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screampied · 3 months

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BAD ROMANCE! — ☆ SATOSUGU.

➤ popstar!gojo mlist.

headline. being sandwiched between a popstar and geto, his bassist best friend was almost like a fever dream. what happens when they start fighting over who can make you moan the highest note? sharing is caring…right?

word count. 5.8k (i am sorry)

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo au, bassist geto, geto has a tongue piercing, threesome, double penetration, manhandling, fucking while standing, size kink, unprotected sex, implied multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, gojo slander (lol)

an. makes sense if u read the first part !! if not that’s okaaay. sry for any errorssss aha

“seriously. join…the two of you?” geto mutters with a subtle eye twitch—you stared at the lead bassist, and he briefly returned a glance. his hands were buried in his pockets, wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans and a fitted white tank underneath. geto’s hair was a tad bit ruffled with a perfect length wolf cut. “you do realize your fans have been waiting for you for over an hour.”

“oh….right, i did have a concert,” gojo nervously chuckles, running a hand down his neck. “they heard everything too. nanami’s gonna kill me. that’s fun.”

geto’s eyes dart back towards you and suddenly you feel extremely nervous. you could never ever read him, he just a blank stare plastered amongst his face.

“i don’t think we’ve officially met. wish i didn’t have to meet you half-naked but,” and you were embarrassed, feeling the tips of your ears get feverish and abnormally hot. “i’m this idiot’s bassist. suguru ge—”

“bro she didn’t ask for your life story,” gojo groans, and you let off a gasp once he lifts you up, an arm underneath you and another bringing you towards his chest. “sugupoo, you didn’t answer my question.”

“sugupo—” he furrows his eyebrows, repeating the petname. geto grumbles, “…fine, but not here. we can…go back to my hotel or something.”

this was far more than anything you could have imagined. being between two idols. more so gojo but still. you were pretty much left with shredded clothing thanks to gojo barely even an hour ago…

“is she always this sensitive to touch?” geto utters, peeling your the remains of your clothes off — which was basically just a thin robe. he was tantalizingly slow with his hands, the very pads of his fingertips ghosting against your skin made you left off a soft gasp.

“pretty much,” gojo hums, and you watch as the popstar lowers his head to kiss near your thighs. “she’s a little camera shy.”

“what does that even-”

“…nevermind.”

geto was more tame while gojo was far more eager. you make brief eye contact with geto and he leans in toward you. you were expecting him to kiss you but instead, he brings a thumb towards your lip and smiles. “you’re a lot prettier in person, assistant. what are you doing messing around with this idiot?”

“um—”

“none of your business. besides, don’t talk to my work wife like that.” gojo pouts, and he makes you face him directly.

obviously, he was being nothing but a pure tease. you feel yourself grow hot once gojo presses his lips onto yours. you could hear geto scoffing in the background.

you and gojo weren’t exactly a thing… although, maybe this “thing” was developing into some sort of fling.

you moan into his mouth, feeling gojo’s hand trail down to part against your thigh before geto pries the two of you off, only to bring you into a much more steamy kiss.

gojo’s jaw drops dramatically, a squeaky gasp leaving his lips as he watches you make out with geto.

geto was far more passionate and tender by a mile. with a soft thumb grazing beneath your chin, you let off a soft whine. tasting the sugary spiced alcohol on his tongue…..just a tang, but it was enough for you to covet more of him. more of his taste.

“this isn’t…. fair.” gojo nags, yet his body feels otherwise. seeing his bassist of a best friend kiss you deeply, touching all over your body. he started to feel himself get…aroused.

you feel a cunning smirk go against geto’s lips. with a hand gripped softly underneath your chin, he continues to stroke it soothingly.

he was so deliberate with his tongue, making sure to savour every inch of you. a groan leaves his mouth as he deepens the kiss for a brisk second. his breath was eminently lukewarm, and you don’t even recollect yourself pulling him closer to your already achey body.

“suguru, you’re beinʼ stingy,” gojo frowns, starting to think if suggesting him to tag along was a good idea… perhaps not… after all, he was the satoru gojo. he’s never been a fan of share the spotlight.

geto swiftly pulls away and his eye contact against you makes you grow hot. his eyes spoke a thousand words, dirty dirty words though. gojo lets off a vexed sigh before running a hand through his hair. “…i have an idea though.”

“what?” you and geto both speak in low unison.

the popstar has a cheeky grin on his lips before playfully rolling his eyes, tilting his head. “which can make her louder. then again, i already know i’m gonna win sooo…”

geto utters in the most sassiest tone imaginable, “please. you’d probably be the loudest out of all of us but fine.”

the thought of them both fighting over you, your client, and his best friend as well as his lead bassist.

you firmly clasped your thighs together before shyly drawing circles against the outer part of your arm. “well, he was pretty loud earlier. his fans heard him moaning all through his mic backstage and—”

“tch. shut up..” he grumbles, trying to forget that incident even happened.

gojo now decides to pulls you into sweet passionate fulfilled kiss, and it’s deep with a bit of tongue.

you were indeed basically naked with the exception of a silk sage-colored robe he bought you as a new year’s eve gift. it hung down your body perfectly, just enough to make out your skin.

geto makes you slip a whine into gojo’s mouth once he spreads your legs with one hand—you were drenched, soaked….no doubt about it. “no panties,” he mutters in a rough voice. “satoru must’ve beat me to it, hmpf.”

you started to pant the more gojo moved his tongue against yours, you could tell how needy he was. even though he already had a taste from you earlier, he wanted more. you were like some kind of candy, intoxicatingly sweetened.

he smoothly slides his tongue against your bottom lip, grunting from the leftover taste of your flavored lip gloss that was by this point smeared across your lips. whenever gojo kissed you, you had this warm burning feeling inside. it was indescribable, you knew more than anyone how unprofessional this was…yet it felt good, his touch, his taste, even his rich scent.

“what a mess. already drenched for me,” geto murmurs, and you peek an eye open to watch the bassist go down, between your legs. you sit up with gojo tilting your head to face him, thighs spread apart and you let off a moan once he starts to work his way.

slowly, geto creates tender kisses…

he creates a simple trail, all up your thighs. the softness of his lips pressing against your skin made you whine against gojo’s lips.

gojo moves your chin back to focus back towards him, and he gives your bottom lip an impish bite.

peppering the side parts of your mouth with numerous wet kisses. “mwah,” he’d coo, a teasing gesture yet the stare he gave you made you throb. “my fans heard us…heard you, y’know. how does that make you feel?”

you stare at gojo, and his eyebrows are slightly raised in curiosity. he was such a tease, wanting to know your response.

geto’s tongue licks against the inner part of your thigh and you moan. that’s when you feel a slight coldness of his tongue piercing run against your skin — it tickles but in the best way imaginable.

he starts to suck against your skin, a soft ‘pop’ skims past his lips and you whine before gojo squeezes your lips together.

“heyyy, pretty. ‘m talking to you.” he whispers, leaning in to sneak another kiss on your mouth.

“i— i liked it,” you utter, geto’s touch from underneath, a finger trailing against your skin with his tongue following shortly afterward made you pulse continuously. “knowing everyone heard me….your die-hard fans, it turned me on a little.”

“yeah? did it really?” he grins, showcasing a casual head tilt. “wow, you really are a kinky girl. but it turned me on too,” he adds, inching his face towards your neck to give it a soft suck. “hmph. next time i should probably fuck you on stage, wouldn’t that be a pretty sight,” he murmurs, his voice playfully lowering. “ooh, it’s probably all over the headlines, but eh, who gives a shit, right? not me, and definitely not her.”

you were just about to let off a mewl once gojo reached down to give your pussy a mean squeeze as soon as he referred to it as ‘her.’

he brings an additional kiss to you before you feel the warmth of geto’s breath fan against your entrance. you start to pant, feeling gojo’s hands roam and wander all against your body.

an abrupt shock surges throughout your skin from his fingertips and the silk robe you wore. gojo traced a thumb against your nipple—your overly-sensitive nipple that poked through the thin pretty fabric. you were so aroused that your mind raced just as quickly as your heartbeat did.

“fuck…dunno know what it is about you,” he murmurs, breaking away a few seconds to speak. there was a titillating bass that carried underneath gojo’s tone.

you could hear it in his voice, how pitchy and low it would get at certain times. “just lookin’ at you gets me s-so hard,” and then he swallowed for a second, departing eye contact out of sheer flusteredness and it was cute. “still a bit…sensitive from earlier though. had the audacity to keep ridin’ me after i c-came.”

“sorry.” you playfully press your lips together, glancing up at him and he grows embarrassed for a moment at remembering the pure thought.

the image of him… the satoru gojo and you, his trusty assistant — being on top of the famous well-known pop star, riding him until he whined for just you and only you.

not to mention as well as having him as an entire mess underneath you. he probably was too stubborn to realize it but you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger…

to think that was just about nearly half an hour ago. your thoughts get interrupted from feeling geto’s tongue meekly lick against your inner folds. a sharp breath elicits from your throat as you look down at him already staring at you with a smug grin.

“toru already got here too?” he whispers, ghosting a thumb against your sodden folds. his slender fingers were so long and lengthy, nails perfectly manicured, and of course, he’d have well-trimmed nails because of his status as a professional bassist.

all things considered, geto would just be godly with his fingers. it was no secret, really…

“of course i fuckin’ did.” gojo pouts, giving him a nettled glare.

geto snickers. “aw. poor girl,” and then he makes eye contact with you, smugly simpering.

geto takes a second to tie his hair back into a messy ponytail before pursing his lips to speak. “he’s a good singer, yeahhh. but he has a huge lack of skill at eating pussy. trust me.”

“shut up, man..” gojo’s eyes widen, the tips of his ears burning, it was adorable. “that’s…not true.”

it was.

“suguruuu..” you whined, not even realize how much you were desperately aching for him. the two bickering was a constant thing, but you decided to ignore it and let the lust take over.

“i’m sorry, i should be paying more attention to you,” he mutters, using a hand to shove your right thigh a few inches away.

geto promptly rolls out his tongue….slowly, pink and pretty. clean. your eyes peer at the pretty piercing that laid flat against the center part. “keep these legs spread for me. can you be a good girl ‘n do that?”

you unwittingly feel yourself pulse just from that action of him showing you a good view of his tongue. you give the bassist a pathetic eager nod, a hand running towards the roots of his hair to grip it before he grins. “good, ‘cause ‘m starved.”

“sugu, what… what am i supposed to do?” gojo huffs out.

“figure it out yourself, popstar.” geto murmurs, and a soft pout twists against gojo’s lips.

that’s when he makes you turn over to where you’re on your hands and knees—you face forward, most importantly, you face forward right against gojo’s crotch. face front and all.

he lingers near the edge of the bed, towering over you with a hungry gaze before letting off a whine.

“jus’ look at me….i can’t perform like this,” not like he was going to perform anyway…but you stare at gojo’s body. all he wore was sweats, the original partially bedazzled outfit that was actually geto’s was practically torn. “you gave me this boner, ‘s your fault ‘m all needy.”

geto interrupts the erotic atmosphere with his tongue gradually flicking against your pussy, two rough hands spread the fat of your ass and you whine at how abruptly lewd it was. “oh my g-goddd.”

gojo feels like he has competition with geto, so he frowns—the pout remaining on his pink sheeny lips before he grips ahold of your chin to make you stare straight at him whilst you’re on all fours on the cushioned mattress.

“been…been wantin’ to finally see what this pretty throat feels like,”

he sighs, and he watches as you already start to lean into his touch. you’re on the palms of your hands, back slightly arched before you pull the hem of his boxers down with your teeth. “you’re such a little... you…you know what you’re doing..”

gojo lets off a soft grunt, gripping your hair, and as you inch your face closer toward him — a few specks of his neatly scattered brush against his face. you lick against the padded fabric of his boxers, curving your tongue against the print of his bulge and he swallows thickly.

“you’re so fuckin’ nasty,” he huffs, bringing you all close to his briefs. you stare up at gojo, licking against the thin madematerial before cupping your mouth over his bulge…right near his base, in a much playful manner. “you’re—just asking to have a stuffed full mouth, huh?”

again, geto’s tongue rummaged all throughout your pussy while you absentmindly toying with gojo throws you off for a sudden concise moment.

he was just as filthy, maybe even filthier. as you propped up—you whimpered, feeling how he ran his tongue all along your sweetened labia.

your pussy pulsed against his movements, he starts to teasingly nibble on your clit before giving it a loooong suck.

“mmph.” he’d grumble, and within minutes you could tell you had him entirely drunk. his tongue was just skimming around and against your clit that forevermore clenched. before you know it, you’re starting to intensely jounce and convulse because of the stimulation.

his tongue laid flat against your pussy, the piercing that stuck against him, the slight coldness of it made you obliviously arch your back a bit more. toes of yours clenched in desire before your mouth opened at his technique.

geto was slow but sensual.

his tongue… it spiraled against your pussy in a sweet motion to make you sob out a cry.

“open that mouth,” gojo mutters, his hand still gripping your chin, and you do, parting your lips before watching him spring his dick out. it was throbbing, swollen, and not to mention quite pretty.

he wasn’t lying—you did leave him incredibly sensitive from earlier…

gojo lets off a breathless groan once he watches you kiss the tip of his cock head, which ends up turning into many kisses. his lip quivers the more time he spends staring at you. his breath becomes abnormally shaky, all because of you.

“…don’t tease me,” he whines before wrapping shuddery fingers around his fat length, giving it a few swift pumps before he starts to smear his pre-cum smothered tip all across your lips.

you give the popstar a cute, roguish glance before skimming the tip of your tongue against his frenulum.

that spot…it was that spot that always gave gojo chills. he was trying too hard to keep up a tough front. he’s suppressing his moans before he watches you sink him down inch by inch.

“mouth of yours ‘s just askin’ to be ruined,” he moans, and your eyes dart back up toward the popstar. his washboard abs tightened as he stood still, watching you lower your throat on him. you were a bit sloppy not to mention, strands of spit were already running down the side of your chin. “such a slutty assistant. unprofessional and—”

gojo shuts up the moment he feels your tongue stir leisurely against his tip, he’s halfway in before you gag. he reaches the roof of your mouth already, and you’re keeping him warm, all thanks to your throat.

“…damn girl,” he huffs, and as you’re breathing through your nose, he grabs a fistful of your hair.

with a tight pull, your eyes meet his abs again, and he was so fit. figures, he is an industrially well-trained dancer after all. gojo’s workout routine was no mystery. you throbbed a bit the more you stared at his body.

as your eyes rove, you spotted a few lipstick stains smeared all against gojo’s skin, as well as a few sharpie marks. you figured it was from one of his obsessed die-hard fans.

it was just the way his perfectly sculptured chiseled v-line presented itself. the few specks of white hairs trailing down his area further and further to where it aligns toward his happy trail…

yet, the more you stared back at the dozens of now nearly faded marks of lipstick stains scattered all over his body—you don’t know why but you felt this peculiar feeling of…jealousy.

was it jealousy?

geto continues to eat you out as you’re trapped in a dark bubble of your thoughts, and you whimper once you feel the soft padded tip of his nose slide all against your pussy.

he was quite literally nose-deep, making you extra sensitive by adding a finger to rub against your soaked folds.

his touch was fiery warm.

as you started to moderately make your lips firm. you slid your tongue out before gently rubbing it against the very underside part of his cock. gojo groans once more, face growing flustered as a hand remains at the top of your head. “such a filthy mouth,” he pants, hovering over you beside the bed.

geto’s still eating you from behind, and he starts sucking again. passionately sucking on your throbbing neglected clit. he makes it his passion to give it all sorts of uninvited attention to feel you pulse and convulse into and against his mouth.

gojo watches you start to vigorously shake and twitch from his best friend’s tongue, and he raises your chin up to look right at him.

mouth full and all, your tongue reaches the inner vein part of gojo’s lanky cock, he whines.

“s-shit,” he sibilates through gritted teeth, and that’s when he started to pivot his hips a bit. gojo thrusts into your mouth — and his moans were so pretty to listen to, he was a soprano after all.

the way his voice would effortlessly pitch all because of your tongue…he grabs your head, gently, yet with just enough pressure he makes you go back and forth, he’s stuffing your throat full of his girth, full of his inches.

you’re a mess, strings of saliva pouring down your chin and he looks down at you before nervously chuckling. “look at you. what, are you trying to say something?”

and he’s just at his limit, near the edge yet is such a brat. way too much for his own good. “don’t try to talk with y-your mouth full, princess.”

abruptly, you feel that familiar rush disrupt your thinking and you suddenly tense.

geto’s tongue slithers all against that spot, deep between your folds, and giving it a good nibble before your legs nearly give out right then and there. such whirlpools, a plethora of them came crashing down all at once before you moaned, the sensation was almost too much to bare.

“give it to me, c’mon. i wanna hear you.” geto whispers, breath wafting against your clit. glossed pink lips of his was just drenched with your slit for it’s entirety.

he merrily blows against your pussy and that was just about the last straw for you—you end up cumming, and it had your eyebrows furrowing with such pleasure.

“pft. took me longer to make her cum when i…” gojo gruffs, the same pout still pursed against his lips as he watched you riding your orgasm off against the bassist’s tongue.

covetously, he watches as your eyelids start to droop and you’re growing quite dumb.

geto’s tongue….the length of it, the piercing, it tickled against your wet entrance as well as having you spasming and craving for more.

gojo takes his dick out of your mouth hastily with a cute scowl on his lips whilst geto departs from behind you.

he has a sly grin, bringing a thumb up to the corner of his mouth before swiping your slick clean.

“jealous, ‘toru?”

“…no,” he grouches, and he definitely was. the popstar lifts you up suddenly, and your arms wrap around his neck, still panting from your recent jaw-dropping orgasmic release. “i can still do better than you, sugupoo.”

“i told you to stop calling me that.” geto chastised, standing up also. walking towards you, he ran a hand down your back and you moaned from his touch.

you bury your face into gojo’s neck, your own warm breath going back against your face. the pop star’s half-cut-sparkled open glove traces down your back before he slyly smiles. beads of sweat races down his forehead before the singer hums. “suguru. do ya think we can fuck her like this?”

“standing up?” the bassist murmurs, and they’re both grazing their hands all over your body. while gojo has you lifted up, your legs tightly wrap and lock around his waist like a vice before geto kisses the back of your neck, pitching his voice lower as he speaks to you. “what do you think? can you handle the two of us, pretty girl?”

you whine against gojo’s neck, trembling from geto’s touch behind you. how gentle he was, leaning in to suck against the tenderness part of your collarbone. “yeah,” you nod, and gojo glanced down at you with a smug grin forming on his lips. “j-just hurry up. satoru should have been performing like an hour ago.”

“damn, that’s true. i kinda forgot about that,” he timidly chortles, and he raises you up in his buff arms just a bit. “oh well. heh, i mean you…you can explain it to kento for me, yeah? i know he’s my manager but fuck, he scares me. if he’s nosy just tell him i’m uh…i got athlete's foot.”

there was a long rightfully so pause and geto’s hands remained gripped against your waist. “idiot…” he mumbles.

the moment gojo aligns himself, you intake a sharp breath — mentally preparing yourself because you were about to take not only him, but his best friend also….while standing.

“hold on to ‘toru. i’m gonna have to stretch you just a little…” geto purrs against your ear.

you made candid eye contact with gojo and he flashes a sheepish grin before planting a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“i stretched her already.” gojo shrugs.

“you did a lousy fuckin’ job then.” geto snarls, and you moan, feeling the thickness of geto go right into you with simplicity.

needless to say, it was sloppy.

your cunt squelched in utter enthusiasm as he eases his way inside of you. gojo rolls his eyes at geto’s remark, and you’re quite literally being double stuffed. they both were slow and precise with their movements and you’re just in awe, dumbfounded, stupid…

you’ve never felt so full.

both of them deep inside of you, churning up your insides at the same time. you don’t think you’ve ever been fucked like this.

not only were you being shared but doing everything while standing up—your arms pathetically wrapped around gojo’s neck, and it’s the perfect position to stare right into the pop star's eyes.

he returns the gaze, and he grows flustered, lip quivering, ears twitching, eyebrows contorting. he was trying just as much as you to not be so loud, so vocal. yet a moan slips out, and gojo’s moans never fail to be so slutty.

“think i can see why he’s so obsessed with you,” geto grunts, maintaining a firm grip against your hips. he’s taking you from behind with gojo occupied towards the front, each pretty glacé coated whimper that ran off past your lips grew shakier and shakier from the deep thrusts you were being given.

as you idly bounced against their dicks, you were again, stupid—brainless.

your mouth ends up partially opening as you’re moaning. your pussy gripped against each of them tightly. squeezing and clamping down against each of them to where you’re just so dizzy.

geto’s thick and girth, meanwhile gojo’s long and lengthy…

your ears fet like they were about to pop from the sheer sudden humidity in the room the more you bobbed and jostled against them. biting your lip to conceal an incoming moan, your eyes briefly roll backward before you suddenly feel the plump mushroom-tip of gojo’s dick fully expand and reach there.

“f-fuck, oh my g-godd,” you’d whine, rough sounds of your skin against theirs ricocheting amongst each other. such beefy bulky toned arms had you propped up in such an obscene way, you craved more. “…so deep.”

gojo leans in for a wet kiss and you kiss back, a plethora of whimpers and whines glissade right into his mouth - he swiftly swipes a tongue against yours, sloppy per usual before even he starts to moan. in such a way, you never failed to leave gojo all hot and bothered.

“you two are such sluts for each other, it’s cute..”

as the bassist teases and pokes fun, you shudder, feeling geto press up against your ass…

the stretch, the girth he had that made him thicker… it was mouthwateringly appetizing.

you found yourself practically drooling just from his dick, the way the curve of it hit that same repeated spots to make you grow dumber and dumber. you were starting to get so loopy from his best friend that you completely forgot gojo was in the picture for a quick second.

geto being abutting against you, his body heat was entirely chambré—the fabric of his leather jacket, the cold frigid zippers skin against your skin and you lean back against his chest. despite all of this, gojo’s still managing to have you being fucked upright.

your entrance was slick…damp, coated each of their cocks with your dampened arousal before your breathing starts to catch up with you.

