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burning-academia-if · 2 days

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Beware! Nsft!

How would the ROs (in a crushing stage) react to having a spicy dream about MC?

This is just...pure smut lmfaO

Rook:

This isn’t the first time, and he doesn’t think it’ll be the last. You beneath him, gasping, his own body pressing close to you. Your mouth on his, your moans being swallowed by the desperate kisses he gives you. His hands skim down bare skin, wanting more, so much more. More then you could ever give.

The way you say his name is everything he’s ever wanted. His mouth leaves yours, wandering down your neck, your shoulders, you neck, stomach, hips, to the spot right between your legs. You writhe against him, back arching and he takes far too much pleasure in the sound that gasps out your mouth.

An alarm sounds, somewhere, and he blinks awake. It takes too long to register where he is, considering how many times he’s had this dream. The flash of guilt isn’t as strong as the first time he’s had it, but it’s still there. Especially when he realizes how hard he still is, and the way your image is lodged into your brain.

He groans. A cold shower and enough mental screaming at himself will make it all go away. It’s not like the longing is as part of him as his own bloodstream.

Beck:

Everything is soft and hazy. He finds himself pressed against a couch or bed or somewhere soft. You lean over him, and he lifts his head, eyes tracing your every move. Your fingers dance down his face, ghosting his neck and he lets his eyes close.

“What do you want?” He breathes.

“You.” You say it so plainly, and he rises up to press his lips against yours. His hands wrap around your waist, and you settle on his lap. When your fingers thread through his hair, his fingers go under your shirt. He tugs on it and you pull away just long enough for him to take it off you.

His own shirt comes off and the feel of your skin against his is enough for him to moan your name, pleading. You press into him, and he says you name again and then—

The alarm on his phone goes off and his eyes open in a daze. His skin feels too warm and the blankets too heavy. He turns off his alarm sighs. He’s in deep now, isn’t he?

Rhea:

It starts so soft and innocent. The two of you are in a room that’s probably the Student Government meeting room. You slip into the seat next to her, resting your head on her shoulder. She means to shoo you away, before you distract her from whatever she’s doing.

Instead you nuzzle against her shoulder and she sighs. You take her hand, and she entwines her fingers against yours, “You’re distracting me.”

“I can distract you a little more.” Your voice is teasing before you kiss her cheek. She can’t help but laugh, trying to push you away as you rain kisses on her. But then she’s somehow against the wall, and your kisses aren’t on her face but her neck.

You pull at her, and her braid comes undone and falls around her. Your other hand trails down and slips between her legs. The moment you press down, she’s gone. Her hands grip onto your shoulders for purchase, grinding against your hand, the mounting pressure building.

You’re still laughing, murmuring how cute she looks coming undone. She’s so close to some kind of release.

Then her door flies open and Eloise is shouting she can’t find something and she’s painfully awake.

She grabs the nearest thing and throws it at the door. Hopefully her roommate thinks it’s because she’s upset at being woken up, and not notice how painfully red her face is, and how she wishes to vanish you from her mind.

Zoe:

Zoe’s never had strong feelings about sex. It’s something a lot of people do, and some people…don’t. It makes the way their throat catches foreign to them. You lean over them, face blurry against the backdrop of a blue sky and burning sun. Your fingers splay across their face and they nuzzle against it.

“Zoe.” You murmur, and they don’t question why the two of you are here, atop a hill with grass as soft as satin wrapping around your bodies. When you call their name, they only turn towards you, eyes fluttering closed as you brush a kiss against their lips.

It’s soft, warm. Their usual inhibition bleeds away. They reach a hand up, and pull you close. You nip at their lips, and they gasp away. With a soft laugh, you nuzzle against their neck, and they try to move away.

“Hey that tickles—” At least it does, until your teeth sink in. Heat ignites in their chest as they gasp. You press a kiss against it to sooth before curling up against their side.

The sky becomes dark all at once. Your hand traces circles against their side, “I want to touch you. Can I?”

Can you? No one has ever seen their body before, and they’ve never wanted someone to perceive it. But you? It feels so easy now, to do this with you. They rise, pulling at their shirt. Your hand stops them with a shake of your head. They relent, and let you pull it off them. Any embarrassment they expect doesn’t come, letting your eyes trace their body.

You lean forward again, and they catch you in their arms. Your hands on their skin feels nice. They want to sink into it. They want to sink into you. They won’t run from you. No matter what you want to do.

“Zoe! Mom said to get your ass up, it’s your turn for morning shift!” Zoe gasps awake, brain scattering as they bolt up in bed. Their brother raises an eyebrow at them, which they only meet with a throw of a pillow in their direction.

“I had my alarm set you heathen.” They grumble, heart beat racing. Why did they have that dream about you? It wasn’t like them to dream like that? They thought they might bury themselves into the earth today instead.

Lars:

Everything is loud and noisy, and he’s not sure who’s dragging the other to somewhere more secluded. There’s a shut of a door, he doesn’t think anyone will hear amongst the music and their own chatter. The two of you are pressed together, mouth against mouth, hands wandering across each other’s bodies.

He slots a leg between yours, swallowing your gasps at the sudden friction. His fingers are swift with the buttons of your jeans. Everything is a neon haze. You’re arching against him, desperate to be ever closer. He’s about to show you just how close you can be.

“Lars,” you manage to gasp, wrenching yourself away, “Someone could see us—”

“Scared?” He slips his hand beneath your waistband and you squirm, moving against his touch on instinct. “With how you feel, you seem more excited to get caught then anything.”

“No—I—” Your words fail you as he keeps going, eyes squeezing shut. You blindly reach for him, fumbling with his own pants, too lost in your own pleasure to do it right. Your hand finally manages to undo it, then—

He startles awake. The grey, early morning haze greets him. Lars isn’t sure what woke him up. It could have been even the slightest of sound. That doesn’t matter. He rubs a hand over his face.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” He groans. You in his dreams was bad enough, but like that? He couldn’t believe he’s already so far gone.

???:

How many times had they imagined your body? They’ve always wanted you to yield everything to them. Heart, soul, and body. The image of you laying so pretty and bare beneath them feels like a lifelong longing finally fulfilled. Their teeth has sunk into so many places, leaving marks and bruises all along your body. You’re begging for them, a type of release. They kiss your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you want.

They’ve wanted this for so long, they’re going to take their time with you. Their own pleasure hardly matters. They’re mapping out every inch of skin, cataloguing every expression your face can make. All of it. They want all of it and more.

“Please—” You gasp, “Please.”

Even your begging sounds like music to them. But not yet. Not quite. They rise up, bracing themself over you. Their hand traces the outline of your mouth. Your lips part, and they slip a finger inside, feeling you bite down, tongue brushing against it.

Their voice is a command, “You can’t just beg without stating what you want, my little moon. You have to tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

Your eyes open, and there’s the faintest flash of defiance in your eyes, even in this state. A thrill rushes through them. Oh, they love when you don’t make things easy. They love seeing you fight them, pressing you until you finally break down.

The soft nibbles turn into a hard bite. On instinct they yank their hand away, but really they feel the way their body shuddered at the sensation. You frown at them, and the next thing they know, you’re pulling them down. In a blink, you’ve switched position. You’re on top, legs on either side of them.

“What about you? What do you want?” Your hips grind into theirs and they suck in a breath.

“Everything. Every piece of you.” They reach out their hands to hold your waist, but you snatch them by the wrists and pin them down. The sensation makes them feel like their falling. And the feeling of falling wakes them up.

In the dark, they breathe hard. A hand is thrown over their eyes, thoughts scattered. You. You. You. God, they would do anything to have you.

