right? I—fuck—need you to, Baby…‘m so close!”

His precum’s sticky when it spreads further across the expanse of his cock, the vile squelches echoing in his ear. He only seems to be growing more within his hand, bigger, thicker, and farther from his envied high.

“Fuckfuckfuck, I wanna cum for you, Y/N! S’ bad! Wanna watch it drip everywhere, your tits, cute funny, all over your pussy! I j-just wann—“

The rushing spill of white rinses over Gojo’s hand, the beads of water rising away his sins. Through the huffs of his emptied lungs, he stands in dismay, watching every drop wither into the abyss of nothing. His hand softly smacks the wall of the shower, quivering lips muttering his final thoughts.

“You weren’t supposed to waste it, Princess. All my hard work…gone like that.”

Regret sets in as a sigh empties from Gojo’s chest, his weary hand turning the shiny valve. The water’s suspension seals the last of his misfortune, the man returning to reality when he steps from the glass chamber. Disgust doesn’t resonate with Gojo as he peers into his mirror, imprints of steam drifting across the glass. It’s a passing glance but one he’s dangerously proud of amidst strolling towards his dimmed bedroom.

His digits reach for the towels he’s laid across the mahogany duvets, the contrasting fibers grazing across his skin. Gojo’s inches from it before a sight like no other catches his greedy eye, eyelids parting in pure shock.

To his unfortunate luck, the windows of his bedroom peer straight into yours—one free of any coverage as of now.

It’s a sight he knows he’s too blessed for, your body sheathed in the plush towel of white. It’s clingy, hinged on every curve of your figure. A squint is forced upon Gojo as he focuses on you, watching the faint sheet of fluff unravel at a single tug. Lust consumes him, clouded hues gawking at the plump swells of your chest and the curves of your physique, all set in his untimely direction.

Gojo’s hand settles over his chest, hardened pads drifting down to his flittering abs. He can’t believe it, how dumb you could be to allow a man like him to gaze at the divine physique of your body. A feeble pry claws at Gojo’s fading will, pulling him to fall onto his bed.

He gives you one final glance before whimpering out his distressing plea.

“Look at you, so close but so far…’nd you’re so perfect.”

His hand slips into the top drawer of his bedside, the shameful shell of his beloved pocket pussy falling into his grasp. Was it wrong of Gojo to get off to his explicit thought once more? Even going as far as to use what scene he had of you for entertainment?

Why...of course not.

His digits race to greet his mouth, the makeshift cup pooling with his spit. All it takes is a single rushed stroke to coat his length in the threaded gloss, eagerly nuzzling the slit of the toy over his own.

He’s swift to feed the growing impatience, pulling the toy to loosely hang around the tip of his cock. Sensitivity aided in his hand, the stings of the recent orgasm lingering at the forefront of his brain. Everything’s still clouded to Gojo, the blinding pulls along his girth to bring him to the present.

It soon became a harsh pill to swallow, that pit in his stomach deepening. He’s studying how the toy’s lips spread around his cock, the scene shrouding a haze of disgust over him. It’s nothing as he wishes it to be, no warmth, no gush, no heavenly moans begging for him to slow down. The feeling’s merely sinking deeper in Gojo’s mind, his body falling flat onto the bed at last.

“S-Shit…it’s not tight enough—fuck!”

His grip couldn’t afford to be any more endearing, his throbbing cock engulfed in a numbing squeeze. In truth, Gojo wasn’t sure what he was so desperate for, giving aim to an unsure goal. His hand could squeeze, swivel, and pull at his shaft all they wanted, but nothing can ever compare to the anticipation of having you clamped around him, struggling to take each fattened inch. He has yet to comprehend what has his hips jolting to meet the toy’s sad excuse for a cervix, or why his lust for you brought along gravitating rivers of sweat to lave across his scorned body.

“I-I can’t even– it’s no good, ‘m not gonna cum when the real thing is right there,” the summoning of Gojo’s desperate call to awaken. He’s aggravated with urgency, anxious to cum, but all the while, can’t commit to chasing the sweet high. The wretched pocket pussy gets paid a mere gaze, only to be ripped off his twitching cock with strings of glimmering precum in tow.

He wants to be the bigger person, to shut his own blinds out of respect...then again, Gojo isn’t that kind in both morals or character. Laying in his own misery, he stole a few gaps at you, grinning at how the night’s attire of a white tank and pink panties suited you best.

Amidst his gaudy oglings, sleep edges at his mind as heavy eyelids follow in the sun’s setting path. Gojo giggles to himself before mouthing off once more, ensuring that his mischievous dreams, and desires would soon manifest in his hands.

“Pray for the day I get my hands on you, Y/N. I swear I’m never letting go.”

Those words loom over Gojo’s head for the duration of the week, serving as a reminder to him. Why, he has to be on his best behavior for you, pitting all his perverted mannerisms to rot. During the day, he catches you on your daily expedition to the mailbox for idle chatter. It’s a fleeting few minutes but Gojo learns more and more about you. Within the days he’s caught your attention, he’s learned about your occupation, your favorite foods, and films.

He’s saving all these trivial exchanges for a certain day—like today— for when Gojo crosses your path again, a day written by the Gods themselves.

Since he had the chance to meet you, Gojo’s thoughts have revolved around you and only you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your nose scrunches while deep in thought—all of it, Gojo’s been hung up on. His days are spent on you, thoughts and imagination dedicated to you and you alone. He can’t help but reminisce on the minutes he’d spend with you, the mere trade of words igniting a hidden facet in his heart.

He’s unsure of what to call it, the very thing that hinders his day-to-day life as of late. He’s too intrigued to call it a crush but wouldn’t dare tread the lines of obsession. It’s a conflicting matter for one such as him, one that tests every fiber in Gojo’s being.

He’s never been so attentive to someone other than himself before, his interest in you surpassing the field of lust alone. He can spend hours just thinking about you, how you smiled at him the first time with such care, how you made him melt beneath your gaze.

He isn’t one to form connections, attachment never did serve the man well. Though, at the face of your arrival to the neighborhood, Gojo’s once paraded lifestyle now hints at the inevitable downfall. He’s suddenly frantic for your attention, yet shied away from his sprouts of self-doubt. He’s afraid to admit just how much he wants you, to have you around him at every waking moment.

For now, he resorts to the method he knows best, taking to his living room window to catch every rare appearance you’d make. Whether it be you walking down to the mailbox, discarding the next round of moving boxes, or simply stepping out to watch the sunset, Gojo sought to capture it all.

But today brings its own fruits of bliss, providing Gojo with the hand-delivered game of chance. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, you hoisting the next batch of trash out to the front lawn.

Yet, there’s something different in him, Gojo pinned to his favorite place amongst his living room window. Sure, he’s observing as you drag the next ensemble of boxes behind your heels, but that’s not what has his attention piqued.

He should be used to it by now, all the short outfits you’ve flaunted to the outside world. But nothing could compare to the pure lamb white tank and matching skirt adorning your curves. He can’t seem to take his eyes away from the cute pout breaks across your visage.

A furrowed brow, lips fostering a glossy pout and puffy cheeks limp with fatigue all entice Gojo to lengths even he can’t comprehend. He can tell you need some guidance, someone to tell you where to go from there.

Gojo’s more inclined to stand to his feet now, strolling to his front door once again. The sweep of deja vu settles onto him is chilling, the same cycle of steps repeating themselves. Just like the day he’d recognized your presence, Gojo can’t do anything but approach you with careful steps.

He’s brought to the scene in the lewdest of ways—you bent over the growing batch of folded cardboard. It doesn’t help that his ear picks up on every feeble whimper that escapes from your mouth, the clear frustration written in your voice. He is undoubtedly without shame as his gaze graces your body, grinning at how your panties tease past the edge of your skirt.

You’re so cute like this, too caught up in your own little world to notice Gojo’s staggering build towering behind you. He could stay like this forever, watching as you continuously shift through the clutter.

As pure as it’s intended, sin never lurks too far when it comes to Gojo. His hands slip into his pockets without delay, stretching the fabric of his navy slacks to conceal the growing bulge. It’s not his fault your skirt falls so short of you, but he isn’t one to complain either. The sight only triggers that devious side of him, firing all sorts of thoughts to cloud his tainted brain.

Gojo knows he can’t get ahead of himself, not when he still has to maintain his fragile impression around you. All it takes for a single huff of air to crowd Gojo’s lungs for him to speak at last, the spiteful smirk embedded behind his words.

“Quite the mess you’ve got here. The recycling truck only comes once every other week, y’know.”

The bit of insight he offers is enough to pull your attention elsewhere, your head whipping around to meet his lidded regards.

“Oh, hi Gojo! I know, right?! It’s even more of a mess inside too!”

Gojo takes the chance to close the distance, leaning over your hunched form gradually. His head falls into a timely tilt, allowing him to breathe in the shift in nature befalling you. Suddenly, ripples of blinks overtake your eyelids, lips faltering to hold fast to the pretty pout. He seals your brash flusters with the soft hum of his voice, the warmth of his breath fanning across the tip of your nose.

“Well…aren’t you gonna ask me for help? I do remember saying I’d be here to give you an extra pair of hands for all your…problems.”

There’s a silence falling amongst you both, the eyes of you two falling into a blurred line. Gojo’d be lying if he said he didn’t succumb to you too, the exterior of smug pride crumbling with each second. Sure, Gojo has you stifled in your steps, forced to endure the sweltering heat of his stare—but he’s the one that suffers in the end. Waves of heat strum throughout his body, laying claim to the highs of his cheeks and ears alike. His chest lags in the slightest of breaths, the uneven pace coming to light.

His ears perk at the aimless whimpers spilling from your mouth, ensuring that your body shares in the same symptoms—uneased breaths, flares of heat, and uncertainty pitted deep within your belly. He wants to reach out, hoping his hand could bring you down from the fluttering gates of nirvana. It takes for the tiny squeak of your voice’s inquiry to break the fallen silence.

“Can you…help me fix the inside…please? I’d appreciate it so much!”

“ ‘Course I will! Just lead the way, beautiful!”

You offer Gojo a pleasant nod before turning from him, dainty hands clutching at your chest. Within a matter of moments, he’d so easily brought you to your knees. From his sly grin, his overwhelming allure, down to the very way he seems to keep a specific look for you, Gojo could just as easily have you wrapped around his finger should he say the words.

“Over there, I need the most help in the kitchen,” your hand pointing in the appropriate direction as you close the door behind him.

Gojo encounters your sights for a brief moment more, a toothy grin spreading itself thin as he explores your home. Finally, he has you to himself, free from any wandering eyes to be found along the block.

“It’s nice in here, Y/N. I see you like the finer things, just something else we have in common.”

“Thanks, but wait till everything’s in place, finish cleaning and arranging…it’s gonna be great!”

You pay Gojo one final glare of amusement, the teasing stares pulling you both towards the unkempt vast of the kitchen. There’s a certain set of cabinets that call your attention, the blanched wood doors wide in welcomes your gaze. Your finger points to the plates before you, recalling the details of Gojo’s task.

“Since you’re tall, can you put the plates up in the cabinet? I’ll put the pots and pans in the lower cabinets.”

A cheeky smile is all it takes for Gojo to oblige, breaking his looming stare to tend to his assignments. Though, as much as Gojo wants to help you out, he truly can’t. Within the placement of one plate, his focus finds means elsewhere, those blue eyes hinged on you beside him.

How could he carry on such a leisure task when he has you so close to him, the curve of your ass just hugging at the thighs of his pants. There’s so much to unfold and too much for him to ignore—the bend consuming your body revealing more than he deserves. The warmth of your skin pecks at his skin, a thrill of heat surfacing to your touch.

You’re soft against him, brushing a silky plush donning the title of your skin. He just doesn’t get it, why must your skirt be so short teasing the whims of a man like himself? He wants to look away, savor the time he’s been given with you thoughtfully…

But damn it all when you dip forward to better your reach, the silhouette of your cunt sucking through the thin inseam of your black lace panties. For a moment—just a brief moment—Gojo’s blessed with the delicate curves of your clothed pussy.

It’s tantalizing to him, pulling his mind to an unmatched euphoria. His mind is swift to flood with his lewd thoughts, hoping that one day he hopes to endure the forbidden sight of your cunt’s lips splitting around his cock.

“Oh fuck!” his inner thoughts coming to light. He’s swift to conceal the slip of his words with a cough, the deep draw straining his throat. It’s enough for you to jolt, bouncing back onto your feet to tend to Gojo.

“Gojo! Wait, I’ll get you a cup of wat—”

Before you can even think, the brash pads of Gojo’s hand lace your dainty fingers into his own. He pulls your hand to the plush pink curves of his lips, placing a lingering peck along your laxed knuckles. His free hand slips to fill the small of your back, pulling you to crash against the chest of his black sweater.

“Well, well well, look at you, racing around to help little ole’ me…just knew you were perfect fr’ me.”

His eyes flicker over you once more, a rush of thrill licking at his skin. The question he has is heavy, sits a little too heavy on his chest. That’s why he has to say it—to free himself of his one true desire.

“Let me take you out…tonight. I can show you around town, show you all my favorite spots and more.”

“A date? Already? We just met, Gojo…I don’t…”

A cast of hesitation settles onto you both, a tension so thick that neither of you could withdraw. Gravity condemns you to his side, body falling prey to Gojo’s allure. There’s something about the man that compels you, the saccharine tone of persuasion dripping from his voice. He could put you in a trance and you’d be at his every whim, that alone serving as your conclusion.

“Okay, pick me up around seven. I’m kinda tired of being surrounded by so many boxes and dust.”

Gojo presses a final kiss onto your knuckles before breaking away from you, an indescribable elation written across his features.

“I promise you won’t regret it. I’ll make the night worth your while.”

With that, Gojo left from your side, unable to wipe the stupid grin from his face. A date with the woman of his dreams, the thought alone pulling nervous flutters from his heart.

Through a passing glance, he manages to catch a glimpse of the digital clock embedded in the stovetop: 4:30 pm.

From the moment he left your home and entered his own, ensuring your good favor was all that weighed heavy on Gojo’s mind. He simply had to win you over, knowing that you too shared some interest in him.

It’s the first time in a long time that Gojo’s felt this way, endowed to someone other than himself. In Gojo’s eyes, to have you is to have all the riches in the world. He knows there’s something so different about you, something that sets his body aflame.

That’s why in the hours he has left to prepare for the impromptu date, he puts in all the effort to become the best version of himself. From grooming his closet for the finest outfit—stone gray slacks, a mauve silk button, and his favorite set of leather black loafers— picking up a bouquet of white roses for good measure, and rushing to arrange reservations at the nearest restaurant a few block away, Gojo knew he’d have to use all the tricks in his arsenal to eventually call you his one day.

By the time seven did set in, Gojo brought himself to stand right outside your door, wearing that stupid smile once more. The nerves have yet to settle beneath his fair skin, flairs of red ripping across his cheeks and ears alike. Before he can bring his finger to press the small button, deja vu befalls Gojo again.

He’s welcomed by the sight of you, dressed in an orange satin mini dress. His eyes hang upon every inch of you, the dress’ low cut neckline especially appealing to Gojo’s taste, coaxing the corners of his lips to tease with a smirk.

He hands you the bundle of florals carefully, allowing his fingers to graze along your own for a moment. Gojo lets his head fall into a tilt, plush lips of pink curving as he watches your expression bloom into a whimsical grim.

“Don’t you look perfect? The color suits you, Gorgeous.”

“Aw, why thank you! But first…tell me where we’re going…please?”

“Like I said, I wanna show you around. There’s a nice restaurant a few blocks from where we’re walking to, I think you’ll like it.” He lets his hand fall from the bouquet to brush along your waist, the mere weight of his touch drawing you to rest against his chest. The pinning force melds within his heart as he’s finally introduced to your body’s warmth, a subtle sigh escaping from his lungs.

“Let’s get goin’ I wanna spend as much time with you as I can…y’know, being a gentleman and all.”

The words Gojo utters aren’t so much spoken for your liking, as they are to him—a reminder of the persona he wears tonight. And for the night, he swore to maintain his composure, to keep his dangerous thoughts away in order to hit every mark with you.

A final glance of exchanges takes its place between you both before the journey begins, Gojo leading with you by his side.