“s-shit, ‘m not gonna last.” gojo starts, and his body language changes a bit—you study his facial expressions, the way his lips contort into a perturbed pout. skin against skin, you radiated from their heat thoroughly before geto shakes his head with a sly scoff.

“of course you’re not.” he snickers.

“s-shut up, sugupoo,” he whines, hastily his head goes back. the popstar’s hair goes all over his face, long white strands occluding his view of vision and it's sexy. the way he’d become whiney out of nowhere, pressing his lips together in utter desperation. you had him a mess, whining again and again, regardless of trying to keep up a front. “she’s gonna milk me ‘n it’s all your fault..”

you throbbed from his words, and the popstar could barely keep his eyes open. he’s so sensitive, keeping you up with his arms while geto has you from the other end, geto sighs dramatically. “here he goes.”

“you both talk too much.” you mewl, clinging onto gojo’s neck.

“no we don’t.” they both say in unison before giving each other a glare.

geto scoffs whilst gojo pokes his lip out, focusing his attention back towards you. yet the minute gojo cums, his dick ends up slipping out of you and that’s when he becomes a stuttering mess.

“s-shit,” he huffs, wrapping a hand around his base before repositioning it again. ropes of his cum start to seep out your cunt, geto watches and he’s speechless—you mewl, feeling geto run a thumb down your slit only to then smear gojo’s cum against your pussy. “so much to give you, even still.”

gojo starts whimpering. stretching such inches inside of you while geto pauses his movements. you felt warm, not to mention exceedingly full.

you were stuffed, to the utmost limit…

the two took turns with you. you were treated like a rag doll if one was to be honest. it was as if stamina didn’t exist for them. positions after positions, there’d be a point where geto’s sucking against your nipples while gojo’s slamming his hips into you with the sweetest whimpers dragging out from his pretty glossed lips.

albeit, you don’t expect geto to get whiney…

but he does.

you’d be riding him, he’s laid back against the bed with his legs openly spread and clenched. a sharp jawline points forward as he faces you forward. “fuckk, your hips are so..” he’d groan, his head goes back in desireable pleasure and you lean in to bombard the inner part of his neck with sweet kisses.

gojo’s behind you, and he finds himself getting jealous and a tad bit clingy. you moan, feeling him lick a long stripe up your neck, wanting you to pay more attention to him and not his dumb best friend.

geto’s so attractive from this perspective..

you decide to be a tease, planting a kiss near the corner of his mouth—your lips meeting his revealing dimples. “gripping me s-so good,” he groans, bringing a sharp smack to your ass for ‘encouragement.’

he craved the way you grinded against him, not too fast, not too quick…just right. your hips slid from front to back, swiveling all around him to where a whine rips from his throat. “damnnn, just like that. f-fuck me, fuck megirl...”

his voice deopped a single octave, and he even brought a hand up to his face to shield his pure embarrassment.

gojo snickers before he speaks, peppering kisses against your collarbone before peering at his best friend. “awww, look at sugupoo. all that talk ‘n he’s just as whiny as i was.”

“shut up.. fuckin’ shut…up,” he groans, his nostrils flare and you lean in to kiss geto, he kisses back, and this time it’s sloppy and less passionate. it’s rougher. the instant second his lips meet yours, a low moan from geto slips out.

he pants heavily against you, breaking away for a second to breath — his hands were pinching your waist, brushing against your tender skin before he exhales out a sigh.

geto’s hair, tied into a near ponytail had a few strands poking out, scattered all against his face. he groans, feeling your clit rub against him slowly and gradually.

perfectly aligned and lined up right, he shudders once he feels your hand roam against his body, sliding a finger down a scar near the right side of his chest.

gojo, still being sat behind you as he impatiently watched, reaches between your legs and starts to play with your pussy. you whined, feeling him start to maneuver tiny circles against your already sensitive folds before geto pulls away to breath yet again.

a pretty sheeny web of spit coats against your chin and his as you depart from one another. your lips, and his jaw tightens. “f-fuckkk, fuck me. fuck me like that, don’t s-stop.”

he found the way you mounted him in such a good angle, it makes him ten times harder. geto’s thick cock slams in and out of you to where he’s almost tasting how swollen he was. you ploddingly thrust your hips forward before geto pulls you into his chest suddenly.

“suguruuu.” you’d whinge, feeling him squeeze the fat of your ass.

“fuckk,” he raps, you could be milking me all the time instead of this—this wannabe justin bieber.”

“hey…” gojo narrows his eyes, and he catches you giggling at geto’s remark. geto peeks an eye to stare at gojo before a smile goes against his lips, soley before turning his attention back towards you.

once geto’s body relaxes, he feels the pressure rising up within him to the point of his incoming release. the fiery sensations of electricity went all through. such fiery sensations piercing, he’s bouncing his thigh in an attempt to deepen his strokes inside you to make you whine yourself.

“damn, ‘s good. s-so fuckin’ good,” he swallows, grunting once you lean in to kiss the front part of his adam’s apple. “gonna flood your pussy, you want that? want me to make a fuckin’ mess of myself?”

“y-yeah.” you breathe, nodding in contentment. “suguru please.”

geto’s vision becomes a little blurry, he’s hazy and it feels so good…your cunt’s got him on a leash.

he fell in love with the way your hips rolled against him again and again, each spank he gives your ass makes him throb. the girth he had lunging inside of you, outstretching to where it prods against your g-spot. “f-fuck.” you’d sob, slumping your head against the bassist.

once he eventually came, it was way more than gojo. more as in you’re stuffed fuller than you thought you could ever be. you pause, huffing and puffing as your ear laid flat against his bare chest. geto aches, heavily panting himself and sweat droplets raced down his v-line.

“i think i won,” gojo frowns, breaking the two of you up—you were practically limp, geto’s cum dripping out of you. you moaned, trying to recollect your breath but failing.

geto leans back, giving gojo a side eye before murmuring. “just shut up..”

“aw. poor sugu’s all d—”

gojo’s voice gets rudely interrupted by the annoying screech of your ringtone. the two of them stare at the blue light, and gojo picks it up with a curious expression.

“ooh, phone call,” and he picks it up, bringing it up to his face and raises a brow. “huh. why’s uh..” and he turns it the opposite way, “why’s fushiguro toji calling you? and heh what’s with the dumb heart by his name. isn’t he my old producer?”

geto grumbles, still silently heaving with a hand rubbing against his abdomen. “yeah, that scum who tried to take parts of our salary from that one gig we did,” and then geto darts his eyes towards you with an unreadable expression “why is he calling you?”

your stomach quite literally drops. you sat on the plump bed laid flat on your tummy. momentarily stunned for a moment. alas, you had to say something… you sat up, the phone continuing to sing in the distance before uttering.

“toji…he’s um…he’s kind of my boyfriend.”

yeah, you were fucked.

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asmicity-writes · 7 months

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Cuddling w Konig <3

Warnings: None

Sorry, part two is not available anymore :(

Pic:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

At first, he's worried that he might squish you to death in bed because well... size diff. You don't have the amount of muscle padding that he has, and he's aware! So when you start to cuddle n stuff, you had to start slow. Also, he was super nervous about it too because hes just a lil shy ykwim.

"Ahhh." Konig groans, sitting on the bed, making it lopsided due to his weight.

You were in bed, laying there innocently. You're eyes were half opened as you looked at him through your lashes. Konig places his mask down, and he whispers.

"Are you asleep, mein liebling?"

He places his rough hands on your pillowy thighs underneath your sheets, and rubs them. he spoons your figure and wraps his arms around your waist.

This was so out of character for your colonel, he was probably very sleepy. He brushes his hand and tangles it in your hair.

"So pretty..." he mumbles.

The moment your bodies molded together, you get tired. and start softly snoring.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

-asmicity

a/n: As i write more, i started to realise i dont feel that comfortable writing NSFW for u guys. I get that you may like it but idk... theres lots of creators that do it too, so mayb ask them. Im rlly sorry yall :( ill be rewriting part two though. 💌

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kitten4sannie · 8 days

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backstage bukakke with ateez ♡

a/n: is anyone in need of post coachella performance brainrot?? :33 and if any of you were wondering,, no i’m not okay 🙂‍↔️🫶🏼 without further ado, here’s a LOT more backstage debauchery (like i went insane….i should be in a padded cell rn….) except this time san brought the whole crew to help drown you in cum <333 enjoy the meal my dears bc i can never show my face in public again after this 😭😭

w.c: 2.4k

warnings: alcohol use, subby fem manager! reader, free use, domteez, gangbang, who’s the biggest menace here? that’s for you to decide 🫵🏼, this is just complete filth btw,, dirty talk, degradation/praise, pet names/name calling, so much cum….., yungi confirm the big cock allegations, hongjoong might have a captain kink idk, double penetration, anal, implied sloppy seconds/thirds/fourths kskssb, brief tit play, brief oral, cum eating, size kink, bulge kink, breeding, creampies for days, a bukakke as promised <3

Once the members sent out their last waves and finger hearts to the adoring fans and locals in the vast festival crowd, they made their way back to their temporary dressing room to catch their breath and have a celebratory drink or two. Brimming with adrenaline and energy due to their momentous performance, they erupted in enthusiastic greetings as soon as their dear manager entered the room, a few of them draping their arms around your shoulders to give you a quick hug.

“Manager-nim, did you like the show?” San spoke up, bringing his glass up to his mouth, taking a small sip of the potent liquor.

“You know you can just call me by my name, San, and I thought you guys absolutely killed it, like always,” you replied, scanning their faces, lightly adjusting the hem of your work blazer. No matter how many times you had all of their eyes and attention on you, you couldn’t seem to get used to it. It always made you feel hot under the collar, not knowing what was going through each of their minds when they looked at you the way they did. With interest. Hunger.

San couldn’t help but smirk, his dimples visible. You had taken the bait. He watched Yunho serve you a glass of whiskey. “You’re right. We’re way past titles, aren’t we? Especially considering the way I had you bent over for me right after our set last weekend.”

You choked on the liquor, your body suddenly feeling hot, especially under the heated gaze of the men standing around you. “S-San, behave yourself.”

He lightly licked at his lips, his gaze sharpening, ready to add to the growing heaviness of the atmosphere in the room. “Don’t act so coy now, sweetheart. You know better than that, don’t you?”

You bit into your bottom lip, looking up to Yunho for help, only to find that he was giving you an increasingly perverse smile, like he was reminiscing about something filthy.

Yunho reached down to wrap a lock of your hair around his jewelry adorned finger, sighing, “We could all hear the way Sannie fucked your brains out, doll, but you wanted us to hear, didn’t you? Even though you’re our manager, you’re still our good little slut, yeah?”

Something clicked into place inside your brain like it usually did when they talked to you like this. You could finally stop being so uptight and in control, instead allowing the eager members to do as they pleased with you. “Yeah, I am,” you nodded shyly, your insides on fire.

San took a step towards you, reaching out to run his fingers along your collar bone. “Can I ask you something?”

Your breath caught inside your throat. You knew what he was going to ask. You knew what they wanted. Despite the professional relationship you had with the members, you always seemed to end up in increasingly unprofessional situations with them. You couldn’t help it, not when they always made you feel so good. Wanted. Craved. “Say it, San….”

His pointer finger drifted down your chest, along the seam of your blazer, gazing down at you. “Can we make you our whore, Manager-nim?”

The members exchanged pleased glances with one another, some of them pulling at the crotch of their tailored pants.

“As long as someone locks the door, okay?” you answered underneath your breath, your eyes beginning to glaze over with lust.

San simply took a step around you, running his hands up and down your shoulders, coaxing you out of your blazer and unzipping your work dress, presenting you to his beloved members like you were a treat — one they would savor together.

“Don’t pass out on us now, baby,” San’s husky voice attempted to reach you through the fog you were in, his fingers gently rubbing at the fresh load that had splattered onto your flushed cheek, sliding his digits into your panting mouth for you to clean. “How many was that, hm? How many cocks have been inside you so far? Can our slutty manager remember?”

You stopped counting long ago, too fucked out to think about whose cock had already rearranged your insides and who had stuffed your ass full. You couldn’t even remember who had fucked your face either, but your sore jaw was proof that it was most likely one of the more gifted members. “I-i don’t know how many, just want more,” you whined out, looking up at San past your wet lashes.

“Yeah, you always want more from us, don’t you, baby? Want us to go to our limit? Want us to give you our all, huh? Are you going to milk us all dry like a good slut?”

You could hardly listen to his breathy, self-serving monologue, not with the way Wooyoung was gripping your hips and shoving his thick cock into you with abandon, like you were his own personal sex doll. “Uh-huh, wanna be good for you all…”

“How precious,” San sighed under his breath, all while he jerked himself off, beads of pre-cum spilling out of the twitching tip, watching the way his closest friend pumped himself in and out of your clenching hole, noticing the way his hips began to stutter. “Then, be good and take Wooyoung’s load inside that tight little cunt of yours, just like you took our Captain’s and Seonghwa’s earlier, okay? Can you do that for us, baby? Can you be our pretty little cum dump?”

You couldn’t speak, simply responding by squirting all over Wooyoung’s thrusting cock, just about ready to fall over from the overwhelming pleasure, but unable to with the way Mingi was behind you, his heaving chest pressing into your back, his ringed fingers lazily groping at your sore tits, balls-deep in your tight ass.

“Pretty baby, our pretty girl,” Mingi praised in a gravelly voice, his lips against your ear, squeezing your tits just as his groans began to crescendo, driving himself into you a few more times before he held still, previous loads leaking out of your ass and down the sides of his veined cock to the base as he filled you up again. “Can you feel that, babydoll? Feel the way I’m stuffing you full of cum? It feels so good, you want to cry, don’t you?”

All you could do was nod drunkenly, tears pricking at the corners of your hazy eyes, your trembling thighs growing more and more numb.

“Look at her, guys, she’s cumming just from being bred,” Wooyoung panted out, his hands squeezing into your sides, holding you still on his pulsing cock, not attempting to pull out until he was sure your inner walls were coated with his cum, chuckling smugly along with his fellow members at the way you desperately drew in another shaky breath and simply whined instead of forming words. “Poor slut can’t even talk. Someone should shoot their load down her throat. Maybe it’ll help ground her.”

“Way ahead of you,” Yeosang softly interjected, giving you a princely smile as he walked up to where you were positioned on the lengthy couch. He ran his slender fingers through your hair, slowly angling your head back as he did, bringing his slicked-up cockhead to your parted lips. “Say ‘ahh’, darling.”

Just as you obeyed, you watched Yeosang’s pretty flushed face contort in pleasure, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his pulsing length, milking it for all it’s worth, rope after rope of hot cum shooting into the back of your throat, a few dribbles remaining on your tongue. You were so full of cum, all of your holes were used up, and yet you needed more. “Not enough…More, please. I’m being such a good girl, aren’t I?”

San’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip, sharing glances with the other members, squeezing around the base of his cock to keep himself from busting right then and there. “Guys, I think we broke our manager.”

“Isn’t that the point? Look at her. She loves it,” Wooyoung pointed out, motioning to your blissed-out face, before he finally pulled out of you, reaching down to spread open your used hole, pleased sighs echoing inside the room. “Look, Sannie, her cunt’s all messy now. Ran through. Just the way you like it, huh, you sick fuck? You want sloppy seconds?”

San nodded his head, salivating, practically in a trance.

“Then, hurry up and shove your cock inside her before my cum leaks out,” Wooyoung tsked, climbing off of the cum-stained couch and smacking his hand against San’s ass to get him to spring into action, which he did, laying down on his back and sliding you down onto his cock inch by inch, but not before he tapped his leaking cockhead over your swollen clit a few times for good measure.

San’s dimples accompanied his shit-eating grin as he bottomed out, slowly running one of his hands up your lower abdomen to feel the outline of his stiff cock. “It’s so big inside, isn’t it, Manager-nim? Am I stretching you out nice and wide?”

All you could do was whimper pathetically, because not only were you taking San’s curved cock inside your cunt, but meanwhile Mingi had been showing Yunho the way your hole had begun to gape after the rough treatment you had taken, especially from someone with his size, knowing it was best that he prepped you for his best friend, knowing the term ‘horse cock’ didn’t even begin to describe what Yunho had to offer you. “It’s all for you, bro. Come and get it,” Mingi mused huskily, getting out of Yunho’s way so that he could replace him, one hand on your ass to keep it spread open for everyone’s viewing pleasure, as your hole slowly swallowed up Yunho’s obscene girth.

San and Yunho seemed to be in the middle of an intense competition, considering the way they both would continually thrust into you harder, and faster, grabbing at your tits and hips for leverage to fuck into you even deeper than before, if that was possible. “I-it’s not a–fuck–race, guys,” you cried out, suddenly being pressed back into Yunho’s warm chest when San sat up on the couch and folded you up, jack-hammering himself into you, using you like a cocksleeve.

“Yes, it is, and I’m gonna knock you up first, not this loser,” San grunted out in between shaky moans, smiling with his canines at you, then at Yunho past your shoulder, who responded by bucking his hips up into you so roughly, he had to wrap his arms around your middle to keep you in place.

“I’m fucking her ass, dumbass, I can’t even knock her up if I wanted to,” Yunho replied breathlessly, shaking his head, giving San a playful smile, before pressing his lips to your earlobe. “And I want to, tiny. Wish I could.”

“Not with that attitude,” San huffed, blowing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, his vision beginning to blur with the sudden onset of pleasure surging through him. “I’m going to fucking–unnnh–fill up your slutty cunt with my cum, baby. Gonna make it so messy. And you’re, fuck, you’re so tight now. That’s our good cumslut.”

“The perfect cumslut,” Hongjoong interrupted in a low voice, suddenly towering over you, holding his cock near your mouth, nodding approvingly when you began to suck and lick at the tip. “That’s right. You love Captain’s cock the most, don’t you, pretty girl?”

Seonghwa pushed his way past the other thirsty members who were hovering around you like vultures, slipping his fingers into your hair and gently guiding you to his own cock, cooing at you approvingly when you let it hit the back of your throat. He smiled smugly at Hongjoong, who was now side-eyeing him. “Stay mad. It’s not my fault she has taste.”

“You better watch it, Seonghwa.”

“You can watch our slut suck my cock.”

Hongjoong grumbled to himself, reaching down to tug your head back just firmly enough to lead you back to his cock, before you took it upon yourself to sandwich their lengths together so that you could please them both at once. They stopped bickering and instead held onto each other, biting into their lips as their highs began to take over.

It was then that San and Yunho emitted similar sounding guttural groans, fully sheathing themselves inside you, their fingers squeezing tightly into your hips from either side.

“Cumming,” they both exhaled, resting their heads on either side of your shoulder, beads of sweat dripping down their jaws and along their straining necks.

Just as hot cum poured into both of your used holes, Seonghwa and Hongjoong began to shudder and grunt out obscenities, aiming their milky streams towards your lolled-out tongue.

San suddenly waved for Jongho to come closer, pulling out just enough so that obscene globs of cum began to leak out of you, making you whine. “Here, cum inside her, JJong. I want my favorite maknae to finish our cumslut off.”

Jongho gingerly positioned himself near your gushing entrance and plugged you back up with his thick, throbbing cock, his strong thighs smacking into your delicate ones as he vigorously bounced you on his lap. “Want it?” he simply asked near your lips, making you blush.

“Please!”

Just as Jongho pounded his load and the others deep into your womb, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Mingi pushed their way closer to you, vigorously jerking themselves off in order to leave their own individual mark on you for the second or third time, extremely pleased with themselves once they covered their dear manager’s face and body in their cum.

Once you all came down, you found that you couldn’t quite operate your body properly, not when your lower half was completely numb and throbbing with residual pleasure. San and Yunho took it upon themselves to cuddle you from either side, while Jongho gently rubbed your tummy in circles, wondering whose load would knock you up first. Only time would tell.

“How was that?” San asked softly near your ear.

“We weren’t too rough with you, were we?” Yunho murmured, biting his lip.

“How are you feeling, Manager-nim?” Jongho added gently, patting your tummy.

You sighed gently, reaching up to pat their heads, smiling at the men around you. And to think you actually got paid for this. You couldn’t have asked for a better job. “Guys…I’m fine, and for the record, it was so good, I don’t think I can ever go back to having normal sex again. I’m a bit concerned, actually.”

The rest of the members began to laugh, and you joined along, before clearing your throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortably sticky, looking down to see what you had all done to the poor couch. “Okay, so, who’s going to clean this mess up? And, it’s not going to be me. I can’t move my legs. I…think you guys actually broke me.”

San looked over to Wooyoung, who was already rolling his eyes, pointing dramatically at him. “I told you!”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez mingi #ateez x reader #san smut #san x reader #yunho x reader #wooyoung x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung smut #yunho smut #mingi smut #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #kpop smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut

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monarchberrysblog · 2 months

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𝔡𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔭𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔦𝔱

+18 Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: I fantasize about it all the time; if you were mine, I’d give this pussy to you nine to five by tonight.

You never wanted to go to work; you just wanted to get to work. After Miguel gets a haircut and gets something new, you decide to test it to see if you can still get a good grip.

Trigger Warnings ⚠️: switch!Miguel (duh), a bit of praise (from Miguel), size kink, cunnilingus (f! receiving), humping, Miguel breaks a couch 😏, breeding kink towards the end, unprotected p in v sex, and wrap it before you tap it. (OOC MIGUEL) if I missed any, let me know!

Word Count: +1.6k words

Author’s Note: Hi, hi, hi! I am somewhat notoriously bad at writing smut, but here we are! I want to improve on it and give you all a well-cooked meal, which is switch! Miguel. (I think the man is a submissive; this is my headcanon that I believe in.)

To my girlies who love submissive men who have the prettiest moans and groans 💌

Miguel didn't want to admit it but damn it, he loves it when you ride him. The way your legs trembled, the way you slammed your weight down into him, feeling his bulbous tip getting bullied into your cervix. The man loved it when you took control.

He loves it when he holds you; you are light, but the moment you're on top? The man caves in and begs for more.