#em answers #ch: rook #ch: beck #ch: rhea #ch: zoe #ch: lars #ch: ???#nsft #unedited #idk felt like practicing again #will tumblr kill me for this LMAO #think I thought this with the ??? smut as well

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whileyoureinschoolidothisallday · 1 year

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I just saw someone say 'my hot take is touya would've been miserable as a prohero' on twitter and whoever you were bestie you are SO correct

If touya would've gotten everything he wanted, that kinda pressure would've cracked him like an egg eventually and I will stand by that in court

#dabi #touya todoroki #it would've been like steven universe where he never tells anyone he's struggling until he has an even WORSE mental breakdown than canon #probably still burns himself pushing too hard #shouto probably still has to be the one to get the family together #there is no other way this story can go #it will always play out one way or another you cannot escape your fate #the todorokis are the very epitome of doomed by the narrative

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floatmeintothesun · 7 months

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Utterly Enraptured

Pairing; Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

tags; breeding, little bit of overstimulation, Miguel goes into rut, creampie, wordcount 4k

Summary; Miguel seems to have forgotten about a certain side effect from having half of his genetic makeup being spider DNA

EXPLICIT - MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

—

Wet, warm, perfectly molded to his length. Large palms pressing against thighs, his mouth quieting your little gasps and hiccups. His murmured praise, his filthy tongue pressing against your hole wetly, licking long stripes up your skin. Hungry. The twitch of his hips, the choked whimpers, he wants it. Needs it.

You’re gasping, trying in vain to muffle your moans into the pillow while he completely and irrevocably rearranges your insides. You’re so fucking sweet – god, he wants nothing more than to stuff you full of his seed, pull out and admire the view of him seeping out from your weeping pussy.

He wants to push it all back in with spit slicked fingers, kiss away all of your tears and do it all over again until you’re sobbing in pleasure, begging for more, more, more –

Miguel wakes up feeling fire burn at the base of his spine and the undeniable hardening of his cock. He immediately wants to just roll over and go back to bed.

It’s 7:47, he has to get up in ten minutes, he’s way too hot but the floors are probably freezing, his blankets are so so comfortable and his dick is aching. So far, great start to his morning. Miguel turns to his side, finding your side of the bed empty. He resists the urge to groan.

Right, you have your early work shift today.

He mourns the loss of the warmth as he kicks off his blankets with one languid motion. For a moment he’s tempted to just indulge himself right now, right here. Your scent is still in the air, soaked into your pillow, heady and intoxicating.

Absent-mindedly he palms himself, cupping the sizable bulge and considers. Miguel wants you, to be completely honest. Always does. Like a thirst that will never be quenched, he craves you. All of you. Your hands, your flesh, your blood — if he could, he’d worship every single inch of you for the rest of eternity.

And you’re not here. Unfortunately. He imagines your hand, smaller than his, wrapping securely around his length, the other curled loosely around his hot, swollen balls, and slowly exhales.

He can wait. He has self control. He doesn’t have time to fist himself like a wild animal. He has an online meeting to attend since he, for once, is taking a break from the Spider Verse for a day or two.

Miguel heaves a sigh and gets up, stretching lazily. The chill seeps into his skin and he resigns himself to taking a cold shower.

(He ends up having to clean spurts of creamy white off of the shower walls anyway. He is so fucked.)

—

There’s something wrong with him. There’s something wrong with today. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Miguel can’t get you out of his head.

You usually don’t leave his mind regardless, but at the moment, all he can think of is bending you over the nearest flat surface, letting you slather at his tip, feeling your sweet, tight pussy clench around him while he whispers obscenities in your ear.

He thinks of you all day, but his thoughts are never this…vividly vulgar. Miguel will admit to having the stray passing instance but right now? He’s practically been a depraved fucking dog for the past three hours straight.

This morning didn’t help. That damn dream didn’t help. He’s been staring at his laptop for the past thirty minutes trying desperately to redirect his thoughts to something more productive, his board members are droning on and on about stock values and whatnot – he has work to finish, but jesus, he can’t think of anything but you.

Your taste, your heat, your everything. He’s hard as rock as he mumbles some bullshit excuse to his meeting members before shutting off his laptop with a definite click. It’s as if a fog has filled his head, keeping him drunk and dizzy. Miguel’s body feels unbearably hot right now, scorching, needing.

“Lyla,” his voice is strangled. “What’s the date?”

His assistant flickers to life next to him, drawing up a calendar.

“Mm…it’s the 8th,” she says, blinking down at him. “Ah, I see. Your uh, time of the month, y’know?” She wiggles her eyebrows and he growls, waving her away. She pops up a little ways away, putting her hands on her hips.“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, man,” Lyla frowns. “Just telling you,”

“Thanks,” He says bitingly, dismissing her and groaning into his hands. You won’t be home until later – and later means that he’s going to have to suffer for the next few hours, alone and unbearably horny. Wonderful.

Mentally, he berates himself with a low hiss, feeling annoyed that he didn't connect the dots earlier. His throat is dry and he swallows raspily.

He should’ve looked at the date, how could he have forgotten? Heightened sensitivity, overheating, inability to focus, the urge to fuck you into next week — all signs pointing to a very large neon billboard that says “SPIDER INSTINCT FUCKERY” in big bold letters. In other words, mating period.

It happens every other month through the 8th to the 10th when his body decides that it’s time to procreate and do nothing else for the next two days.

He sucks in a ragged breath slowly, trying to calm his fast beating heart. It doesn’t work, only serving to remind him of the pulsing in his chest and between his legs.

It wasn’t this bad before he started dating you. All he had to do was tug on his cock a few times and he was fine, for the most part. Anything else could be burned off by fighting criminals and doing his usual dimensional overseeing.

That was before you. You and your gorgeous smile, you and your honeyed scent, you and your burning touch. He’s so hungry — greedy. He wants your flesh in his hands, your slick on his chin, your hands on his body.

He doesn’t even realize he’s getting up from the couch and migrating to your shared room until his knees hit the mattress and his huge frame curls up on your side of the bed. His cock is stupidly hard, twitching and throbbing from where it’s formed a tent in his sweatpants.

Miguel can already feel the precum seeping out of him and staining his boxers. A whine rips itself out of his throat as he buries his head into your pillow, basking in your familiar sweet smell.

A heady mixture of your favorite shampoo, perfume and body, all swirling around him as he grinds his lower half into the bed desperately like a dog in heat.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

He needs you, craves you. His large hand snakes down to wrap around his weeping length, the other pulling down his sweat pants and boxers to give him some relief. It’s agony, waiting for you to come home.

He wishes you were here right now, wishes that he could pepper your face with kisses and croon apologies while he slowly bottoms out in your tight cunt while you writhe beneath him.

Or on top of him. He doesn’t give a damn. Any position you want, he’ll do it.

Just imagining your sweet whines and whimpers has his breath labored. He presses the heel of his palm against his stiff length, hissing at the jolt of pleasure and sensitivity that burns through him. It’s painfully dry, but he takes the slick precum dripping out of his tip to aid the tight slide of his fist over his fat cock. God, he just needs to pump you full of him and fuck it all back into you. The thought of you, all swollen and glowing with his kid makes him nearly feral.

His hips jerk upwards and he can’t help but imagine your hand instead of his, can’t help but imagine how much better it would feel.

He gasps quietly as his thumb presses against his slit, jaw tightening, fangs threatening to break skin. The hand currently not wrapped around his cock is clenching the bedsheets hard enough to rip.

He just needs to wait. He just has to wait a little longer. You’ll be home soon.

—

You slip off your shoes at the door, setting them aside on the rack near the entrance. The warmth from the apartment chases away the chill and you set down your bag, heaving a sigh of relief. You’ve been looking forward to spending time with your boyfriend all day since he has a rare day at home today.

You peek around the hall, letting your aching feet be comforted by the rugs near the living room. Where is Miguel anyways?

“Heyyyy,” Lyla pops up in front of you suddenly, grinning when you startle. “Looking for Miguel?”

You set a hand on your chest trying to calm your jackrabbiting heart, before giving her a small smile.

“Yeah. Is he here right now? I mean he said he would be, but I don’t know if he’s doing his Spider-man thing right now,” You tilt your head as Lyla’s expression flickers. She adjusts her glasses, glancing at your bedroom door.