“Gojo…who lives in that house?” you hand motioning towards the passing house. Gojo’s eyes fall into a squint, a scoff trailing from out his lips at the realization.

“Oh...that’s Toji Fushiguro. I heard he’s in his forties and lives alone in the house. But, he’s someone you should stay away from, especially when you’ve got me,” he teases, using all his efforts to distract you from Toji’s burning stare.

Your eyes linger on him for a moment longer, such imbues of green searing into your memory. He’s not one to forget, the man lounging upon his porch with a smoke in hand. His eyes are murky with an unseen objective, the lingering leer fading away with a salacious wink doused in trouble. A gasp escapes from your lips at his notion, intrigue bubbling high among your sentiments.

“He seems interesting, though…” the last review you give Toji before he’s out of sight.

It isn’t long before you reach the restaurant, the soft twinkle of lights meeting your eye. The quaint establishment holds no more than a few, the other patrons spread thin across the restaurant floor. You and Gojo found yourselves towards the back, a table free from the immediate presence of others.

The tension between you both is one of a thickened atmosphere, both of you itching to solve the mystery of each other. Rather than ask Gojo your burning question, you wait an assured time without interruption, the opportunity presenting itself minutes after the waiter receives the orders of dinner.

You find yourself pulled towards Gojo, his speechlessness creating an aura of enticement for your favor. Your eyes suffer the weight of intrigue, eyelids heavy with an underlying taunt of lust. Your hands fold beneath your chin for support, the gradual silence coming to an end.

“Tell me Gojo, why are you single? You’re such a handsome man with a really smooth personality, it honestly shocks me that you are.”

Gojo’s hand rises from the white tablecloth, slender rubbing at the point of his chin. It’s a question he’s addressed but has yet to confront the clauses of such an inquiry. He knows the answer through and through but knows he’ll scare you—the woman he’s been waiting for— away. But he prays you’ll understand him, understand why he is the way he is and accept all that came with him. He gives you one wavering glance before replying, a hefty sigh guiding the spill of words.

“Why am I single?...it’s more than what you’d believe, Princess. I’m not all that…accepted, to put it shortly. And I can’t be with someone who doesn’t accept all of me, right?”

Eager to close the distance, Gojo pits himself inches from you, a lazy stare lurking across your placid visage. You’re eager for an answer, that much is enlightened to Gojo through the thick shroud of silence. He grants your burning question with another facer to be uncovered, the question rolling off his tongue with sinful ease.

“Can you accept all of me? All it takes is a date to know if you wanna put up with someone…so does that same ideal—Oh, look at that, I dropped my fork.”

You watch as Gojo sinks beneath his seat towards the burgundy carpet. All’s quiet for the seconds your date spends hidden underneath the table…all until the vibrations of your phone earn your distant attention. Bringing the call to your ear, your voice leads the conservation with a shushed giggle, your head tilting in a blissful delight.

“Is there a reason you’re calling me from under the table, Gojo?”

“Of course there’s a reason, I want you to hear everything I have to say…”

The tips of Gojo’s digits brush along the prominent curve of your thigh. A heft of warmth follows his breath as he inches towards you, brimming your skin with a chilling lick of desire. It’s almost embarrassing for you to admit, the swirling flame crowding at the dormant bulb of your clit. There’s a prowling heat that consumes your cunt, the plunging weight wedged between your poor walls. A bare squeak rips from your lungs, only to fade beneath the barrage of Gojo’s speech.

“You asked why I’m single, it’s true that no woman has really accepted me…but there’s more to it. I’m a mess when it comes to love, I let lust run as high as my heart and no one has really kept up with me because of that. As for you, my pretty girl…you’re so cute, so perfect for me to ruin. From the moment we met, I just knew you were the woman of my dreams. There’s something hidden deep within you—and I wanna be the one to bring it out.”

“So then, you wanna–”

“I wanna lose myself in you. Touch you, kiss you, call you mine, I just want you so bad it hurts.”

You can’t comprehend how fast Gojo’s fingers sneak beneath your dress to tug at your panties. Then again, you can’t begin to comprehend how fast you’ve fallen at his pleas, your thighs breaking from the harsh clasp for his head to fill the space. It’s the anticipation that has you this wet, what has your skin inflamed with spry nerves, the thrill of Gojo indulging in your pussy within the company just surrounding the promiscuous atmosphere.

The plea laced behind his pants brought along a course of thirst throughout your body. You can’t wait for it, the soft heat of his tongue dragging through your folds, strides of spit melting with your nectar, the moans pried from the depths of his chest. The thin cloth suddenly grows to be an annoyance, your hips bucking to wedge the cinched waistband from its post.

“Please…please, let me do it. I just wanna make you feel good, just me and me only.

“Fuck, Gojo, I–”

At the sound of your voice, Gojo finally allows himself to falter in your stead, shedding the kind persona he’d donned for the night. His fingers tug the pesky panties of yours down your legs, the limp white cotton bunched at your ankles. His touch drifts further across your body, a gentle rattle against your skin forcing your thighs apart.

Gojo can’t resist it any longer, the vast of his palm breaking from your thigh. The tips of fingers trace the curves of your cunt’s lip in tease, parting the plushy mounds to reveal the ness awaiting him. The sticky unclasp echoes in his ears, a hiss of resistance cutting through the air.

He’s met by the salacious mess of your pussy, the puffy lips breaking from the sticky hold. It’s more than he expected, the glossy strands of your essence dripping from the hood of your clit. The patterns dresses your pussy in a delicate manner, fragile strands illuminating your folds. Yet what teases at that ache deep within his stomach was your slit, soapy flutterings gasping to be filled. The threads string across the silky sheets are diamondlike, glimmering even in the dimmest of light.

“Look at how much of a mess you made fr’ me, Baby—fuck!— clit’s so damn cute under my fingers. Bet you wanna cum real bad…but not yet. Not until I play with you, alright?”

All you can do is whimper out your transgressions to Gojo, the cry of urgency muted by your cupping hand. He’s so gentle with his touch, the calloused pads of his fingers drifting along the glistening folds to reach your clit. He’s so gentle that it’s teasing, laying a fluttering trail to swirl about the pearl. Why, he’s so gentle that it's taunting, your hips reeling from his touch. Yet, all you earn is a huff from Gojo through the phone, his sloppy grip bracing your hip.

“Don’t do that, just gonna make you cum harder now, y’know.”

You don’t know it just yet, that side of Gojo that can alone uphold his honor. The side that keeps his word, ensuring that he’ll follow through on his part. The same principle applies to you all the same. It’s why he can bring his tongue to your frail slit, dragging that slippery ingraining stride through your folds—just to strike the raw bulb of your clit. The whimpers, gasps, and moans all fill Gojo’s ear, spitefully pawing at his ego. It fuels him to pursue further endeavors to test you.

“So pretty, Baby. Gonna let me kiss that pretty clit too, aren’t you?” his voice tapering across your roused skin. “Now relax, let me suck your clit, ‘kay?”

His words pull at your body’s temperament, releasing a wave of frigid heat to shroud your pussy. The plush mounds of his lips lay soft kisses against your clit, teasingly sealing the hood between each peck. At first, it isn’t noticeable, just the puffy seal of his lips enveloping the perked bud.

The gradual pull of your clit that alerts you, the streamlined squelching suckles pinned on the raw nerves. He’s even managed to make a mess of you, returning spools of spit dripping from his pursed hold over your clit.

The slobbering unclasp of his lips chime through the call, the lewd symphony strumming through your lips. His fingers cup at your cunt, parted digits placing gentle pulsing squeezes along your clit. Gojo pulls back for a moment, hungered eyes taking in the beautiful fixture he’d made out of your pussy.

“Mhm, that’s it, good girl, relax fr’ me. I think I’m falling in love with your pussy—tastes so good.”

“Oh m-my God!! Fuck Gojo, y-you can’t say it like that!”!

“Aww, but it’s the truth. Your pussy s’ good and fuck… twitching against my tongue like that. You’re so needy, Angel…gonna make you cum real soon.”

Just as he promised, the final clasp of his swollen lips brings about your downfall, the mind-shattering orgasm milking at your worth. A chain reaction breaks across your body, claiming your lungs in a breathless gasp. It’s heavy, the insufferable burden pulling the hull of your chest to the surface. Your legs know no bounds either, the innermost plush threatening to smother Gojo.

He repels himself from you before harm could arise, dragging the flat of his tongue along his plump lips. Pride boils at the forefront of Gojo’s mind as he returns to his seat, wearing a nonchalant smile in your presence. He knows what’s passing through that fuzzy mind of yours, the hues of lust and curiosity melding into one. The look of widened eyes, high eyebrows, and an agape mouth tell Gojo all he needs to know as he sets his phone down onto the white tablecloth: you’re curious.

The questions of what he can do to you fill up your mind, latent desires grooming at the surface of your skin. Gojo’s awakened something inside you, something that can’t quite be transcribed into words. It’s heat, a warmth so fierce that it grows with impatience.

The longer you return his gaze, the heavier the flames weigh on your mind. It entraps your entire body in a trap of heat, the inescapable urge swirling deep within your shuddering tummy. Suddenly, a single demand falls from your lips without regret in sight.

“Gojo, I really…um…I really wanna go now.”

“Aww, but we haven’t even eaten yet. I guess we can—

“Take it to go? We can do all that at the reception table. So can we…go…now?”

Gojo falls back in his seat as he stares at you, hiding a growing grin behind with the single thought looming above.

He’s got you. Exactly where he wants you, a hot and rowdy mess falling before his very eyes.

In response to his goal being met, Gojo stands up straight from his spot on the chair. His hand falls from its hold as a makeshift shield, presenting both his beckoning call and grin to you.

“C’mon, let’s get you home. I’d hate to keep you waiting.”

Leading you back home was nothing short of thrilling to Gojo. He studies you with a watchful eye, how you dropped your walls for the likes of him. It’s not vulnerability in the slightest but a taste of a life he’s always sought for. And here you come, providing him an earnest peek at that softer, susceptible side of you.

Your touch welcomes him, warms his heart to a point as he bears your dainty hands clinging to his sleeve. He’s exposed to this soft side of you by the soft nudge of your kisses, his cheek covered in trailing pecks as he struggles to pay for the night’s incomplete outing.

Gojo can’t help but fall prey to you, his heart set aflutter with skipping pangs. He finds himself returning your endearing favors, catching your lips in a kiss every so often. His touch vacates anything formal, fitted perfectly along your lower back to squeeze at the swell of your ass.

All the formalities Gojo should have maintained fell from his arsenal with every passing minute it takes to reach your home, the quaint house welcoming both your heavy hearts. He’s clinging to you, a hand pulsing at the plush of your waist and the other occupied with the bag of forgotten dinner.

“Do you…” Gojo begins, his smirked lips curling at the shell of your ear. “Need help with the keys?

His digits drift along the flushed skin of your forearm, lacing around your palm to aid in the envied endeavor.

“Just one last turn and…that’s the click. Now…push open that door if you don’t want the neighbors to see.”

Your body’s compelled to fall to Gojo’s words, entering through to the door with crazed haste. As the door falls shut, there’s a break in the tension, a moment for your mind to return to some state of coherency. Your first instinct is to walk, to separate for just a step. But it’s his swiftness you overlook, how quick he comes over to tower over you.

The hull of Gojo’s chest harbors a heavy tune, scattered breaths melding through you. His arm travels across your hips, laxed fingers creating lazy pleats along the hem of your dress.

“No, no, no…I finally have you to myself, Pretty girl. Where do you think you’re goin’ ?”

Your eyes cower with obligation dotting the blurred hues of your eyes. You can’t refuse Gojo, not with the pulling attraction guiding your heart thus far. Especially when he towers above you like this, the heat of his encasing you whole. There’s almost a compelling force, something bringing you onto your toes to close the distance. Your lips just barely brush past his own, the puffy heat teasing you with an invite.

“I’m…—!”

Gojo’s lips meet your own, the intoxicating smother of heat exhausting remnants of your energy. It’s intoxicating, how fixed you’ve become to his touch. There isn’t a moment to falter. Your lips cling to his own, such supple curves desperate to match the careful weaves he guides you through.

Languid trudges usher you and Gojo to the living room, smothered bodies collapsing onto the black leather cushions. He pulls you to warm his lap, hands steady along your hips. He’s so insistent to close any distance that keeps you both apart. It’s why his hands are sent clutch at your dress, tugging at the silk to pull right over your head.

Clothes continue to sprinkle across the room, piles upon piles falling to the abyss surrounding the lucid scene. His lips return to adorn your body, mindless pecks falling into the crook of your neck. His kisses bring about a rouse beneath your skin, each press of his lips earning a rush of blood to greet him. The trails of his affections fall prey to the valley of your chest.

Truth be told, he’s been dying for this, to touch you in ways only he could. His digits cup at the delicate swells of your tits, entrapping the hardened peaks in between.

“You’re so beautiful, Baby. So fucking beautiful.”

His eyes refuse to falter from yours, clinging to the sight of ecstasy as his lips seals your nipple away with the expanse of his mouth. A moan rips from Gojo’s chest, deeming him to have a senseless sense of self. Control isn’t something attainable in his current state, the man drunk off you.

Everything about you is heavenly, your warmth, your company, the pretty whimpers you make as Gojo’s tongue whisks around the puffy peaks lazily. He’s squeezing your tits softly, serving as his reminder of just how explicit everything’s become.

It’s not until you find yourself relaxing in his hold that you realize just how much you do to Gojo, bare lips of your cunt splitting around something hard.

“You’re so hard, ‘Toru. Does it hurt?”

“Mhm,” he hums, breaking away from the slobbering mess he’s made of your tits. “I really wanna feel those lips ‘round me, can you do that for me? Please?”

You offer him an enthusiastic nod, sinking onto your knees before his trembling thighs. The plush espresso carpet cradles the curve of your knees as you adjust, placing your lithe fingers along his abre thigh. But it’s the sight before you that stirs the brew of butterflies deep within your belly, coaxing a piercing shock to widen your hazy eyes.

Gojo’s big. Not just in his towering stature but right between his legs all the same. Your eyes are welcomed by the pretty plush of his cock, the tanned fat sitting pretty against his thigh with miserable want. The girthy shaft blooms with inflamed hues of green and blue. The thickest of veins are free from such imbues, too roused to don any single tint. Your eyes trail to the head of his cock, greeted by the bullying fury of reds. The tip weeps an uncontrolled sob of greed, the blushed adorning a smear ring of his precum.

Your lips falter at the scene, a pool of spit budding just beyond sight. Gojo’s hand cups the back of your neck, rattling a gentle pace of encouragement to soothe your nerves. It’s kind encouragement, his efforts allowing for your lips to part for his girth. A gentle kiss lays upon his slit, staining the pout in his essence. The throbbing pulse of his cock is hot against your lips, beckoning you to place yet another peck.

Your mouths with every bit to be covered, gradually slipping the fat head to sit snug between your suckling lips. It’s soft, pulling at the mere surface of the swelled tip. Your tongue even peeks for a moment, wavering along the underside all too teasingly in faint swipes. Gojo winces at the sensation, tingling with a striking thrill. His fingers find work at the nape of your neck once more, playing an uncoordinated tune upon your skin.

“You…You know what to do, take it all in your mouth fr’ me, Baby.”

Mindlessly, you lose to his imminent demand, your eyes suffering under the influencing weight. Your head strums along Gojo’s length without care, the throbbing head pecking at the back of your throat. The sensation’s nothing short of brutal, brash strikes threatening to pursue deeper lengths. Your ears help ease what coherency remains, hinged on the pretty crumbling moans ripping from his chest.

Gojo’s hot-blooded spree of lust carried you through the consistent hollows of your lungs, begging for just a lick of air. He’s desperate for it, to use your poor mouth like his favorite toy— so warm, wet and even tighter than his fist could ever begin to achieve.

But little does Gojo know, it’s more of a strain on you than him.

It’s a struggle, a harsh journey to endure to please Gojo. He’s far from the concept of silence, but there’s more dying to fly off his chest. He’s feeling it, courtesy of his jutting hips reckoning to reach the plump cling of your lips. The pitiful whimpers tell you all that’s known about his crumbling state. You want to deliver that taste of irresistible heaven to him.