This unlocked something in him by simply trying something new on a lazy, rainy Thursday evening…

“The barber did well with your hair…” You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling how soft it was under the pads of your fingers. “Why the taper fade?” You adjusted yourself on the couch where the two of you cuddled and shared a blanket. “It just became a nuisance to deal with after a while. So why not? Something new.”

As you spoke, you could feel a sense of longing. "Imma miss it; I'm not gonna have any leverage to grab when you're eating me—" You expressed, but suddenly stopped when you realized he was staring at you intensely. You could feel his gaze piercing your soul, focusing mainly on your eyes. Feeling embarrassed, you cleared your throat awkwardly and shifted your attention to the TV, which was playing softly in the background. “Sorry.”

Miguel shrugged nonchalantly and focused on the dramatic telenovela on the TV screen. "You never really were the type to grab onto my hair," he admitted. "You always seemed to prefer grabbing onto a pillow, or sometimes a blanket, maybe even your shirt, but that's about it." You lifted your head from his chest, surprised at how observant he was. "How on earth do you know that?" you asked incredulously, a tone that sounded forced. "I just do," he replied confidently. "I can tell you that you tend to whine a lot before you finish."

“Please, I don't whine when I come.” You scoffed before you covered yourself with the soft blanket you two shared.

“Yeah, you do, cariño.”

“Don't push it.”

You rolled your eyes back in ecstasy, feeling the wet muscle against your entrance, lightly giving it kitten licks, making it a point to flick at your clit. The man lapped at your juices and slurped up the clear arousal like it was the final meal of his life. Your hands grasp onto his hair, grinding your clit against his nose, moving your hips down towards the top of his nose.

“You're so cute, even with that little clit waiting to get suckled on…” You felt him grab your hips, and his thumb ghosted against the bundle of nerves, immediately feeling something slip out of your entrance. He pulled away from your warm and wet entrance and slipped his ring finger in, feeling your gummy walls flutter at the sensation.

“There you go, you're doing perfect. Take deep breaths.” He hummed, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“Spit on it…” You demanded, squirming your hips. “Not just yet, cariño.” He shushed you, pulling his fingers out and licking the clear arousal off. His tongue lightly probed at your fluttering hole a bit and slowly pulled away. The way your walls contracted, begging to be filled with his length, was enough for the man wanting to cave in.

“We’re going to do something different, cariño.” He breathed to you before he managed to toss you around on the couch, eventually with you on top and him below you. “Come on, put yourself to work.” He demands, feeling your soft, wet pussy against his aching cock.

Reaching down, your hand finally found his length, and you felt yourself playing with it more than anything. You tapped the tip against your entrance, excited to sink into his girth. “No, no, I don't think you understand. I don't want it to be inside just yet.” He pauses for a moment before he moved his hips away from your needy, wet entrance.

“I want you to grind on it.” He breathes out.

You hesitate before you let his cock go, allowing his length to land against his happy trail and lower stomach. Adjusting yourself and placing your hands on his shoulders, you slowly moved your aching core up and down his cock, feeling your clit get the right amount of friction. A quiet moan escapes your lips while the veins down his cock rub against the pearl of nerves. “There you go, cariño…” Miguel groaned out, feeling your arousal coat against his aching length.

“Put your whole weight down; none of this squatting bullcrap.” He grabs you by the hips and pushes you down; you feel his dick in between your folds, causing a gasp to escape. Before even having the time to get yourself comfortable, the hold he had on your waist while he moved you up and down against his length felt as if you were withering under his control. A familiar, warm, tight sensation builds up in your lower stomach before you erupt out a loud, whimpering moan.

“Does that feel good? Do you like that?” He heaves, still guiding you closer and closer to your orgasm. The way you trembled and made a whimpering sound was an indicator for Miguel. “All you gotta do is feel good for me, understand?” You nod, dumbed down by the arousal. The tension was almost palpable and thin, like a threading needle waiting to be snipped off by the sisters of faith with their sharp scissors.

“Aww, you can't speak? Is my girl getting dumbed down by grinding herself on my cock? Qué sucia. Dímelo, ya lo quieres?” His words sounded like venom—sweet but intoxicating venom escaping from his tongue and lips. The only response from you was a moan while you moved your hips after Miguel seized his movements. “¿Lo quieres?” He groans out, feeling his cock lubricated by your arousal.

“¿Quién te hace sentir bien? Dímelo fuerte, cariño. Quién.” He seizes your movements, not letting you reach your first high for the night. “You…” You breathed out. “Fuck, damn right you are…” Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, creating little crescent indents on his skin, but the man didn't care.

Slowly, Miguel sat up from where he lay down and decided to help his girl. “Here…” His hand reached down to his length, with his fingers holding onto the base of his cock. “Spit on it.” You demanded once again. “Eager, aren't we?” He mused before he spat down, and you felt it land on your clit, causing him to rub his thumb against it slowly, allowing your clit to be doused in his spit.

“C’mon, ride me. Ride me the way I like it.” You felt him tap his now-doused tip against your entrance before you grind yourself into his length, earning a moan for the both of you. “Jesus, your so fucking tight and small.” He groaned out. “Are you trying to make me come—” You felt your knees immediately regret the position, knowing that you're going to be the one to do a lot of cardio for this overstimulated man.

While bouncing on his cock, you felt his grip on your hips tighten, almost as if you were going to slip away from him. “There you go…” Miguel heaves out, soon pulling you into an embrace. “Let me fuck it in you, stay still…” He breathes before you slow your movements down to a halt.

The sound of skin slapping and your loud moans crescendo filled the living room space while being held onto a tight embrace and feeling his cock pumping inside you. Your whimpering cries became more noticeable as your cries went in sync with his harsh thrust. “More…” You whined out, feeling your fingernails dig into his skin; the fast-paced thrusts soon turned sloppy, with his cock sliding out of you every once in a while. “You're killing me, neña…” Miguel groans quietly, keeping up with the rapid, uneven pace, creating a wet, slapping noise.

“C’mon, let's finish together, make me proud.” Tears began to form, and some rolled down your cheeks while you kept up with the overstimulation and with how his tip aggressively bullied at your cervix. “More…” You demanded, moving in sync with his harsh thrusts.

As you were getting your guts rearranged on the couch by Miguel, you couldn't help but notice the creaking sounds coming from underneath the both of you. It seemed to be getting louder by the minute as if the old piece of furniture couldn't bear the weight of two people anymore. Just then, a sharp crack echoed through the room, causing you to jolt and lose your balance. Miguel, however, seemed unfazed by the noise and rolled his eyes as if he was used to it. He continued to keep up with the rapid movements, brushing his happy trail against your lower stomach. “I'll get a new couch soon…” You wanted to laugh at how nonchalant he was being bit the only sounds you can produce is a loud, needy moan instead.

The sounds of whimpers, moans, and cries were palpable; knowing that the two of you would get a noise complaint from neighbors, you didn't care. “Yes! Yes!” You squealed, feeling your climax slowly building up. Clear liquid gushes out, while a loud moan is the last sound you can produce deep into your chest. “Please let me breed you, fuck, I'm gonna breed you, cariño.” He pants to you, thrusting his cock into you, earning another orgasm from you and a splash zone on the already collapsed couch. “You feel so good…”

The way you felt him twitch inside you, along with his rapid rhythm slowly coming to an end. The pullout was swift, with some of Miguel’s remnants seeping out of your fluttering hole. “Good girl…” He rubbed his hand on your hip lovingly, seeing his semen oozing out and onto the fabric of the couch. A kiss to your lips brought you back to your senses as you happily returned the kiss and calmed down from your high.

“The couch…”

“I needed a new one anyways.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel smut #smut

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gojorgeous · 3 months

Note

how do the jjk men treat you when ur on ur period? suguru specifically hehe <3

✰ JJK MEN: WHEN YOU'RE ON YOUR PERIOD ✰

pairing(s): gojo, geto, nanami, choso x afab!reader content: (MDNI 18+ only), nsfw-ish/suggestive, periods, period blood, period products, pet names, lots of fluff! a/n: i hope you like anon!! you have great timing cause i’m getting my period and i also have a uti pray for me besties i need help and antibiotics. left out toji and sukuna cause…. nah LMAO. enjoy, and remember ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

✰ GOJO:

Lowkey loves when you’re on your period, but is just barely smart enough to never tell you that.

His favorite part is that you always want more cuddles, which means more cuddles for him.

Thinks period products are really amusing– loves playing with your hot water bottle cause it’s squishy. Finds those ones that look like stuffed animals at the store and brings home like five of them for you.

Will definitely buy you pads/tampons but not without the obligatory “what size is your pussy” text. Won’t buy them until you respond with “extra super pretty” and then sends back this emoji -> 😋.

Highkey likes period sex. Knows it can relieve your cramps and will use that as an excuse at every opportunity if you’ll let him.

Is always on some cheesy ass shit murmuring in your ear about how doing it on your period “bonds your souls”, too.

Constantly offers to get you pregnant so you can avoid your period for the next nine months… he’s only half joking.

Will actually skip work to stay home and cuddle with you if you give him even the slightest inclination that you don’t want him to go.

Watches movies with you and has gotten surprisingly good at rubbing little circles on your tummy that help with cramps.

Keeps the house stocked with candy, but, then again… it’s always stocked with candy.

“Babe. Look what I just found at the store.” You watch with furrowed brows as he sets the bags on your floor. You’re curled on the couch, a blanket tucked up around your neck. He’d made sure to roll you like a burrito before he’d left. He pulls out… a cow? It looks like a stuffed animal, but when he shakes it you hear something sloshing around inside. You raise a brow. “Ummmm–” “It’s one of those hot water bottle thingies! For your cramps!” He tosses the poor cow on the floor and digs around in the bag again. “Oh my god, they had so many. I got the cow, the dolphin–” He tosses a dolphin out of the bag, followed by a puppy, a raccoon, and a cat. “Do you want me to put one in the microwave for you?” He looks far too excited to turn down, even though you just heated up your old hot water bottle minutes ago. You smile and nod. “Yeah, baby. Thanks.”

✰ GETO:

Mans TAKES CARE of you. Like… fully.

Is really sympathetic and gentle when your cramps are killing you– brushing your hair back, rubbing circles on your tummy, letting you put his warm hands wherever it hurts.

Runs you a warm bath and climbs right in with you. Makes you lean back against him while he gives you a massage and works out all the knots in your neck and shoulders.

Buys you period products before your period starts if he remembers. If he doesn’t he’s happy to run down to the store. Doesn’t need to ask which ones you like– he already knows.

Wraps you up in the comfiest blankets and cuddles with you wherever you ask. Gives the best cuddles, too. Rubs your back in a way that has you falling asleep in seconds.

Makes sure you take your meds on time and brings you a glass of water.

Secretly loves period sex. Will never push you for it, but gets super horny at just the thought. Loves the sight of your blood on his dick. Makes him feel possessive of you in a way that’s kind of scary.

“Sugu…” you whine. Your cramps are bad. You’ve been curled in a ball all morning, even with all the meds Suguru has been giving you. “It hurts so bad.” You feel him shifting behind you and then his hands gently prying you to lie on your back. You whimper, the pain spiking again as soon you roll out of the fetal position. His face appears above you, a couple stray strands of black hair tickling your cheeks. His smile is soft, but full of sympathy as he settles over you. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish I could make it go away…” He moves down your body, settling between your thighs and resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. You sigh when you feel his fingers skate over your tummy, rubbing little circles into the skin that somehow work wonders for the pain. You sigh with relief, a bit of the tension ebbing away. “That feels nice…” Your body relaxes a bit, finally getting a break from the incessant pain. Suguru only smiles, looking up at you through hooded eyes when he presses a kiss just below your belly button. You don’t fail to notice the way his thumb is sliding under the fabric of your panties. “I can think of something that would feel even nicer…”

✰ NANAMI:

Prepares for your period.

Has your cycle marked down on his calendar so he always knows when you’re starting.

Stops by the store a couple of days ahead of time to buy pads/tampons/meds and your favorite snacks.

Runs a bath for you every night and fills it with all of your favorite soaps and scents.

Cooks. Mans knows how to cook and does extra of it when you’re on your period. Will make you nutritious meals and urge you to drink water, but always brings you something sweet if you’re craving it.

Heats up your hot water bottle every thirty minutes without you ever having to ask.

Lays out a fresh change of clothes for you whenever you’re in the shower.

Cuddles you whenever you want, but only after he’s tended to all of your other needs (meds, food, water, etc.).

Will have sex if you want, but will never push you for it. If you just want the relief from your cramps, he’ll just use his fingers to get you off and then pull you back into his arms.

“Time for your bath, sweetheart.” You nearly grumble in protest, but how can you do such a thing when he takes such good care of you? Still, you don’t want to move. Just existing hurts, much less walking to the bathroom. Despite your resistance to saying it aloud, Nanami still seems to understand what you’re thinking. No more than a second later he’s scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. “You know you’ll feel better after, love.” You nod weakly against his chest. “Will you get in with me?” He pauses. He’s got dinner to make and he wanted to change the sheets for you… One nuzzle of your face into his neck has him throwing all those plans out the window. “Of course, princess. I’ll get in with you.”

✰ CHOSO:

Is new to this stuff so he lowkey freaks out.

Worries that you’re actually in danger cause… there’s blood???

Chills out eventually, but is still irrationally convinced that you’re injured.

When i tell you this man is at your BECK AND CALL, I mean it. He will do every little thing you ask. Fetches water, food, snacks– whatever you need.

Mans is panicked when he can’t find the candy bar you want at the grocery store.

Happily buys period products for you but has to facetime you cause the poor baby is overwhelmed and confused by all the options.

Is kind of attached to you like glue. Thinks you’re somehow more breakable in this state will hold you in his arms permanently apart from when you need to bathe, eat, or use the bathroom.

Actually freaks when you have a bout of cramps that makes you hiss in pain. Cannot believe you have to do this every month and hates feeling so useless in taking the pain away. Eagerly learns that he can put his warm hands on your tummy and it helps.

Is actually amazed when you tell him that sex helps with the cramps. Worries about hurting you, but is completely down. Mans is definitely not afraid of a little blood lmao.

“Baby… there are so many…” You can’t help but stifle a laugh looking at your boyfriend’s stressed expression through your phone screen. He’d run down to the store to get you some more pads– you just hadn’t anticipated how overwhelming the experience would be for him. “I know, Cho. I’m sorry. Here– back up so I can see the whole aisle.” He does as you ask, flipping the camera around so you can see what he’s looking at. You have to bite your lip this time to keep the laugh in. You’ve never realized just how many options there really are. “The ones toward the bottom right, baby. With the pink box.” The camera shakes a little as he follows your directions, arm sticking out like he’s playing pin the tail on the donkey. “These?” His hand hovers over a box that is pink but not the pink you need. “Down a couple racks.” Finally, his hands close around the right box. “Thank you, baby. I didn’t think about how confusing this would be for you…” The camera flips again and you grin at the soft soft smile on his lips. “Don’t apologize. Want me to grab some candy, too?”

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keisobe · 1 year

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: 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 — (𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 + 𝐥𝐨’𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲)

— from avatar 2 : way of the water (spoiler free!!)

contents. gn! reader, reader is a omoticayan on the shorter side, full on fluff, flirting + teasing, just teenagers in love, implied size difference, hints of mutual pining, mild profanity, reader is around 7ft + wc. 1.3k

notes. i got this idea from that one scene with tsireya and lo’ak then noticed how humongous na’vi hands are and the cogwheels started turning in my head. i had to look up their heights and do a comparison chart to make it accurate lolol. so i hope you guys enjoy this one ^^

NETEYAM・✶ ｡ﾟ

he was visibly confused when you asked to compare hand sizes, eyes flicking back and forth between his hands to yours. when it came to neteyam, he was a little more cautious, especially growing up around three troublesome siblings. there always has to be a catch when it comes to silly requests like these.

but after a few moments of awkward silence, he ends up obediently holding up his hand to you, earning a pleased smile from you.

“are you playing tricks on me right now?” neteyam had to make sure in case the situation calls for any medical attention. kiri and his grandmother weren’t that far off from you guys.

“no i’m not, swear,” you laughed, raising your own hand towards him.

the air felt weirdly tense as he felt your soft palms brush against his, a strange warmth enveloping inside his chest. for all the times you guys have physically touched each other, whether it be to tend each other’s wounds or when he mindlessly latched onto your waist whenever he feels like there’s a threat approaching, he has never felt that intimate towards your touches.

neteyam watched the pads of your fingers drag itself into the calluses of his palm, it made him slightly jolt from the ticklish sensation and you couldn’t help but quietly giggle at his reaction. he gave you a playful glare that silenced you, but there was still a smile on your face. finally, you laid your hand flat over his— mirroring his outstretched fingers. neteyam realized how much your hands were completely different from his.

he noticed how your fingers were a lot shorter compared to his. if he could close his hands into a fist right now, your hand would be completely engulfed by his slim fingers. this shouldn’t be a surprise to him, you were a lot more shorter than him by a whole foot— always having to crane your neck whenever the two of you talked or when he always teases you for being short. but somehow, neteyam felt like he just learned the secret to pandora. it made him melt inside a bit.

he couldn’t help but think your hands are adorable.

“you have baby hands,” neteyam teases, his fangs flashing in his smirk. “tiny and soft.”

there was blush that appeared on your cheeks, your eyebrows crinkled at his teasing, “they're not that small!”

your mind couldn’t quite register the fact he also called your hands soft. it made you feel even more flustered.

his long fingers smoothly wrapped around your entire hand, restraining your hand completely. you tried to wiggle your fingers out of his firm grasp, but there was no use. you nodded in a defeated agreement, he was right— your hands are completely tiny. but with someone like neteyam, he needed to hear it from you verbally.

“say it,” neteyam can be such an ass sometimes.

you rolled your eyes, tongue suddenly feeling heavy with denial. but you knew neteyam wouldn’t let go of your hand until you admitted it. childishly, you stomped your feet a couple of times before you spoke again.

“i have baby hands,” your voice slurred with anger.

neteyam smiled in satisfaction and slowly released your hand. you quickly snatched away and petted the delicate skin of your hand— comforting it after being restrained by his rough touch.

after that, neteyam would always hold onto your hand whenever you went anywhere together. it could be when you guys hunted in the depths of the forest or just out of comfort, but there was always one sly comment about the softness of your skin or how tiny your hands are. your hands are so cute, he would whisper teasing remarks until your ears grew red. the other sully’s caught on and started to tease you as well. now you have to deal with even more relentless teasing whenever you come to visit them. as a result, your new nickname became “baby hands.”

although he could tease you about your small hands, you could always get him back for liking them.

LO’AK ・✶ ｡ﾟ

he quietly watched you mindlessly trace circles on his blue palms, his other hand supporting his leaning form. you guys had ventured out into the lush forest, resting in a secluded area that you found together that one night lo’ak ran off to train by himself. lo’ak always had a swell of adoration towards you, there was no denying that.

whenever he got injured from flying his banshee too close to the floating mountains, he would come straight to you. sometimes he would even fake his own injuries, repeatedly slamming himself into a random tree— brash and completely mindless. at the end he would be groaning on the ground and clutching himself in pain. witnessing his weak form nearly gave you a heart attack, you quickly aided him back to health after that.

one thing he noticed from each interaction was how soft your hands were. they felt feathery to the touch, it was like you didn’t even touch him at all. the brush of your fingertips could put him under a permanent trance. kiri was always so rough with him when it came to healing, pressing so hard on him that it could add more bruises to his already-beaten body. but lo’ak came to the conclusion that kiri was purposely bad at healing him. lo’ak wasn’t really surprised.

“lo’ak, i need you to answer me honestly,” your gentle voice sent him back to reality, he had to blink a few times to focus on you again.

you still traced your fingertips on his palm, but this time he felt you drawing little hearts and some words he couldn’t form together— maybe he could figure out what it means later.

he nodded at you.

“are you purposely hurting yourself?”

oh shit he was caught.

lo’ak fidgeted a bit but didn’t dare to move, not wanting to disrupt your comforting traces on his palm. he knew that he shouldn’t lie to you, it would only make you worry even more. so lo’ak inhaled a deep breath and looked into your eyes.

“yes i have,” lo’ak sighed when he remembered how he would beat wooden sticks onto his calves and shoulders. “i just…wanted to be closer with you.”

your eyes flicked in worry as you stopped tracing his palm, instead you held his hand tightly, “you should’ve just asked lo’ak, you didn’t have to hurt yourself.”

lo’ak looked away in guilt, the images of your eyes prickling with tears and the worried cries from his own mother filled his thoughts. once again, lo’ak felt like a burden to the people he loved.

the chirps of the wild animals and the rustle of leaves played in the background, your sad gaze slowly moved onto his fourth finger— something lo’ak felt slightly insecure about. he was about to pull his hand away out of embarrassment but your three fingers slowly latched around his pinkie, they wrapped perfectly around it.

so small, he thought.

lo’ak stuttered a bit, none of his words could form cohesively. his heart was pumping faster at the foreign contact, but he tried to keep it cool.

“you better ‘pinkie’ promise me this lo’ak,” your voice was stern and powerful. “that you’ll never hurt yourself again.”

“i promise,” lo’ak gave you a reassuring smile, earning a relieved grin from you.

you guys both stood together, silently agreeing that it was time to retire for the night. your smaller hand was still latched onto his pinkie, the softness of your fingertips sent blood rushing to his face. there was also something that he really wanted to ask you.

“how do you know what a ‘pinkie’ is?” he wiggled his pinkie in your grasp, he saw you look away for a moment until you sighed softly.

“i asked your dad what it was,” you looked at your own hands, wiggling your three fingers in the humid air to avoid his gaze. “i was just curious.”

lo’ak couldn’t help but laugh out loud at your cuteness. he leans in closer to give you a heavy kiss on the cheek— rendering you completely flustered. he’s going to be teasing you for a while.

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peachesofteal · 6 months

Text

Black Sun

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader 5.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Dark and twisty. Explicit sex, dubious consent, forced breeding/pregnancy kink, praise kink, size difference, creampie. Simon is insane about you. Panty sniffing/stealing. Obsessive behavior. Possessive Simon Riley. Alcohol. Reader is prescribed/taking muscle relaxers. Toxic but I think it's sweet. Angst, comfort, emotional hurt/comfort. Tags are for your health, not mine. Simon never wanted a divorce.