“Well uh, he’s in there. Might wanna be careful though,” She mutters, checking out her bright pink nails absentmindedly. You raise an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?”

In lieu of explanation she draws up a calendar and materializes a glitching pen in her hands, circling the date. Your frown in confusion.

“The…8th?” You blink and she nods. Why would today be significant? It’s not your anniversary, the only thing that comes to mind at the moment is… “Oh.” You swallow dryly, remembering vague flashes from two months ago. Two months ago when he had fucked you silly for what was basically two days, interspersed with breaks in between. Then the sheepish explanation of what he calls "mating period" where his DNA practically drives him insane with rampant horniness.

Lyla nods empathetically.

“Yeah…well, good luck! I've heard that massages really help with soreness.” She vanishes with a pop of golden glimmers, leaving you alone in the hall.

You glance where she had been moments prior before sighing. Dating a man with half of his makeup being spider DNA came with its quirks. Your feet carry you down the hall and you open the door to find –

Oh fuck.

Miguel, in all of his bare glory, strong thighs spread wide, leaving nothing to the imagination. His sweatpants and shirt are in a heap on the floor, most likely thrown in his haste. His heaving chest is gleaming with sweat, abdomen twitching, looking like a Greek God.

And there, his throbbing, swollen cock squeezed tightly in his fist, his hips working back and forth at a languid pace. Long and thick, the tip shining slightly with precum. It makes you salivate, sticky heat beginning to grow between your legs.

The room's atmosphere is heavy as you mindlessly draw closer. Fuck, his gasps and whimpers sound so pretty. Half of his large frame is hanging off the bed as you realize he's on your side, face buried desperately in your pillow.

"B – baby," His words stutter in his throat as your scent overwhelms him, his nostrils flaring. "Please, please, please —fuck, need you so bad," he quivers, taking his hand off of his face to look back at you. He's grimacing, gorgeous plush lips stretched into a pathetic pout and you hum in acknowledgement, putting a hand on his thigh. He twitches but makes no other move.

Your clit throbs in response to the pure neediness in his voice, high and whiny. He sounds utterly wrecked, squeezing his cock and waiting for you to touch him. You’re so close, your hand is on his body, but it’s not where he wants it.

“You’re so desperate, Miguel,” You croon, reaching out slowly and wrapping your hand around his base. He makes a choked sound, his hand falling away to run through his sweaty hair. “Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second, visibly trying to contain himself before he speaks, low and ragged.

“Yes,” He finally hisses, crimson irises foggy and clouded with lust. You hum in approval at his answer, squeezing lightly as you begin to pump him, going at a pace you know is wholly too slow for his taste. “Don’t t — tease me, cariño. Faster, baby, please,” He begs, his breath stuttering in his chest.

You rock back on your heel as you begin stroking faster, your thumb tracing the veins on the underside. Miguel’s eyes roll back as your deliciously hot mouth descends on him, your tongue circling his tip juuust the way he likes it. Fuck, you can feel yourself getting wetter with each trembling hiss and moan you pull out of this man — your man. You separate from him with a pop, licking pre from sticky fingers while he watches hungrily.

The smell of arousal — your arousal, invades his senses and his hands twitch and he lunges, pulling you up to him and flipping you over. You yelp in surprise as his hands immediately squeeze flesh, your hips, your thighs, your ass, anywhere he has access to.

You tilt up to kiss him and he leans down, pressing his lips to yours firmly. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and when you allow him access inside he moans quietly, fangs digging into your lower lip lightly.

Your shirt is practically discarded at the speed of light and you shiver for a second at the cold washing over your skin before Miguel's all over you again.

He leans forward to fumble with your bra, fingers struggling to unclasp the hooks on the back. You laugh and pull it off yourself, to which he rolls his eyes fondly before his mirth is devoured by desire.

Thick fingers nimbly pull at your pants waistline.

"Take these off too, sweetheart," He whispers, leaving wet open mouth kisses trailing down your neck. You shiver, obliging quickly and kicking them off. They land somewhere on the floor and you don't care enough to look for them. Not when Miguel is between your legs, staring down at your clothed pussy like it's his last meal.

He inhales slowly, leaning down to press his head against your thigh. You smell so fucking intoxicating, he wants nothing more than to bury his face between your legs and make you scream in pleasure. But first he has to get rid of your panties.

"Hurry up, Miguel, please," You whine, wiggling your hips as if to try and encourage him. As if he needs any sort of encouragement.

"Do you care about these panties?" He asks, quick and low. You blink.

"No…? –! " You gasp as he lowers his head and fucking rips them off of you in one quick motion with his damn teeth. "Miguel!"

"I'll get you new ones, baby. Promise." He kisses your inner thigh, holding you down with two large searing hands. "As many as you want. As long as I get to have this goddamn pussy, I'll get you anything."

Your glistening lips look absolutely delicious, all wet and soaked from watching him play with his cock in front of you. He wants to put his mouth on your throbbing, swollen clit until you sob, wants your pussy in his face, wants his tongue in you while you grab at his hair and urge him for more. You'd taste divine, and he nearly just decides to do it anyway.

But his cock is so hard it almost hurts and he's about three seconds away from getting blue balls, so instead he sinks one finger in your drenched cunt. Your breath hitches and you turn your head into a pillow as he begins to finger fuck you in earnest. The obscene sound of slick gushing out from your hole makes Miguel nearly feral, nearly has his eyes rolling back into his head as he feels your tightness squeeze and pulse around his thick digit. You hiss at the stretch, slow pain and growing pleasure intertwining as Miguel goes slow adding a second.

"You're doing so good, so good, baby. You feel so – fuck, so good. Can you take one more?" He asks breathlessly. "C’mon, you're such a good girl, aren't you?"

You nod amidst blurry vision, gasping as he slides another finger in. His pace is fast and punishing, and the final goddamn nail on the coffin is the way his fingers press into your g-spot, while his thumb rubs messy circles on your puffy clit.

"Cum, baby, you can do it, you can fucking cum for me, can't you?" He latches onto your tit, swirling his tongue around your nipple in such a way that makes your head foggy.

“Mig – guel!” You whine brokenly as he rolls it between his teeth, sharp points of pleasure burning up your spine like wildfire. Miguel can’t help but groan at the feeling of your sweet cunt clamping down on his fingers, and he increases his speed at the telltale signs of your impending orgasm. You're so so close and when the building coil in your lower stomach finally snaps, you sob, gushing all over his palm.

Your bare chest heaves as he murmurs sweet praise in your ear, telling you that "You did so good, cariño," and "Look at you, you're so gorgeous all spread out like this,". Miguel drags his tongue down your neck, pulling away for a second to suck your juices off his fingers in an awfully erotic display of tongue, saliva, and a flash of a grin.

He presses kisses to your face, trying his absolute damndest not to hump you like a fucking dog but he’s waited so long and he’s going to go fucking insane if he doesn’t get your pretty pussy wrapped around his cock in the next two seconds.

“C’mere, baby,” Miguel takes himself in hand, his other keeping your thighs spread so he can see your twitching hole all wet and ready for him. “Can’t wait any damn longer – I’ll fuckin’ – explode or something.”

Looking up at him from your position is absolutely deadly. His hair is disheveled, strands slipping from their usually neat positions, his expression is utterly and completely devoted as his chest heaves. Your eyes travel down to shamelessly stare at his massive package, complete with his proportionally large hand curled around the weeping length.

He’s so stiff that he splits your lips easily, and he groans at the feeling of your slick coating the underside of his cock. You can’t help but gasp as he grinds against you slowly before the head catches on your clit and pushes inside.

And oh god, he could die right here and be happy, he could fucking die with the tip of his dick buried in your tight pussy and think that his life is fulfilled. It takes everything in him not to cum and paint your insides in a creamy white. Your wet walls are so slick and he hisses as they clamp down on him.