Your hands migrate from the loose casing formed around his cock to his thighs, the pads of your digits settling into place. The thoughts swirl at the forefront of your mind. It had to be thoughtless, free of any worry, care, or restraint. If you faltered for even a moment, the teasing would be ripped right from the hands of Gojo.

You pull your lips to rest at the fat head of his cock, head tilting to greet his drowsy eyes. He’s high off his anticipation. Sweat works across his body, bringing the white locks of his hair to stick to his forehead. But more attaches onto Gojo’s fleeting persona, the glints of his own vulnerability coming to light. It’s present in how he looks at you, lust melded with the forbidden glints of genuine peeking through the haze. A chilling sight at first glance, a forced endeavor to endure at his whim.

His hands cup at the chub of your cheeks as an unknown comfort, his thumbs swiping at the polished highs with a look of intrigue. His tongue curls with a lax pull, putting the ramble of words to flood the air.

“W-why are you so…fucking pretty?... Hm? Can’t even look at me straight b-but you look s’ perfect just like this.”

A muffled moan vibrates about the inflamed crown from your throat, barely processing the praise to rattle off Gojo’s tongue. Your mind’s numb to it, the brisk descent of your lips down Gojo’s cock. Bubbly foams of spit dribbles from the corners of your mouth, only to be brushed away by the lewd gurgle brewing in your throat.

It’s sloppy and messy, taking all of him in one swift notion. And you know it’s working, your eyes peering up at Gojo Through the thick gather of your lashes. He’s singing a song so passionate it simply can’t be hidden, head nicked between his shoulder blades with the ball of his adam’s apple sent awry.

Gojo doesn’t mean to be mean, ripping his cock from your jaw destructively. He’s sure you aren’t aware of all you’ve done to him in a matter of seconds, your tongue nipping at the heavy bloat of his balls. A few moments longer and he’s sure you would’ve milked him of all he’s had. He hopes you’ll appreciate it as an apology, his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

He pulls you onto his lap, digits latching onto your chin once more. He doesn’t take a second to acknowledge your ruined state, crashing his lips against your own. It’s heavy, the press so rich it’s almost dizzying. His tongue curls along with yours, draping the flat laggardly. That’s all he does before breaking from your lips, falling back onto the couch’s plush backing.

“S-Shit…did such a good job…I want you—really fucking want you— to use me, ride me, fuck that pretty lil’ pussy on me!”

“O-Okay…just let me do it.”

A small hand disappears between the clash of bodies, in your palm holds the head of Gojo’s cock. He’s wet, slick with the fruit of your labor. It’s just enough to press the slit at your own, your hips lifting to a degree. Timing is all you need, the time to raise your hips just enough to prepare, fueling the frantic sink onto his cock.

Yet, you couldn’t have really prepared for Gojo, not with how much harder he’s become with you in his grasp. His cock’s brimmed with spry nerves, prickling with a fiery heat. It’s that same heat that keeps your walls from fluttering, sending the rich burn to nip at your poor entrance.

“OhmyGod, you’re so—”

“B-Big? I know, it’s all for you, baby…”

Your hips are caught in a bind, stubborn to move from their cocooning state. It takes for gentle rocks of Gojo’s hips to relax you, your hips rising voluntarily. He’s easing those walls of yours to a point, pushing past your sweet spot dumbly. You almost give him the full right to control in those moments, your body growing limp in his hold.

Right until you start to question it, the privilege to ruin your date by your means. He’s right there for the taking. It’s because of those very ponderings that you can sit high, swiveling about the head of Gojo’s cock before delivering a shattering pry at his building high. You can handle yourself this time, smothering your clit in the hairs surrounding his base. Your strides hold fast along his length, your pussy enveloping the entirety of his cock. Whiffs of insecurity whisk through your mind, unsure if Gojo would succumb to the lust as quickly as you did—only for you to discover the sweetest sight known to man.

Gojo’s brought himself to a whimpering shell of himself, mind numb off the slobbery squeeze of your walls. It’s so good to his poor, ruined mind, drunk off the bliss of your pussy. Spit spills from his mouth and glosses his lips, eyes glassy by the burning onslaught of tears—he’s a wreck underneath you. He’s finally got you, putting the effort to be used as some boy toy. He can’t take it, Gojo’s mind being beyond comprehension.

You take him so well, granting his sullied tip to nudge at your precious cervix. He deems himself blessed in the moment too, studying the pleasure trap itself beneath your features. Your lips fall from their pursed build, eyes rolled back into your skull, and hips set at a senseless pace. Why it’s so good, Gojo can’t believe it, freeing himself from the binds of his carnal lust.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum like that, Angel—and I don’t want that yet.”

Gojo’s brute strength comes to play as he takes hold of the reins, using her sheer force to pin you beneath his body. He settles onto his haunches, pulling you that much closer to close the distance. He doesn’t, guiding your legs to fold against your chest. He’s focused on your behalf, eyes queued on his bucking hips.

“B-But I’m gonna fuck you now, kay? Wanna make you feel good too, cover my cock with your pretty cum.”

The head of his cock pushes into you, splitting the lips of your cunt in an open kiss. He’s fitting inside you with such vivid ease, his cock almost sitting homely in your heat. The thick head kisses your leaving his shaft to curve at your sweet spot explicitly. He stretches you just right, fills you to the hilt, and the pulsing throbs that twitch inside you are nothing short of lewd.

With a few dips of his cock, Gojo could’ve made you cum just like that…but you’ve come to know that he won’t.

Gojo’s hips snap with no prevail, sending his cock to plunge so deep inside you. He’s hitting your cervix on every drive of his hips, smothering the perked nerves in a mess of fluttering pecks. He prefers it this way, pitting himself to the brim of your pussy that you have no choice but to cry out, his name falling from your lips.

He’s unforgiving when he’s like this, bringing forth the clash of skin echoing around the room. Gojo’s feverish in such nature, desperate to savory your pussy and desperate to cum. It’s more or less a reward for him, witnessing you handle all he’s giving. He can bury himself as much as you would allow, your walls sending his cock to. Each reel of his hips pulls the glossy sheens of your essence to paint his shaft

There’s much to take in but not a coherent thought in sight to do such bidding. From his chest smothered against your own, breath fanning—it’s simply too much for you to endure. The friction doesn’t offer you much either, the melds of heat running your body hot and throwing your mind into a flushed haze.

Gojo’s the one to blame, the thick of his fat cock rummaging tempered drags along your walls. It’s the hot and gummy fat bullying your walls that trap you in a trance, his cock rendering you a dumb mess of drool and spilled tears.

“G-Gojo…wait! It’s so–no, it’s too much! Jus’ slow down—”

Gojo’s hand peels from your thigh, his palm curved to the plush of your tummy. The tips of his fingers sit deep upon you, his soothing touch massaging your skin.

“It’s going too deep? Oh pretty girl, I can go, so, so much deeper than this. So deep that all you’ll know is me, baby.”

But it’s unbeknownst to Gojo how much he’s ruined you. He’s caught up in the sight of you so distraught and needy that he doesn’t know how close you are to your high. It’s hinged on so close that all it does take for you to reach that high is the pretty head of his cock to kiss at your cervix, the kiss of reassurance allowing for you to crumble.

Your spine arches from the dented cushions, hands fighting for solid grounding. Patches of stars coat your vision, courtesy of. Violent waves of exhaustion all strike your body at once, pulling what energy was left behind. You’re caught in a bind, the firm hold looming over your limp physique until it breaks at the sound of Gojo’s voice.

“That’s it, let everyone know that you’re all mine, Angel. You’re all mine, and I swear to fuck I’m not letting you go,” the oath rolling off his tongue. Gojo can’t help himself, refusing to quit amidst your high. His hips tilt to better his reach against your sweet spot, riding through the course of your orgasm.

A sharp seethe of air cuts through Gojo’s lips, pity boiling at the forefront of his mind. He knows it’s too much for you, watching your body attempt to flee. His eyes settle on your tits, bouncing with each flinch consuming you. He wants to say it, ask for your fleeting patience as his own orgasm hints at its arrival. But bless his foolish heart, he’s so drunk off your drooling pussy that words come out harsher than he means.

“Ah, don’t run from me, just take it…take every inch of me.”

A longing whimper of defeat wails off your chest. He’s fucking you to undiscovered lengths in your body, so far gone that babbles serve as your conversings. That same crowding influence seeps into your limp tongue. There’s no control in what you can say or do, your hands resting along the ridges of his flexed abs. Even your legs lose the urge to resist, lacing around Gojo’s waist to push him deeper than he’s even been.

“Please, c-cum inside me, Gojo. Please cum inside my pretty pussy, ‘Toru, please!”

“Oh Y/N, that’s so dirty of y-you…wait—fuck!—”

The threads of reality snap in Gojo’s mind at the sound of your pleading voice, a violent reckoning crashing over him. The spill of tension that sits in the fat bloat of his balls ruins you, thick ropes of a creamy white flushing your walls white.

Gojo’s lost all strength to carry on, his impoverished body collapsing onto yours. A dizzy head and heaving chest is a combination he’s used to but tonight holds a different story. Words can’t be found to describe the state he’s entered. He’s astute, taking everything in as his hands cling to your waist. His thumbs draw mindless circles into your skin, Gojo’s silent form of apology.

It’s a strange instinct for him, the sudden urge to shower you in his care. His mind’s racing with thoughts, how to show his intentions for you. It’s not in his character but god did he was To soothe you with kisses, rub all the sores and knicks he’d inflict, just to lay next to you in idle conversation was all he wanted at the moment. The effort’s worth it in his eyes.

So he decides to try his hand at it, pulling his chest from yours. His hands lay flat beside your head, closing the distance between you both with a smirk.

“Lemme clean you up.”

With a quick peck of his lips, Gojo turns his attention between his legs. His eyes fall shut as he pulls out from your cunt with a hitching breath. But it’s the sight that has him whimpering, his cock glistening with slick and spattered patterns of white.

Slotting himself between your legs, Gojo presses his cheek along your inner thigh, hands keeping your limbs apart.

His eyes return to the timeless sight of your slit, dribbling with his cum. He’s apprehensive about it for the moment, admiring the rare scene with doting hues. Yet as his tongue finally curls up against your folds, all thought suspends from him.

He can’t help but to be lazy, the flat of his tongue lapping at the puffy sheets of flesh. Each drop of your essence is caught by Gojo’s ministrations, relishing in your taste.

He’s guided to the hood of your clit, the bud perked twitching in regards. The tip of his slicked muscles tightens upon the sticky contact , swirling around the pearl gently. Gojo’s digits gravitate to your pussy, catching the hood of your clit in a flurry of strokes. He couldn’t care less about his cum pooling from your entrance, too enthralled with the unsteady gasps trapping your lungs.

“G-Gojo, wait! It’s t-too much!”

“Told you I love this cute clit of yours. Just give me one more, please?”

Feverish nods spill from you, the heft of the impending orgasm reaching like no other. It’s passing you in waves, the tingling numbness claiming the soles of your feet. Your legs fold to meet your chest rapidly, the knot in your lower back unraveling at godforsaken heights.

Gojo’s humming a giddy tune as he presses his lips to your quivering clit. He watches as your body thrashes about the sunken cushions, a prideful glint illuminating his eyes.

“Mhm, that’s my girl. ‘M so proud of you!”

Gojo pulls from your side for the moment, leaving the couch to sort through the vast piles of discarded clothes. He returns with his briefs and wrinkled button-down in tow. The dress shirt drapes across your body as he pulls you to your feet, his arms laced around your waist.

“C’mon, let’s go get comfortable,” he coos, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck. The two of you stroll up the stairs, passing through the first right door to enter the moonlit bedroom. The duvet’s tint of blue beckons you and Gojo to grow closer. He leads you to the bed, collapsing beside you with sleep itching on the brain.

As he settles at your side, Gojo’s eyes scan about your room. He’s greeted by the blanched white walls, a few paintings that hang—the bare coverings over your windows. A streak of blush surfaces at the highs of his cheeks, turning to meet your languid sights.

“Y’know, you have to buy some blinds, Princess. It’s especially dangerous at night, people can be so nosy.”

“Is that right?” you giggle, staring at Gojo through your lashes. You can’t help but admire his beauty, how the faint light of the moon kisses his fair skin and white hair. Even the way he looks at you holds radiance, his eyes of blue holding the purest glow you’ve ever seen.

Gojo doesn’t bother to keep his distance, bringing his body to cocoon your own. His hand catches yours in a hold, paired with the gentle pecks riddled across your cheeks.

“Promise to take you out on a real date tomorrow. We can do everything, walk around town, go to a different restaurant–”

“What’re you doing, Gojo?” the question calling about reflective silence.

He lets your inquiry bake on his mind for a while, keeping his fingers intertwined with your own. Gojo knows exactly what you mean. Promising another date, even just being in the same bed as you for this long was foreign. But with you—for you— he’s inclined to do anything that’ll keep you around.

He pays you one final glance before replying, a small grin teasing the corners of his lips.

“Trying something new.”

˚ ༘♡₊˚ˑ༄ؘ TAGLIST: @po3ticb3auty @dabilovesme @katsukismelons @ebiharachan @kenmasbimbo @pixelsanji @slaughterakira @woahhajime @hannas16 @omniuravity @sweeneyblue1 @yukihime-mikeys-girl @kazusugar @jjjangsta @10-jiku @missyasma @a3trogirl @chaoticevilbakugo @desiray562 @lovemegood @luvrdrop @yourmommy52726 @tojibreedingme @widepipepaladiknight @tojishugetiddies @taesd-urag @nekoriots @ladyackerman @ladyackermann @holychocopie @bloobrryktty @dukina @hon3ybee-3 @dabis0bitch @kensgff @23victoria @sisnot @insideboburnham @shima707 @patchi-chi @brokenheartshards @akiko0-0 @mx-luvzz @whore02 @lilystarknette @your-favorite-god @missakward123 @ssetsuka @alwaysfreakingout @httpstoyosi

#//✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀—𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒’𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐋!//#//✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀—𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎!//#jujustsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru #gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru smut #jjk drabbles #jjk fic #cw sex mention #cw smut

384 notes · View notes

wanderingelvis · 8 months

Note

Hey I don’t know if your doing requests rn but I had this idea. Maybe like an innocent reader x Elvis and she broke a glass and cut herself on accident and she keeps apologizing because her dad would get mad at her for that and he has to convince her it’s not her fault. Maybe ending in smut? Whatever you wanna do I just thought it was a cool idea

Thank you for the request! I really hope you like it! 🧚

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Word Count: 2,649

Pairing: Late 60s!Elvis x Innocent F!Reader

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of ab*se (verbal and physical)

You were a little ball of sunshine in Elvis' life. A sensitive little ball of sunshine at that. You quite often reminded Elvis of a little puppy dog, just eager and desperate for his love and attention, always looking at him with those big, round eyes of yours, filled with admiration and adoration for the big old man.

Your love for Elvis didn't come from nowhere though, he equally showered you with affection and love from the moment he first interacted with you. He became enamoured with your playful and soft giggles and your incessant babbling that he found utterly adorable.

Elvis picked up early on that you had some underlying issues. He would notice you flinch at a loud noise or a raised voice, the way you'd instantly stop talking if someone began to speak over you, the way you'd trip over your words when any sort of confrontation would occur. He knew that there must have been something in your past that had created those behaviours and he was right.

You opened up to him about your past and your upbringing early on in your relationship with Elvis after Elvis had asked you about your childhood. You'd told Elvis tentatively, all about the tense and aggressive environment that you grew up in, and even when you'd trip over you words or start to feel anxious when recalling the events, Elvis hushed you, telling you to take your time, everything was okay and that you were his special girl now.

Since then, you'd really gone from strength to strength, you were this little diamond on Elvis' arm, charming everyone just like Elvis did, and together, you really were the new 'it' couple.

You were so eager to please everyone but most importantly Elvis, that you would wear yourself out, trying so hard to impress him that you'd often end up becoming drowsy at 8pm, nodding off in Elvis' strong hold as he would laugh and chat with the Mafia.

Elvis didn't mind one bit, he thought there was no cuter sight than you drifting off whilst clinging to him as if he were your security blanket or nighttime teddy bear. Once Elvis was sure that you'd be fully asleep, he'd always excuse himself from whatever was going on to carry you to your shared room and put you into bed, knowing that the worst thing for you would be to fall asleep only to be woken up by someone getting drunk and starting to holler and wake you up and mess up your routine.