Simon does not consider himself a common criminal.

A war criminal, perhaps. The things he’s done for the 141 would put him behind bar in over fifty countries, and on death row in at least eight. The things he’s seen alone make him eligible for life in a padded room, and that’s if you don’t count the things that have happened to him.

But he’s never stooped to petty crime like this before. Before this mess. Before you asked for a divorce, insisted he move out, demanded time apart.

There’s a first time for everything, he thinks. First time for a lot of things, actually. The first time he actively tried to avoid the divorce paperwork, first time he let his obsession take him this far, first time he indulged in his darkest fantasies, things he wouldn’t even dare whisper about to Price-

The door welcomes him like it always does, squeak gone from the hinges, greased out by his hands in the middle of the night last week, swinging wide so he can silently step across the threshold… into his house. Into yours.

Riley whines in greeting, lowering himself into a play bow, and Simon kneels to pet him, rubbing his between the ears and under the chin just how he likes, before instructing him back to his bed, to keep watch. He’d maul another man who tried to step foot in here, per his training, but his dad- his dad is okay. His dad is allowed.

It’s not that he’s too far gone to recognize the complete dismantlement of your boundaries, it’s that he doesn’t care. The chilling fear of losing you has seeped deep into his bones, fostering the growth of a plan that he knows is not rational, or right.

He knows what he is doing is wrong, but he cannot stop himself.

You are his. His wife. His life, his person, his reason for it all. You’re the sun and the moon and the stars and everything that makes this miserable fucking existence worth living.

He’ll do anything to keep you.

Anything.

So, it doesn’t feel wrong when he stands in the bedroom at the foot of his bed, watching you sleep, twisted up in the blankets, favoring your one side like your shoulder must have been bothering you before you fell asleep. It concerns him, worries him, this lack of improvement regarding your pain, and he wonders if maybe you should be in physical therapy.

It doesn’t feel wrong, when he traces the curve of your ass, perked up in the sheets, as if you’re waiting for him to strip your ratty little sleep shorts down to your knees and shove his cock to your cervix. He wonders if you’d even wake up if he rubbed his nose across the seam of your cunt. You’ve always been a heavy sleeper, through thunder or commotion, you’d stay sweet with your lashes flush against your cheeks, mouth slightly open in a soft snore.

He leans over you in bed, stroking the back of your head with his hand before pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple, something he knows won’t stir you, not with you how deep you’re dreaming, and certainly not with the muscle relaxer in your system.

He is a stealth operator, after all. It’s not like he hasn’t been watching, observing your new routines, the changes to your schedules and habits that have appeared over these last few months. The muscle relaxers, for example, that were prescribed for the strain in your neck and shoulder, that you’ve been taking once an evening for a week and a half, around six thirty. They’re extended release, usually able to keep you mostly pain free through the night, and he’s grateful to your doctor for insisting upon them. For more reasons than one.

He gives you another light kiss before pulling the sheet up around your shoulders, tucking you in how you like. You get cold in the middle of the night, icicle toes usually wandering across the mattress to seek the space between his thighs for warmth, shocking him into a gasp that would elicit a string of sleepy giggles from your mouth. He makes sure you’re comfortable, before slinking onto the second part of his routine.

The bathroom.

Every night, he holds his breath as the medicine cabinet pops open. He hates the anticipation, the fear of what he could discover, dreads the idea of having to start the clock over or worse, swap them for placebo. You never disappoint him though, and he catalogues the perfectly color-coded rows of birth control pills that haven’t been touched in over a month, not since his last op with wicked desire hearting his belly. What a good girl you are.

Before, he would have told you the opposite. He did, tell you the opposite. He told you were good, so good, for taking your pills, for making sure that you were safe for him, that there wouldn’t be any accidents. Guilt would eat at him each time the two of you had the argument, the ‘discussion’, about having a baby, and you would cry with misery staining your cheeks.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He tried to tell you, dozens of times, that he didn’t think he’d be good at it, that he wouldn’t like being gone so much, leaving you at home all the time with a baby.

“I love you, Simon. I want to have a baby, with you. My husband. Is that so wrong?” You would cry, and he could feel the weight of his choice breaking you apart, the pressure cracking beneath his skull.

“You… you don’t understand. I- I can’t.”

It’s not why you asked for a divorce, but it certainly played a part.

Something catches his eye when he turns to leave, a wayward item of clothing hanging haphazardly outside of the hamper.

Your underwear.

He plucks the scrap of blue lace and cotton from the edge and balls it into his fist, bringing it to his nose with a deep inhale. It’s sick, the way he needs you, the way the smell of your dirty panties, the honeyed ambrosia of your musk, makes his mouth water like a juvenile. Before he can change his mind, he shoves them in his pocket. He doesn’t usually take things, too aware of potentially tipping you off, but this; this is something he needs.

“Simon, can we please just… can we please just meet up and at least look at these papers?” It’s early for you to be up, on a Saturday, and he frowns at the screen in contemplation. Before, you’d never be up this early. Before, you would have insisted he stay under the covers with you, would have draped your body over his eagerly to convince him, sweetening him to your side with barely a whisper.

“How many weekends do we even get, anyway? This is your first one home in weeks. Stay in bed with me.” And he would, because of course he would. Because there was no place he’d rather be in those moments, curled up in bed, his nose in your hair, watching the rise and fall of your chest just to be sure it was all real, that it wasn’t some cruel dream that would disappear as soon as he woke up.

“You’ve been home for two weeks and haven’t even looked at them.” He grits his teeth, pressing the hard edge of his phone into his cheek. He can’t be divorced if there’s no signature. But you sound exasperated, stressed, and he’s eager to fix it for you, easily agreeing without too much badgering.

“Alright, sweetheart. Alright. I’ll meet you.”

He cannot believe his luck.

You’re nervous. Your hands flitter about, constantly touching the table, the silverware, your sore shoulder, the manilla envelope before finding the stem of your wine glass and tilting it to your lips, swallowing the alcohol over and over without any kind of hesitation. You must not have taken the muscle relaxer. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch, and he wants to reach out and take your hand in his, soothe you, tell you that everything is alright but… it would serve no purpose for him tonight. Sorry, sweet girl. He sits at the little two top across from you with his arms crossed, watching his lack of interest in the conversation break you down, little by little, until you’re ordering another glass of wine, and then a third, all while he nurses the same glass of bourbon. The alcohol distracts you, strays you from your course, and you eventually stop trying to try talk about that bloody manilla envelope, leaning to one side a little more than the other in your chair. When you order a shot after dinner is over, he doesn’t protest, just watches your tongue follow the seam of the citrus wedge, dabbing along the spongy white fibers before your teeth dig into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.

He loves you drunk. Loves you sober, loves you tired, or grumpy, or smiling. He loves you anyway he can get you, but sometimes, when you’re like this, your smile sweet like sticky toffee, buzzing and humming, it helps him get away from himself, helps him stay present and lost inside you, swept up in you. It makes him think about the honeymoon, your feet buried in the sand, tucked away in secluded cove, no one around for miles. He fucked you on the beach, fucked you in the ocean, fucked you in someone else’s cabana that day, and you giggled the whole time. Pearly pitched music that wrapped in him the strongest feeling of bliss, skin that tasted like brine and sun, your hand in his on the walk back the hotel, peeking under your wide brim hat every few minutes to press his lips to yours.

“Wan’ one?” He shakes his head, but pulls your hand into his, feeling the warmth of your skin. When you don’t pull away, his blood heats, churning through his veins like fire. “Figured.” You sigh, and then flash him a mischievous, coy grin. Cheeky girl. Think you’re so clever. “Want to get out of here?” You croon, and he smiles indulgently behind the mask. “Lead the way.”

You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.

You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.

“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He coos, relishing in the way you moan with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Shhh. I’m here now, I’m gonna take care of it.”

“You have to pull out.” You slur, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.

Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up?

“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.

To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. For better or worse.

I promise to love and cherish you.

Till death does us part.

Till death.

“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.

“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.

“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.

“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.

“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.

“I know. You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“

“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.

“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you want, what you’ve always said you wanted, the thing that made you cry in the middle of the night when he refused.

Well, he’s going to give it to you now.

“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.

And he’ll throw away the key.

You blame yourself for the first time.

You blame your nerves. Your lack of self-control. You drank too much, trying to fight the anxiety that was threatening to spill from your mouth by way of your tongue.

And well, didn’t he just look too fucking good, sitting across from you at dinner. Eyes on your lips. Hand dwarfing the rocks glass. Shoulders broader than a door frame. He put on mass since you saw him last, and you spent half the meal trying not to think about stripping his shirt off so you could inspect for new wounds, new scars, new stretch marks.

And didn’t he feel so fucking good too, bending you over the kitchen table, sliding into you from behind with almost no prep, hint of pain making you see stars, just the way you like it. Fucking you like the man you married, like the man you fell in love with. Calling you his good girl and making you come all over his cock like a champ.

You blame him for the second time.

You could blame yourself, for inviting him over- but your intention was clear. Sign the papers. Discuss the house. Be done with it all and close this chapter. Move on with your life, with both your lives.

But he showed up on the wrong day, at the wrong time, with a bottle of your favorite wine, the malbec. The one from your first anniversary, with a large pizza, thin crust with extra cheese (your favorite) and an order of garlic knots.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d eaten or not, figured I’d pick something up, just in case.” He shrugged, and just like that, you were bereft of words, staring at him with nothing coming to mind. Didn’t you say tomorrow? You stood in the door, blinking, Riley whining behind you, already eager to see his dad. “Sweetheart? You feelin’ okay?” His hand was on your arm, warm, thumb rubbing a circle on the inside of your elbow, and even that small amount of contact, that little trickle of concern, sent you into a spiral, muscle relaxer already working its way through your system, slowing your response time, making your brain a little fuzzy. His eyes shimmered in the porchlight, and you nodded, robotically, feet still stuck in the doorway, until he was prompting you to let him inside. “Can I come in then, get this signing business done?”

You ate pizza and drank a glass of wine (frowned upon considering your medication, but one glass couldn’t kill you, right?) out of regular glassware (a sin, if anyone asked your poor mother) as the manilla envelope sat on the coffee table and practically watched the two of you, oozing with judgement.

You’re supposed to be divorcing. Not cozying up on the god damn couch. Weren’t you the one who told him to find a new place to live? Weren’t you the one who said the two of you wanted different things in life, from it? Weren’t you the one did this, pushed him away, shoved him out the door, told him it was all too little, too late?

But when his fingertips drifted to the top of your spine and then over, like he knew exactly where you were tender, you couldn’t stop yourself from melting into his touch, more and more until he had your back against his chest, strong grip on your shoulder, working your taut muscles with expertise.

His fingers dig deep, groan slipping between your teeth, breathy and low, enough that he’s immediately releasing you.

“Did I hurt you?”

“N-no.” You shake your head, which only makes you dizzy. Probably shouldn’t have had that glass of wine. “Feels good.” He chuckles, and tucks you closer, head tipping back into his chest, eyes half closed. “Tweaked something in m’shoulder a few weeks ago.” For some reason, you feel the need to explain it, to tell him. “Went for a slide tackle, ended up halfway under the girl. And she was a lot bigger than me.”

“You still playin’ in that women’s league?”

“Every Sunday.”

You were so relaxed, so pliable, that you didn’t utter a single protest when he leaned you back on the couch like a doll, pulling your leggings down and off your ankles, sliding your panties away to bury his face in your pussy. You didn’t want to protest, or stop, or get up off the couch, even though, somewhere, in the back of your logical mind, you knew what you were doing was stupid. You knew, that doing this once was mistake, but doing it twice was just downright foolish. It’s just sex though. He can still just sign the papers and go. Who hasn’t had a little runaround with their soon to be ex-husband before the final nail is hammered in the coffin? You’ve never been a saint, after all.

“Lift your hips.” He taps your side, and you do, letting him slide a throw pillow under them, plumping it under your ass for good measure. “Good girl.” You beam, woozily, and he chuckles, face cracking into something that’s flooded with light, something happy, the face of the man who used to be your husband, used to love you, want a future with you, not just endless rotations around the world with the 141 and a sometimes wife that he sometimes saw.

“You have to pull out.” There’s backbone to your words, but it’s brittle, and easily breakable. “You didn’t listen last time, and ‘m still mad about it.”

“I’m sorry, sweet girl.” His lips press against your thigh, and then your knee, trailing up to where he’s got your ankle in his hips. “You just feel like fuckin’ heaven.” You huff. “I will this time, promise.” He rubs your thigh, zinging your skin with a small slap, your yelp teetering off into a moan when he presses knuckle deep into your sopping wet cunt.

“This doesn’t change anything.” You don’t know why you say it, why you’re so compelled to draw the line in the sand in this moment, when you could have said it any time before hand. Or, even better, had him sign the papers like you originally planned.

“I know.” He shifts you, pulling his occupied fingers free to rearrange your legs, folding your knees back against your chest, the position combined with the pillow under your hips practically tilting you all the way back, the angle enough to make you a little dizzy. Your hand shoots forward to latch onto his forearm for balance, little whimper sneaking away from you, making his brow crease in concern. “I’ve got you.” He whispers against your cheek, lips ghosting over yours, plucking a sweet kiss from your mouth before there’s heat grazing your opening. He keeps a hand on your knee until he’s pushing inside, thrusting in one fell swoop all the way until he can’t go any further, punching your cervix with the head of his cock, swearing behind a tight jaw. It’s a lot of stretch at this angle, deeper, sharper, and you squirm, adjusting to the pressure of him splitting you open.

“F-fuu-ck.” Your eyes roll back in your head, off somewhere, somewhere not this planet, not this plane of existence where he’s practically in your belly, slick noises bouncing off the walls of your living room, his knees against the pillow, back sloped for enough leverage that he’s practically fucking downwards into you, bent forward with his chest against yours, torso locking you in place, arms around your head like crown. Or a cage. “Si- fuck. It- it hurts.” you babble, gasping into his neck, teeth dangerously close to his shoulder.

“I know, doin’ so good. Almost there.” You start to melt around him, gentled into it, the patting and cooing and kissing sweetening you soft by the passing second. “Easy love, open up for me.” He pants into your mouth, tongue licking in behind your teeth, invading your senses, your very existence, and it’s so much, too much, but you can’t stop. You let yourself get swept away, mind slipping deeper and deeper every time he thumbs your clit, rubbing a circle around the swollen bud, tapping across it just how you like. “Relax, sweetheart, that’s it.” He keeps bringing you closer and closer to coming, playing your body like only a husband could, plucking the strings that make the sweetest melodies, chords vibrating together until you’re clenching down on his cock, spine curling forward, everything inside of you exploding with a blinding, fiery orgasm that has you crying his name, body shaking underneath him with aftershocks. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.” He murmurs into your sweat-soaked temple, cock sliding out just to push all the way deep again, hips grinding against your ass in a circle. “Haven’t you, sweet girl?” You nod, because yes, of course. You’re always good.

“Yeeah.” You squeak, vowels heavy, eyes heavy, head heavy, everything too thick underneath the weight of your orgasm, his cock lodged inside you, the muscle relaxer mixed with the Malbec, the chagrined manilla envelope sitting on the table, a mere two feet from your prone body.

“I know. I know you have.” The muscles in his arm flex, tendons in his neck becoming more defined, and his movements stutter, fucking you in a frantic, desperate way, wild with some sort of chaotic need. “I’m gonna give you a gift for it. For being so good.”

“You- you-“ You mean to say you what? What do you mean? What are you talking about? But you can’t get any of it out, only able to watch him through half shuttered eyes, admiring the slope of his jaw, the white of the scar on his chin, the drip of sweat in his clavicle.

“I love you.” A big hand holds your hip upwards, steady, pinning you to the pillow, pace turning hungry, unrelenting, his forehead pressed to yours as he bottoms out, trying to fuck you as deep as possible, to consume you, to drown in you, shoving you further and further up the couch. It’s erratic, and insane, and so- so Simon, that the tears dripping down your cheeks feel normal, everything feels right in your hazy, fucked out brain. “I love you.” He tells you again, and his jaw clicks in your ear. “I love- fuck, fuck, I’m coming.”

You should have protested. You should have reminded him of his promise. Should have said no, remember, you did this last time. We talked about this. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Couldn’t even get your mouth to work right, too spun out on him, on yourself, on floating on a cloud, high above your life, like choices didn’t have consequences. You were blissed out on your own bad decisions, sleepy in the cocoon of an alternate universe with your hips tilted on a pillow, where your husband was still your husband, and not some absent ghost.

You didn’t even protest when he gathered you together in his arms and carried you upstairs. Didn’t mind that he got one of your make up wipes from the bathroom and cleaned your face, tucked you in, and kissed you goodnight.

You didn’t mind any of it, until you woke up the next morning and faced that manilla envelope.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because in a weeks’, two weeks’ time, he’d be somewhere on the other side of the planet, or hemisphere, or country, somewhere classified, doing god knows what. He’d be gone, and you’d be here, just like always. Just like old times. The sex didn’t matter. It meant nothing. You hardly remembered most it, just clips here and there, the taste of his mouth, the feeling of being so full of him. It didn’t matter, and you repeated those three words in the mirror, four, five times in the morning, intentionally not looking at the gleam of your rings, the wedding band and engagement ring, a fated pair… all alone.

Besides, you could always mail the paperwork. Address it to John. He’d make sure it gets taken care of.

You cringed when you thought about the note you’d have to enclose, the awful acknowledgement of your ineptitude- “Hi John, sorry, but could you have Simon sign these when you get a chance?”

And then, everything changed.

“LT!” Soap shouts over the din of the common room, jerking his head towards the office at the end of the hall. “Price needs ye.”

Price is standing behind his desk, arms across his chest when Simon pushes the door open. His lips quirk, head shaking with a sigh. “You have a phone call.” He motions to the landline, one of the only phones in this entire building, currently off the hook, open line waiting in the air. A phone call? “I’ll give you some privacy.”

When the door shuts, and he’s alone with the phone in his hand, he takes a deep breath, and puts it to his ear. “Hello?” His thumb strokes the silicone wedding band on his ring finger, rubbing it in a circle as he waits for a response. This number is for family members and emergencies, real serious shit, and he’s not-

“Simon?” It’s you. It’s your voice on the other end of the line, wet with tears. His heart stops in his chest, lungs frozen in place, anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach. Your crying always puts him on edge, and it’s worse, with him here, and you alone, everything hanging on the precipice. “Simon? Are you there?”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?” He closes his eyes. Say it. Please. Fucking hell. Please.

“I- I need, I have to tell you something.” You’re still crying, hiccupping with distress, and he wishes desperately that he was there with you, holding you, telling you everything going to be okay to your face, instead of over the phone.

“What is it sweetheart?” He tries to encourage, relaxing back into the chair when you take a deep breath. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I’m pregnant.” His palm covers the receiver immediately, just in case, and he thumps the top of Price’s desk with his fist, stupid grin stretching his face wide.

“You’re what?” He feigns shock, confusion. “Did you say… you’re pregnant?”

“Yes.” You blubber.

“I thought you were on the pill, sweet girl. I wouldn’t have-“

“I told you to pull out! And I was b-but I stopped taking it, like two months ago. I forgot and after the first time when you were home, after the restaurant I thought, oh well, I had only been off the pill for a month, less than, after being on it for like fifteen years!” You practically shriek in his ear, a mix of sob and hysteria, trying to suck air into your lungs before continuing. “Getting pregnant after being on it for so long just doesn’t happen. It’s almost impossible! So, I d-didn’t worry about it. And then the second time was only like, two nights after that night and I just thought- I thought everything would be fine! I’m s-s-sorry, I’m so sorry.” You’re babbling, gasping, and he rubs his neck.

“Alright, alright. Hey, hey listen,” you’re still crying, voice cracking over the line and his heart breaks for you, guilt swamping him over you being alone. This was not the plan. He was supposed to be home for this part, to be there for you, if it took. “Sweetheart, breathe. You need to breathe.” You struggle through a few deep breaths, nearly wheezing, and he winces each time. It can't be good for you, or the baby, to be stressed like this. “Good girl, that’s it. Nice an’ slow. Good.”

“I'm sorry. I don’t know what to do, but-” You whisper, like you’re telling a secret, and he closes his eyes, imagining you pacing in the kitchen, hand in your hair, on your hip, anxious. He knows you. Knows you better than he knows himself, anyone. Soap, even. He knows, the reason why you’re saying sorry over and over, isn’t because you’re apologizing for getting pregnant, the two of you did that together. Or rather, he did it.

It’s because of what’s coming next.

“I do know that I… I want this baby, Simon. I know you… you don’t want this. That you’ve never wanted it, and that’s okay. I can do this, alone. We’ll still get divor-“

“Stop.” He doesn’t enjoy cutting you off, but he needs to put an end to this talk, this idea that still seems to have a hold on you. “Look, I’ll… I’ll come home. We can talk and, figure out what we’re going to do, okay? You’re not alone sweet girl. I’ll be there.” You’re silent for a moment, a moment that feels too long.

“Okay. You promise?”

I promise to love and cherish you.

Till death does us part.

Till death.

“I promise.”

#peaches writes #black sun #simon riley #simon riley x reader #🥞 anon #🌵 anon #tw forced pregnancy #tw dark and twisty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #tw forced breeding #cod x reader #cod mw2 #female reader #simon riley x female reader #Black Sun by Death Cab

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after-witch · 28 days

Text

Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: You're on your period, and your captor sits you down for a very special talk.

Word count: 1500ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader has their period, misogyny, lots of period talk, L being a weirdo

It’s rare that you let your kidnapper see you squirm. Mostly because he’s admitting to enjoying the sight of you fidgeting on the couch or bed; apparently, all of your little body tics in such stressful moments are just absolutely fascinating.

So, whenever possible, you make your body sit (almost) perfectly still. You keep your face neutral. You bite back responses, swallow insults, and wait until you’re alone in the bathroom to cry. (Though you have speculated he may have a camera in there, despite the lack of proof, and his cagey denial.)