“Fuuuuck… baby you — you gotta loosen up for me, relax — mnnshit — “ he gasps, and you cry out, shifting underneath him. He rubs sloppy circles on your clit, his breathing labored as a few more inches of his monstrous cock slide in, “There we go, there we — nnngh, okay, good, so fucking good, you’re such a pretty girl,” he babbles nonsensically, practically losing his mind in the warmth.

“M — Miguel,” You hiccup, nudging him out of his daze. “Move — please, s’not enough,” You want him in your guts, you want him to fuck you until the only thing you can remember is the shape of his cock.

And who is he to deny you?

He shoves the rest of himself in in one fluid motion, his throat closing in on itself as he bottoms out, his pelvis flush to yours. His mouth parts slightly as his lips form an o shape, and he thrusts once, caging you in his burly arms.

“Oh shit — I’m gonna move, okay? M’gonna move,” he warns you, before pulling out slowly only to slam his hips back into yours with wild abandon. You suck in a startled breath as he begins to absolutely fuck your brains out, fire igniting deep in your lower stomach again. There’s none of his usual careful approach, there’s no teasing, no smug remarks. He’s focused on one thing and one thing only: stuffing you full of his seed until he physically can’t anymore.

You can barely get anything out as he grinds against you, his dick so deep inside that you’re sure that he’s showing through your lower stomach. Fuck – he feels so good as he fills your tight pussy, rocking precisely in all of your sensitive spots. The head of him practically kisses your damn cervix, sending you rocketing towards your second orgasm of the night.

Your brain is so mushy and pleasure-drowned that it takes you a second to realize that he’s still talking and oh fuck.

“Let me fill you, le— let me cum inside, please, please, baby, I wan – nngh, I want you all round and swollen f’me,” he sounds utterly wrecked, desperate and hungry all rolled in at once, “Wouldn’t you look so pretty an’ gorgeous? Pleas – e, please? Need you full, all full of me,” Miguel begs, grunting lowly when you clamp down on him from the downright filth flowing from his mouth.

“Yes – Miguel, just –nnhgod, oh shit, oh fuck,” You lose the tail end of your sentence as your head melts out of your ears and pleasure sears through your veins. Miguel whimpers at your words, shoving himself deeper than you thought was humanly possible.

“Waited so long for you, baby, was so – was so lonely, needed you – need you – “ He hits a spot that has you keening, eyes rolling back and your head bumping against the headboard of the bed. You’re driving him utterly insane, your moans and cries sounding like a blended symphony of bliss pounding through his eardrums. He leans down to litter any inch of bare skin he has access to in dark marks, his burning mouth trailing wetly down the valley between your breasts.

“M’close, Mig – uel, I’m going to cum, baby –” You manage to gasp out before you’re overwhelmed completely and your vision erupts into stars as you gush around him for the second time in one day. It feels like someone has poured molten pleasure down your veins and you’re incandescent with it.

Miguel chokes, low and deep in his throat, feeling your slick pussy tighten around his girthy cock, slathered in your juices. It tears a downright animalistic sound out of him, a trembling snarl from somewhere in his chest as he thrusts once, twice, then finally pumps you full of creamy thick seed.

His mouth is agape, transfixed in a silent ‘o’ as his hips stutter and his balls draw up tight, every atom in his body devoted to filling you completely. When he’s finished, he rolls his hips a few more times, fucking his cum deeper inside of you despite his hiss of overstimulation.

Your limbs are putty in his hands as he slides out slowly and adjusts you into a more comfortable position, his eyes lingering on the way some of his cum drips out of your loose hole. He pushes it all back in with two fingers, giving you a small smile of apology at your choked mutter, before collapsing down next to you and dragging you close to his chest.

“...How long does this last again?” You rasp, voice sore from screaming. Miguel hums in contemplation, nosing your shoulder from where he’s draped over you.

“About a day and a half more to go,” He responds languidly after a moment. “Are you okay with that?”

You know you’re going to be so sore by the end of it. You know you’ll probably be feeling it for weeks on end after. You know you’ll probably have to take a few sick days to recover too.

“Mhm,” You answer, kissing his cheek. “I can handle it,”

“That’s good,” He replies quietly, and you stiffen, feeling his fat softened cock twitch against your thigh. He raises his head to give you a semi sheepish look and you gulp.

Maybe you can’t handle it, actually. It’s okay though, since Miguel will take care of you long after.

—

Man im so sorry this was pretty late. At least i managed to get it in before October ended. Also I’d let that man dick me down any day of the week, 24/7 😻😻

#across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #into the spider verse #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara imagine

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redr0sewrites · 2 months

Text

Sick!Hazbin Hotel x Reader Hcs

i love reverse comfort sm. im also currently being brutally murdered by allergies but i prefer comforting others so here we are

🥀 Cw: fluff, crack, teensy bit of angst with comfort

🥀 Pairing(s): Lucifer x reader, Alastor x reader, Vox x reader, Adam x reader

Lucifer:

sick? him? please, the king of hell doesn't get sick!

thats what he claims anyways

lucifer brushes nearly everything off as just plain allergies, he could literally have a 103 fever and be shaking on the floor and would still be pouting and saying he's fine

the thing about him tho is that he's easy to take care of- after a little coaxing lucifer just sighs and nods glumly before pretty much submitting himself to your care

once he's admitted hes sick tho, he wants you around him 24/7

lucifer wants cuddles, hugs, kisses, he just gets so clingy when he's feeling under the weather

THIS MAN LITERALLY BURNS UP WHEN HE'S SICK ITS ALWAYS THE LITTLE ONES WITH THE HIGHEST RAGING FEVERS THAT LAST FOR DAYS like he'll be sweating and shivering and crying he gets hit HARD when he's sick and it happens so suddenly too- like one day he's fine and then the next he looks like he's one small wind away from collapsing

he lowkey feels bad about asking for things when he's sick so he'll say something offhand like "yk im in the mood for soup" and hopes you get the message

ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE TO GET FEVER DREAMS AND START RAMBLING WHEN HES SICK

like he'll wake up from a nap and still be half asleep and he just starts genuinely rambling about literally the most obscure things

lucifer definitely gets nightmares even when he isn't sick, but when hes feeling like shit and is so delirious he can't tell reality from fiction? be prepared for him to wake up crying and shaking, he just gets so so scared :(

lucifer feels bad about you taking care of him and wants to help, but will lowkey end up pushing himself too hard. PLEASE reassure him and tell him it's alright he'll literally melt

once its all over, lucifer will genuinely trust you more after you saw him in such a vulnerable state and is much more likely to come to you instead of hiding how he's feeling in the future

Alastor:

alastor? weak? lmao no

he would literally rather die than admit he's sick like he would literally just keep pushing on

alastor is one of those people that has an iron immune system like he VERY rarely gets sick but when he does its like torture

to even be alastor's partner you'd have to know him for a long time and you'd probably be able to read him pretty well (at least compared to other people), yet even you sometimes miss his sickness in the earlier stages

alastors biggest tell tale sign of being sick? exhaustion. he very rarely sleeps on the regular, but when he's sick that all catches up to him

he also gets more irritable and a little less composed, he'd be more prone to getting angry and would lash out if anyone asked if he was ok

alastors ears would also be turned back slightly, like most animals do when they're being aggressive, but its pretty much only obvious to people who know him closely

alastor never wants to be vulnerable or weak but you notice that his eyelids keep drifting of their own accord, and how irritable he's been, and it clicks to you that he's obviously not feeling well

approach him about it in private, while alastor does trust you he still doesn't want others to knowm

no matter how much you try he will not lay down, take medicine, or do anything (at least at first)

alastor genuinely thinks that he can just push through on his own and lowkey thinks you're worrying too much

however after two weeks of pure suffering and exhaustion, combined with no sleep and your irritation at his lack of will to take care of himself, alastor finally breaks

he'd prob come to your room at like 4 in the morning and just curl up on the edge of the bed, shivering a little but staying quiet

you wake up to him fast asleep, his ears twitching every once and a while as he rests peacefully near you

get a cool towel and lay it on his forehead to break the fever, and he'll just keep sleeping

he probably wouldn't wake up for at least a few hours, months of lost sleep are catching up to him at this point, giving you the opportunity to make him some soup and medicine

alastor will stir a little when you get out of bed but wont wake up, but once he does wake up he wants you to come back

when he's sick he wants you to be nearby, alastor isn't the touchiest person and being sick makes him feel gross, so he wouldn't want to be touched but would want you arround just to know you're there

this is probably the first step in him being more open to vulnerability around you, and while it may have been a bit of an irritating process to get him back to his usual healthy status, it's definitely worth it as he begins to trust you more