You truly were Elvis' little baby, he treated you like a princess and you truly were head over heels in love with the big, old, rockstar.

The two of you being the social butterflies you were meant that you loved a crowded house, hosting parties for any event, Christmas, Halloween, 4th of July - heck, even if it was a Friday, that would be enough to warrant an extravagant party.

And that's exactly what had happened, a lavish party in December had taken place in Graceland where the Mafia, their wives, a few fans and fellow musicians had all attended in what could only have been described as an 'early Christmas' in Graceland, with endless drinks, cigars, and laughter.

It was about 3am and everyone had left apart from a few members of the Mafia, Lamar, Sonny, Charlie and Joe, all in the Jungle room relaxing with you nestled into Elvis' side, completely wiped and a little tipsy from the expensive champagne that Elvis had let you drink.

"Why dontchu be a doll n'go n'get us some drinks eh, Y/N? Might wanna make a start on the mess while yer at it?" Charlie laughed, nodding at you.

You blinked a couple of times and rubbed your eyes, the excitement of the party taking its toll on your little body before you nodded, pushing your body up from where it rested by Elvis.

"That how you talk to a little girl huh, Charlie? No wonder you're goddamn single," Elvis retorted sharply, with an ever so bitter chuckle at the end of his pointed comment, clearly agitated at some other fella telling you what to do.

See, Elvis knew that you craved praise and even more so, you were absolutely desperate to avoid any sort of conflict or trouble, so you'd always do anything that anyone asked of you. Naturally, this could lead to people taking advantage of your sweet state but that's where Elvis was perfect for you. His authoritative and dominant presence meant that people would seldom cross him just to get you to do some task they were too lazy to do.

Elvis reached over with his cold, ring clad fingers wrapping around your tender wrist, holding you in place. "Uh-uh." Elvis tsked, making you stop in your tracks. "Don't you move baby, Charlie's a big boy, he can get himself a drink if he needs one."

"Oh, no, Elvis it's okay! Really, I don't mind, it's okay!" You said earnestly.

"I know you don't mind darlin', but you're readin' your fun little magazine, no need for you to be bothered hm? Charlie can do it himself just fine." Elvis said, just about managing to shoot Charlie another stern look.

"S'okay! I was gon' get myself a drink anyways! A hot lemon and tea, I think I hurt my throat from how much I was talkin'!" You sleepily giggled, the angelic sound quelling Elvis' frustrations, you were just so heavenly. Elvis equally knew that you'd just be sitting and feeling anxious if he kept you by his side so he released his tender grip on you, tapping his cheek with his finger, indicating he wanted a kiss from you.

You complied docilely, bending down to press a kiss on Elvis cheek, a soft giggle leaving your lips afterwards as you skipped off to the kitchen, leaving Charlie to the wrath of Elvis.

You carefully prepared the tea and got Charlie's favourite drink sorted too - an Old Fashioned, biting down on your lip as you tried to get the measurements just right!

It wasn't until you were carrying the tray of tea and cocktails that everything fell apart - quite literally.

The damned carpet corner wasn't properly pinned down, making you trip over your own feet just like Bambi, sending the tray, along with its contents flying and tumbling down onto the pristine carpet, the glass and china shattering everywhere.

You gasped and immediately your heart dropped and sheer panic set in. Your clumsiness, whilst adored by Elvis, had not been your fathers favourite trait of yours, with violent punishments incurring whenever you'd make a little mistake and those punishments had had a lasting impact on you. Obviously, this caused your body to go into automatic panic and defence as you knelt down, trying to clear up the glass and china shards before anyone that heard the accident came running through.

As tears began to pool in your eyes, making your vision cloudy and your breathing became erratic with panic and fear of being punished, you didn't even register the shards of glass cutting through the skin on your knees and the palms of your hands.

You began to create more mess than tidy it as droplets of blood now began to drip onto the carpet as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, smudging the pretty black eye makeup Elvis had so lovingly put on you for the party.

That's when you began to hear footsteps and you dared not look up when you heard Elvis' familiar deep Southern voice.

"Baby?" Elvis said lowly, concern lacing his voice that you mistook for disappointment.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, p-please don't be mad, p-please, I didn't m-mean it," You stuttered with a shaky, cracked voice, stopping every couple of words to sniffle as you cowered into yourself like a frightened little puppy, scared of anything that might approach it.

As Elvis' concern grew rapidly, his demeanour softened, knowing that you were now in an extra fragile and sensitive state and you needed to be treated delicately.

So that's how the big man ended up slowly walked over to you, rolling up the sleeves on his silk shirt and crouching down so that he could be on your level - even if he was still towering over you.

"Ssh baby, s'okay, I'm not mad with you princess." Elvis hushed, reaching out to gently to push away the hair that had fallen in front of your pretty face, making sure to be as tender as he could be as to not startle you as he knew you were frightened of any sudden contact.

You flinched ever so slightly as Elvis touched you, sniffling as you tried to steady your panic, your wet lashes fluttering up to meet Elvis' concerned gaze.

"Do ya think you can tell me what happened little one?" Elvis asked as his eyes scanned the scene, realising how badly you'd hurt yourself.

Your eyes widened as you began to recall what happened. "I-I-, um, I, tried to get the, get the drinks and I got um, um, tripped over, by the carpet, I didn't mean it, I didn't m-mean it, I p-promise!" You said shakily, panic beginning to set in again which Elvis picked up on immediately.

"Uh uh baby, you're gettin' yerself all worked up aren't ya?" Elvis soothed, and you nodded, your chest still erratically rising and falling as you hiccupped through tears. You nodded feverishly, your shaky hand wiping away snot and tears.

"M'sorry! It was just an accident, I promise, I'll c-clean it all up, I p-promise." You whimpered.

"I know it was an accident baby, we all have accidents don't we hm?" Elvis cooed, trying to soothe you and calm you down. "Accidents happen, it's okay honey, I ain't mad, I ain't mad at all." Elvis tried to reassure as you trembled opposite him, your hands still in a bloodied mess along with your knees.

Elvis knew that your sudden panicky and frightened little state was the result of your father, beating you and verbally abusing you at any possible chance he had, particularly when an incident like this would happen. He knew that you'd revert back to the child-like state that you'd first experienced the abuse in, but he knew it was now his job and responsibility to look after you and take care of you and make you feel better and feel loved.

"I d-didn't mean it, p-promise." You mewled softly, growing calmer but still tender and frightened.

Elvis nodded understandingly, holding eye contact with you, wanting to make it absolutely clear to you that you weren't in any trouble and nothing was bad was going to happen to you whilst you were in his care.

"I know you didn't sweet girl. You were just doin' yer best weren't you honey? You did nothin' wrong, you were busy bein' a good girl and gettin' Charlie a drink for him." Elvis praised, knowing you needed it. "What happened to yer hands n'knees little one?" Elvis asked, pointing to your injuries.

You hadn't even acknowledged that you were hurt or bleeding, your mind far too occupied with fear. Your eyes widened cutely as you blinked a few times, realising how bad your hands really were as you held them up in front of you. Elvis watched you, his attempt to get your mind to stop panicking was working.

"I, um, I hurt them," You said quietly, your voice trailing off as you studied your hands. "They hurt." You whimpered slightly, the realisation of what had happened setting in, as well as the pain.

"They look sore don't they honey?" Elvis observed and you nodded, successfully distracted from the internalised fear that had consumed you. "I think we need to get you cleaned up little one, make you feel all good n'better? What do you think princess?" Elvis asked calmly.

Again, you nodded, your habit of becoming ever-so-slightly more non-verbal kicking in when you were upset and scared and overstimulated. "Okay..." You replied, with the small word being all you could muster.

"Okay." Elvis repeated in confirmation with a reassuring nod. "Now, I'm gon' help you up little 'un, then I'm gon' get the fellas outta here, they've had enough partyin' for one night, then we're gon' get you cleaned up and into our nice big, warm, bed, how does that sound Y/N?" Elvis said to you gently.

You swallowed a lump in your throat as your damp eyelashes fluttered and you scanned the mess around you on the floor. "B-But I need to clean up my mess." You stuttered.

"Oh little one, no, no this will all get cleaned by the staff who are comin' to sort out the mess from the party 'kay? Your only job is to let me clean you up and feel better, okay little girl?" Elvis said with a raised eyebrow as you sniffled and reached out for him, desperately craving physically affection from him. "Careful pretty girl, I don't wanna hurt yer pretty little hands now, do I? M'gon pick you up from your elbows, okay?" Elvis told you, standing back up before leaning down and slowly hauling you up from under your arms, making sure as to not cause you any more harm.

Once you were up, Elvis quickly dashed to the Jungle room to get rid of the remaining guys, explaining the situation to them before they all told Elvis that they hoped you were okay. They all thought of you as a little gem of a girl and they all had a soft spot for you. They were also protective of you, perhaps not as much as Elvis was, but they all knew you were a sweet girl and they all sincerely hoped you'd feel better as quickly as possible.

Elvis then carried you up the stairs and straight to your bathroom, setting you on the bathroom counter where your legs dangled and your cheeks were sticky with dried tears and smudged eyeliner.

Elvis spent the next couple of hours cleaning you, carefully getting rid of any glass that was stuck in your skin and applying cream and ointment onto your wounds, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead every time you winced from the anti-septic.

"Hurts." You cried as you recoiled every time Elvis applied anti-septic onto your body somewhere.

"I know it does baby, I know it does, but you're bein' such a brave girl f'me, aren't you? That's right, bein' so brave f'me, m'so proud of you." Elvis cooed. "But this is going to make you better so you gotta keep bein' a brave girl for me, just a little bit more medicine and then we'll go to bed little one." Elvis assured.

Sweet nothings and words of comfort and praise kept coming from Elvis as he continued to clean you up, change you out of your sweet little pink party dress, put your pyjamas on for you and get you all cuddled up into bed.

Exhaustion consumed you, overwhelming you and making your whole body feel heavy as you sank into the big, plush bed that you and Elvis shared.

You glanced up at Elvis who settled in next to you, your big eyes gazing up at him. "Promise I didn't mean it, promise I'm sorry." You mumbled feebly.

Elvis sighed, looking down at you as he cupped your face with his large hand that had so delicately looked after you all evening. "I know baby, you ain't got nothin' t'be sorry about princess. There ain't no need to be worried little one, yer with me now baby, I ain't ever gon' be mad atchu, okay? Now, you need to rest, you're overwhelmed baby, but m'gon be right here when you wake up and m'gon make you pancakes for bein' such a good girl f'me tonight." Elvis smiled, watching as a sleepy smile crept onto your face.

"Love you." You lazily hummed before you closed your eyes.

Elvis didn't sleep until he knew you were sleeping soundly, his little sunshine.

847 notes · View notes

annwrites · 14 days

Text

you send me

— pairing: negan smith x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: negan comes to see his "favorite" girl in alexandria, only to find out she's incredibly sick and that denise has absolutely nothing to help her as she slowly slips away

— tags: negan pining, negan worrying, negan trying to annoy you bc like a little boy he can't just admit he has feelings for you, there is a flashback of the two of you dancing bc i'm a sap

— tw: rocky mountain spotted fever is mentioned, vomiting, medication being forcefully administered

— word count: 2,602

— a/n: in my canon, denise never dies | my twd masterlist | sam cooke song that's mentioned

The house is silent, as usual, when Negan comes through the front door. "Where is my favorite girl?" He asks with a chuckle, but the words float into thin air, no response coming back to greet him.

The only reason he even bothers coming to your domain anymore is simply to annoy you. Maybe get under your skin by making the offer for you to join his harem of wives...again.

In hopes of pissing you off a few weeks ago, he'd taken a batch of cookies you'd just boxed up fresh from the oven with a wink, saying it was 'property of the saviors now' and 'hope they taste just as sweet as you are'. He'd even rummaged through your fridge, stealing a Tupperware container of leftover pasta, before whistling to himself as he walked out the door, not bothering to close it behind him, Lucille slung over his shoulder.

You'd been none-too-pleased the afternoon you came home to find him napping on your couch. You knew the saviors were once again 'visiting', but hadn't been aware that Negan had come with them.

He'd been rudely awaken by you vacuuming the rug directly in front of him.

Not that he hadn't then made some comment about 'going upstairs and getting cuddly under the covers'. You'd yelled that you couldn't hear him before deciding you wanted to try the vacuum against your hardwood floors next.

He never bothered taking anything of true use to you anymore, though. For one, it was due to the fact that his men had all but wiped out the whole of Alexandria the first time they'd come. But the most significant reason? The real one? The first time he'd met you, you'd been the only person to call him out on his bullshit straight-away. And with no fear, at that. Well, none that you clearly showed to him, at least.

He'd entered your neat and tidy little home, you emerging from the hall, doing your utmost to hide just how afraid you were as he looked you over for a moment.

"S'cuse me, doll, but," he leaned in toward you, despite being halfway across the room. "Your husband home?"

You crossed your arms over your chest out of a desperate attempt to hide your shaking hands. "I don't have one."

His brows raised then. He set himself on a barstool, setting Lucille atop your recently-cleaned countertop. "Really?" He asked with interest.

You hadn't replied. You'd simply opted for standing there instead, and staring. Afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Not much for talking, huh? I like that in a woman," he said with a brilliant smile.

You briefly thought that perhaps he was just a male chauvinist. But that didn't seem...quite right to you. No. This behavior—it wasn't real. It was a defense. Just a façade. Right?

You walked over to the sink, starting on the dishes you'd left soaking overnight. You had a dishwasher, but pods for them were rationed. And, while Eugene had even taken a shot at it, he hadn't quite perfected the formula for them to not create kitchens full of suds just yet.

Negan watched you, taken aback by your lack of attention toward him. "Well, guess I'll just take myself on a trip upstairs and start lookin' through your-"

"Are you always like this?' You asked quietly, scrubbing a pan.

"Pardon me?" He asked, pretending to be curious as to what you meant.

"It's an act, right? Just a persona you've created to make yourself seem like someone other men might want to follow. To make yourself feel powerful."

A muscle in his jaw feathered. "Maybe this is just my natural form, darlin'."

You'd set the pan aside to dry on your dishrack, then you glanced at him over your shoulder. "I hardly believe you were...whoever this is before."

You felt tempted to start making guesses as to what, exactly, he did before the outbreak, but knew that was not a good idea.

"Think you know me?" He'd asked, voice a tad more serious.

The pot in your grip nearly slipped from it. Afraid of him hearing your voice shake, you'd instead merely shrugged.

He got down from the barstool, sliding Lucille off of the counter—you knew he'd just covered it in scratches—before coming to stand beside you. So close you could feel his body heat.

"Go ahead, take a guess. Try and read me."

You look up at him and he's looking down at you with an amused smirk.

Your next question catches him completely off-guard. "What happened to you?" You'd asked it barely above a whisper, brows furrowed.

His features shifted, his smile disappeared at the look of pity in your eyes when you gazed up at him. He leaned in close and it took everything in you not to step back and away from him. "You're on thin fuckin' ice, girl."

The two of you had stayed like that for awhile, him staring you down—you could swear he'd glanced at your lips, but it'd happened so quickly that you weren't sure—you doing your utmost to understand what the hell was wrong with him, until he'd finally turned his back to you, slamming your front door behind himself.

You felt lucky the small glass windows on it hadn't shattered from the force.

As Negan heads down the hall, he hears voices drifting down from upstairs. He tells himself that, if it turns out you're busy hosting male company, he won't care. But his hand still tightens around Lucille's grip, images of beating someone's face to a bloody pulp in his mind.

Heavy boots thump against the stairs, until he's reached the top step and sees Denise and Rosita standing on either side of the doorway to your bedroom. He nearly makes an inappropriate joke, until Tara leaves, walking past without even acknowledging him, as she wipes a tear from her cheek, going downstairs.

A heavy feeling settles into the pit of his stomach.

As he gets closer, Rosita blocks the doorway. She may be half his size, but she won't just let him in. Won't let him near you. Not while you're barely hanging on as it is.

"Get. Out." She spits at him.

He merely pushes her out of the way, not turning back as she shouts "Hey!".

Everything moves in slow-motion as he takes you in. Your emaciated form, the pallor of your skin which is covered in a rash, the sheen of sweat on your face, the shallow breaths escaping your lips, the rapid rise-and-fall of your chest, and your eyes as they keep opening and closing every few moments, your pupils seemingly dilated.