It works, most of the time.

Except for now--for several reasons.

One being, you’re on your period.

It’s not something you looked forward to pre-kidnapping, and it’s something that you dread intensely, post-kidnapping. Sitting in front of your captor while you bleed into one of the standard-issue pads you found in the bathroom--the thin, generic kind that are often stocked at public bathrooms--is certainly not the highlight of your day.

Two, and two is the primary reason for the way your body is currently shifting on the chair: L, your kidnapper, the person you hate most in the world, has presented you with a tray of assorted period products. Pads, of several sizes and materials. Tampons, the same. Period underwear. And a silicone menstrual cup, fresh out of a plastic wrapper.

Behind this tray, he sits on his own chair, knees pulled up, a small smile on his face.

He gnaws on the end of his thumb and looks at you with something akin to gleeful hope, and you’d like nothing more than to punch him in the face.

“Well?” He asks, voice lilting. “Aren’t you going to ask why I put these here?”

You’d like to ask him where he gets the nerve. But that would only feed his ego, you think. So you breathe in and out through your nose, slowly, carefully. You flex your fingertips and press your hands together on your lap.

“Why,” you say, slowly, carefully neutral, “do you have a tray full of period products in front of me?”

L beams. “Glad you asked!” He gestures across the tray, like you haven’t been staring at it for what feels like five full minutes. “I’ve been monitoring your last seven menstrual cycles--your menstrual bleeding cycles, in particular--and I have come to the conclusion…”

He leans forward, eyes wide, eager. “… that you are not adequately handling your period every month.”

You have put up with a lot of things during your months of captivity. The loss of freedom, of course. The lack of autonomy. L’s incessant, creepy staring. His tendency towards over-analyzing you. His love for mental games that leave you wanting to tear your hair out.

But this?

This is too much. Too far.

Especially right now, with the awkward feeling of blood pressing between yourself and the pad, and a dull ache of cramps sitting low in your belly.

The snort that comes out of your nose would be fire, if it reflected how angry you’re getting.

“And how, exactly, am I not--handling my period adequately every month?” Even though you know he’ll get some special entertainment from your mockery, you can’t bite it back.

L grins again. “I’m happy to tell you my conclusions.” He reaches over to a side table, and retrieves a stack of papers. Your eyes go wide. No way. No fucking way. He didn’t--

He did.

He taps the stack of papers on the tray in front of him.

“I’ve calculated that during your active menstrual bleeding, you are 57% more irritable than on days without bleeding. Although there are many ways to reduce your stress hormones during these days, you refuse to do anything except mope around.”

Your mouth opens, lips sticking to your teeth, but he puts up a hand before you can tell him that being fucking kidnapped is the reason you’re “moping around.”

“And yes, I have taken into account your… unhappiness with your current situation. While that should account for certain levels of your stress hormones, it doesn’t account for all of them, nor does it negate the distinct rise in your stress levels on these specific days.”

Your eye twitches. It actually twitches.

“What else,” you bite out, teeth grinding, “have you calculated in that report of yours?”

He tilts his head, still smiling. He might look cute, if you didn’t want to knock his teeth out.

“Would you really like to know more? I don’t want to bore you. Ah, but if you insist…” He flips through the pages, until he lands on something he’d apparently love to share. “I’ve also discovered that your current pad use is simply inadequate for the flow and consistency of your menstrual bleeding.”

He can’t be serious. Nope. He can’t be. You must be dreaming.

“Stop,” you mutter, cheeks blazing hot, chest almost equally so. “Just--”

“I think this is important,” he says, blinking innocently at you. “I’ve noticed that you’ve stained your clothing--undergarments included--several times, and when Watari had the sheets laundered, we spotted some--”

Nope. You’re not doing this.

You stand up, body shaking, skin hot and flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m not having this conversation,” you say, voice stilted, teeth grinding on the inside of your cheek to keep you from screaming. “This is weird. You are weird.” Your hand points at him, vaguely, accusingly, but you drop it without fanfare.

His smile tilts into the smallest of pout.

“It’s not weird to be concerned with your inadequate usage of menstrual products. That’s why I’ve arranged some samples for you,” he says simply enough. “So you can see which menstrual product is best suited to your size and flow. Personally,” he adds, looking down at the tray with mild fascination, “I’m interested to see if the overnight pads are really more absorbent than the daytime heavy flow. Shall we conduct an experiment to compare?”

“No!” The words come out practically shrieked, and you grab one of the cushions from the sofa and hug it close. Calm yourself, you think. Calm down. Don’t let him see you get mad. It’s what he wants. It’s probably the entire reason for all this---well, this.

“I don’t need you to tell me what products to use. Or how to manage my stress. Or--whatever else it is you have in there.”

L pulls out another sheet of paper. “Well, I have also considered the effectiveness of your using microwaved towels versus a proper heating pad--which you could ask me for, but haven’t--and--”

It’s your turn to raise your hand and, to your surprise, he stops talking.

“I’ve had my period every month since I was 11.” The inside of your cheek hurts--there will be a blister, and blood, soon enough. “You really, really think I don’t know how to handle my own period?”

Maybe this is your attempt at giving him an out--a chance to apologize for being so unbelievably awful.To admit he’s wrong, in some small measure. Your hands tighten around the pillow, in hope--in anticipation?

His eyebrow raises; there’s a quirk of a smile on his lips.

“That’s the strangest thing about all this. I calculated that you’ve had…” And the bastard actually recites the estimated number of periods you’ve had since you started puberty. “… in your life.” He taps the paper in front of him with one short, gnawed-on fingernail. “You really should have had a more logical plan for this by now.”

The cushion bonks off the side of his head with unsatisfying softness, and you stalk away, intent on going into the only room in the house where you get any semblance of privacy--the bathroom.

“I forgive you,” he calls out, even as you walk away. “I know you’re only overreacting with this level of aggression due to the elevated level of hormones in your bloodstream!”

You can hear the smile in his voice as you slam the bathroom door. The mirror rattles. Your breath comes out in awful huffs, and angry tears prick at your eyes. Stupid asshole. Smarmy bastard. It’s like there’s no part of your life he won’t dissect, won’t turn impossibly irritating, and he’s just--

Your eyes land on the box of pads you’d found on the day of your first period here. It was a larger, plain brown box with a bar-code in it--he probably got it from some bulk place, hence the low quality.

Only now…

The box is empty. There are no more pads, thin, shitty as they were. And you know you’re about to be finished with the current pad resting in your underwear from the feel of it.

There’s a soft, playful knock on the door. He knew--he must have known the whole time it was empty. Probably knew you’d wind up storming off in here, too.

“Did you decide which of these you liked best?” Even with his voice muffled by the door, the sticky self-assurance rings loud and clear. “I’m guessing you’ll need them sooner rather than later…”

Before you start looking for any object you might throw in his direction if he opens the door, he calls out again--

"If you've chosen the menstrual cup and you're worried about the insertion process, I watched the tutorial video and it's really very--"

You don't hear what he says in the end over your own muffled shriek into the nearest towel.

#yandere #yandere l lawliet #yandere death note #afterwitch writes #yes this is named after the king of the hill episode

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chrolloluvr · 2 months

Text

Adam, Mammon, Alastor and Lucifer if S/O is on their period

Note: AFAB!Reader, not proofread, (should I make a story out of mammons??)

Warnings: Mentions of sex, minor degrading?, fluff 🥺, cute moments

Adam 🕊️:

He has an idea of how periods or the menstrual cycle work. In his time of being married to Eve and Lilith, he basically just let them handle it themselves. But with you, thats not how it works

When you get moody swings, he tells you that your being dramatic.

"Babe what the hell? Take a chill pill, jesus."

Please slap him across the face.

When you get cramps, he will throw you some Pepto bismol and call it a day.

If you send him to the store, he will ask you what flavor tampon you want (???), and if he can have a visual representation on what size he needs.

He tried to FaceTime you 15 times...

Had to disguise himself so nobody knew he was there.

He will offer to have sex with you, since that was what seemed to work with his other two wives

Goes out and buys you snacks, but he forgets that you're on your period so he mostly bought them for himself.

Asks Lute for advice, since he isn't a girl.

You end up with your head resting on his shoulders, while you sit in his lap. He will call you a drama queen, but he will still comfort you.

Mammon 🕸️:

He knows literally nothing about periods or the menstrual cycle.

He never really cared to learn anything about it either, since he had never taken any romantic interest in anybody until you. He considered it a waste of time.

When you have mood swings, he does not take you seriously, and he will probably baby you.

"Awhh, dont get your thong in a twist sugar. Now calm down before i have to hold your ass down-"

When cramps roll around, he will just put his hand over your lower stomach. And just, leave it there? He thinks it helps you, so don't argue with him or he will back off of you.

When you send him to the store, he asks you for your pussy size...

Will FaceTime you, and show you all of the options.

Gets stopped and asked for photos multiple times, so it takes him like an hour.

He ends up getting you Nutella, pads, and a menstrual cup, because he thought it looked funny. He even jokes about it being his next big product.

Offers to eat you out. Yes, while you are on your period. He is a freak. He does not mind getting his mouth bloody. I HC that he actually prefers when you are on your period, because he likes the metallic tase and smell it emits.

Wont let you out of his sights during this time. He will let you lay on top of him while you two watch your favorite show. And he will hand feed you the chocolate and say,

"Heres comes the choo choo train cutie 😙"

Lucifer 👑:

He knows a lot about the menstrual cycle and how it works. He was very attentive to Lilith during their marriage.

When you get moody, he will distance himself from you, not wanting to add more fuel to the fire.

"Hey honey, I just wanted to check in on you, see how you were doing, you know-"

When you have cramps, he hates seeing you in pain, so he will heat up a heating pad and rest it on your stomach.

When you send him to the store, he goes in a disguise. He will call you and ask what specific products you want.

He ends up getting you strawberries, chocolate, medicine, etc.

He treats you like you are sick. Will force you to stay in bed under his supervision.

Will also offer to eat you out. He just wants to make you feel better, and he is an expert.

He will spoon-feed you medicine, and turn on your favorite show. He will snuggle up against your chest and fall asleep.

Will ask Charlie for some advice and help. He really does care for you deeply. So he just wants to make sure you are content and satisfied.

Alastor 🦌:

Knows quite a bit about period and the menstrual cycle.

When you get moody, he will also coddle you like Mammon. Will purposely try to get you more upset. But stops after a while, since he is a gentlemen.

"My little doe, lets stop with this tantrum. Your a big girl, aren't you?

When you get cramps, he will come up behind you and trap you in a bear hug while rocking the both of you. He will do this while using his thumbs to rub your shoulders.

Instead of the store, he goes to Rosie and asks her for supplies and advice. He hates seeing you upset, so what better of a person to ask for advice from than his long time friend Rosie?

He will not want to do anything sexual with you. Not because he does not like getting bloody, (he has, and isn't afraid to.), But because he does not want to possibly hurt you.

He will try to stay near you as much as possible. He maaaay even let you touch his ears if you look up at him all nice and cute.

Tells you a story, or will turn on the radio for you to both listen to.

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runa-falls · 5 months

Text

(pumpkin) cream pie

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader

rating: explicit 18+

cw: smut and (pumpkin) spice, food play [whipped cream], dirty talk, umm...daddy kink (IM SORRY), creampie, size kink???

a/n: a little thankgiving cream thot :^) this is an extension of an earlier cream thot just more description~ hehe~

update: um this is a lot longer than it was supposed to be. i don't have time to read it over before dinner so here, have this half-assed smut-fest. happy wanksgiving!!

masterlist

---

as soon as he pulled out the can of whipped cream -- and basically ripped off and demolished the plastic lid (he still doesn't know his own strength) -- you knew there would be a mess to clean up in the morning. not to mention the fact that miguel has a secret sweet tooth and likes his whipped cream with a side of pie.

the perfect pumpkin pie that you spent hours baking to just the right consistency and color, sits untouched on the counter watching as miguel slowly peels off your dress before dropping it to the floor.

not a lick of whipped cream has gone near the pie, even the crust remains crack-free.

his eyes don't dare to drop from your body as he drinks in the way his hands span over your soft skin. you're so small compared to him, pinned so nicely between himself and the kitchen island. you let your head tilt back as he leans in, offering the only sweetness he'll ever need.

but of course, miguel has a large appetite. he's a greedy man. he's insatiable.

rough hands squeeze at your sides as you tremble in his hold. he likes it when you do that. you're not afraid to let him do what he pleases with your body. to let him tear you apart before putting you back together. he loves the way that you need him.

"look at you, so soft and pliant for me." your breath hitches as his lips graze against the pulse point of your neck. your skin flushes involuntarily and you can feel a trail of sweet cream drip down to the curve of your shoulder as it melts from your body heat.

miguel watches hungrily as his hand moves from your torso to the sticky mess that spills over your chest. he flicks his thumb over the pool of sweetness that has settled against your collarbone before dipping it into the perfect pout of your lips.

a groan hums in the air when you hold his stare and suck the saccharine flavor off of him. "good girl..." even after all the cream is gone, your tongue drags against the pad of his thumb wantonly. he pulls his hand away with a heated look, eyes half-lidded and hungry, "now let me clean you up."

fingers intertwine in your hair, guiding your head to expose your throat for him. the touch of his hot mouth drifting over your skin makes your shiver. he laps over the ribbons of white and the melted cream that glistens over your neck like a starved man.

his tongue languidly swipes over the trails of sweet cream from your tits to your lips, humming with contentment when your back arches to press your body against his mouth. you grip his broad shoulders as he sucks love bites against the skin he licked clean, marking you as his.

he sighs praises against your skin as his sticky hands continue to move down your body, gripping and groping over your soft spots. the remnants of the cream are slathered over the two of you, but you're too distracted to care.

"please," you beg breathlessly, "more. i-i need you, inside."

"i know, baby," he coos, "you're just so empty without me, aren't you..." you feel him hastily shove your drenched thong to the side to get a better look at your dripping heat. just the sight of your desperate cunt gives him tunnel vision. it's practically begging to be fucked by his fingers, cock, or tongue. "you need daddy to fill you up, don't you?"

you can only nod as you watch him expertly unlatch his belt and unbutton his slacks. he's already so hard for you, pressing desperately against the dark fabric of his pants. your hands drift down from the wide expanse of his covered chest to cup at his bulge. his hips grind against your touch, craving any type of relief he can get.

"all for you, honey." he murmurs.

when he finally shoves down his pants, he wastes no time before picking you up and setting you at the edge of the counter. he's so tall that you're positioned at the perfect height for him to fuck you in.

your legs part invitingly to let him in to your space. he leans over you and watches as he lovingly drags the tip of his cock against the slick mess that drips from your needy hole.

"always so ready for me..."

you sigh at the feeling of his (formerly) ironed shirt pressing against the peaks of your tits, "only you, miguel."

"only me." he echoes.

he groans deeply as he enters you. he's slow, letting you get used to the feeling of him stretching you out. you whimper at the sensation, thighs shaking and threatening to tighten around him as he pushes in deeper.

it's intense when he bottoms out, his cock filling you up completely. your eyes roll to the back of your head when he starts to move, the head of his cock kissing right against your sweet spot with each thrust. he's just so big, you can't help it.

your body practically convulses with every roll of his hips, but you know there's isn't a risk of you falling off the table with the way he holds your waist. all thoughts are glazed over by a lecherous fog, every neuron numbed.

"so little..." his head rests against your shoulder as he stares down at the way he fills you up. warmth spreads to the bottom of your stomach as he palms at the small bulge that sticks out from the angle that he's fucking you at. "look at you, baby. taking me so well."

your eyes drop to where you're connected and you clench around him at the sight. his cock is dripping with the essence of you as he repeatedly fills you up, again and again.

he lets out a deep rumbling groan against your tacky skin at how tight you're getting. the pleasure that thrums throughout your body builds quickly, and before you know it, you're reaching your peak.

miguel can tell that you're at the cusp of your climax with the way you're desperately clawing at his shoulder sand whining against the shell of his ear. he aims thrusts upwards into you, dragging so perfectly against that euphoric spot deep inside of you.

"go ahead, cariño. let go for me."

you let out a breathless gasp as your body jerks with pleasure. miguel can only hold onto you as you arch against him, continuing to grind himself against your cunt as you flutter around him.

"you're so good to me, sweetheart." your body is so overstimulated that you can barely decipher what he's saying. "gonna fill you up, baby. give you want you need." the words are deliriously panted into the side of your neck as he finishes himself off, holding your cock-drunk body against his.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #wanksgiving

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forteafy · 8 months

Text

You Think, You Know | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Some bridges are due to burn, whilst others are destined to mend. Charles wants to lead you into a traditional happily-ever-after, whilst Carlos is still adamant that he can always treat you better. Part 3 of ‘A House, A Home.’

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: angst, shouting, a lot of swearing, mentions of cheating and divorce. SMUT. Non-protected sex, oral (M&F receiving,) squirting, degradation, aftercare always.

Note: Thank you all so, SO much for being so patient with me. I really wanted this to be something special and I hope you all enjoy it. Please don't get mad at me because this one is emotional. A massive thank you to my biggest cheerleaders, @oconso, @formulaforza, @a-distantdreamer & @silverstonesainz - I love you all so much.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

You loved your sleep.

There was never too much that could wake you from your slumber. Currently, with the combined sensations of crisp sheets tucked across your frame, soft sunlight drawing through the transparent curtains of the bedroom and snug, strapping arms encircling your waist, it would have to be some form of miracle to awaken you.

The form of this came in the body pressed tightly into your back; smoothly, a pair of lips are drawn to your cheekbone, satin kisses being dropped against your skin. Was it possible to awaken to such a soothing interaction? Your face is drawn to the feeling, turning in his interlocked arms, the side of your face nuzzling into the cushion as your eyes meet the deep, dark pools of his.

“Good morning.” Carlos whispers, joyful at your rise from shuteye. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there himself, simply basking in the pleasure of holding the girl of his dreams against his firm body. The man was constantly on a lifeline; each time you interacted with him, he’s certain it would be his last, that one day, you’ll be violently ripped from his arms and his heart.

Suspended in thought, the Spainard is drawn back to reality with the glowing touch of your palm on his skin. Immediately, one of his arms draws away from your waist, resting his own larger hand atop of yours. You look alluring like this; sleep still decorates your eyes, hair tangled from the deep sleep, yet perfect in every sense of the word.

“Morning.” You respond, allowing yourself to set your gaze upon his face for a little longer. It’s a sin, settling in your stomach at how that same face had lifted from between your leg’s mere hours ago, the remanence of your arousal ever-present atop his stubble. You were certain he had a mouth crafted by the angels, the way his lips had toyed with your most sensitive parts and the way they currently pulled into an enticing smile in the present.

Two bodies, two souls were entwined in that bed; you weren’t too sure how long you lay there alongside him, reveling in one another’s morning appearances. All you know in that moment is Carlos is overtaking your mind, sprinting through every vein in your body. Every unanswered question from the previous night rendered numb as the man leant forward in your touch, his lips gaining space on your own.

There’s a sudden, sharp buzz from the other room, causing you both to retract from one another, bodies deep in the king-size mattress. A chuckle leaves his own mouth, running a heavy hand across his face, heart still pounding from the sudden jump of sound in the silent apartment. Something in your heart told you that buzz was for you. Whining from the sudden loss of warmth, you remove yourself from the bundle of blankets and body heat, bare feet padding into his living room, aware of your mobile phone, resting atop of the counter.

The device gave a heavy buzz once more before you had the realization to pick it up, the battery barely there. You absent-mindedly call out to the man in the bedroom, asking if he had a phone charger you could borrow for a little while. There's clutter from the other room, clearly trying to find a space for your own phone. Whilst that incurred, your eyes flickered across the darkening screen, skin turning cold upon reading the text notifications.

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

02:53: Charles Leclerc

I’m so sorry she was there – I had no idea. She’s gone now, can I come and collect you? Where are you?

03:25: Charles Leclerc

Please let me know you’re safe as soon as you can. Can I come and see you in the morning, please?

08:47: Charles Leclerc

Good morning, my love. How are you feeling today?

Guilt washed through your stomach, not for the interaction you had shared with Carlos; Charles had done substantially worse to you for the past twelve months. No, you knew what it felt like to have no response from somebody you cared for, terrified for their well-being. Even when Charles hadn’t cared for you, you had still nursed him, waiting up for his return in the early hours of the morning.

With the remainder of your phone battery, fingers fly over the keyboard. Did you want your husband to come and collect you, specifically from his teammates home? He was aware of your building friendship with the Spainard, even if it wasn’t entirely platonic. There wasn’t a huge choice; you especially didn’t want to demand or pry a lift off Carlos, especially after he had come to collect you so late the previous night.

08:58: You

Good morning, I’m at Carlos’ place. I’d really appreciate a lift back to the house, if that’s okay.

The message barely had time to send before it’s marked as ‘read’. Immediately, the blue speech bubble pops to the lower corner of your phone, signaling a response was being formed.

09:00: Charles Leclerc

You don’t need to even ask. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes was not enough time to conceal everything which had happened in the previous hours. Feet now cold, legs now littered in goosebumps, you’d scrambled back into his bedroom, the man now on his own feet, those damn gray jogging bottoms hanging on his hips, a visible outline ever-present. It took your entire soul to remain strong, knowing how tempting this man could become in a matter of moments.

“Charles is on the way.” You state, suspecting that it would cease all his movements, and allow yourself to get ready for your husband’s arrival. Instead, he’d stepped closer to your frame, leaning his toned torso towards you, locking you in his muscled arms, hiding his face in the skin he’d licked and bitten across the previous night. His mumbles are incoherent, littering across your neck in broken Spanish. He’s saying something. Something you can’t understand but is undeniably a plea for you to stay in his arms.

Carlos stays pretty much attached to you the entire time you’re preparing for your departure; his body is pressed against yours, littering kisses to the crown of your head whilst you brush your teeth. His scent is so dominating on the hoodie he insists you borrow, slipping that atop of your frame whilst pulling on the bottoms you had wiggled out of the previous evening. The man’s heart explodes upon seeing you bundled into his clothing, a possessive streak striking through his body and soul.