Vox:

lowkey a man child (affectionate)

vox is one of those guys who will take care of himself when he's sick, but he'll complain about it every step of the way

i think he's pretty responsible when he's sick, he'll take the day off and relax but won't do much other than that

he likes when you pamper him though, and a part of him lowkey enjoys being sick because he just gets to have your full attention all of the time (as if he doesn't already💀)

vox would be irritated about showing weakness and not being in control, but he wouldn't be irritated at you

if an employee was being too nosy about his wellbeing? yea he's pissed but if you're the one taking care of him, he'll just sigh and let you do what you want

VOX IS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHOS LITERALLY ALWAYS COLD AND ITS AMPLIFIED WHEN HES SICK

he becomes like a literal ice cube he's SHIVERING and everything

vox has the cutest sneezes too, he glitches out and denies how cute his sneezes are but they really are adorable

vox takes like 2 baths per day when he's sick he hates feeling unclean, and def wants you to join him in the bath (just to relax, get your mind out of the gutter)

vox would be a little pissed about missing work, i think he's a bit of a workaholic and might try to work in bed or sneak some paperwork behind your back

it doesn't work though because he just ends up passing out anyway

vox is big on sleeping when he's sick he's definitely the type to just sleep it off and thats that

like he CRASHES in bed and just does not get up for hours

he sleeps like the dead too, his screen is blank and he barely moves in his sleep

like lucifer, he has fever dreams but they lean more on the weird side rather than the sad side

its funny but instead of talking more when sick, vox actually talks much less. he starts getting super quiet and a lot more needy for your attention

vox is more than happy to return to work and be back on his feet, but will send you a little thank you gift and pamper you in return for taking care of him

Adam:

manchild x2 (also affectionate)

adam DREADS getting sick like he genuinely hates it so much, he sees it as one of his own flaws and it makes him lowkey disgusted at himself

he whines like a baby over a common cold, its almost sad how the slightest sickness will make him act like he's on his death bed

adam whines and complains whenever you aren't around him, he wants cuddles and kisses and is 10x more clingy when he's sick

he has little to no appetite when he's actually sick but gets a huge appetite right after

like you'll have to force him to eat at least a piece of toast per day while he's actually feverish but once he's in recovery he's literally FAMISHED and will ask for so much food

he barely eats or drinks while hes sick it just feels icky to him

i also think he's the type to not want to move like he just collapses on his bed and barely moves an inch (unless you force him)

adam exaggerates when he's barely sick and then underplays it when he's genuinely really sick its lowkey so confusing

like he could have pneuomonia and be half dead and say he's fine but he could have the most common cold and complain foreverrr

he doesn't think you're genuine when you say you want to help him and take care of him, he thinks its just a joke since nobody has ever really taken care of him before

like sure he's been told what to do and bossed around and treated him like a foolish child, but no one has ever sat with him while he's sick and held his hand yk?

while he can be irritable and annoying while he's sick, he apologizes afterwards

its one of the few times he ever apologizes but he genuinely feels bad about lashing out

adam isn't used to being below someone when it comes to status or health and relaxing and letting someone else take care of him is kind of foreign for him, but you both work it out over time

while he isn't the easiest to take care of, he genuinely appreciates that you want to help him and wants to return the favor someday

I WILL MAKE A PT 2 OF THIS WITH MORE FEM CHARACTERS OR WITH HELLUVA BOSS CHARACTERS BUT I DIDNT WANT TO CROWD UP THIS POST TOO MUCH!!!!! ALSO SORRY FOR ANY SPELLING MISTAKES I WROTE THIS WHILE HALF ASLEEP ♥️ HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS TEEHEE

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theemporium · 4 months

Text

[3.5k] married life has perks that you hadn't ever imagined. and it came with duties you never considered to exist in a totally fake, accidental marriage with a three time world champion who was not what he seemed.

series masterlist

As stupid as it sounded considering he had messaged his confirmation, you hadn’t actually expected Max to show up. At most, you expected the question for your address was just going to be him sending the McDonald’s to you with a note saying ‘just this once’.

So when someone knocked on the door a little past ten o’clock, you really weren’t expecting to find Max standing on the other side with a bright smile on his face and two bags full of groceries in his hands.

You stood there, dumbfounded and blinking at the world champion in front of you. “You were serious.”

His brows furrowed together slightly like you were the one being out of character. “Yeah, I was,” he said, waiting a few moments before he continued. “So, are you going to let me in or—”

“Oh, yeah!” You flashed him a shy smile as you stepped to the side, pulling the door open a little wider as he stepped into your apartment. You made a brief, noncommittal noise and muttered something about a kitchen in the direction you waved your hand, but Max walked in the right direction almost like he owned the place.

Like he knew his way around your apartment with ease.

The thought shouldn’t have pleased you as much as it did.

You glanced down at your attire with a frown, your cheeks burning at your chosen outfit but, in your defence, you really hadn’t expected Max—or anyone—to come over tonight. The shirt was an old one of your father’s you had stolen from his closet many years ago, the pyjama bottoms were from a Christmas set your family had got a couple of years ago and your hair was pushed back from your face in some messy hair-do that probably wasn’t the most flattering.

And definitely not the outfit you would have chosen if you knew Max was coming over.

But you pushed down the urge to grab a hoodie or a blanket or anything else to cover yourself up, and instead made your way towards the kitchen.

There was something oddly domestic about the sight: Max standing by the counters, emptying the contents of the bags as he murmured away to himself like he was accounting for what he actually bought. He was dressed in just a pair of grey sweatpants and a hoodie (a Red Bull one, unsurprisingly). His hair was messy, dishevelled even, like he hadn’t bothered to put any product in it today.

You decided you preferred it much better like that.

“Are you okay with quesadillas?”

You blinked, looking at Max with raised brows. “You can make quesadillas?”

Max glanced at you over his shoulder, something quite like amusement shining in his eyes. “You say that like it’s a hard dish to make.”

“I still burn toast,” you admitted with a shrug. “So anything that isn’t charred is impressive to me.”

Max snorted, almost like he thought you were joking. It was embarrassing that you weren’t, and almost impressive itself that you had managed to stay alive this long by yourself after you moved out of your mother’s house.

“Yes, I can make quesadillas,” he said, finally answering your question as he began to move through the kitchen like he belonged. “It won’t take long, maybe thirty minutes at most.”

“I may starve to death by then,” you whined, a playful tint to your words as you pulled yourself to sit up on the empty counter space on the opposite side of the kitchen from him. “McDonald’s would have been faster. And I would have eaten by now.”

Max turned to glare at you, his eyes narrowed. “You hadn’t eaten all day. I wasn’t going to let your first proper meal be McDonald’s.”

“And you said you wanted to be husband of the year,” you murmured, returning the glare and you could see his lips twitching upwards. “Plus, I was too busy to even attempt to cook for myself!”

“Too busy to eat?” He questioned, not quite convinced.

“I got wrapped up in my work,” you admitted, feeling your face burn as he watched you closely. You waited for him to get the same look on his face—the one your brothers’ or your mother always gave you—that screamed ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’. But it never came.

Much to your surprise—something Max had been doing consistently over the last few weeks—he looked intrigued, interested, fascinated.

“What work was it?”