Denise walks over, checking your pulse, then glancing to the doorway—to Rosita—shaking her head.

"What's wrong with her?" Negan's voice—his tone as serious as anyone in Alexandria has ever heard it— breaks the silence.

"She's sick, pendejo," Rosita replies with vehmence.

He lets the insults slide. He has more pressing matters at-hand.

He shouldn't have waited so damn long to come visit you again.

Why had he waited so long?

He sits on the edge of your bed, gently, as if he's afraid any sudden movement may harm you. He looks at Denise, waiting for an answer.

"She went on a run a few days ago. She said she just...wanted to get outside...for whatever reason. Didn't seem like herself. And not long after coming back...she developed a rash, a fever, headache-"

She's interrupted by you doubling over the side of the bed and Negan quickly picks up the empty trash can you're aiming for, but all you manage to do is dry-heave.

Denise continues, arms crossed. "Vomiting—but because she can't keep anything down now, she refuses to eat. Hasn't done so in two days"

He sets the trash can back on the floor, smoothing hair away from where it's now stuck to your damp forehead.

"She has Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. She must've gotten bit by a tick. Something so small..." She trails off. "She doesn't have long left without medication."

Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Rosita, Abe, along with a few others, had torn apart what local pharmacies they could find, but the drug was scarce—nowhere to be found.

Negan turns back toward her. "What does she need?" He asks, tone harsh.

"Doxycycline. We used to keep it in-stock here."

"Why the hell don't you anymore?"

Rosita replies with a sneer. "Because your people took all of it!" She shouts, unable to hide her contempt for the man.

A pained look flashes across his features. He then turns back to you.

This was his fault.

If you died...your blood would be on his hands.

He won't let that happen.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, not caring if they see. As he pulls away, he sees that your eyes are now closed. "Just get some rest, sweetheart. I'll be back soon."

As he exits your room, he grabs Denise by the elbow. "Tell me what you need and I'll make sure you get it." He looks at her. "No strings attached."

Not that you'd ever know, but as you slowly recovered, Negan had been on a damn tear at the Sanctuary. Once he'd had the medication you so desperately needed delivered to Denise—along with anything else she asked after for you—he demanded to know, from his men, why they had taken so damn much, leaving you all with nothing to help yourselves with.

They'd told him it's what he had wanted—what he'd ordered. He really just wanted someone else to blame for you nearly losing your life over needing a damn antibiotic.

He'd gotten a lot of use out of Lucille against some walkers near the back fences for a couple of days.

He had delivered the medication himself, and watched as she began to administer treatment to you, even if you fought her at first, thinking she was trying to feed you again.

He'd had to—reluctantly—help hold you down as she practically forced the pills down your throat.

You'd stared at him wide-eyed and terrified, no sense of recognition in your gaze as you looked up at him. Something about that—you having no idea who he was—broke something small inside of him.

He'd merely muttered that he was trying to help. That you'd get better soon and this would all make sense. That it would all be okay soon.

He hadn't left until you'd fallen asleep once it was dark. Had nearly told Rosita to shove it when she'd come to check on you and saw him there at your bedside, watching over you.

After that night, Negan had to be away for a few days, tending to business elsewhere, even if he'd been chomping at the bit to get back to you.

When he finally came through Alexandria's gate, however, he'd pulled up right outside of your house, practically bounding up the steps to get up to your bedroom.

And when he did, his knees nearly gave out from the sense of utter relief that washed over him.

You were sitting up in bed, eating—a tray in your lap with vegetable soup and crackers on it, a glass full of juice next to it—your free hand holding a novel open as you read.

A natural flush now graced your cheeks, your rash all but gone, and you looked well-rested.

You set your book down, looking at him leaning in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips.

"See you're all better."

"I hear I have you to thank for it."

He'd merely shrugged, pulling the chair that'd been returned to its rightful spot across the room in front of your desk, around to the side of the bed once more.

He rested an ankle over a knee. "Just a bottle of pills."

"And food, water, juice, and anti-nausea-"

"Going to list off your whole damn inventory here?"

"All of that came from yours," you replied, taking a sip of your soup, licking your lips.

He tells himself seeing you do that does nothing for him.

He doesn't reply to that statement. Merely looks at the window across the room, then back to you. "Just glad you're recovering."

"Are you?" You take another sip.

His brows furrow. "Why would you ever think otherwise?"

You shrug. "You like to pretend you don't care about anything—not individuals, at least—so-"

"Maybe you're the exception," he states, completely serious.

You'd only ever seen him so deadpan one other time.

He'd come over late, the sun just beginning to set.

You'd been sitting at your dining room table, pushing food around your plate, lost inside your head. You hadn't even noticed he was inside your house until he sat down across from you. "Not gonna make me a plate?" He asked, leaning back.

You hadn't even looked at him.

Instead, your features had darkened, and you'd retreated further inside yourself.

He'd known by the look in your eyes that something was deeply wrong.

He'd leaned toward you then, forearms resting upon the table. "Talk to me, Y/N. What happened?"

"Go away," you'd said quietly, but firmly.

Leaving you alone like that was the last thing he intended to do.

"And leave you to brood all on your lonesome? Not likely."

A tear slipped from your eye and you'd quickly wiped it away in irritation. "I don't want you here."

His lip had twitched. "Join the club."

The both of you had been quiet for a moment until he'd spoken again. "Listen, I don't know if it's something that happened today, or a long time ago, but I'll listen if you-"

You'd picked up your plate then, stood—your chair scraping against the floor—before smashing it on the ground.

You sat back down, slumping forward, elbows resting on the tabletop, burying your face in your hands as you began to cry.

He'd stood after a moment, walking over to the record player in your living room, browsing your selection of music until he settled on a particular song.

He'd walked back over, shrugging off his leather jacket before holding out his hand toward you. "Dance with me."

You'd quieted, looking up at him, giving him a look like he was insane. "What?"

"Give me your hand."

Instead of waiting for an answer, he'd reached down, sliding his palm against yours, pulling you up from your seat.

Just as he'd gotten you halfway to the living room, you'd pulled your hand free from his.

He'd turned back to you, but you'd merely began beating your fists against his chest. And he let you. Let you push him, slap and punch. He could take it. Wanted to if it made you feel better—by any extent.

Until, finally, you'd calmed enough that he pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you swayed back and forth.

You'd cried against his chest, small sobs wracking through your body as Sam Cooke sang about wanting to marry and take someone home.

Finally, you reply to Negan's comment about you being an exception to him.

"I bet you tell that to all your girls."

"No. Because none of them are."

The two of you sit in silence as you finish eating, him taking your tray as you lie back down to rest.

You swear you hear him say something quietly about missing you as he stands in the doorway—about to head back downstairs—but you don't catch it as you fall off to sleep.

#fic: twd (negan smith x reader)#negan x reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #twd x y/n #twd x you #twd x reader

133 notes · View notes

sanskari-ka-jalwa · 24 days

Text

मुसल के गाढे वीर्य मे मेरे संस्कार अक्सर बह जाते है 💚🙈

#interfaithxxx #indian wife #desi gaand #sharing wife #desibhabhi #sexybhabhi #naughty wives #bhabhihot #bhabhisex #wifeexhibition #mbull #mstuds #desperate housewives #hcow #hslut #house wife #hinduwomenlovemuslimmen

61 notes · View notes

elliesmainhoe · 1 year

Note

i actually need military! ellie surprising her wife at home i woudl die sksksk

sorry this is so randkm😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫

Miss me sugar?

Military!Ellie X Reader imagine

Summary: After three months of deployment, Ellie returns home.

Contents: fluff, southern!Ellie, mentions of nudes, kisses, Ellie picks you up, a little bit of suggestive language, pet name use 'Doll and sugar',

It was the first deployment you and Ellie had went through as a couple, and god it was torturous. You missed her desperately, her beautiful freckled face and gorgeous laugh, you both sent letters to eachother, you to her more often than not.

It saddened you to hear from her so little, but you understood why, she was deployed in a country recovering from war- writing a letter to you wouldn't be her main priority, but you still felt a small warmth of comfort whenever you sent her a letter.

Unbeknownst to you- a warmth of happiness also comforted Ellie by your letters. The contents was always a a4 piece of paper, your handwriting scribbled on both sides tucked and folded into a white paper envelope along with two polaroids.

One of them was you sitting on the sandy beach that was located near your home, wearing your favourite summer dress and straw sun hat- wind in your hair as it blew behind you . The other was a selfie, you laying on your shared bed, makeup all messy and hair sprawled out on the pillow behind you- smudged eyeliner and glossy red lips, you wore a white spaghetti strapped vest, hard nipples pressing through the material.

Lets just say you helped with keeping her entertained during those long nights laying wide awake on the bottom bunk on one of the many bunk beds that were pushed up against the side of the white washed concrete wall in the shared.

She had missed you so much, her heart throbbed every time she looked upon that pretty Polaroid and the letter you sent her every three weeks. When she got the call that she could return home a month earlier than what was planned, she was ecstatic- finding it hard not to schedule a phone call home, announcing the good news.

But another idea nibbled at her, she'd seen those cute videos of soldiers surprising their wives by coming home early. The idea of seeing your suprise face, soft lips parted in suprise and eyes wide as you wrapped your arms around her neck for the first time in so long made her brain melt.

Well.... Fuck it.

•••••••••••

The soft chirps of twittering birds echoed throughout the otherwise silent suburban neighborhood, a soft breeze fluttering past her hair as she opened the door of her Uber Infront of the blue home that you and Ellie owned.

She thanked the driver, lugging out the black suitcase and slung the grey duffle bag over her shoulder as her boot clad feet began trailing up the stone path leading up to the porch, soft sun shining through the doors stained glass window, casting a colorful glow on the warm wooded floor of your hallway.

You were brushing your teeth when the sound of the doorbell rang through your house, you spat out the toothpaste, wiping your mouth before signing as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Pink stripped pyjama set, hair tied-up, out of the way and messy, your eyes still half closed, well you don't really think that looking good for the Amazon man is that important.

Fluffy socks met the carpeted staircase as you walked down yelling a small "Coming!" So whoever was at the door didn't leave, assuming the house vacant.

Your hand met the cold metal of the door handle, pushing down and pulling towards you. Your heart stopped. Your heartbeat loud in your ears, as you gazed at the brunette- eyes glassed over.

"Ells...? Is that really you...?" You whimpered, followed by a small sniffle.

"Hi sugar..."

Before you knew it, your arms wrapped themselves securely round her neck, squeezing tightly as her arms wrapped around your waist in return.

"Missed me?" She laughed into your hair.

"so... So much"

You looked up, your own eyes locking with her green ones, she pressed her lips against yours, tongues dancing with eachother- your hand moving from her neck to cup her cheek tenderly, massaging the supple skin in a circular motion.

"Think we should take this upstairs doll?.." she smirked suggestively, mouth mere centimeters away from yours-

You could only nod in reply.

--------------------

This is really short and kinda rushed </33, but it's so cute 🫶

Taglist: @aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly @eywaskisses @daryldixonh0e @kittynnie @lovelyyevelyn @randomhoex @moonlightdivine @haerinwho @mufflaa @mial1l @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @moonlighting87 @escaping-reality8 @magicalfreakcowboylawyer @hejdevkdbdjsd @dergy @half-of-a-gay @ellieismami @cyberlainn @gollumsmygel @sseorii @kyleeservopoulos @taloulalila @ellieluhme @kiiyoooo @delusionalvioleht @joelscharm @hi2647 @gumdropkoo @coffeeandbookskeepmealive @womaniza @namgification @kimiisims-blog @tayyyystan @abigaillovestoread @whoreshores @kylieeluvstlou @knowitsforthebetterr @endureher @erikaar @lanasluverr @sayah13 @ilovebufflesbians @srryhoneyy @222fine444u @jade1212 @amoebagrl @casually-simping @frogtits1

NOT PROOFREAD

930 notes · View notes

kelleycubes · 6 months

Text

me watching desperate house wives: this is just like the horus heresy

#Lynette was challenging the pta mom controlling the little red riding hood play #turned half the moms against her #raw

322 notes · View notes

show-your-fangs · 11 months

Text

Swimming Pool ✿ Aaron Hotchner

We Shouldn't (And Yet We Do) - Part One

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x f!Reader

Words: 12.6k

CW: 18+, NSFW, mdni, smut, a little angst and so much fluff.

Summary: You return home for the summer because of your parents’ drama but luckily for you, your father’s friend, Mr. Hotchner, is there to bring you some much needed comfort.

Tags/warnings: shitty family life, age gap relationship (reader is 20, Hotch is 40), teasing, groping, perv!hotch, inappropriate thoughts and behavior, grinding, daddy kink bc fuck you, fingering (f receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!).

a/n: Thank you so much to @canuck-eh for writing Loose Morals and reigniting my passion to write this series, and to @xladyxdreamer for putting up with my Moments angst to the point where this series is now my penance for it. Finally, to whoever started the DBF!Hotch train, you are a god and I love you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Coming back home in the middle of summer was…a lot. You’d just finished your second year away at college and you weren’t supposed to come back home until Christmas six months later, a compromise you’d agreed to only for your mother. But then she’d called out of the blue, sobbing, hysterical, and you had booked a flight back home to Virginia before she’d even hung up.

When you did finally arrive the morning after, she was much calmer, but the edge in her voice remained and you knew something was wrong. The only problem was that she refused to tell you what it was. It wasn’t until your high school friend took you out to lunch later that she finally clued you in as to what was going on.

Your father had apparently been caught getting busy with another one of the professors at the college he taught at. Someone had taken a…suggestive picture and now everything was in shambles. Well, not everything, mostly just his own marriage. From the little bits of information you were able to string together from your mother, it was clear that he was gaslighting her into believing that the picture was taken out of context and he wasn’t actually having an affair.

It had all blown up in your face about twenty minutes ago. Your house was packed with people, mostly your father’s close friends, colleagues, and their wives. He had decided to host an end of term/start of summer cocktail party to quell whatever doubts lingered amongst his social circles that whatever had or had not been taken didn’t mean anything and his marriage was still going strong. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was you coming back to make sure your mother was alright.

You’d been holding onto the anger all afternoon as you followed your mother around, yelling and complaining and just desperately trying to reason with her. You’d never been a huge fan of your father. Sure, he’d done the bare minimum to give you life and was now paying for the part of your tuition that wasn’t covered by all the scholarships you’d gotten so that you didn’t have to graduate with massive loans. But aside from the small kindnesses he awarded you every so often, your relationship was nonexistent.

It was almost as if he’d predicted your mood because he didn’t arrive at the house until the party was minutes from starting. You had thought about leaving, about going out and getting wasted with your high school friends, but before you could even tell your mother you were going out, you found her crying in the master bedroom. And just like that you were back to seeing red.

The door swung open and you practically stormed towards it like a woman possessed.

“We need to talk,” you started. “No, let me rephrase, I need to scream at you and you’re going to listen—”

“Honey,” your father said sternly, opening the door fully. “Do not be rude to Aaron, say hello.”

Shame hit you like a bus as Mr. Hotchner came into focus behind your father. Fuck, he was good. It was eerie how clever your father could be when he didn’t want to be told off, when he knew that he’d done something wrong and instead of owning up to it he’d do everything in his power to avoid talking about it.

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” you managed through gritted teeth as your father walked past you and into the kitchen.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he replied, an amused smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break.”

“I’m not,” you tried to keep your voice steady. He must’ve known why you were angry, why the sudden outburst, but he didn’t reply, he simply nodded, lips in a thin line, trying to look anywhere but you.

“Well,” he broke the short silence. “I better put this on ice.”

He held out a bottle of Scotch he’d presumably brought over from his own house next door and walked after your father. You stood alone at the open door, the freedom of the night away from the exhaustion of fighting against your parents alluring. And yet you couldn’t seem to walk out, couldn’t seem to will your legs to move you in the direction of the rational choice.

Your heart was beating unbearably fast, and it wasn’t because of whatever was happening between your parents. No, it had everything to do with the FBI agent that had just walked into your home and the way he had clearly glanced down at your exposed cleavage before he had to immediately shift his gaze to anything else.