When your bag is packed, face washed and phone charging, now on the counter of his kitchen, you spend the last few minutes waiting for your husband’s adamant arrival by bundling into Carlos’ side on his plush sofa. It feels entirely natural by this point; his arms encircle your waist, letting you lie against his sternum, soothing yourself to his naturally steady heartbeat. A snippet of your heart desires to take this sole moment and capture it for a lifetime. Safe. Warm. Happy.

The moment is wafted away from you both with the sudden rapping of knuckles on the front door. Whining, your eyes trail on the Spaniard, focused as he presses a final, fleeting kiss to your temple, pulls himself up from the couch and paces towards the hallway. Your own ears strain to hear the latch lift of the front door, Charles praises for looking after you the previous evening falling over his lips, two pairs of footsteps drawing into the front room.

Your husband, despite his usual god-like appearance, looked terrible. His hair pushed to the front, clearly in need of a wash and brush. His skin was rubbed raw, face bloodshot; clearly, he hadn’t got a single moment of sleep the previous night, still dressed in the clothes he’d traveled home in the previous night. Despite the heavy lids of his eyes, they still light up when falling onto you.

“Good morning.” He gives you a smile, only you. You can feel Carlos’ disappointment, even if you can’t see his eyesight at that moment. A pocket-sized smile from your own lips is offered in return, pulling yourself up in that moment, reaching for your bag which remained on the floor, slipping into your soft sneakers.

“Are you ready?” You’d asked softly. Charles’ mouth opened, hesitating before he spoke. He was thinking clearly.

“I just need to speak to Carlos quickly. Something…private.” He tries to explain his standings, tries to make you feel less awkward as he reaches for the car keys resting in his hoodie pocket. “Are you okay to wait in the car?” He asks softly. He feels in no power to demand your movements, yet he requires one private word with his teammate.

Your eyes don’t bother to meet Charles, instead immediately flying to meet the dark ones of your unofficial lover. What on god’s earth was your husband about to ask, and why did he want to do it out of your earshot? The look that you give the man says a thousand words, asking if he needs you to stay, hold your ground against Charles. The warm eyes of him give everything you need, silently promising he could handle this man. An entire conversation through looks alone, a skill the two of you had developed so naturally.

Silently, you take the keys from Charles’ outstretched hand, skin flinching when being pressed against the cool metal. You don’t so much as glance in his direction when you’re walking to the counter, picking up your phone and stuffing it into the pouch of your borrowed hoodie. When turning on your heel, you pace back to Carlos, pressing a surprising kiss to his right cheek, murmuring a ‘Thank You,’ just for his hospitality, of course. You had done all the thanking for the number of orgasms you were granted the previous night.

The walk towards your husband’s car, the SUV rather than his identifiable Pista, your mind clouded, clotted with an array of questions. Why did Charles need to speak to Carlos alone? Was he aware of the relationship the two had been sharing for an undefinable amount of time? Who on earth was the blonde woman giving you a death stare as she walked up the pathway to the complex, red lips practically hissing at your appearance, storming past you within half a second?

When you turn back to take in her appearance from behind, a sense of sickness settles into your stomach. You’d seen the back of that blonde head before; not in person, but rather on a phone screen. Your phone screen, held between white knuckles as you’d watched the man you had begun to fall for wrap his arms around another woman's lips meshed in a private nightclub, unaware of the multiple cameras capturing their searing moment.

That was the same woman, identical in her mannerisms. You felt your tummy curdle into pain, into your vague realization that the only reason Carlos had offered you a place in his home, and subsequently his bed that evening, was because he was trying to fill a void until she returned to the scene. Your stomach wanted nothing more than to empty its remaining content in sheer shock. Instead, you breathe deeply, unlocking the door to the car, climbing into the passenger seat and closing your eyes, relaxing into the plush leather of the upholstery.

You’re not sure how long your husband takes, eyes growing heavy as you await his return. It’s only realized when the driver’s door clicks open, rolling in your seat to watch as Charles climbs into his own, a frown resting at the bottom of his face. However, it’s immediately vanquished when his eyes latch onto your own, grinning at your presence, so close to him. A warm hand reaches out, brushing over the back of your head, sheerly enjoying the comfort you radiated. He'd been lost without you for the past twelve hours.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy again, though you’re determined to get through the car ride alert, even if the soft scent of his cologne and the gentle lulling tunes from the morning radio are drawing you back to your previous state. Instead, you think of that woman. No, not the mistress you had grown numb to; the blonde woman, the one pressed against Carlos’ chest and lips mere hours after you had been. The glint in your husband’s eye is telling as you go through your endless thoughts, he knows something.

“The blonde lady going into Carlos’ apartment.” Your voice is completely out of pocket, echoing through the front of the SUV. “Who was she?” There’s no beating around with the question you had asked; there’s no trying to sugar coat what you needed to know. Charles knows it, too. He knows he can’t hide the truth from you, you’re too smart for lies and manipulation, a year married with a mistress had taught him that.

Instead, he emits a deep sigh from his lips, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel as he focuses on the road. “Natasha.” The name falls from his lips, he can’t meet your gaze, not when speaking about another woman to his wife. “She used to work for Ferrari’s PR but left just under a year ago. Carlos and her used to-“

“Date?” You’d cut him off without realizing, eyes widening when he’d shaken his head.

“No, not date.” He responds. “They just had…a thing. Something.” He finished his train of thought, still not mentally ready to turn to you. In a comforting way, you were glad he hadn’t; Charles was unable to see the tears pooling at your lower lash line, the desire to rip off the hoodie now suffocating your body. You learnt in your heart that moment, you were apparently nothing special to Carlos. No, he had a thing. Something, with any woman who passed his way was as a wandering fancy.

The tears decorating your eyes and desire to relax into the leather seat eventually overpowers your emotionally drained body, pulling you back into a slumber.

You loved the sound of music.

A faint tune, one you were certain you’d never heard before lured through your ears, drawing you back to consciousness. You couldn’t remember getting home, let alone getting out of the car and tucking yourself into the comfort of your own bed. Groaning, you’d sat yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and stretching the twinge in your back simultaneously.

The music wasn’t coming from your room; the sound was beautiful, you just needed to locate its source. Your feet twinge when they touch the floor, cool floorboards easing the temperature of your socks. Opening the ajar door to your bedroom, the music grows louder, sound clearly emitting from downstairs, your feet carry you to the staircase with no hesitation. However, when reaching the top of the staircase, eyebrows crease together in confusion, taking in your once-ragged appearance in the crystal mirror.

Your hair had been braided, albeit not elegantly, but at least out of your face, something you did almost religiously before sleeping. Your attire had changed, too, once you were dressed in Carlos’ sage hoodie. Now, your body was engulfed by Charles’ charcoal jumper, sleeves too long but an entire comfort for your drained mind. Is this what it felt like, to be nurtured and cared for by your husband? The pit of your stomach felt airy; this had been everything you desired for so long. And yet, now you had experienced somebody else, despite the heartbreak, your mind was utterly torn.

Music grows louder, your mind is suddenly focused back on its original target. With no hesitation now, you began to walk down the flight of stairs, noting your bag and phone resting by the front door. Even with as many notifications as you’d missed in your time asleep, priorities overtook, making your way towards the lounge, eyes transfixed on the figure by the French windows.

Charles Leclerc sat, comfortably and quietly, gentle fingers dancing over the keys of his piano. The soft lights of the room illuminated the figure, a tune you had never heard was fluttering around the open space.

Of course, you had heard him play the instrument multiple times; during his time spent at the house rather than on the track, he remained transfixed, creating new songs, finding some way to pour every emotion into some kind of melody. You’d lost track of the times you’d come downstairs to get a drink, put the washing into the machine and had instead pushed your body into the doorframe, eyes fixed upon your husband as he created the most beautiful sounds.

The last time you’d done that, his mistress had been present, leaving over the piano as Charles played her an elegant tune. When she had gone to lean over him, her own fingers wanting to press down against the keys, he’d rested a firm hand on her arm, insisting that she sit on the sofa and listen, instead. The sweet moments of silently viewing your husband had turned sour; you’d silently vowed that day you would never enter the room when he was playing again.

You’d broken that promise mere seconds ago, eyes transfixed upon your husband. You can feel the tension beneath his fingers, as if he’s trying to take the sheer thoughts of everything that had been embedded into his mind in the past twenty-four hours and mesh them into some kind of audible release. Underneath the layers of music, your footsteps can’t be heard as you hesitantly walk towards the end of the living space. His tune reaches a climax, but before the piano can take any more notes, you cough lightly, Charles’ hands ceasing in mid-air. Arching his body weight, he sees your frame standing next to his piano, eyes still sleepy from awakening mere moments ago. The breath catches in the back of his throat; did you always look so perfect in his soft jumpers?

“I’m sorry.” He eventually offers, taking in your sweet, soft appearance. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no.” The reply tumbles from your lips before you even realize. “It was…beautiful, actually. Is it a new piece?” You ask, entranced by the music which had been flowing freely.

“I’m not sure yet.” He can’t help but smile at the end of his sentence. “I just sort of started playing and this is what came of it.” The explanation is valid; like many creatives, sometimes a free flow form was the simplest way to go. His next movement is almost a shock to your system. “Why don’t you come and help me?” The offer is completed when he shuffles up on the piano stool, patting on hand on the available gap. There’s hesitation in your movement, before his hand trails upwards, leaning to clasp one of your own, guiding you towards the stool.

There’s an overpowering smell of his cologne, a scent you were slowly drawing yourself towards. The body heat from his frame radiates into your own. Shyly, you reach out, pressing down on one of the piano keys, a tone spouting from the instrument. Charles can’t help but smile upon your interaction, eyes questioning as you analyze the instrument.

“Do you know how to play?” He asks gingerly, watching as you shake your head in response. His actions exchange, resting one of his warm palms over your own. The next moments are filled with your husband guiding your hands over the piano, teaching you the tune to old nursery rhymes. When you reach the end of the piece, he cheers in delight at the achievement.

“Play me something now.” You ask carefully, head becoming heavy, heavy enough to rest on your husband’s shoulder. When you feel his body tense, you immediately sit back up, convinced you’ve overstepped a line. That thought is soon relinquished when Charles’ hand flies out, wrapping around the back of your head and pulling you back down to his shoulder, your breath hot on his neck, it’s enough for him, hesitant to overstep the boundaries you were adamant upon currently.

His fingers move back, continuing the song he had been conducting earlier. The piece had started out slowly, almost sad-like, before building, building towards a romantic counterpart. In his mind, it was the perfect song to punctuate the relationship he maintained with his wife. They both sat there, barely any moment as the music was the only sound present in their house.

When the song finishes, neither of you move, relishing in the soft touch you’re both sharing. Charles’ own head falls atop of your own, letting his cheek rest against your hair. There’s no form of time between you both, simply enjoying being alive, alive with one another. It’s interrupted when you feel Charles’ take an exaggerated breath, removing his keys from the piano. One of his hands rests upon his side, the other slides between the minute gap between you both, wrapping a toned arm around your waist. The movement causes you to lift yourself from his firm shoulder, catching those beautiful eyes from your glance.

“I’m traveling to Monaco tomorrow.” He says it so casually, as if it’s as normal as entering or leaving the building. You can feel his heart race in anticipation of what he was due to say, his body temperature raising dramatically, radiating through his hoodie. You offer him a warming smile. You really didn’t want him to leave, not when you were growing so unnaturally fond of his presence.

“Oh really, what for?” Is the eventual reply. In this moment, you simply can’t hold his eye contact, he’s staring into your soul, it’s as if he can sense every thought which is currently trekking through your mind; does he know how much of a hold he has on you, even if your marriage was entirely staged, at least in his eyes.

“I’m off to see my mother” He clarifies. “It’s been a while and I just want to check in.” It’s a lie. You can tell from the way his body language changes; his hands are suddenly clenching tighter, his grip on your waist firm as if he’s terrified, you’ll run away. He can’t admit it, he’s not strong enough. If you step away, he will fall back to the way he was the previous night; eyes bloodshot, unable to sleep unless he knows you’re safe.

“Give her my best.” The response is blunt, short. You’re on entirely different wavelengths, different planets. He never told you of his reasoning for things; a golden rule you had learnt at the beginning of this era. Just…you’d never question him; you would simply co-exist. What he says next makes your blood run cold.

“Why don’t you come with me? I’d really appreciate it.” Why on earth would your estranged husband want you to come on his travels, presumably when the entire point was to spend the entirety of it wrapped in the arms of another woman. Yet, a feeling in your stomach settled. Did you actually want to spend hours in this empty house alone? Now that Carlos was no longer a welcome distraction, anything would be better than wallowing in your silence.

“I will.” You eventually respond. “On one condition.”

“Anything.” His eyes are wide, so willing. He’d scooted tighter towards you, as if he could hold together this entire conversation, stopping the whole world from crumbling around you. You must be the one to take a deep breath this time. You had to remain firm with your choices, with what you needed to know.

“What was in the white envelope that your mistress gave you yesterday?”

You loved the glow of candlelight.

Having never entered Charles’ study, his fingers interlocked with your own as he guided you through the heavy door, you didn’t realize how many candles he had resting around his office. They laid upon his windowsill, on his desk, he even had a mulberry-scented candle resting next to his racing simulator.

There was only one candle which was lit, he had obviously forgotten to extinguish it whilst you were deep in your slumber. Despite the fact you hadn’t ever been given access to this room, you’d have to make a mental note in order to check for any fire hazards the next time you were in the building alone.

The envelope resting upon the desk stuck out like a sore thumb; his computer, stationary, it was all a cool gray tone whereas the envelope stuck out in a bright white glow.

“I need you to know before you look at this, it’s a lot worse than it comes across.” Even in the candlelight, his face had turned pale, barely able to keep his fear from dancing across his emotions. You need to remain strong. You need to see what was left in the envelope.

Staying firm, your grasp reaches out towards the desk, taking the card into your own hands. “I want to see it.” You clarified, letting your finger trace under the flap of the envelope.

You don’t let your husband’s words overpower you, distract you in any way. Instead, your hand reaches into the envelope and grasps around a stack of…something. It feels like multiple pieces of paper pressed together, though one side remains glossy, as if printed onto a special sheet. Hesitantly, your hand pulls from the envelope, eyes immediately widening upon seeing the content in question.

It's photographs. Multiple photographs of Charles and his mistress. Some of them are casual, taken from her phone, smiling selfies and dinner dates. Others are…compromising, verging on pornographic. You can feel the lump in your throat tightening, tears are forming on your lower lash line, but you must keep strong. You cannot show any weakness when you ask to see this.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Your voice betrays you, weakening as your words continue. “Your…girlfriend.” You don’t want to use the other word; it’s clear from these photographs it was more than sex, it was more than just an escapade.

“She’s- she’s not anymore.” Charles pauses, his eyes don’t focus on the photographs, only on you. His wife, who he has hurt so badly and now must see the pain littered across her face. “She hasn’t been since your mother passed away.”

Your heart stops at the mention of your mother, a sharp spike of longing for the woman suddenly danced through your chest. Then, you were angry. How dare he pity you, you didn’t want it, not from him. But…you still wanted him. He’d clouded your emotions, nothing was black-and-white with your husband, just a cacophony of colors.

“That was your reason for dumping her. Sympathy?” You don’t care how harsh your voice comes across, instead just aggravated you were growing to care about his reasoning. Life had been simpler weeks ago, when you simply stayed at home, minding your own business whilst he got on with his. By the look on Charles’ face, he wasn’t expecting the hostility, either.

“No! I dumped her because it was wrong, because I have a loving wife who I would give anything for.” The room goes silent, giving you time to process the words that had come from his lips. You had been so certain for so long that he didn’t care about you; that everything he did was for his own gain and pleasure. Yet…he had given up his mistress for you. He’d given up something that made him happy because you were not.

Stressing, you run a hand through your hair, placing the photographs back into the envelope, speaking to your husband as you place the card back onto his desk. You feel sick. These photographs exist and it was a perfect way to destroy the two of you, it was perfect ammunition to a metaphorical pistol. “So, what does she want you to do with these photographs?”

“Nothing.” Charles leans over your own body, reaching for a second stack of papers resting upon the desk, one you had considered would simply be notes from Scuderia Ferrari. Warm seeps through your body at his close contact, one hand almost trailing against your back as he grasps to the stack of crisp sheets, barely touched. “She’s threatened to publish them if I don’t sign…this.”

You took the stack of ivory papers into your palms. It was sprawled with a size twelve font, you were uncertain of where to begin until two words in bold took your attention, printed formally across the top of the page.

“Divorce Papers.” Your voice is barely a whisper, heart dropping to your stomach.

“That’s the other reason I’m going to Monaco.” He’s explaining his own status now, eyes glassy with the fear of you walking straight out of the office. He wouldn’t blame you, of course. He couldn’t blame you for anything anymore. Charles reaches out to your grasp, wiggling the paper from your fingers and placing them back against the desk. “I’m filing for a lawsuit against her, a restraining order for manipulation and stalking.”

A scoff falls from your lips; the mere contrast of the events from a few weeks ago compared to now. He truly intended to file a lawsuit against a woman who he’d happily let warm his bed whilst you went to bed each night with nothing but regret and bloodshot eyes. “Do you…do you want a divorce?” You can feel your voice cracking. “I mean, if she’s sent you these, you must have mentioned wanting one-”

“I did.” Charles doesn’t miss a beat. “I mentioned how I didn’t want a divorce because despite everything…I do care for you.” The room goes silent, not even the flickering of the candle or the soft wind from the French windows can pierce the tone of the room.

A huff escapes your lips, arms resting by your side as you formulate a response; “You had a really weird way of showing it.” Your response is blunt, it clearly warrants the sad look on your husband’s face.

“I know. That’s why I’m going to make it right. Please come to Monaco with me. She won’t be there; you don’t have to come to the lawyer with me. But…I need to be able to come back to my wife.” His hand reaches out, cradling your own in this moment. Gently, he lifts your palm to his cheek, resting it upon his stubble and letting his lips trace a kiss across the soft skin.

He truly does know how to make your heart flutter, despite everything.

“Okay.” You eventually respond, focused on his gaze when his eyes turn wide in anticipation.

“Yeah?” His heart is picking up in happiness, reaching to hold you in his own grasp, but instead falling short when you raise a finger, ceasing his movements towards your body.

“But…you need to give me tonight, alone. To process that.” Gently, you take a step forward, leaning gently towards him. You can’t leave him, not before you gently press a kiss to his cheek, turning on your heel, your figure illuminated in the corridor by the soft candlelight. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

You loved the feeling of warm water.

There is only a slender picking of moments in your life where you have felt truly relaxed; sitting by the lake in the rolling fields your family had owned for generations, lounging in the bed of the Madrid-Based apartment your friends had hired for a holiday in the early spring morning.

You had never thought one of those relaxing moments would be as your mother-in-law massaged her hands through your locks, lathering an expensive shampoo into the roots of your hair. She was gentle; no tangles fell through her fingers as her rhythm stayed perfectly relaxing, hitting all the spots which would send a flood of relief through your scalp.

You’d arrived in Monaco early that morning, immediately being transported to the luxurious hotel your husband had booked you into. Most of the trips he’d book you wouldn’t attend, and when you did would be ignored by him altogether. This time, he’d remained present, willing. Your hands had entwined the moment you had left the privacy of the jet, nestling into the back of the car, eyes heavy from the early rise.

Not much is remembered after you’d arrived outside the opulent building; bags were removed and transported to your room by the bellhop, both you and your husband were given hotel cards, an older lady at the desk explaining the functions dotted around the high-end establishment. All you could remember was the door to the room opening, your tired body making a beeline towards the emperor bed, nuzzling into the soft furnishings with sleep overtaking you in a matter of moments.

Charles hadn’t been able to help the tug on his heartstrings as he’d seen you tumble into the mattress. You’d been so thoughtful; dropping everything back at your house and accompanying him to Monaco, promising to be there for him as he promised to fix the wounds from his previous mistakes. He’d give anything to crawl into the bed alongside you, wrap his frame around your own and fall back into his own slumber, one he had despised the night before simply because he wasn’t able to hold you in his arms. He was learning to respect your wishes; after all, he had a lot of repairing to do-so. Even after recent conversations with his Ferrari counterpart, he could never bring himself to hate you.

His phone buzzes from his back pocket and upon inspection he sees the reminder, he’s due with his lawyer in less than forty-five minutes, but he doesn’t want to leave you, not alone. A thought sparks into his head, fingers flying through his contacts and dropping a message to one, asking if they could take you over to his mother’s salon later in the afternoon. By the time he’s returned from changing in the en-suite and brushing a comb through his hair, the responses from both Joris and his mother had lit up his screen, confirming his plans for later in the afternoon.

Your husband had allowed himself one more look at you, so peaceful wrapped up in the comfort of the bed. Silently, he leans over your frame, running a gentle hand across the back of your head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring his sweet words to your sleeping form.

When you’d awoken, there was a message clarifying that Joris would be taking you to his mother’s salon a little later and he would come to collect you once he was finished with his lawyer. That’s how you had ended up walking into her salon earlier that afternoon, her delighted smile present after seeing her daughter-in-law.

Pascale wasn’t stupid, that much was clear. She was aware of the strain in her middle son’s marriage, just not to the extent that he had been toying with a mistress for the better part of a year. However, she had grown to adore you; your mannerisms, laughter and the fact that you clearly held a candle for Charles, despite the dwindling flame of the marriage. If she had a daughter, she’d want her to be just like you.

“Are you and Charles up to anything this evening?” Her voice is gentle, motioning for you to stand up from the basin chair and walk towards the mirrors, resting yourself in one of the seats. Your reflection bores back into you, focused as Pascale adjusts your head slightly, brushing the tendrils of hair through her comb.

“I’m not sure.” You respond. “I know he has some business this morning.” It’s an understatement. When Joris had collected you from the hotel, he’d tried to give you what information he could – Charles had arrived at his Lawyer’s office, ready to file the case against his mistress. He wasn’t too sure how long it was going to take, though he had told Joris to be on hand for anything you needed when he couldn’t.