You told yourself it was a throwaway comment. That he was just being polite.

“Are you trying to stall the fact you don’t actually know how to make quesadillas?” You teased, head tilted slightly to the side as Max smirked in response.

“I can multitask,” he assured you. “I can listen and cook.”

“Max Verstappen? Being the listener instead of having people listen to him?” You let out an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand on your chest. “Now, that is just unheard of.”

Max rolled his eyes, though you didn’t see the fond action.

“Maybe everyone else just isn’t interesting enough to listen to,” he stated simply as he began to work, collecting the vegetables he had chosen and taking them to sink to wash.

You watched him closely. “And I am?”

“Always,” he said, flashing you a smile over his shoulder before his focus returned to the food.

Despite his offer, you changed the conversation to something that was…well, more of a two way conversation rather than you talking about yourself and your work uninterrupted. Though, you pushed down that kernel of something warm and fuzzy and kept it hidden safe, even if his words were just a polite offer covered in sweet words.

Around forty minutes later, you sat beside the boy on the counter as you both happily ate your quesadillas, a bright smile on your face as he began to retell some old story about him and Charles back in the karting days. Once you had both finished, you took his empty plate and waved away his offer to wash the dishes as you assured him you had a dishwasher that did the job just fine.

Your back was turned to him as you loaded all the dishes into the dishwasher, not seeing the way his eyes drifted to some papers hidden under a pile of magazines.

“Did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“These drawings.”

You froze for a moment before you turned around, finding Max spreading a few sheets across the counter. Your body burned in realisation when you noted they were some of your more recent designs, the ones that didn’t fit the pretty box your professors and teachers wanted, the ones that you liked to just draw for yourself in between projects.

“Those are nothing,” you waved him off, resisting the urge to rush over and snatch them from his hands like a mad woman. “Just silly, little—”

“They are amazing,” Max interrupted, the sincerity in his voice knocking the rest of the words from your throat. “Like, insanely good.”

You put your focus back on cleaning up, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted—almost pleasantly—at his words. You felt like you were moving in a trance as you cleaned down the counters and turned the dishwasher on before you made your way towards Max.

His focus was still on the sketches, his eyes scanning every little detail like it was important for him to memorise it all. You don’t think anyone outside of your teachers had ever looked at your work with such…focus.

“They really are nothing,” you said to Max as you stood beside him, fingers tracing over the drawings like they were gentle strokes of a pencil. “Just some fun on the side.”

“Charles mentioned you went to school for this. Fashion, no?” Max questioned, his brows furrowed together like he tried to remember the sliver of information he learnt about you years ago.

“Fashion designing and business management,” you said, letting out a sigh. “I love it, I do. It’s just…”

His attention focused fully on you. “Just what?”

“Constricting, I guess,” you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders. You turned to look at him, expecting judgement but there was nothing but understanding in his eyes. “I know in the long run these classes will help be but sometimes I just…”

“Want to do what you want?” Max finished, a small smile gracing his lips and it looked so pretty with his flushed cheeks. “I get the feeling.”

“One too many team orders ignored?” You questioned, your voice light and teasing and you were glad when he laughed in response.

“Something like that.”

A few moments passed with neither one of you saying anything. It wasn’t silent, it never was in Monaco. There was still plenty of noise outside: cars revving, people laughing and cheering, the distant sound of music playing from some party who knows how many streets away. It was never quiet in Monaco, but there was something comforting about the blanket of outside noise when you were in your apartment with Max.

“Come with me.”

He had blurted the words out so suddenly that it took you a few seconds to realise what he said, what he was asking. You blinked once, then twice and still your brain was confused.

“Come with you where?”

He paused before his cheeks burned a light pink colour, like he realised he hadn’t given much explanation or context before he blurted the words out. He cleared his throat, his shoulders looking a little tense as he tried again.

“Come with me to the FIA ceremony,” he said and, if you didn’t know better, you would have sworn he was nervous. Max Verstappen—three time world champion—looked nervous. “I mean, you’re my wife and…stuff.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “And I want you there.”

Your lips parted in surprise, taking a few moments before the shock washed away and the questions started. “I—don’t you already have someone as your plus one?”

He looked a little embarrassed when he shook his head. “I honestly planned to go alone.”

Your heart lurched a little at the idea. “Don’t you have to tell them in advance?”

“I’d say a few days is enough,” he replied, a small smirk on his lips once again as realisation dawned on you.

“Oh my god.”

Max frowned a little. “What—”

“I only have a few days to find something to wear!” You hissed, your eyes widening as Max let out a loud, boisterous laugh. You slapped his arm, a wave of panic washing over you. “Max, this is serious! I have nothing!”

Max tried to fight his laughter. “It’s not that big of a deal, you don’t have to wear—”

“Yes, it is a big deal! It’s the official ceremony! I am the world champion’s date!” You said, looking at him like he had grown another head. “Oh my god, I am going to have to go shopping tomorrow.”

Max’s nose wrinkled. “Please tell me husband duties end at quesadillas and don’t extend to shopping trips.”

...

“When you said to come visit you in Monaco before heading home for the holidays, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

The curtain pulled back enough for you to poke your head out and glare at the blond sitting on the purple velvet futon. However, Logan just stared back at you with an absolutely bored expression on his face.

“You said you didn’t mind what we did,” you argued back.

“That was before we knew we would be sucked into dress shopping,” Oscar muttered under his breath, his focus on his phone screen. However, Logan quickly nudged his ribs with the point of his elbow and the Aussie let out a hiss as he snapped his head up. “What? We are, like, the two worst people you could have brought with you.”

“And it’s not fair Arthur got out of it,” Logan added with a pout.

“Who else could I have asked?” You retorted, looking between both boys with an expectant look. “Plus, I want to spend some time with my best friends before Christmas.”

“I know you are only saying best friends to butter us up but I have to say it’s working for me,” Logan admitted with a sigh, ignoring the way Oscar rolled his eyes.

“Charles likes his fashion,” Oscar supplied lamely before frowning. “But not…good fashion.”

“Understatement of the century,” you snorted before pulling the curtain shut again and surveying the pile of dresses you had dragged into the dressing room less than an hour ago. This had been your fourth shop of the day and you still hadn’t found anything to wear for the FIA ceremony. “I don’t think he would have taken so kindly to me asking him which dress he thinks Max would think I look the hottest in.”

“And we would?” Oscar grumbled.

“Is he still pissed?” Logan asked, ignoring the Aussie before you poked your head out and took even longer to get through the dresses. “I thought he was playing nice at the dinner with Pascale.”

“He did,” you confirmed with a nod, even though they couldn’t see you as you frowned at the orange dress you had just slipped on. Definitely not the right shade. “But he has also been forwarding me divorce lawyers and articles on American Marriage Laws.”

“Yikes,” the blond muttered. “He really hates the idea of you being married to Max.”

“He is an overprotective brother, he always has been.” You sighed as you glanced at yourself before shaking your head, moving onto the next dress which was an odd shade of moss green. “I think a part of him just blames himself for not stopping everything back in Vegas, so he feels the need to fix the mess now.”

“Do you wish someone had stopped you?” Oscar asked, genuine curiosity lacing his voice.

You paused, unsure how to answer.

“It’s not like you could have stopped her, grandpa, you were in bed before the sun had even set,” Logan snorted, breaking the few seconds of silence as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

“And where were you?” Oscar retorted. “If you were up, why did you not stop her?”

“I was busy myself.”

“Doing what?”

“None of your business, Piastri.”

“Out making your own mistakes?”

“Excuse you—”

“God, maybe it was a mistake to bring the two of you,” you commented as the curtain was pulled open again, and you stood in the entryway of the dressing room. You looked at them, your hands on your hips and a grin on your face. “If I had to guess, I would have said the two of you got married in Vegas with the way you bicker.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “As if I would marry him.”

“Uh, people would love to marry me,” Logan frowned before his attention shifted to your dress, his nose scrunching up in disgust. “Yeah no, puke green looks good on no one. Next!”