Aaron didn’t want to leave you there but he truly didn’t have a choice. You were wearing a tight black dress, so tight in fact that he could’ve sworn he saw every curve of your body. What had made it even worse was the way your breasts were practically spilling out of the garment, the trim of your lacy bra peeking around the edges. He’d felt like a teenager all over again, his crotch tightening uncomfortably as he tried his hardest to listen to the words coming out of your mouth to make sure that he responded eloquently.

Your mother had already put out ice buckets and he practically slammed the bottle into an empty one. Was it stupid to chill Scotch? He honestly couldn’t even remember anymore as he desperately wished he could’ve dunk his already hardening erection on the ice as well. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm down, needed to pretend like he hadn’t already seen your body in the many pictures you had posted online in the two years that you’d been gone.

He served himself a double, watching as you left the door wide open and retreated back upstairs. He lingered by the table for a moment, finishing his drink and calming himself down. He’d known you for a little over two years, at least on a first name, dinner at your house every month, type of way. You had just graduated high school when he started teaching part time at the college where your father also taught. The two of them had become fast friends and in the months that followed while you waited out the summer to start classes you had babysat Jack while Aaron was away on cases.

It was wrong and he definitely knew it. But there was something so captivating about you, about your kindness and curiosity and interest in not only his work but in him as a person. You loved getting to know people, getting to share secrets and discuss the root of existence and emotion and life. It was easy to forget that you were this young, your eloquence far higher than most of the adults that had just started shuffling into your home.

He’d filled his glass up once more as your father’s friends and his colleagues arrived. He plastered on a polite smile and greeted everyone as they made their way through the house. The repetitive nature of small talk for the next twenty minutes allowed him to forget about you, calm his body down enough to appear normal, collected.

He had migrated to the backyard with the rest of his colleagues after a while, the men around him engaged in mindless conversation about the break ahead, their vacation plans, and anything that wasn’t about the elephant in the room, because he knew, they all knew, that your father had clearly been caught redhanded and if they didn’t get their wives to agree that he was nothing more than a victim, they could be taken down next.

You waited until the backyard was packed with people before you emerged from your room. If your father didn’t want his friends gossiping about his affair tonight then you’d give them something else to talk about. And what better thing to gossip about than your father’s college age daughter practically displaying her body for all of his married friends and their wives.

Wearing that skimpy thing that did nothing to cover you up could only mean one thing – you were trying to get back at your father. Aaron couldn’t help but almost choke on his drink as he watched you saunter back out of the house. His ears began ringing loudly as you swayed your hips, clearly asking for attention. You walked right up to the edge of the pool and dove in without so much as a single word, the stark contrast between the cocktail party and your rebellious, summer blowout attitude jarring.

He couldn’t help but notice your father’s absence back out in the courtyard, your mother also conveniently nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that she was either consoling his poor, broken ego or sucking him off inside. Either outcome made him feel incredibly bad for you, bad that you had to come back home to rumors of your father’s infidelity and your mother’s complete denial of it.

While she was working overtime trying to fix a one sided relationship, you were determined to lash out against it in the most childish way you could possibly think of, and that unfortunately meant parading around your backyard filled with middle aged men in practically nothing.

Well, fortunate for him because he got to see the way your nipples hardened against the sheer fabric the second you stepped out into the cold night air, got to marvel at way your waist dipped into your full hips, the plush muscle begging to be squeezed tightly, got to catch the faintest glance at the outline of your pussy against the red material. It was unfortunate because he knew he wasn’t the only one staring at you and he had to bite his tongue as he began to hear the men around him murmur about your body.

He wanted to step up and use his own frame to shield you from them, to hide you away from their practically salivating stares. But instead he simply took a sip of his drink and allowed himself to watch you like a hawk, to silently guard, determined to step in if any of them actually decided to turn their thoughts into action. Because even then he couldn’t help but feel protective of you.

Your father came barrelling out of the house mere minutes later, your mother practically running to catch up and stop him. He was about to blow up, about to make a scene, one that you were eagerly waiting for when her hand landed on his chest and he seemingly remembered where he was and who he was surrounded by. He instantly relaxed his face and Aaron couldn’t help but take a step forward, tense and ready to fight him.

“Honey,” your mother spoke instead, layering the guilt on thick. “Please get out of the pool, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Aaron set his glass down and walked over to the little hamper by the grill, expertly fishing out a large towel. He could feel everyone else start to notice that he’d moved, that he was inserting himself into something that clearly had nothing to do with him. But it didn’t matter the second that your round, hurt, expressive eyes met his. His gaze softened, just for you, to let you know that you didn’t want to make this any worse than it already was. And for the first time ever, you listened to him.

Your mother thanked him as he walked around them, towel extended in his hands for you to simply curl yourself into it. He could tell your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and when he draped the fabric over your shivering body, he could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol on your breath. He sighed deeply, just for himself and you followed suit, taking the moment to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” you whispered, delicate fingers taking the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself, terrified of what your reaction would be if you’d let him do it for you. You were back inside the house in seconds, the party resuming quickly as your parents started their rounds of greetings and small talk. He lingered by the pool for a few minutes, not wanting to be incredibly obvious about following you inside.

He told himself that he only wanted to make sure you were alright, that there was nothing wrong with being concerned for you after what had just happened. And so when the waiters began to pass out hors d'oeuvres, he took advantage of the distraction and slipped back into the house.

“Sweetheart?” he whispered loudly as he willed the wood beneath his feet not to creak loudly against the final step of the staircase. “Are you alright?”

The second floor was deserted, terrifyingly quiet and dark. He noticed the light was on in your bathroom across the hall from your room and he approached. The second his shadow landed over the wood, the door swung wide open, greedy hands grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him into the small room.

“I need you,” you slurred, your hands sliding down towards his belt, trembling fingers struggling with the silver buckle. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat, the sounds spurring you on.

He was so distracted by the thrill, the shock and surprise of your neediness, of your clear desire for him that his brain short circuited for a second, lost to the sensations he’d been craving from you for years.

You’d never done anything like this before, never even flirted with each other as far as he was concerned since he made sure to watch his words around you, only allowing himself one thing, to call you sweetheart. Which could only indicate that your sudden boldness meant that you’d thought about this just as much as he had, that you’d caught him staring at you with hunger in his eyes just like he’d caught you staring at him with danger in yours.

“Sweetheart,” he said bluntly, trying to use his words before he was forced to use his hands to stop you. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” you scoffed. “You’re upset,” your hand squeezed over the outline of his cock and it took everything in him to not let out a single sound. That seemed to do the trick as your confident demeanor slipped away and the terrified girl desperately trying to hide resurfaced.

Tears laced your eyes, your chest began to shake, your hands trembled, slowly slipping away from his body. He scooped them both up in his warm, large palms, bending your arms over your chest before pressing you tightly to his. You began to sob then and it broke Aaron’s heart. Your face landed over his frantically beating heart. If you noticed through your tears you made no effort to comment on it. He held you like that for a while, not caring at all that his clothes were definitely wet now.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up now that you were clearly not going to get what you’d wanted only seconds before. He crouched down and picked up the towel off the floor, this time making it a point to drape it over you and wrap you tightly in it. You felt like a child, a dumb, stupid child that had just thrown a tantrum and had been scolded. It was humiliating.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, allowing himself to talk down to you just a little. His heart was still racing, his mind even more so now as he realized that the barrier that he’d put up between the two of you all those years ago had just been shattered into a million pieces. “Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep?”

You nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. But he would not have it. He hooked a finger under your chin, gently yet forcefully, pulling your gaze up to meet his. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly without him doing anything to you.

“Good girl,” he hummed and you practically whimpered, your thighs pressing together. The side of his mouth curled into the tiniest of smirks before he removed his hand from your body completely and walked out the door, leaving you alone in your bathroom with a fire burning in your chest.

You were unsure when the decision had been made, but you’d awoken the next day to a letter from your mother on the kitchen counter, the house spotless as the cleaning crew she’d hired probably went through it the night before. Your parents were gone for the rest of the summer, apparently one of your father’s friends had a timeshare at some resort in Italy and they were able to squeeze your parents into their trip last minute.

You released a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The memories of the events of the night before had been washing over you in powerful, drowning waves ever since you opened your eyes fifteen minutes ago. You regretted at least ninety percent of your actions, having been so wrapped up in getting back at your father that you had completely forgotten that your actions would also affect your mother. The look of disappointment, of complete and utter shame and embarrassment that had taken over her face as she spoke to you haunting, especially now in the brightness of the day.

And then there was Mr. Hotchner. Fuck, you cringed every time you remembered what you’d done, how you’d come onto him so pathetically. You couldn’t deny the rejection didn’t hurt but he had been right. You were upset, unbelievably so, and it would’ve stung even more to think of your first time with him to have been because you were trying to make your father angry, not because you actually wanted to sleep with him.

And oh boy did you want to.

As much as Freud was an idiot, you were very aware after two years of your psychology degree that your attraction to older men had everything to do with your need to seek the approval your father denied you from your romantic partners.

You’d had a very childish crush on Mr. Hotchner for years. It was silly, something that kept your pussy wet at night and made your friends giggle whenever you told them about the hot neighbor that you used to babysit for. But you knew he was unattainable. You could never have him, and sadly, that only made you want him even more.

In an act of defiance you hadn’t done what he’d told you to do the night before. Instead you took off the remaining pieces of clothing you still had on and tossed them into your shower before you walked across the hall to your room, pulled out the shitty bullet vibrator you’d left behind two years ago, and desperately tried to get yourself off. To say you’d been unsuccessful, your fingers and the weak device never even coming close to what you truly desired, what you needed.

That had only made you angrier, angrier at yourself, angrier at him. By the time you had drank your first cup of coffee all of your embarrassment had washed away into cold, seething irritation. He clearly wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You definitely hadn’t imagined the way he responded to your touch, the way he’d groaned in response. And that was the problem. He’d been holding himself back, whatever friendly relationship the two of you had built, one that you regarded as honest and sincere nothing more than a facade he’d concocted to keep you at arm’s length.

You grabbed a pair of sunglasses that your mother must’ve left on the kitchen counter and placed them over your eyes before walking back out to your backward. You were aware that there was a specific spot in front of the sliding doors that he could see from his house next door. You’d noticed it when you were babysitting one time, the thrill that he could’ve seen you in your bikini at some point that summer driving you insane.

You didn’t want to be at arm’s length anymore. You refused to let whatever fears you were holding onto because of his relationship with your father to stop you from going after what you’d wanted for so long.

You dragged a lounge chair over to that exact spot, the blaring sun perfectly over it as the excuse you needed in case he brought up your pathetic ploy. Once you were satisfied with your placement you shrugged off the robe you’d been wearing, the fabric falling off your shoulders and pooling around your feet in an instant to reveal absolutely nothing covering your body.

You’d fallen asleep at some point, completely naked and aggravated. You made sure to take your time getting into a comfortable position over the chair, chest out, legs curled suggestively, putting all of your assets on display. With the bait set, it was now a matter of waiting for him to bite.

You heard him yell your name across your house about ten minutes later. It didn’t surprise you that he had his own set of keys, your stomach already twisting in anticipation and excitement at just how easy it had been to get him exactly where you wanted him.

“Are you decent?” he asked with a smirk in his voice. He knew you weren’t. “Jack is here with me.”

You practically leapt off the chair, frantically picking up the robe and putting it on as the two of them walked out onto the backyard. Jack said your name then, chipper and excited, immediately melting away any ice left behind. You turned around just in time for the boy to wrap himself around your legs, squeezing you into a tight hug which you reciprocated, pulling him up to sit on your hip.

“Hi, angel,” you greeted the boy. “How’s summer treating you?”

“Hot,” he replied, trying to push himself away from you. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting him back down in the shade. “Can we swim in your pool?”

“Of course you can!” you replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The boy’s eyes practically widened out of his head in joy, turning back to his dad with just an unbelievable amount of energy.

“Not at all,” Mr. Hotchner replied for him and you shot him a smile before you excused yourself to go change into something kid appropriate.

To say that he’d seen your little display was an understatement. He’d been sitting on his desk in his home office, finalizing his weekly schedule with Jessica when he saw you step out. He knew, after much trial and error, that you couldn’t see him from this angle, and so he made no effort to move to get a better look.

And then you took off your robe and he was abruptly presented with your naked body. His mouth went dry in an instant, his pupils dilated, his heart pounded against his chest. It took him a full minute to realize that Jessica was trying to get his attention before his brain reconnected with his body and he asked her to repeat herself.

Five minutes later he was hanging up the call and rushing down the hall to ask Jack if he wanted to go swimming. The boy practically leapt to his feet, running across his room to get himself ready. They didn’t have a pool at their house, so your mother had generously let them use theirs after you went away for college. She’d even gotten them key to the house and sent him the alarm code every time they changed it just in case.

Aaron changed into his swimsuit in record time, practically tripping as he ran back and forth, all over the house, looking for the many, many toys that Jack definitely needed to stay distracted for the next few hours. As much as he wanted to walk over alone, find you naked and eager for him, fuck you on the lounge chair and then probably inside the pool to cool off, he couldn’t leave Jack behind, he wouldn’t leave Jack behind because he didn’t want you to know just how much you had affected him.

This was a power move, one that he had fallen for instantly. What he needed to do was not give in, not give you what you wanted, continue to frustrate you, to tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, all because he wanted to remind you that he held all the cards, that he was the one calling the shots, that he would be the one on top while you writhed in pleasure beneath him.

You returned a few minutes later in a plain black one piece. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he admired your decorum while you were around Jack. It was like a flip had switched, eyes clouded with lust and desire clearing away to joy and excitement to spend your day with a hyperactive kid instead of lazily sunbathing your troubles away.

You handed Mr. Hotchner a bottle of sunscreen, having specifically chosen the cream kind instead of the spray so that he’d be forced to touch you when you asked, “Would you mind getting my back?”

He looked up at you with the same eyes from last night and you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle. He looked at Jack then to make sure the boy was adequately engrossed in his toys, clearly deciding which ones he was going to play with first, before he opened the bottle and squirted some of the cream into his palm.

“On my lap,” he ordered, low and just for you to hear. Your eyes immediately darkened and he smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes then, reminding yourself that today was just playful after all.

You stepped forward towards his opened legs and prettily sat yourself down on his thigh, your back to him. You’d already put your hair up so he went right in. His warm, sticky palms landed on the sides of your neck first, slowly sliding down your shoulders before they returned to the center and then slid down your exposed back. While you couldn’t wear the skimpy, barely there suit you wanted, you’d still chosen something that gave him a subtle peek of your body.

He continued his movements, unapologetically taking his time, dragging his touches, lingering over your neck and putting pressure around it. You shivered under his hands, your ass unconsciously grinding down on his leg.

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he purred in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You stilled immediately, his fingers squeezing around your neck softly in reward. “All done.”

Your brain processed the words and yet you made no effort to stand up, and he made no effort to make you. His hands grazed down your arms, the backs of his fingers practically leaving feather light kisses on your skin until they landed on your hips. He gave your love handles a squeeze before he let his hands settle over your lap, leaning down to rest his chin on the crook of your neck.

The gesture itself had been so casual yet unbearably intimate that you didn’t notice you’d stopped breathing until your lungs started to burn. You inhaled sharply, your entire body shivering as you tried to keep the panting at bay.

“You say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, gentle and kind, his tone meant to reassure you that you still had power. You nodded and he pressed a kiss below your ear, making you shudder once more. “So responsive for me.”

A whine escaped your lips, making Jack turn back to face the two of you. His hands were off you before you could even register, your own body reacting instinctively as you shot up to your feet.

“Ready to get in the water?” you managed, flashing the boy a bright smile. He nodded enthusiastically, picking up a few of his diving toys in one hand before taking your outstretched hand with his other one. He diligently led you to the shallow end of the pool and Aaron watched as you both threw the little fishes into the deep end, giggling as Jack tried to toss them farther than you.

He took a moment to compose himself, a moment to shift the material of his swim suit to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He hated how easy it was for him to come undone around you, how you had him wrapped around your finger and could get him hard by simply existing. It made him feel young again, his libido higher than it’d been in years, and it was all because of you.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you and Jack splash against the water. Jack resurfaced first, already panting as he worked overtime to keep himself above water. You appeared then, like a beautiful mermaid coming above water to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. And in that moment Aaron knew that he’d sink to the bottom of the ocean if it meant he could have even a taste of you.