“You make him happy; you know?” Pascale mentions, tilting your head to angle your hair correctly. “I know he hasn’t always been…the greatest.” You’re not sure if she’s aware of everything, but her tone seems to stand where you need it to do so, “but you make…such an impact in his life.”

Not much else is said whilst the woman continues to trim your hair, adjusting your face as she does so. It was nice, not to be cooped up into a hotel room for the entirety of the day, nor to be sitting in Charles’ driver room whilst he walked around, finger entwined with his mistress. You’re so engrossed in Pascale drying your hair, setting the locks into soft rollers that you don’t realize when the door chimes open, another figure entering the quiet salon. The woman’s eyes brighten, and you hear her cooing before your own face turns, taking in the figure of your husband in the doorway.

Charles looks breath-taking. He’d clearly showered and changed since you had last seen him bundled in his travel gear that morning. Your deduction would be correct; the man had hastily returned to the hotel to jump into the shower, changing into a power blue shirt and white trousers. His hair, free of styling products curled in an unruly way, one that made his whole face structure elevate.

In his hands, he held both a soft white dress over his arm, one you had packed in your case fleetingly the evening before; it had been steamed and washed, the fabric clear and petticoats of the skirt floating gently. In his other hand, a vibrant bouquet of roses. His smile never faded, walking over to his mother and pressing a kiss to each of his mother’s cheeks. Once his attention turns towards you, his eyes only brighten.

“Hello, beautiful.” You can’t tell whether he’s playing up the affection in front of his mother, or whether it’s genuine. However, when one hand comes to rest on your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s being respectful; making sure not to cross a boundary.

“Hello, handsome.” The response falls from your lips without realizing, the grin on your husband's face only rising. Fuck. Did you mean to say that? Regardless, you had done, and by the look on his face he not only didn’t expect it but had instantly grown to love it. Charles had completely forgone the flowers in his grasp, only remembering them after your eyes had darted down towards his palms.

“Oh-“ His mind finally catches up with the present situation, raising his hand to present you with the flowers. They’re colors are soft, delicate, as if etched by crayon. You can’t help but smile at the gesture, even if it was entirely a false pretense in front of his mother. You can’t see her face, but you know she’s smiling, seeing her son present to his wife in such a sweet manner. Now, your gaze isn’t fixed against the flowers in your grasp, but the dress from your suitcase.

“Something tells me that won’t fit you, Charles.” You tease the garment laying over his forearm, only to cause a smile to appear on his lips again.

“I want to take you out for the afternoon. If that’s okay with you.” His voice is low now, hoping to avoid any prying of the conversation from his mother, though her attention was now turned to locating the hair dryer, still needing to complete your own treatment. “Would that be…okay?” He’s nervous. Fearful that after everything, you could now reject him and feel no remorse.

You’re not a cruel person, it has never been in your nature. Instead, you match his own smile, nodding as you take the garment from his grasp, Charles’ eyes widening in confirmation.

“Trust you to pick out my favorite dress, too.” You mumbled.

You loved the sound of the ocean.

You loved everything about the sea, truly. The reflections from the moonlight caused shards to reflect over Charles’ boat; the new yacht had barely had time to stretch the waters, though it seemed to float as if it had been nurtured its entire existence.

The afternoon of a late lunch had expanded into expensive, late-night wine on the boat as your husband had guided you into deeper waters. He knew what he was doing, after all; the waters of Monaco were a comfort to him, a lifetime had stretched out from jumping into the ocean as a child to yacht parties during the Grand Prix.

You’d seemed entirely at home, and it made his heart warm. Charles wasn’t a stupid man; he saw how you kept yourself small, your setup at the house barely spanning over two rooms. He’d wanted nothing more than to break the walls you had put up for oh-so-long and entwine your lives together.

Then he would reprimand himself, remind himself he was the sole reason those walls existed.

Conversation had spanned naturally into the events of the day; you thanked him for thinking of you, he’d responded with a mention of you deserving that form of treatment every single day. Your mind can’t take the anticipation; when your lips lift from the glass of wine, you can’t help but ask what his lawyer had recommended about his mistress. Your husband’s grin had fallen a little, running a hand through his dark curls.

“It’s a difficult one.” He explains. “There’s enough there for a case, considering we haven’t had contact in a while. But…” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; you do for him.

“The photographs are counted as evidence.” You finish, and he can only nod. He’s created such a mess, something he could never forgive himself for doing so. A web of lies and mistreatment surrounded you both; he so wanted to break each thread and simply cradle you, be in a bubble for the rest of eternity.

He’s expecting you to stay silent, then. Maybe that’s where the evening should have ended, with silence upon the realization that this case will not be easily solved. Instead, you place the glass of wine down on the ledge of the stairs, easing his own glass from his grasp. Charles is confused, even more so when you walk back towards him, wrapping your arms to close around his neck.

“What are you doing?” He whispers. His hands raise hesitantly, as if touching you would break you into a million pieces. His grasp only falls to your waist when you press closer towards the man, resting your gaze on his own eyes. He’s hurt you, broken you to such an extent, and yet you can’t help but draw closer to his touch, to his eyes.

“Being your wife.” You respond, before pressing your lips to his own. This is the first time, the first time in so long that you had been the one to initiate a kiss. Naturally, Charles’ hands wrap tighter around your waist, pulling you into his chest, deepening your touch, your kiss. This. This is the moment he wishes to bottle forever, to live in the comfort of his wife’s touch, no outside means, no other commitments being hung over his head.

You’re not sure how long you both stand there, wrapped in one another, hands fleeting over each other, desperate to find some touch, some form of skin. It isn’t until your fingers reach to unbutton the top of his powder-blue shirt, that his own come to rest atop of yours. He knows he’s made a mistake when he sees the look you shoot him, immediately assuming the worst.

“No, no.” He promises, both hands flying from where they had grasped yours, cradling each side of your face. It feels…warm. It feels so similar to the way Carlos had cradled your head once, when you were both on a boat, much like this. You think of those dark eyes, the whispers drawn into your ear as he had sharply thrusted into you that evening. Then, you think of the blonde appearing outside his apartment mere hours after you had been tangled in his arms.

“I want to.” Charles’ words draw you from your endless train of thoughts. “Sweetheart, I want to more than anything, but I need you to know how much it means-“

You don’t let him finish; instead, you press your mouths back together, forcefully. There are whispers from your own lips, pleading that he take you, that you want nothing more than to feel your bodies atop of one another.

And who is he to deny his wife?

You’re not sure when he scoops you up into his arms, guides you inside of the boat and to the soft bed that had been freshly made mere hours ago, but he never lets your lips leave one another for less than a moment.

He’s everywhere; he’s pressing into you in the most delicious way, he’s drawing your body of the most intense sounds, and then you’re coming, harder than you ever thought was possible, it hits you in the most delicious way.

Your fingernails pressed crescents into his skin as he continued to push into you with that perfect rhythm. Feeling your hot breath dance against the shell of his neck, the sweet whimpers of your overstimulated orgasm falling from your lips. Charles feels you clench around him, dragging you into him deeper, and it's all over.

His head immediately falls into the joint of your neck and shoulder, his pants getting heavier, thrusts rougher as he chases his own release. Teeth escape from his lips, biting down atop of the red marks he'd left earlier in a passion; the gasp you let-out, the roll of your hips against his own pushes him over the edge, a moan falling out from his own lips, hands flying to grip at your forearms pinned above him. You can feel every inch of him buried inside of you, warmth spilling into you.

Heavy hips press into yours, your thighs still pressed around his waist when he lifts his head from the warmth of your skin, pressing one final deep kiss to your lips, a profanity of words escaping from his mouth.

He kisses you again. And again. He keeps doing it whilst slowly rocking his hips, still jittering from his own orgasm. Senses come through, those eyes you had been entranced in so many times fixing to your own, drinking you in, looking so beautiful underneath his own frame.

"You still want somebody else?" The teasing is natural, almost, inflicting you to roll your eyes and playfully push his arm. God, your laugh is the most adoring sound in the world to him, it had been so long since he'd heard it, even then, it had never been due to his own actions until recently. The adorned look in his eye is soon replace with confusion when he feels you wiggle underneath him, soft blankets rubbing against your back.

"Are you going somewhere?" He questions, one hand coming up to trace against your jawline. You want to lean into his touch, it's something you'd been attracted to recently, though the mess between your legs and sweat trailing down your skin seemed to tell you something different.

"I need to clean up." You whine, pressing your body into the plush mattress. "I'm all gooey, Charles."

"I've got it." He murmurs, pressing one soft kiss to your cheek, another to your neck. You expect the weight from above to release you, but the warmth radiating from his body remains. You feel lips trace against your chest, his untamed curls tickle your stomach as he traces down a direct line.

"What are you doi-" You never get to finish you question, the fourth word cut off with a soft gasp, those lips which had pressed to yours, now pressing down against your clit, a soft praise towards your body whilst his tongue traced around the sensitive bud, drawing a slice through your wet lips, pressing deeper and deeper into your entrance.

The room is illuminated with your whines, hips bucking against his stubble as he fulfills his promise of cleaning you up.

You loved the feeling of being held.

You’d been unfathomably happy to walk into the paddock that evening, fingers interlaced with Charles’ as he guided the two of you through the fans and photographers alike, buzzing to be starting on Pole Position when his wife would be watching in awe of his achievement.

You hadn’t been there on qualifying day; you were still trying to keep your distance where you could, to prove to your husband he couldn’t instantly win you back overnight. It had only been when he’d come into the en-suite of your room the evening before, hands wrapped around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, pleading you came to watch him race the following night.

“I’ll win.” He promises, voice quiet as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll win it for you.”

His sweet words had not only lured you to the race track the following day but had also drawn you to sleep in his bed that evening, curled up into his toned chest as he murmured words of appreciation in French; only a few you were able to pick up and understand the meaning of as you drifted into a comfortable sleep, arms cradling your body underneath the bed sheets.

There was a collective, loving aura that evening when the two of you had stepped into his garage, the team in awe of seeing that their Prince of Monaco and his beloved Princess had been reunited, here to support one another. However, one figure remained quiet, eyes transfixed on your every movement. He felt his knuckles turn white when Charles had changed into his race suit, placing his cap atop of your own head and had lovingly pressed two kisses to either of your cheeks.

Carlos Sainz was a jealous man; he’d been infuriated when his blonde fling had appeared on his doorstep, instantly realizing the kind of man he must have been made out to be when you’d seen her appear on your departure. He’d hoped and prayed you hadn’t seen her, but from the radio silence he received over messages and calls, to the way you had purposely avoided speaking to him when arriving in the paddock, he could tell you were not that naive.

Emotions had played a heavy part on both of the Ferrari Pilots during the start of the race. One, determined to keep his promise and win whilst his wife was present. The other was so clouded with sadness and rage that all he wanted to do was push his counterpart off the track. The lights snapped off, 20 engines revving in unison as the cars blitzed down the first straight.

It doesn’t take long for emotion to overcome; Charles’ P6 soon creeps towards a P3, whilst Carlos begins to drop. A violent turn into Oscar Piastri not only takes the young rookie out of the race, but the Ferrari driver, too. Nobody misses the swears as he switches the engine off, nor the scowl on his face as he removes the steering wheel, ready to be escorted back to the garage.

When the blur of red comes through the paddock, you can’t help but feel guilty, telling yourself that if you had spoken to him, he would have been able to keep a cool head. Silently, you slip the headphones from your temple, murmuring about going to the bathroom before taking a direct beeline towards Carlos’ room, catching the door just before it’s due to slam closed.

He was seething. Pure rage flicked across his eyes; the warm smile reserved for you replaced with a harsh scowl. This may have been a mistake.

“What do you want?” His words are venom, spit towards you. He cannot stand to see you right now.

“I just-“You pause, clearing your throat. “I wanted to check if you were okay.” It’s a pathetic answer, really. One that didn’t sit right in your mouth, even after you had spoken.

“I’m alright?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “You ignore my calls, go away and fuck that pathetic man and then come back to me?” He’s pissed, undoubtedly so. “You whore. I understand it all now.” He shakes his head, missing the fire which had begun to burn in your own stomach.

“You have no right!” You’d shrieked so loudly you’d startled yourself; one finger was still pointed into his infuriated face, your finger mere millimeters from the bridge of his nose. Hot air engulfed both of your bodies, the only sound present was the deep and heavy breathing flaring from your nostrils.

Without a thought, Carlos had slapped your finger away from his face, lunging forward dramatically to seize your face into his rough palms. His lips are on yours, roughly seeking the wet trace of your tongue. You can’t fight him; not when his lips feel so flawless against your own. A rough palm encases the back of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist as he holds your frame tighter against his own.

Your breath barely had a moment to catch when he forcefully pulled his lips from you, emitting a white from your breath. That innocent sound is soon replaced by a sharp gasp, his fingers tightening against your scalp, pulling on your locks.

“Don’t fucking whine.” He spits, ghosting his lips over your own, never letting them touch yours. Warm breath tickles the shell of your ear when his grip pulls tighter onto your hair, tiling your ear to meet his mouth. “I’m sick of your whining, about your horrible excuse for a husband. I will treat you how you should be treated.”

There’s no time to react as his pink tongue pokes from his lips, a stripe tracing from the corner of your ear, across the sweetest spot of your neck. You’re reveling in the wetness, the sinful way his words litter through the air before teeth sink into your skin. He doesn’t bother to cover your mouth, mute the sweet sounds falling from your lips. There’s no decency anymore, Carlos doesn’t care who sees the marks he engraves into your skin. The ring on your left hand means nothing more than a reminder that he could be better.

“Carlos-“ You struggle to connect the two syllables together, hands gripping through his hair, pulling at the brown locks in your fingers. “Fuck-“

“What did I just say?” He grunts from the valley of your neck, one hand sliding from your waist and flying out, smacking on your clothed butt. The shock simply causes you to gasp out loud, pushing your own throbbing crotch into his hard one. A smirk forms against your neck, clear as day when the man pulls himself from your neck. His lips are wet, saliva from his own mouth tracing around your lips.

One hand finds your face again, grasping at your chin tilting your head backwards to hover below his own. A single finger taps at your lips, signaling for you to open wide for him. He’s sinful as he lets his spit fall across your lips, eyebrows raised as he wraps a hand around your throat, clearly overpowering your stance in this moment.

“Swallow.” He commands, hand resting on your cheek firmly. The tone of his voice sends a shock of energy down your chest and between your legs, cunt throbbing at his words. Of course, you comply, swallowing the remanence he had given you. “Good girl.”

The sweet nicknames in this moment have evaporated; Carlos is nothing short of animalistic, his presence all too understanding as one hand takes its place around your neck, the other grabbing firmly onto your wrist as he guides you backwards, softly falling onto the sofa of his driver’s room. The pitying looks the man gives you sends a thousand messages through your brain.

“No, no. Dirty little girls don’t get to sit on my sofa.” He teases, both hands clasping your waist, sliding you off the plush furnishings and resting on the cold floor, kneeling for the Spaniard. “You need to be on your knees, you need to be taught how to behave.”

Eyes widen as his tanned fingers pull at the knotted arms of the fireproofs resting on his waist. Even through his underclothes, the shape of his hard length is clearly visible, even more so as he removes his underlayers and briefs, letting himself spring freely, one hand rubbing his shaft a few times, the other knotting in the back of your hair.

He loves this; cock in his hand as he taps the tip against each of your cheeks, trailing himself against the parting of your lips, having to hide the shiver from his own body when the wetness of your mouth. His eyes are sparkling when he uses his firm cock to press through your mouth, relishing in the warmth of your lips wrapping around his length.

“That’s it, be a good girl. Take it.” He coos as you struggle to take more of his length, attempting to give small, tentative licks to his cock whilst he slides between your lips. It sends him feral, wild. He thinks of nothing else as both hands grip tightly in your hair, shoving your face into his crotch, your gags music to his ears as he continues to take control of the situation.

When your eyes adjust, look up from his groin, he almost feels sorry for you. They’re wide, glassy, snuffles falling from your lips as he continues his forceful attack. One hand slowly removes itself from the strain on your locks, tracing over your cheek, thumb rubbing underneath your eye, removing the salty tears as your breath remains heavy through your nose.

“Oh, poor baby.” He teases, pace never relenting. “This is what you need, someone to put you in your place, remind you what you deserve for teasing me, making me jealous.” He can’t help but chuckle at the pathetic sound coming from your lips. He can feel his stomach tightening, the warmth drawing an imminent release from his cock. This isn’t how he wants to finish, he can’t yet.

Your mouth feels empty when he pulls out, giving you no warning, the gasps falling from your lips at the sudden gain of air. He doesn’t give you time to respond, a heavy hand pushing your front to the floor, lifting your hips, ass straight back in the air. No warning, the skirt of your dress is lifted, the wetness of your cunt seeping through your panties. The anticipation kills you, until a warm finger slides into your folds with no warning. Your body can’t help but react, clenching around the warmness without even realizing. You also don’t realize the sounds you’re making, until the finger removes itself, a palm harshly smacking on your behind.

“What did I say about noises?” He grunts, leaning around to push the wet finger into your own mouth. “Do you like it? Taste what I do to you?” Hurriedly, he presses his finger in and out of your lips a few times before returning it to your wet hole, wiggling in the air. This time there’s two; stretching you out, your palms trying to find anything to grip, to hold on to as he carelessly thrusted, tickling a sweet, sweet spot deep in your stomach.

“I- Carlos I can’t-“ You whine through raspy breaths. He can feel you clenching, swelling around his fingers, and is rewarded when he hastily pulls them out of you, a long moan and a squirt of arousal pushing from your cunt. A sheer shock of arousal floods between his own legs, rubbing his fingers against your wet folds, letting your wetness trail onto the tips of his hand.

“Oh, your husband can’t make you do that, can he?” He’s proud; proud he’s able to draw such a reaction from your body. “Come on, baby, up we get.” His arms are suddenly firm, present around your waist as he pulls you to stand on two shaky legs, still reveling in the feeling he had granted you moments ago.

Hands retract from your waist and come to hold your face, pressing kisses to your scarlet lips as he guides you from a standing position towards his couch, finally allowing himself to sink into the cushions. You want nothing more than to join him, feel his warmth and aura around your own body, but by the finger he’s raised as he situates himself into the sofa, you can tell you’ll have to wait.

The moment he sits down, a tanned hand comes to his crotch to rub his length a few times, your eyes widening as you plead for it; mind clouded by lust, all you want is for something warm to fill you up, make you feel as good as he had done so many times before. Carlos’ finger beckons for you to join him, and you know what he’s insinuating.

Your movements are commanded by the Spaniard; immediately, there are two firm hands on your body, pulling you into his touch and sinking you down onto his cock. You don’t miss the way his lips quirk into a grin, oh-so-happy to see your reaction to the pleasure he had granted you. It’s no match for when he starts moving, bouncing you up and down on his lap, fallen gasps from your lips as your faces draw closer and closer.

You were sinking into one another’s skin; he wanted nothing more than to entwine your bodies for eternity. One hand was firm around your waist, guiding your movement with the strength only he could. The other guided a gentle trace across your face, pulling you closer, closer to his own face as his thrusts got faster, erratic.

“You’re mine.” He grunts, never once breaking eye contact as his hips grew tighter, his cock making your cunt squeeze in a way you didn’t know was physically possible. “You’ve always been mine, tell me you’re mine.”

His eyes go soft, thrusts pausing for a second as he notes the tears pooling in your eyes from the sheer euphoria running through your body. A whine falls from your lips as you feel his strong hand tug at your neck, pressing your foreheads towards one another, hips slowing for just a moment, letting your breath catch up to your aching body.

“I’m yours.” You’d whisper, mind clouded. You were his. There could be a thousand cars, an ocean or a wedding band between the two of you and you would still always find your way back to Carlos. Whatever that relationship would form, you would always be a part of him.

The murmured confirmation was enough to send a shot of energy through his spine, his thrusting becoming deeper, passionate. It barely takes five thrusts before he’s groaning, throwing his head back and letting out a low moan as he spills himself into you. The warmth is enough to send your cunt into flutters, clenching so tightly as your body falls into his chest, whining as you feel a gush of wetness drip onto his crotch.

Undoubtedly, Carlos Sainz is now a part of you. Time seems to flicker between seconds and minutes, at some point you’ve shifted your weight, turning around to fix your eyes onto the television screen of his room, eyes wide as you watch your husband continue to battle out on the track. It felt almost sinful; watching Charles battle for his podium whilst his teammate stayed buried inside of you.

His touch goes soft; one hand remains tight around your waist, though your back is warmed by the way you’re pulled back into his skin. Feather-Light kisses dance across your shoulder, he’s never been this soft, cradling you as if the world would be held together by your content. If the universe was to implode, he would be happy with the fact you were pressed into him in that very moment.

The laps of the race begin to dwindle; a promising second-place is looking pretty much secured for Charles. You’re certain that your silver trophy will be sitting proudly in the hotel room later that evening, until Max Verstappen suddenly begins to slow down, commentators beginning to roar as an unexpected engine issue splutters into the RB19.

“Holy shit.” Carlos murmurs, sitting up from his relaxed position, both arms now tightly around your waist as he shifts the balance of your bodies. “What happened to Max?” His voice becomes a murmur, your attention drifts, focused on the cars beginning to pick up their speed against the current world champion.

Goosebumps litter your skin, you immediately pull away from the warmth of Carlos, eyes wide as you see the scarlet red car glide into view. He’s going to overtake Max. Not only that, but your husband is about to win the entire race.

An audible groan comes from both of you when you slip yourself off his length, searching around for the panties which had been discarded oh-so-long ago; the man rests a hand on your shoulder, one hand tracing across your jawline as the other reaches down, gently smoothing the skirt of your long dress.

“We’ll find them later. We need to go and congratulate your husband, after all.” You can’t miss the cockiness in his voice, still content with the fact his cum is buried deep inside your pussy, panties are left in his driver’s room as a sheer prize for being able to make you feel euphoric. A tinted blush decorates your cheeks as he slips into his old jeans and a Ferrari polo shirt, one hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you out of his driver’s room, never once bothering to fix his hair when you had been the one to grab onto it so tightly.