...

“Holy shit.”

With the FIA Ceremony being held in Baku, it meant that you and Max had to fly his jet out to Azerbaijan the day before. You hadn’t even thought about the logistics of the trip until after you had bought the dress and Max had sent you confirmation that Christian had managed to book an extra room at the hotel so you didn’t have to share with him.

It was incredibly stupid for you to be so nervous about the whole event when it wasn’t even about you. Yet, Max looked the splitting image of calmness as he sat across from you in the plane, tapping away on his phone as he played some stupid game Lando had got him addicted to.

His nerves remained calm once you landed, his hand on the small of your back as he led you towards the car that was designated with taking you to the hotel. He was a gentleman all throughout dinner as he kept one arm around the back of your chair as he indulged in small talk with Christian and Checo. He even walked you to your hotel room door—though it was next door to his—and pressed a chaste kiss on your cheek and walked towards his room before you could even say anything.

Max Verstappen, three-time world champion, was completely unfazed by the fact he was about to step in front of hundreds of cameras with his new wife.

You, however, were two steps away from shitting yourself.

You had practically clung onto Oscar the next day, needing a sense of normalcy before you had to start getting ready. Though, in an annoyingly predictable turn of events, even Oscar wasn’t fazed by the upcoming ceremony and the award he was about to collect himself. If anything, he found your freakout to be highly entertaining before the boring trophy ceremony began.

You had paced up and down the hotel room more times than you could count as you rushed around, desperately trying to look as put together and elegant as a last minute invite could. Your heart had been in your throat in the minutes leading up to Max knocking on the door.

And for the first time, he didn’t look so sure of himself.

Max stood on the other side of the door—a sight that made your heartbeat pathetically fast as the memory of him showing up the other night at your apartment came to mind—with a large bouquet of flowers in his hands. He was dressed in a suit, his hair styled to perfection, and yet there was a flush on his cheeks as he took in your appearance.

“Good ‘holy shit’ or bad ‘holy shit’?” You teased, though you tried to cover up your own doubt as you glanced down at the floor-length red dress you had finally picked after dragging Oscar and Logan to seven different stores around Monaco.

“Good,” he breathed out, his eyes glazed over like he was in a trance as he took you in. “Definitely good.”

You didn’t even try to hide your grin. “You aren’t mad that it’s Ferrari red?”

“You could have chosen any colour and I’d still consider myself lucky that you’re standing next to me,” Max admitted, something sounding in his voice that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Before you could ponder for too long, the boy cleared his throat and quickly offered the bouquet to you. “I know a boring awards ceremony isn’t exactly an ideal first date but….here.”

You took the bouquet with a wide smile, leaning down to smell the flowers appreciatively before stepping back into the room to place them on your bedside table. “Thank you, Max, they are beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said it so quietly that you almost swore you made it up.

You turned back to him, mouth open and ready to say something before you paused as you took him in, blinking in surprise.

Max frowned. “What?”

“Is that the same suit you wore last year?”

Max glanced down at himself before shrugging. “Yeah, and the year before that. And the year before that. And—”

You blanched. “You wear the same suit every year?”

“I don’t see why I need to get a new one every year,” Max argued back, clearing his throat a little.

“Max, you’re a three-time world champion. You are going to collect your third world championship,” you continued as you walked back towards where he was standing. “You should be wearing something special to commemorate the day.”

“I won the championship weeks ago though,” he said, his brows furrowed together like he didn’t understand your point. “What’s the big deal about collecting a trophy?”

“You made history this season,” you said to him, tilting your head slightly as though you were trying to size him up, trying to understand him. “You should be wearing something more special than a suit you’ve worn years in a row.”

Max nodded like he understood what you meant but his lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “Next championship, you can design my suit then.”

You blinked once. And then again.

“You would wear something I designed?” You asked, almost wincing at how soft your voice sounded when you spoke.

“Of course I would,” he said before he offered his arm for you to take. “You have a year, so you’ll have plenty of time to work on a good suit. One appropriate for a four-time world champion.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “And you’re so sure you’ll win next season?”

“Oh, I know it, baby,” Max grinned back at you, and something about the way he smiled made him look so young and mischievous. “Maybe you can make one of your own designs for yourself as well. We could be matching.”

“Maybe,” you said with a smile, letting the hotel door close behind you as you tried to pretend like your heart wasn’t thundering in your chest at his implication of doing this again.

...

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 372,947 others

yourusername 3x world champion and great personal carrier. would 10/10 recommend this verstappen guy

view all 21,930 comments

maxverstappen1 the stairs were steep, you would have decked it

oscarpiastri you would have

yourusername i take my thank you back

user SHE WAS HIS DATE KWEBFKBEFJWEF

user omg this keeps getting better

user it's like a fanfic irl

user the tiktok povs could never

landonorris you are so-

yourusername what did i do now?

landonorris you told me you picked the papaya dress

yourusername i said that so you would shut up

landonorris your wife is bullying me maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1 good

user i can't believe this is real

user THE FACT SHE POSTED HIM WITH THE TROPHY TOO

user has anyone checked on charles?

arthur_leclerc he is currently breathing into a paper bag

user ARTHUR-

charles_leclerc i'm glad your loyalties still remain with ferrari

yourusername well it is RED bull so...

charles_leclerc i am blocking you

redbullracing our favourite wag!

charles_leclerc i am blocking you too

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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norrizzandpia · 6 months

Note

i am Politely Asking for the lando post-race imagine you mentioned 👀👀👀

Your guys’ wish is my command 🤭

All He Needed Was Her (LN4)

Summary: Following the Vegas ‘23 crash, Y/n and Adam find Lando in his hospital bed, yearning for the comfort of his girlfriend’s touch.

Warnings: a panic attack, inferences of death, Lando crashing

Note: that crash was so hard to watch and i still have not recovered

Silence encompassed the space around her, her mind sick with the images of Lando’s crash. What she thought could potentially be his first race win had turned into her worst nightmare as Lando’s car laid smashed against the protecting fences. Her mouth stayed agape as she listened to her boyfriend’s broken “I’m ok,” followed by concerning whimpers and groans. Her eyes frantically searched the room, the faces of his loved ones burned into her brain with their watery eyes and panicked looks. She couldn’t bear the tension within the space, the expressions of the people around her like he had died. The room closed in on her quickly, allowing for no space to breathe or get out of the anxiety filling her lungs. She felt trapped, a panic attack coming on inevitably when she saw the way his hand shook, his arms trying to push himself out of the car yet failing continuously.

She shoved the headset off her ears, shutting out the taunting sounds, before throwing herself into the crowd behind her and pushing them to the side as she tried desperately to claw herself out. She couldn’t turn her head back to see the screens, not even when applauding emitted and a good sign emerged. Y/n reached the door, her hand grasping the handle and hesitating. A large hand grasping her shoulder called her back, willing her to open her eyes and see the survival of her love. When she turned around, her eyes looking up, she was met with the soft look of Adam, Lando’s father.

No matter how comforting he was trying to be, his bloodshot eyes reminded her of the risks her boyfriend took, the chances of him not getting out of that car after a race.

It was too much.

Her heart beat out of her chest and she struggled to find air, her impending anxiety surely, gradually, painfully encroaching her being.

Adam, being familiar with the anxiety attacks his son got, saw the signs, opening the door behind her quickly and shoving her into the empty hallway. His hands landed on her biceps, gripping them as he shook her gently.

“Y/n?” His voice was distant and Y/n wanted to run toward it, however nothing was ever that easy.

He tried again, “Y/n, breathe with me.”

Her mind understood, her lungs expanding shortly as he began to inhale. Tears seeped through the crack of her lips, adding to the drowning she felt she was enduring.

She blubbered and sobbed as she tried to follow his pattern, proving difficult when suffocation seemed probable.

Nevertheless, Adam’s determination triumphed, her mind slowing down as her body caught up.