“Daddy!” Jack yelled, getting his attention. “Come into the pool!”

“Yeah, daddy,” you teased. “What are you waiting for?”

All the playfulness drained from his face in a second, making you choke on your own saliva in response before it reappeared as if nothing had happened. Your thighs rubbed together, the knowledge of the effect your words had had on him thrilling.

“Coming buddy,” he replied to the boy, choosing to ignore you as he stood back up, kicking off his flip flops and cannonballing into the pool.

Jack’s laughter brought you back down to reality as the waves his dad had created crashed over you, cooling your overheating face. You watched him resurface at the other end of the pool, one of the fishes you’d thrown under between his fingers.

“One to zero,” he announced playfully and Jack gasped, immediately diving down to gather as many fishes as he could, giving Aaron the perfect pocket of privacy to glance back at you. His face fell into a stern look of warning, daring you to call him that again to see what you could find out.

You smirked back briefly before diving underwater, the mere mention of a challenge overshadowing whatever tension lingered between the two of you.

You grabbed three fishes, swimming across the pool towards him underwater. You made sure Jack was above water before you made your move, fingers wrapping around Mr. Hotchner’s trunks to pull yourself out of the water as you practically climbed him.

You felt him tense against your touch and that made your body flood with warmth once more. You made him feel like this, you made him react like this, you had the same effect on him that he had over you.

Your head pierced the surface and he wasted no time pulling you further out of the water, his arm hooking around your waist again and pressing your hip against his painfully hard erection.

You gasped loudly, nervously looking around and noticing that Jack had thankfully gone back underwater so at the very least he wouldn’t see the euphoric expression on your face.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. “Mr. Hotchner,” you whined and his grip tightened.

For a second you forgot about where you were and the game you were still playing. Your eyes landed on his. They were hazy, glossed over and dangerously close to snapping.

“Address me properly,” he ordered, lifting his knee to slide between your legs and press you further into him. You swallowed a moan, your breathing ragged, your skin unbearably tight over your body.

You opened your mouth to speak but the word was screamed into existence by a voice that wasn’t yours. The two of you turned to face Jack who was eagerly swimming over to where the two of you were. You started to shift uncomfortably, trying to pull away from him, but he kept you in place as if you weren’t caught in a compromising position.

“Did you get tired of swimming?” Jack asked you like this was the most normal thing in the world and you managed a nod. “That’s okay! I get tired sometimes and daddy has to hold me too.”

Your cheeks heated up once more and you thanked every deity out there that the sun was so hot on your skin that the kid didn’t notice a change. Jack reached out and grabbed a hold of his father’s shoulder to keep himself above water before pulling out his other hand from under the water, a fistfull of the colorful fishes in his palm.

“I got six!” he told you and you finally snapped out of your daze, groaning dramatically as you showed him your own loot only being three.

“I demand a rematch!” you told the boy before tossing your fishes back into the pool. He followed your lead and held your stare, the two of you seizing the other up before he got tired of waiting and dove back into the water, his giggles getting swallowed by the water.

“Little cheater!” Aaron let you go then and you followed after the boy. You were so concerned with winning the silly game that you didn’t even notice the dopey smile across his face, one that he couldn’t hide from himself, one that almost made his heart burst with happiness.

You played with the fishies a few more times until Jack was complaining that he was starting to get hungry and the three of you got out of the pool to dry off while Mr. Hotchner ordered lunch.

You reapplied Jack’s sunscreen, placed a hat over his head and a towel over his body before you walked into the house to make a pitcher of lemonade and get some of the fruit your mother had bought a few days ago so that you could snack on it while you waited for the pizza to get there.

You’d cut the lemons and had started squeezing them into the pitcher when his hands wrapped around your waist again, his front pressing against your back forcefully. You ground your ass back into him, never once stopping your task.

“Hi,” he whispered in your ear.

“Hello,” you replied, squeezing a half of a lemon with your hand, too lazy to get something else dirty.

“Thank you for today,” he continued, his hands now slowly running up and down your sides, begging to elicit a reaction from you. “I know it’s not exactly what you planned but Jack is having a lot of fun.”

You hummed in agreement. “I’m having a lot of fun too.”

“Oh, yeah?” he stepped forward, locking you in place between the counter and his chest. “I’m having a lot of fun three.”

You snorted at the insinuation and the terrible joke, and he laughed in return, the two of you devolving into a fit of giggles like you’ve known each other intimately for years. And in a weird, almost strange way, you had. You’ve always had this rapport with him, this deep understanding of each other, mostly because you were both so into the other that you’d actually spent many nights asking questions, eager to know more.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked you once the laughter subsided and your heart started beating rapidly once more.

You immediately twisted around in his grip, holding your hands up and away from him as the juices from the lemons ran down your arms.

“Yes,” you heaved and he didn’t waste another second as he pressed his lips to yours. They were so soft and still warm from the sun still lingering over them, lulling you into a sense of safety. You opened your lips as his hands left your waist and cupped your jaw to press you further into him. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue entered, deepening the kiss into a hungry and desperate mess.

He pulled back so you could breathe after a few more laps and your eyes blinked open, the light reflecting against them and making them shine almost ethereally. He smiled, his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. You returned the smile, somehow already feeling warm and fuzzy from just a kiss. He leaned in again, his nose playfully tickling your own, making you giggle sweetly. He truly wanted nothing more than to make you laugh all the time.

He was about to press his lips against yours again, already craving the feeling like a man that had been left to wander the desert for days, when his phone rang loudly, interrupting the tender moment. He sighed deeply, apologetically looking at you and you immediately shook your head, letting him know not to worry about it. He picked up the phone, determined to make the conversation quick so he could return to what he truly wanted to do.

In the meantime you finished the lemonade, washed your hands with soap, and brought the pitcher, some glasses, and the bowl of cubed watermelon to the table outside. You checked in on Jack, the boy having fallen asleep, making you chuckle softly. You sat yourself at the table and waited for him to come back, already missing his lips.

It was certainly an interesting turn of events, made even more interesting by how easy it was to fit into his life. Even with your parents you always felt like the odd one out, like they were their own thing and you just sort of existed around them. But with Mr. Hotchner and Jack…you felt like you just fit right in, like you’d always been a part of their family.

When he finally exited into the backyard he bore a very different expression on his face, one of remorse and stress. The playfulness from before had left his body and all that remained was the stoic FBI agent you’d sometimes get when he returned from cases or…got called into one.

You sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly what had happened and he had to stop himself from melting at the thought that you just knew what he needed before he could even ask it.

“Do you need me to look after Jack?” you asked as he sat down on the chair across from you.

“Please,” he replied, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Jessica can pick him up at school Wednesday afternoon and take him to her place.”

You nodded, returning the squeeze and trying to alleviate his guilt with an understanding smile.

“When do you leave?” he asked you then, one of the many elephants in the room finally getting addressed.

“Friday morning,” you replied and it was his turn to sigh, defeated. As much as you understood his work and just how much he needed it, he also understood your own, your life being far away from D.C., far away from him. He just wanted you all to himself, here with him all the time, and it pained him that he couldn’t have it.

After allowing himself another moment of sitting in silence, of feeling his emotions and letting them tear his heart into pieces, he stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. He crushed his lips to yours and your hands finally tangled in his hair, his own greedily squeezing your hips.

“Pizza should be here any minute,” he mumbled against your lips.

“I got it, don’t worry,” you replied, pressing a closed kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Jack?”

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go as he knelt down beside the lounge chair and woke the boy up. You watched as they said their goodbyes, your fingers coming up to trace your lips where he’d just kissed you, all the conflicting things you were feeling crashing over you at once.

The first phone call came that same night. It was late, you were already asleep when your phone vibrated on the nightstand next to you. You were honestly surprised that you’d heard it, annoyed more so than surprised as your eyes blinked open painfully.

“Hello?” your voice was deep, hoarse and clearly exhausted.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his on the other hand was soft and awake.

“Hi,” you replied, settling back on the soft pillow and closing your eyes.

“Did I wake you?”

“Mhmm,” you whined and it broke his heart.

“I’m sorry,” to his credit, he did sound sorry.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled.

“I just wanted to say goodnight to Jack.” And to you.

“He fell asleep immediately…” You tried to stay awake, desperately, but sleep was pulling you down, the heat from spending the entire day under the sun had seeped deep into your bones, making them heavy. The current had sinked your boat and you were peacefully sinking under the waves with it. You didn’t even register him calling your name, realizing that you were probably out of it, and finally telling you that he’d call you another time.

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your senses overwhelmed by just how much his bed smelled like him.

It was honestly a stupid thought, that the things that were his carried him with them, but it didn’t matter how many times you’d slept here in the past, there was something so all consuming about them now.

Your three days with Jack went by quickly. You had forgotten how much of a perfect kid he was, how attentive and kind and easy it was to take care of him. Getting him ready for school was a breeze, breakfasts were filled with laughter and him rambling on about the dream he’d had the night before. Once you dropped him off at school, you found yourself missing him more than you ever had, and so you spent your days wandering aimlessly.

On Monday you cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. You put on one of Mr. Hotchner’s records on and drowned the house in music, your voice booming just as loudly as the singer’s, wanting nothing more than to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.

On Tuesday there was a lice outbreak and luckily, Jack was not affected. They still had to shut down the school for the day, so Jack had gotten a half day. You took him to the store to buy enough baking supplies to start your own bakery, and spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies and cupcakes.

It was around six that your phone rang. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you. Saucepan forgotten, you immediately crossed the room, fingers fumbling to answer the phone.

“Hey, give me one second,” you cut him off, putting him on speaker before you stepped out into the hall. “Jack! Your dad’s on the phone!”

“I don’t know if I should be touched or offended that you don’t want to speak with me,” he cracked and you couldn’t help but smile, making your way back to the device on his counter.

“I always want to talk to you,” you hummed. “But I also know you’re busy and—”

“Dad!” Jack ran into the kitchen, swiping the phone away from you and running right back down the hall. You laughed to yourself, returning to the stove before you burnt something.

You hadn’t been speaking, not really. Every so often you’d send him a picture of what you were up to and he’d do his best to reply, always short and sweet. He never sent any pictures of his own for obvious reasons, but it still made your heart constrict every time that you woke up the morning after to a missed call from him.

They were on the West Coast, in a small town somewhere in Oregon. At least that’s what you’d gathered from the messages here and there. By Wednesday you said goodbye to Jack at dropoff and told him you’d see him for Christmas. He was, understandably, very upset, since you’d just spent, what he kept calling, the best three days of his life with him. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces, but you reminded him that you didn’t live there anymore and that you had other places to be. Obviously not cooler than spending time with him, but that it was still important.

Jessica called you that afternoon to let you know that she had Jack and you chatted for a bit. She was always so easy to talk to, her openness to their strange family dynamic almost overwhelmingly supportive. She always remembered your birthday, always sent you a card (one that you knew she’d been making Mr. Hotchner and Jack to sign every year), and always made sure to ask if you were coming back home for any major break.

She liked having you around, liked the extra support you had given them while Jack was out on his own break, liked that the boy clearly loved you and felt safe around you. And after the three days you had spent with him then, it only made sense to start thinking about actually coming back home next summer to help them out, to have an excuse to see him as often as you could.

You spent Wednesday and Thursday working on the tasks you'd been left with from your internship. They had graciously allowed you to go home after you informed them there was a family emergency, but you still had to meet the weekly quota, just like everyone else. Being in your house alone was...exhausting. It was too quiet, too empty, too devoid of Jack's infectious laugh and...and Mr. Hotchner's low and inviting voice.

You hadn't spoken to him since you let him know Jessica had picked his son up. You knew he was busy, knew that he probably didn't want to speak to you while his mind was not in the right place, while he was using most of his energy to do his job. He didn't text and so neither did you. And as much as you understood why, the silence had only made your heart clench in pain, your brain already overthinking all the possibilities.

He was supposed to arrive in a few hours, having received the only text he'd sent to tell you that they were about to take off and that he should be back home in a few hours.

You’d decided to get one last swim in before you returned to your concrete life that was Brooklyn. But if you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a distraction.

You’d been drowning, quite literally, as the finality of the distance that you were about to put between yourself and Mr. Hotchner loomed closer and closer. Sure, he traveled a lot for work, he was away at least sixty percent of the time…but you had moved away two years ago with the intention of cutting yourself loose of all the ties keeping you in D.C.

It had been easy to do so, the only one that truly hurt you every day being your mother. But now, after sitting with your overwhelming crush that has snowballed into catching actual feelings for him…was hell.

You needed to talk to him about it, needed to ask him to tell you that everything was going to be okay, that you could make this work, whatever this was. But you also didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to pressure yourself to get tied down to something that could very easily not work out.

You were floating on your back, simply allowing the water to gently rock you around the pool when you saw a pair of slacked legs walking towards the edge of the pool.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I’ve been calling for a whole minute and you didn’t answer.”

You stood yourself up, shooting him an apologetic smile as you walked towards him.

“'m sorry,” you murmured, the tightening on your heart only squeezing harder now that he was really here. He shot you a smile in response but he looked tired, defeated almost. You could only imagine what it must feel like to walk around with all of that weight, with the burden of the atrocious things they dealt with every day.

He squatted down next to the edge and you propped yourself up on the space between his legs to pull yourself high enough for his lips to reach yours. The kiss was short and soft, domestic almost, as if you did this every time he came back home from a long case.

You slid back into the water, unable to hold yourself up any longer as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. You were certain that if he stared at you for even a second longer, he would definitely know there was something wrong, that somehow he’d be able to see into your body and realize just how contorted your heart was.

“Join me?” you asked, trying to change the subject before it was even brought up.

He sighed, conflicted. “I don’t think we should, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whined. “I promise I’ll behave.”

He chuckled at that, knowing fully well that you most definitely would not, because he would most certainly not. But he found himself standing back up, quickly shrugging off his button down, the white wife pleaser underneath, his shoes, socks, and pants. You watched him in awe, mouth hanging slightly open as you began to salivate, your desire quickly making you forget all about your painful feelings.

He smirked at you as he sat down on the edge of the pool and slowly lowered himself into it. You hadn’t realized until he stretched his hand out to you that you’d drifted away to the other side of the pool. You took a small, steadying breath, trying to appear as normal as possible before you walked back to him.

His hands wrapped around you instantly, bringing you into him tightly. It was almost as if he relaxed into you, his breathing deep and steady, a drastic contrast to your rapidly beating heart. You tried so hard to copy his rhythm, to blend into it in a feeble attempt to not raise suspicion, to show him that you were happy he was back.

And it worked...for almost a second.

“Thank you for taking care of Jack,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” you replied almost too quickly.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he pulled back, his gaze desperately trying to meet yours.

You hated him so much, hated how good he was at his job, hated how he could read you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, you were having to use all of your knowledge to just guess how he was feeling.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lied, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with his hair. He sighed, shifting your core away from his as his hand snaked down to pull your swimsuit bottoms out of the way. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, finally snapping up to meet his but his attention was no longer on your face.

Before you could question the sudden advance, he plunged his middle finger into you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, his finger curling upwards to hook against the spot that he somehow knew instinctively would make you come undone.

You whined, holding onto him tighter. “I’m scared!”

“Of what?”

“This–” he curled his finger again, another moan erupting. “Us– fuck, I’m scared that I won’t be able to see you every day and it’ll mess up whatever this is,” you practically screamed.

His movements stilled and you decided to foolishly allow yourself to meet his eyes. He was staring at you with what you could only describe as relief?

You blinked, realizing that he was allowing you to read him like he could read you. You’d said exactly what he was thinking, what he was also holding in, what the heaviness that he carried had been about.

He pressed further into you. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “I want to be yours, all yours.”

“That’s good,” he groaned. “Because I want to be all yours too, sweetheart.”

You whined at his words, the tight grip fear had on your heart releasing just enough to let you breathe again.

“I thought…” you trailed off, afraid that if you said what you’d thought aloud that he’d hate you. Instead he just waited patiently for you to muster the courage to say what you’d been holding in. “I thought you might only want to fuck me and nothing else.”

He shoved another finger into you at that, as if you say how dare you think that. You moaned again, your body tensing up, your walls pulsing around his fingers, practically keeping them hostage inside of you.