People wouldn’t think that of him, after all.

You love to be loved.

Your eyes are brimming with tears as you reach Parc Fermé, Carlos finally catching up with you, standing right behind you at the barrier, eyes transfixed onto his teammate, standing atop of his livery, cheering towards the endless roars of the crowd, passing a congratulatory message towards his fellow drivers, Lewis patting his back, Lando cheering on his behalf.

He’s already removed his helmet when he sprints towards his team; the losses don’t matter, not when he can celebrate the win he had been craving for so, so long. There are praises passed, pats on the back as he works his way down the winding line of his team, red in their clothes and their cheeks, it means the world to everybody.

And then, Charles is facing you, his wife. He’s so transfixed upon your gaze, the sheer elation you have for his victory that he doesn’t stop to think when he takes two of his hands on either side of your face, cradling your cheeks as he presses his lips to yours, grinning into such a sweet kiss that you can’t help but kiss him back.

“I told you.” He whispers when he pulls away from you, resting a gentle hand on your cheek for just a moment. His eyes finally turned to where his teammate was standing. Both of them have to forge a smile as they reach out to clasp hands, a firm grip in celebration of scoring points for their team.

You don’t see him again, not until he’s left the cool-down room and is bounding towards the podium. Carlos, having not been called to his post-race interview yet, still stood behind you, though one hand had snaked its way around your waist, as if it had to be there. Nobody notices, of course. The team is too focused upon their driver lifting his golden trophy, in awe of the achievement they had built for seemingly the entire season.

Charles doesn’t miss it, of course. Maybe that’s why his gaze is so fixed on you when he releases a splash of champagne, purposely aiming his bottle towards the man behind you, his heart only crushing further when he sees the Spaniard pull your frame behind his own in protection.

And then, it’s all over. Both Carlos and Charles are rushed away to complete their post-race interviews. You’re left alone, simply taking a slow walk towards the Ferrari Hospitality. Even as you pace through the crowds, you can’t help but feel…sick. Dizzy. Out-of-body.

You cared for your husband greatly, and somewhere during it all, you believed his apology was genuine, that he truly wanted to fix the previous mistakes of the year. But how long would his tether last until his mistress came trailing back, regardless of a court ruling?

And Carlos. The sweet man who had proved to you time and time again, you were worth more than a simple name on a piece of paper. He’d been your soul, you truly were set to drop an entire marriage to live in his arms until his blonde counterpart came along, a knife to the chest after one of the most intimate nights you could fathom.

Your breathing gets faster, the world begins to turn on an axis. From somewhere, you hear a voice asking if you’re okay, if you need help getting back to the hospitality. And then, the world goes black, your body slumps to the floor of the paddock, with only one sentence drifting through your unconscious mind.

Who do you love?

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover @barnestatic @omgsuperstarg @chimchimjiminie16 @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog @junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt @crowdthena @screemqueen @lewislvr @styles-sunflower @itspaddockprincess @adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins @formulanando @lorarri @christianpulisic10 @gaypoetsblog @thisbitxhs-blog @goldsainz @ru-kru @magical-spit @hrlzy @nooshytushie @gaslysainz @marvel-at-stucky @sugarvibez @adeptustemptations @roseseraj @leclercdream @pjofics @hecatesfavoritechild @poseforme @thisbitxhs-blog @adalynneva @meganlikes2purr @sabrinaselina55 @laneyspaulding19 @heavenlyiecreature @pink-teddy-bear @nooshytushie @strawberries-and-racing @milasexutoire @ohthemisssery @florkt @obsessedwiththeideaofyou @ru-kru @myhomeworksnotdone @ineedafictionalman @bregarc @allywthsr @summerslike11 @wildcupcake @willowpains @marlenamallowan @leclercloml @katzenwahnsinn @be-your-coffee-pot

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waughymommy · 2 months

Text

My first 'mature' ABDL story. It's about a husband and a wife who have a problem. I hope to write a lot more after this, so I hope you like it!

Finding Mommy

'This isn't working.'

The statement didn't come as a shock to Andrew. He knew it wasn't working. But he didn't want to look like he didn't care, so he persued it, already feeling resigned and bitter about the discussion's inevitable conclusion.

'What isn't?' he asked, softly.

'This. This whole...baby thing. I can't do it,' his wife, Tammy, waved her hand in his direction. He winced, glancing down at his apparel. A slightly soggy diaper, and a t-shirt. He'd been wearing the same thing to bed every so often for a couple months now. His wife had initially chuckled and teased him playfully, but lately...lately the playful teasing had stopped. She wouldn't remark on his padded state, except if the diaper got too close to her. 'The tapes scratch my skin,' she'd explain, but Andrew suspected it was something else.

She went on.

'I'm sorry. I thought I could. I know you really want this. But I can't do it. I can't...pretend you're a baby. The diapers were one thing...but...I can't do that,' she looked away, as if preparing herself to say something upsetting. 'You know...when you first told me...you made it sound...sound like a sex thing...I don't mind that. I don't even mind...using them, sometimes...like...like before...you know?'

She trailed off, looking at Andrew, a pained expression on her face. Andrew's mind flashed back to when he'd first told her, almost a year and a half ago. How she'd been so...accepting.

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

'Are these ones good?' Tammy asked, as she patted the package. 'I wanted to make sure I got good ones...I ordered these a few weeks after you told me...they just arrived on Monday.'

Andrew glanced at the large box of diapers, feeling a stirring of excitement at the fact that she'd bought so many...a whole case, in fact. God, what was she planning? Was this going to become a regular occurence? Was she going to keep him in diapers, for the whole day? Or wear herself? His head swam at the possibilities.

'I...uh...what are they?' he asked, licking his lips, nervously.

'Abena?' Tammy replied, scrunching up her face, trying to recall something. 'I...Abena X-plus? They had so many different names, but I think these are the good ones. Abri-form L4...The large ones...I wasn't sure what size we'd need...Oh.'

She suddenly stopped, pausing, as if worried about what she was going to say next. She reached into her (rather mysterious, to Andrew, at least) handbag, rummaging around. Andrew waited patiently for her to speak, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the large box on the bed. Abena X-plus was sure to be a world away from what he'd tried so far. He knew these were premium diapers. He felt himself jolt back to reality as Tammy started talking again.

'I bought...these...as well...'

Another package slid onto the bed, only this time it wasn't boxed or freshly delivered. It was clearly a packet of diapers. A packet of OPEN diapers.

'On the site I got the...uh...Abenas from, they were selling purple ones, too,' she said, nervously. 'So...I got some of those, in a smaller size...'

Andrew's mind could have exploded at that moment. Tammy stood up from the bed, an audible crinkling coming from her pyjama bottoms. Andrew couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the bulge of her diaper before, but he certainly noticed now. He stared at her rump almost hungrily as she turned sideways, looking coyly at him, grabbing the edge of her pyjama top and starting to lift it, revealing the purple waistband of the diaper.

Andrew stepped forwards, reaching out. His hand ran over her bottom, slipping off her trousers, until she was standing in just a diaper and a shirt. He patted the material of padding, pulling her close to him, hand trailing around and around the crinkly undergarment, feeling it, feeling /her/ through it.

'I...I guess you like it?' Tammy asked, feeling a little awkward. Andrew made a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan.

'Yes,' he replied, simply.

'Would you like to wear one, too?' she asked, wriggling her bottom against his crotch, making him tense a little.

'Y...yes...' he gasped, hardly believing what was happening...

'Then lay down on the bed for me...'

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

That night had been amazing. Andrew couldn't believe his luck. They'd spent the whole evening in diapers, exploring and experimenting. It felt like his wildest fantasies had come true. This beautiful woman, his future wife (he'd chosen to tell her a little while after they got engaged), was willing to wear and use diapers for him. He couldn't believe it.

She seemed almost as eager as him, that evening. She did everything he'd ever fantasized about, sexually. She wet. She asked for a change. She changed him...they even had...well. Andrew wasn't sure what to call it. Lots of rubbing. Wet, squishy diapers pressing together, then pulled aside for the 'main event'. Was that diaper sex? He supposed so. It was wonderful, whatever it was.

He wondered if what happened next had been a turning point. At the end of the evening, when they were snuggled in bed, she'd sighed contentedly and lazily rolled out of bed.

'Be right back, hun,' she told him huskily, slipping out of the room in an instant.

She'd returned, after a couple minutes, undiapered, her bottoms now back on. She'd smiled and gotten back into bed with him.

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

'Why did you take it off?' Andrew asked, a little confused. 'Didn't you like it?'

Tammy dodged the question, but sounded just as confused as Andrew. 'Well...we're done now, aren't we? I'm really tired...I don't think you're up to going again, even I wasn't...'

She paused, sidling up to him in the bed, absent-mindedly flattening the covers over her. 'Why haven't you taken yours off?' she asked, finally.

'I...Well. I just...thought I'd like to keep it on. That's...okay, right?'

A few moments ago, he'd been certain it would be. It seemed silly even to ask. But now he wasn't so sure.

'Oh. Um. Sure,' Tammy replied, smiling again. 'I love you.'

She kissed him, turning away, and Andrew slipped his arms around her from behind, murmuring 'I love you, too' into her neck.

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

'That was okay. It made me feel...sexy. I loved that I could have that effect on you. It made me feel good, too,' she thought for a moment. 'I felt like your partner, then. I felt like I was desirable, sexually, like...like this was a special secret, between us. Something for the bedroom, something kinky and fun. I didn't care that it was nappies, I knew people had fetishes...but this isn't just a fetish, is it?'

Andrew swallowed as she fixed him with a steely gaze.

'Is it, Andrew?'

He shook his head 'no'. It was more than that. He wished he'd explained before. He thought she'd understood.

'You...want to be a baby, don't you?'

Andrew's mouth opened in protest.

'No! I mean...not all the ti-'

Tammy raised a hand, cutting him off.

'I know. Not all the time. Not most of the time. Not forever. Just occasionally, right? Like when I tried before...but for real?'

Andrew swallowed and nodded again. He remembered the brief times she'd tried to play 'Mommy'.

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

'Uh...crawl to me...come here, you naughty little baby...'

Tammy's voice was strained, as she patted the top of her legs, calling Andrew over.

Meanwhile, Andrew himself was feeling...well. He wasn't sure exactly.

There was something a little exciting about the humiliation his wife was bringing to this role. He found something arousing about how she threatened to spank him, how she called him names and teased him. It felt, well, /naughty/, and he decided he sort of liked that. It was very erotic.

But...he wasn't looking for this to be erotic. Something was wrong. He didn't feel like a baby; he felt like a naughty boy being punished. He didn't feel safe and looked after. He felt chastised and a little ashamed. He felt unspeakably adult, despite the baby bonnet and mittens he was wearing. Instead of an innocent little baby, he was some weird guy, crawling around, pretending to be an infant, calling his wife 'Mommy'.

'Crawl to me!' Tammy repeated.

Andrew sighed, starting to move.

'Yes, Mommy...'

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

'I thought that was really weird, but you know...' Tammy shrugged. 'I tried. For you. I thought you wanted that. I thought it was a sex thing still.'

Andrew shuffled in the bed, feeling uncomfortable. He wished he hadn't worn to bed, now. He'd felt a pang when he'd gone to pad up; his case of abenas was nearly empty; her package of molicares was two thirds full. He hadn't expected her to use them of her own volition, but it was a reminder of just how infrequently she'd worn, for him or otherwise.

'Then,' Tammy continued. 'Then you told me that wasn't what you wanted, either. You wanted it to be more...innocent...more 'snuggly'.' That last word was almost a snarl, and Andrew felt himself flinch.

'So I tried that, too. But I couldn't do it...I mean...' she sighed, pushing the hair back out of her eyes, sighing in frustration. 'Remember what I told you when you told me this stuff?'

Andrew nodded.

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

'Aren't I...doing enough?' Tammy asked, a look of confusion on her face.

'No! No, it's not that...it's more that you're doing it the wrong way...' Andrew immediately regretted his words, seeing his wife's expression turn sour.

'No! I mean...I...I think maybe I didn't really explain what I want, not properly. It's not just the baby stuff, dressing up and that...I want...' he swallowed, hesitant.

'Well...I want it to be more...um...innocent? Like...like...I was a rea...' he stopped himself. 'Like, more snuggly? You know? Maybe some...cuddles...at bedt- at night time...I'd like to be, um...held...sometimes...'

Tammy stared at him as if he had just sprouted a third head.

'So...you want me to be like your real mother?'

'No!'

'As if you were a real baby, right?'

'I...No...I mean...it's not like you're my real mother...I...I just want you to...'

'To what? Look after you? Like an infant?' Tammy demanded, her voice even.

'I...I...in a way...yes...I just don't want it to always be so...sexual...'

Tammy sighed. There was a silence before she finally spoke.

'Okay. Look. This is pretty weird to me. I'm not comfortable with it. But I love you, Andrew. I always will,' she looked up as she spoke, taking Andrew's hand in her own. 'But I don't know how to deal with this. I don't think I can...do that. I'm sorry.'

'Oh.' replied Andrew, simply. He hated himself at that moment. If he'd been honest from the beginning, maybe none of this would have happened.

'But,' Tammy started, nibbling her lip. 'BUT. I'd like to be okay with it. So...You can do something...something small...I don't know, you could wear a nappy to bed. And I'll try to get more comfy with the idea.'

Andrew's heart leapt. Everything was going to be okay.

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

Andrew's heart sank. Everything was going wrong.

But Tammy wasn't done yet...

'I tried so hard to...to accept this. I started off like...like it was no big deal, remember? I used to tease you and you'd smile and for a bit, I thought maybe I could be okay with it. But then, then you started to...I don't know. Resent me? You pulled away. It wasn't enough for you. And maybe I pulled away, too. It hurt to see you wanting me to give you something I wouldn't, couldn't give you. It hurt to see you shut me out because I couldn't understand. So...now we're here...'

'Where is here?' Andrew said, asking, for the second time that night, a question which he really didn't feel he needed to ask, but if he didn't ask it, he knew it would appear he didn't care.

'Here? Here is...my husband wants to be treated like a baby...NON sexually...and I can't cope with it,’ she paused, seemingly thinking hard about something. Her mouth opened again, this time drawing out the sound of one little word, waiting for a statement to follow it.

‘So….’

Andrew swallowed. He waited for the crushing blow. He didn’t know what she would say, but he could guess.

‘So you can’t wear diapers anymore around me…’

‘So I don’t want diapers in the house anymore…’

‘So I don’t love him anymore….’

‘So I /can’t/ love him anymore, and I think we need to get a divorce…’

He knew whatever was said next would change their relationship forever. He was about to lose something, he didn’t know what exactly, but he also knew life would be a lot harder without him. He looked up at her with grim determination, resigned to whatever awful things came out of her mouth next.

‘So…’ she began again, and Andrew felt himself stiffen, worry making his heart pound.

‘So I think we need to find him…find you…someone who can.’

Andrew gawped at her. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. What was she saying? Was she leaving him? She must be… she was just being the wonderful woman she always had been, willing to help him find a more ‘appropriate’ mate, someone who’d be happy to indulge him. He felt his eyes sting a little as tears formed, before, in the silence, another possibility occurred to him.

She’d been watching him closely, and seemed to notice as a flash of something, hope, realization maybe, passed across his face. He addressed her again, voice shaky.

‘Do you mea-‘ he was cut off abruptly.

‘I mean, just someone to do that for you, you know?’ Tammy explained, her voice emphasizing the word ‘that’ in a way that made it clear she found ‘that’ distasteful. ‘I…no sex. I’m not leaving you. I love you, I always will, I think. I hope. I just…I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, Andrew. And…I know this is so, so important to you. I see it, Andy, I see how much you want it…’

It’s her turn to look scared now, her eyes filled with tears, rolling freely down her cheeks. She’s shivering, but it’s not cold. Wordlessly, Andrew embraced her, his own manly sob joining her small, squeaking ones, her voice cracking as she tried to go on.

‘I…I don’t want to lose you…I’m…I wanted so badly to m…make you happy, but I CAN’T. I’m a horrible, awful wife. I’m a fuck-up. I…I don’t know why you married me!’ she howls, throwing herself into Andrew’s chest, his arms soothing her, rubbing her back, shh-ing her like you would a crying child. A tiny smile formed on his lips for a moment, as he considered the role reversal.

But it was soon replaced by another kind of smile, the kind that happens when you realize maybe you’re not alone, that your partner is just as afraid of what’s happening as you. That he or she is afraid of the exact same things. It was a tearful, almost regret-filled smile.

‘If only we’d talked about this sooner…’

He shook his head, clearing his mind. Right now, he had to help Tammy feel better.

‘Ohh…oh hun…’ he said, his own voice wavering, fighting back another hard sob. ‘Shhh… you know, I’ve been worried about the same thing. I thought I was an awful husband. I wondered why you wanted to be with me. I didn’t understand. I thought…just now, you were going to leave me…’

Tammy jerked back, head snapping upwards to look at him, a look of something…hurt, Andrew decides. Hurt he’d think she would do that. Her face pink and flushed, her cheeks damp with too many tears.

‘Never,’ She retorted, instantly, and then she was back in his arms, crying anew. ‘Never…I…I NEVER want to lose you…’

Andrew smiled again, sighing, a little in relief. Of course, given her earlier outburst, he already knew that…but it was lovely to have confirmation.

‘I know Tam, I really do. Now, at least. But I want to let you know, I love you too. I don’t think you’re an awful wife…you’ve been so understanding. Please, don’t think I don’t love you, don’t think I resent you, or hate you or think ANYTHING bad about you, after you’ve tried so hard to fulfill me and my selfish, perverted desires.’

He felt her shaking her head, disagreeing, with the part about her trying so hard, or the part about his desires being perverted, or both, or something else…he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter at that moment.

‘So I’m just telling you, no matter what, I’ll love you. I’d have loved you even if you said I could never wear another diaper. I’d have loved you even if you told me you’d stopped loving me. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself…’

Tammy’s cheeks turned a little pinker, her sobs dying down.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks, not moving to look at him.

‘Positive,’ he says, more confident now. ‘Do you feel better now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you ready to talk about…it?’

‘…Yes.’

There was a pause as Tammy pulled away, slowly, reluctantly, so she could look at him. She smiled, her eyes wandering over him, as if appreciating him newly. When she reached the diaper her expression clouded, eyes flitting back up to his, as if just remembering they had something else to discuss now.

‘So…do you mean it?’ Andrew asked, anxiously.

‘Yes.’

He looked unconvinced, so Tammy continued.

‘I don’t have a problem with it. I really don’t. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, an-‘

‘Why didn’t you ask me before?’

‘Wh-what?’

‘Why didn’t you ask me before?’ Andrew repeated, his tone not demanding or forceful, but genuinely curious.

‘I…well…’ Tammy looked away, embarrassed. ‘I was scared…’

‘Why?’

‘Well…first I was worried you’d say no, because she wouldn’t be me, and you wouldn’t be able to feel anything with her. And if you said no, I’d be out of options. I don’t know what would h-happen if…’ her voice broke again, eyes swimming with tears. Andrew frowned slightly.

‘What else?’

‘I was afraid if you said yes, you would love her...too much. You’d leave me. Because you don’t love me at all, not anymore…how could you? I mean-‘

Andrew squeezed her hand suddenly, shaking his head, stopping her from working herself up again.

‘Not true, love. I want you. I love you. I’m not going to replace you. Even if I agree to this, I promise,nobody’ll never replace you…are you sure you’re okay with this?’

Tammy nodded.

‘Yes.’

‘What…sort of things would she, uh, do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tammy admitted, seeming to shrink back a little. ‘I mean…change you? Give you bottles…pacifiers…play with you like a real baby.’

Andrew felt his heart flutter twice; once at the prospect of a genuine Mommy in his life, after so long… and once at the sudden feeling of utter love for Tammy that swept over him. ‘The ideal woman…’ he thought, snorting somewhere inside his head at how corny that was.

‘Would I be allowed to call her Mo…’ Andrew blushed, dropping his voice to a whisper.

‘Mommy?’ he finished, waiting.

‘Yes. Of course. I mean, that’s what you want, right? A Mommy? For the…the baby inside you? Just no sexual stuff. Please. I need that from you.’

Andrew nodded unhesitatingly. The thought of having sex with another woman (beyond occasional fantasies) had never even crossed his mind. He was missing an emotional, platonic, maternal bond, not a passionate sexual one.

They both smiled a moment, almost in triumph. They were still together. This might just work out.

‘So…’ Tammy started, grinning now.

‘So…’ Repeated Andrew, a playful smirk joining hers. ‘What do we do now?’

‘Now? Now we sleep. I’m so tired. I just want to be held. I’m so…worn out…’ she leant forwards again, nuzzling his chest, smiling softly. She sighed, a long, happy sigh, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

‘Okay…do…you want me to go change before we-‘

‘No. I don’t want you to leave.’

Her tone was demanding that time, and Andrew chuckled. She wriggled, pulling the covers out from under them both, as they each shuffled and worked to lie down, his arms still wrapped around her. Their heads reaching the pillows, Tammy smiled wearily, shifting away a little, finding her husband’s body too warm for comfort. He leaned forwards and kissed her on the forehead.

‘Goodnight Tammy…’

‘Goodnight…’ she hesitated, wondering if she was really going to say this, worrying he’d take it the wrong way. She stopped hesitating.

‘Baby,’ she added, one hand slipping down and squeezing the soggy bulge of his diaper. She watched his face for a reaction.

Andrew blushed a little as she withdrew her hand.

It was a simple, loving gesture. A show of acceptance.

It hadn’t meant anything else. She wasn’t going to baby him. She didn’t see him that way. She didn’t want to be ‘Mommy’. She was his wife, and she was just showing how much she cared, how safe he was with her, how much she truly wanted him to be happy, even in this.

At that moment, that was all that Andrew needed.

He lifted his hand to squeeze her retreating one, smiling.

‘Thanks,’ he said, earnestly.

With that, she sighed slightly and turned around, snuggling into him backwards. Tomorrow, she thought, was sure to be a very interesting day.

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