“So tight,” he mumbled, clearly needing a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “I’ve wanted you– to be with you for a while, sweetheart. I was just…afraid of how it could destroy your relationship with your parents.”

The second elephant in the room reappeared and you couldn’t help but get another one of your fears off your chest.

“Did you know he was…” you trail off before you can finish your sentence but Aaron knew exactly what you wanted to ask him.

“No, I didn’t,” he shook his head, intensely observing your reaction. When you tensed under his touch he wasted no time to press a soft kiss to your temple. If you didn’t know but now you do then why are you still hanging around with him? That was the second part of your question, of your uneasiness, of your tensing body.

“To see you,” he murmured against your skin and you pulled back from his touch, far enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept coming back to see you.”

The confession made your stomach flip. You didn’t know how to respond, how to tell him that you’d felt the same way in a way that didn’t make you come across as insane or clingy or immature. So instead you smiled softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his once more. His grip on your body tightened, his lips on yours opened, pulling you further into him. You may not have tomorrow, but you definitely had tonight.

“I am more than happy and willing to take this slow, to just see where it goes,” he makes it crystal clear, no way to misinterpret his words, no way for you to twist them until you’ve convinced yourself that you’re crazy. Instead you just let your mind free.

“Please fuck me,” you begged and a groan loudly erupted from his throat. His fingers resumed their fast pace but you whined in response, trying to stop him. “No, I need your cock in me, please.”

He shushed you then, kissing your temple gently as he only doubled down in his forcefulness.

“Let me make you cum first,” he replied. “I gotta stretch you out, you’re so tight.”

You whimpered then, a symphony of breathy moans as you remembered just how big he’d felt through his pants. If he was telling you he needed to work you up before he could slide inside of you then you would obey. Fuck, the anticipation alone was going to be the death of you.

The water began to splash over the edge, the constant crashing of waves somehow in perfect synchronicity to the pace he’d set. It quickly became overwhelming, as if your pleasure was so intense it was actually transcending your body and manipulating the world around you.

You moaned into his ear, your hands desperately digging into his back, trying to anchor yourself to him, afraid that you could slip away at any moment. He began peppering kisses along your jaw, each one lower and lower until he was physically unable to reach any more of your skin due to the water level.

You were so close, so, so, close and he could feel it. Your body had tensed, your toes curled against his lower back, pulling him closer to you. And with one final thrust against the spot inside of you that made you see stars, the band snapped and you were screaming, not caring if the neighbors could hear you.

He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing down to a bearable pace as you rested your forehead against his chest.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, clearly concerned that you hadn’t said something for a couple of minutes. You nodded against his body, slowly pushing against his chest to face him.

“Never better,” you replied and his eyebrows shot up in provocation.

“Do you want to make them a little better?” he teased and you couldn’t help the smile that took over.

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand out of you and you whined at the loss of contact.

“Such a greedy girl,” he mocked. “You’re about to be stuffed with my cock and you’re whining about missing my fingers.”

You shivered, eyes darkening as he grabbed a hold of your hand and led you back to the shallow end of the pool. He helped you out of the water, his hands attentive, possessive, never once letting you take a step without being on you.

Once you were out of the water he pulled you into him swiftly, lips back on yours with abandon. You practically melted into his touch, into his embrace, into him. Every thought in your brain was about him, about how soft his lips were, about how he smelled like a warm fire in a forest, about how his rough hands felt on your body, about how desperate he was for you.

You didn’t even register as he undid the knots of your bathing suit, only felt the cold air against your nipples, making them immediately perk up. The back of his hands accidentally brushed one as he shuffled to discard your top and you moaned into his mouth. The noise that reverberated from him in response was addictive. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back, your own lips chasing his in protest.

But he didn’t give you a second to figure him out as he arched your back with his hands, his mouth latching onto the nipple he’d just touched. It was your turn to mewl, eyes glossy and hands hungry to dig into him.

“Aaron,” you whimpered and he froze, ice cold, fully stopping his movements. His mouth softly unlatched from your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to you. Your face heated up immediately, the mere thought that you did something to upset him filled your eyes with tears.

“What did you say?” he asked, softly, as if he knew you were feeling like a small little animal and he needed to be careful not to spook you.

“A-Aaron?” you mumble, not even once fully comprehending what you had just done.

“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he explained, taking pity on how much your brain was clearly not working at the moment.

You blinked in confusion, a tear accidentally falling down your cheek. He immediately wiped it away, looking down at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“I’m sorry—” you started, unsure exactly what you’re apologizing for. And he shuts you up with a kiss immediately.

“Say it again,” he groaned against your lips.

“Aaron,” you repeated, his name finally feeling heavy and important on your tongue.

He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Again.”

“Aaron.”

Another kiss, this one on your neck. “Again.”

“Aaron,” he licked down to the base of your neck, his teeth greedily sinking into your soft skin as his lips suck. “Fuck, Aaron, please.”

You whined again, the sting of his mouth marking your body absolutely making you lose it. Whatever wits remained evaporated in an instant. When he pulled back, eyes practically raven, face flushed, lips plump and swollen, you couldn’t help the need to reward him.

Your hands landed on the pronounced outline of his cock against his still wet, black boxers. He wasn’t quick enough to stop you as you wasted no time pulling the fabric off him. Your eyes widened, your breathing hitched in your throat, your hand trembled slightly as you abandoned your efforts to get his boxers down his thighs and instead tentatively returned your hand to hover over his length.

He was so hard, the vein running along the underside practically pulsating. You tentatively traced it with your nail and he hissed. You smiled to yourself, your full palm replacing your finger as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly pumping him.

His own hand curled around your wrist, demanding you to stop. Your eyes shot up to finally see him, to see just how clenched his jaw was, just how deep his breathing had become.

“No, sweetheart,” he huffed. “I need you.”

As if you could both finally read each other’s minds, you untangled yourselves from each other, discarding the clothing that remained on your bodies and tossed it away before his eyes landed on you, on your naked frame, now right in front of him and not far away, separated from him by the haziness of glass.

His eyes raked lower to your pussy and his brows knitted in surprise.

“You have a tattoo,” the question blended into a statement as his hand gripped your hip, pulling you forward so that he could see it better. You bit your lip, amused by just how mesmerized he looked.

“A friend of mine gave it to me first semester,” you explained, omitting the many health code violations, how you’d been high and couldn’t remember actually getting it, or the fact that you had been sleeping with your friend when he did.

He traced his thumb over it, the placement was lower than your hip, easily hidden by your underwear and small enough that he’d never been able to make it out at a distance. His thumb dug into the center of the shitty heart then, anchoring his grip as he pulled you back to him. You moaned at the sting and it only spurred him on, the realization that you liked it when he hurt you igniting a fire in him.

His other arm hooked under your ass, lifting you over his shoulder. You gasped loudly, your confusion quickly turning into a fit of giggles as he moved you both towards the lounge chair that you had rearranged earlier that week to face his house.

He made sure to hook his foot around the pants he’d discarded earlier, kicking them forward with his foot, making sure that they landed right against the chair. He then unlatched the backrest and quickly set you down on it, your entire body over the comfortable foam cushion your mother had bought last year just for the Hotchners.

He knelt between your legs, hands running down your body to pry them open for him. It didn’t take much as you opened yourself up to him eagerly. He grinned, the smile that graced you one that you’d never seen from him before, one that even he couldn’t remember when he’d smiled like that last.

Before he forgot, he reached over to where he’d thrown his pants, growing impatient as he struggled to pull out his wallet and procure a single silver wrapper from it. You’d been so consumed by the moment that you hadn’t even thought about protection.

You thought about telling him not to, that you were on birth control and that as far as you were concerned you were clean. But you had no idea where he’d been, not that talking about his sexual partners bothered you, but bringing it up now did not seem like the right time.

“Someone was sure of himself,” you teased, watching him roll on the sheer latex over himself with more concentration than you’d ever seen from him before, and that was saying a lot.

He retaliated by slamming his tip into you without warning. Your head fell back, a moan rocking through you and down to your core, the waves reverberating against him, causing him to take a sharp, steadying breath.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he panted, a little condescending and you swallowed the urge to fight back, to resume the game you’d started when you called him daddy. He didn’t know just how deep you were willing to go, how much fun the two of you would have.

But tonight wasn’t the night for it. You needed him, craved him, desperately demanded that he fill the ache between your legs. You nodded, your hands gripping the cushion below you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your need to anchor yourself, his ego boosted so high he had no idea how he was supposed to come back down. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when you were laid out in front of him like a buffet, what he’d been starving for the only thing on the menu now.

His left hand wrapped around your thigh, opening you further. You propped your other leg over the armrest, and he pushed forward. He had not been lying, fortunately for you. He stretched you painfully, practically stuffing you full.

He made it halfway into you when you hissed, one of your hands shooting up to wrap around his bicep, urging him to stop. He stilled immediately, slowly rocking his hips back to slide out of you before slowly pushing himself back in.

That’s when you fell, your arms giving out under you. An accomplished grin lit up his features. He sat himself back up on his heels to tower over you. Your hand sliding down to the one he’d wrapped around your leg, your fingers lacing with his, almost like a pinky promise as he continued his slow rhythm, never giving you too much, never forcing your body to take anything it wasn’t ready for.

You could practically feel the wetness dripping out of you, coating him more and more with every thrust. He could clearly feel it too, the slick making it easier for him to slide in and out of you each time.

He took it as an indication to keep going. He thrust back into you, pushing himself just an inch further than before. You were a mess of whines and whimpers, your back arching in response, needing him fully in you.

“Please, Aaron,” you slurred. “More.”

He pulled out of you completely, the desire to see himself slam back into you fully overwhelming. His hips pushed forward, easily sliding himself inside to the hilt, your ass slapping against his hips beautifully. He moaned then, his hands flying to your hips, locking you in place. You whimpered, your head craning up enough to see there was no space left between the two of you.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, your walls clenching around him unconsciously.

His eyes shut close in pleasure at your movement, jaw clenching, fingers digging into your skin deeper. You took him in, on the verge of coming undone, on the verge of cumming in seconds like a teenage boy that didn’t know how to stop himself.

You giggled, your warm laughter bringing him back to you as he realized what you were laughing about. He scoffed, blush creeping over his cheeks in the most adorable way. You clenched around him again, deliberate and mean. He almost screamed then, the moan that left his lips guttural and raw.

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he huffed. “I don’t want to cum yet, give me a second, alright?”

You sighed, feigning annoyance, but respected his request, unclenching your muscles to give him a moment of respite. Your hands began to draw circles over his own, nails slowly dragging up his arms and towards his chest, gentle, curious, exploring.

You took your time, diligently running your fingers over every ridge, every dip, every single one of the scars that littered his abdomen. They were smaller now and faded from what they had been when he was first attacked, but you knew they were there.

He hadn’t told you the full story, hadn’t really mentioned it aside from briefly alluding to it when he was forced to explain a comment Jack had made in passing one time, a comment about his mother. But you’d noticed them years ago, and as much as he could act like he was over it, like he was comfortable being shirtless around you, you needed him to know that he was safe, that he could trust you.

He didn’t flinch under your touch, instead he hummed, his own hands shifting their grip on you to show you how much he appreciated your touch.

“Did you catch the bad guy?” you asked suddenly. He turned to face you with a scolding expression, this is clearly not the time for this. It only made you laugh again, embarrassed. “What? Thinking about gross things helps!”

“I don’t want to ever think about that when I’m with you, got it?” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you replied and his eyes darkened once more, whatever fear of bursting immediately leaving his body as lustful greed flooded back in, emboldening him.

“What you called me the other day,” he started, somehow both confident in what he wanted to ask and yet boyishly shy about it. “Are you okay with that?”

“What did I call you?” you acted dumb, so dumb indeed that it got you another powerful, forceful jam of his cock. You squealed, his tip now uncomfortably pressing deeply into you. “No, daddy, ’s too much,” you whined, your voice hitching into a sweet, high pitch that made his cock twitch inside of you. “It hurts.”

“Too deep?” he asked in his normal voice, making sure to check in with you. You nodded, desperate for him to pull back, and he immediately returned to the comfortable pain. You let out a deep breath, air filling your lungs again. He was concerned, but more than anything he was turned on, the desire to ruin you too strong. “I’m going to start moving, alright?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled and he groaned loudly, his cock practically taking on a life of its own and making him react in a way he’d never experienced before.

Aaron understood what desire was, he knew what it felt like, knew what to do with it, but this? This wasn’t desire. This was debilitating, allconsuming, painful almost. His brain disconnected from his body, it was as though he was floating next to his body as well as feeling everything that was happening around him, to him, because of him.

He wanted to consume you, wanted to lose himself to the perfect sounds coming out of you, wanted to feel your tightness around him all the time, wanted to drown and stay at the bottom of your waters forever.

His moans danced with yours in a delicate choir ensemble, the slapping of your bodies coming together becoming the bass keeping the pace, the rattling of the lounge chair against the concrete floor the percussion, the scrapping of the mattress against the plastic the strings – it was all too much, too good, too perfect.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” he whined. “Rub your clit for me.”

Whatever coherent thoughts were left in you forced your body to obey immediately, your shaky hand landing in between your bodies. Your fingers were met with a lewd amount of slick, your clit puffy and screaming out to be touched. You rolled your fingers over it and the sensitivity sent you into overdrive, a snap of electricity running all the way down to your opening.

He moaned in response, your core starting to tighten with each thrust, with each touch. The pressure was tight, tighter, desperately trying to force your dam to burst.

“Daddy,” you whimpered. “Daddy, please, please, please, please–”

“Cum, sweetheart, cum all over me,” he demanded and you let it break. Waves of pleasure crashed against you, your entire body shaking, thrashing, slamming against his. Your moans turned into whines, you dug into his forearms, your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him further into you, locking him in place.

The second he felt you clench against him, the second he felt your core tighten, your slick warm his entirety, your nails digging into his arms so hard he wouldn’t be surprised you drew blood – he lost it. He managed to thrust into you two more times before he slammed himself as far as he could inside of you, not caring if it was uncomfortable for you.

He came hot and hard into the condom, his own pleasure blurring his vision, making his own body shake against yours, making his heart feel like it had skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, the sensations too overwhelming for his body to remember that it needed to breathe to survive.

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just ran a marathon. Your nails had stopped digging into his skin but he barely registered the lack of pain. It wasn’t until you ran your fingers over the indents in his arms that he opened his eyes, seeking yours immediately.

You waited until his gaze met yours as if it was about time it did. You smiled lazily at him, completely spent, content, satisfied. He returned the smile, allowing himself to lower his body down over yours. His chest pressed against your own, softly caging you, holding you captive as his aching lips found yours.

This kiss was unlike any of the ones you’d shared, unlike any of the ones you had shared with anyone before. It was definitive, possessive, claiming you as his, and yet it was unbearably gentle, playful, wholesome.

He was the first to pull back for air, but he didn’t move away, instead he pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze unflinching, trying to communicate so much with no words at all. It was like he was making sure to savor every last drop, committing the sight and feeling of you to memory.

Aaron took much of his life for granted, the routine of it all having numbed him to most things that other people would deem as exciting or fulfilling. The only area of his life where that wasn’t the case was his son. That little boy made everything worthwhile, every battle worth fighting, every day worth living. And now, looking at you, feeling how good he’d made you feel, he knew had found something else, someone else, that made him feel excited for what the next day could bring. That made him feel fulfilled in more ways than he could yet comprehend.

Whatever doubts you’d had, whatever walls you had started to put up to protect yourself now laid crumbled all around you. He was right from the start, you were his, whatever that happened would happen, the best that you could do was ride the waves and see where they would lead you. All that did matter was that he was there and that you knew that he was also yours.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a blast to write after all the angst that Moments has killed me with.

My requests are open! I have a few chapter ideas for Mr. Hotchner but I would love to hear what y’all would like to see. Even if it doesn’t make it into the actual series, I will try to write some cute lil blurbs.

And also, because I’m a writer that needs validation, please leave me comments or love letters if you’d like to remain anon. I need the praise and love, thank you 🩷

Ps. The next chapter is titled Guest Lecturer so you can imagine what kind of debauchery I’m about to write.

Pss. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

#dbf!hotch #dbf!hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #dbf!aaron hotchner #professor!Hotch #perv!hotch #we shouldn’t (and yet we do)

625 notes · View notes