He looked at her with pity as she came down, his eyes swimming in a certain sympathy she didn’t recognize. This was deeper, he was seeing the pain she was bearing, relating to it because of the exact connection they both nurtured with the boy.

His hands left her arms, stilling at his sides as he began to coax her toward his driver’s room, “How about you rest for a while? That seemed really bad.”

She shook her head immediately, “No, I need to be awake for Lando. What if he needs to go to the hospital?”

Adam closed his eyes as he nudged her into the small room, “Then, I will come wake you. But, for now, he’s going to go to the circuit’s medical center and there’s nothing we can do. It’s best if you allow yourself to relax after that.”

She knew he was right, more so because he sounded exactly like his son. When she had these horrid experiences, Lando was right beside her immediately, gently leading her to any surface where she could lie down. He knew exactly how to make it go away, she never expected to have to do it without him or because of him. He was consistently advocating for her rest after an attack, something that always helped her recover more quickly.

That memory, those habitual instances, persuaded her to give in to Adam’s pleas. He smiled at her as she brought a blanket over her body, Lando’s scent encompassing her body.

“I promise I’ll be back when I have updates.”

She nodded, trusting him like she had for the past few years, “Okay, thank you.”

He closed the door with a nod, the dark haunting her enough to close her eyes and lean into the quiet, peaceful embrace of sleep.

—

She was awoken by shaking, more specifically Adam’s hands shaking her upper body.

“Y/n, wake up.” He whispered, his words guiding her back to the world.

Her eyes fluttered open, “Yeah?”

He seemed stoic, rigid and stressed, something that made Y/n truly wake up, “Lando’s at the hospital. They said we can meet him there.”

She shot up from her laid down position, “What?! The hospital?! Is he okay?!”

His father sighed beside her, getting up and showing how antsy he was to move when he lingered by the door, “I don’t know.”

—

The pair burst through the doors of the hospital, launching themselves at the nurses who sat behind the desk. Their words mixed together as they sputtered out his name, occupation, and situation. This proved to be inefficient because the women looked back at them blankly.

Y/n tried again, “We are here to see Lando Norris. He is a Formula 1 driver and he was involved in an accident.”

It dawns on the employee and her head tilts slightly, “I can’t give out information on him because of his status and occupation. I am sorry. Unless you can prove you are family to him then I can’t give you anything.”

Adam’s hand flew to his pocket, whipping out his wallet and showing her his identification, proving his blood relation to Lando. Y/n watched with a heavy heart as she realized she had nothing to show, she wasn’t family. She was crushed as she realized he would be able to go on to see their boy without her.

When the woman gave him the room number, she gave it to him on paper so as to deter anyone overhearing, he bolted. He was right at the door that led to another hallway when he stopped and turned around, motions for Y/n to follow him.

“I need to see your proof of family relations.” The nurse beside her said expectantly whilst Adam moved back over to the desk.

She shook her head, “I’m his girlfriend. I don’t have proof of blood relations.”

The nurse shrugged, “Then, I’m sorry, I can’t have you go through.”

Y/n opened her mouth to fight back, but Adam interrupted her, “No, she has to. I’ve just shown you I’m his father, take my word for it. Please. My son needs her right now.”

The nurse seemed to be at a crossroads as her gaze flickered between Adam and Y/n. Finally, she nodded curtly and the two were running throughout the building. Down different hallways within the floor, they quickly reached his room. Without thinking, Adam charged in, a strong wave of emotion hitting him when he saw his son wrapped up in a hospital bed.

“Lando,” He sighed, arms falling around Lando’s body as he squeezed him softly, careful with him.

“Hi, dad. Thank you for coming. I’m sorry if I scared you.” He mumbled into his shoulder, hand laying loosely over the back of his father.

Y/n watched from the corner, tears pricking the sides of her eyes at the sight of him. She watched as they pulled back, Lando’s eyes meeting hers and softening with relief before Adam was coughing and excusing himself from the room.

When they were left alone, she walked slowly to him. She stood in front of him for a moment, both individuals taking in the other after the traumatic time apart. When he had had enough of not holding her in his arms, Lando reached out and pulled her closer to his body, arms linking around her hips as he stuffed his face into her chest. She breathed out as her hands tangled in his hair, both of them memorizing the way the other calmed them in such a state.

He clung to her, breathing steady as she whispered sweet, quiet words of love and encouragement to him.

“Sit with me?” He asked with a low volume, pulling back slightly and looking up at her.

She could never say no to his deep green eyes, “Always.”

He shifted to the side as she slid in next to him. She watched the way his eyes lingered over her lap. Chuckling, Y/n sat further against the wall, “Lay your head on my lap, baby.”

He smiled at her brightly, a childlike grin as he shuffled down and set his curly hair over her pants.

A silence passed before she was whispering again, “I love you so much. It was so scary seeing you crash today and I just could not live a life without you. I love you, Lan. You’ve ruined my life for the better. There’s no way I could ever go a day without you.”

He nodded below her, “I can’t either. I kept asking for you when I was at the circuit after the crash, but they kept telling me I couldn’t have any visitors with the impact I had just endured. I was so angry, all I wanted was you. I’ve been like a sitting duck as I stared at the wall and waited for you to arrive. But, now that you’re here, I already feel like I’m getting better. That’s your impact on me. I love you too, love. Being without you for that was worse than the crash itself.”

She looked down at him, leaning over to kiss his temple. When he felt the pressure, he turned his head. She had been pulling back, but got the hint when he looked up at her expectantly. He giggled as she leaned back down, meeting his lips with her own in an intimate, soft kiss.

When they pulled back, she watched his eyes slowly close when she began massaging his scalp and tugging gently at his brown hair. He moaned quietly at the feeling, stroking his hand over her leg as she comforted him with just her presence.

He buried his face further into her lap, breathing her in. By the change of angle, she lost sight of his face, only relying on the monitor to tell her he had fallen asleep when it evened out, reaching a rhythm.

Only then did Adam return, smiling lightly at his sleeping son laying in the lap of his girlfriend. Truly the sweetest sight, he thought, something he would’ve taken a picture of had Y/n been asleep as well.

He sat in the chair beside them, cocking his head at her.

“Thank you.”

The two words caused Y/n’s eyebrows to draw together, confusion etched into her face, “For what?”

Adam sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “For being there for him. Not just now, but all the time. He’s always put everyone else first. He’s always made it the biggest priority to make others feel good when he wasn’t at all. Cisca and I always wished for someone to come along and take care of him right back. Turns out our wishing wasn’t in vain. Here you are and he’s finally understanding what it’s like to be loved that way.”

Y/n stared at him for a moment, eyes averting back to her sleeping boyfriend strewn across her lap, before choking out, “Thank you, Adam. That means the world from you.”

“Just speaking the truth.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair before kicking his legs up toward the end of the bed. He watched her lean her head back, scumming to sleep just like Lando, her hands still buried in his hair.

That was when he took the picture, sending it to the Norris Family group chat, it including Y/n, and assuring the members of Lando’s wellness.

Adam (2:35 AM)

Image Attachment

Adam (2:35 AM)

Lando’s okay! Don’t worry! All he needed was some medication to calm his nerves and Y/n 🧡

#mclaren #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #mclaren formula 1 #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris fic #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris edit #las vegas gp 2023

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bby-deerling · 29 days

Note

First off, love your writing. Second, not sure if you're taking requests or if you've done this before, but if you're comfortable with it could you write something nsfw with Kidd (and any others if you want!) where he's just really handsy? Maybe the reader wears a lot of skirts and he likes to sneak his hands underneath them and tease the reader or he has them keep their skirt/dress on while they fuck? 😳 Up to you!

i added law and zoro bc i couldn't resist not including them :D

one piece men getting handsy (nsfw)

ft. zoro, kid, and law

masterlist || commissions

cw: fingering, semi-public sexual acts, established relationship, teasing, sex in an alley, brat taming

tagging: @willowbelle @queenmimi2817 @eelnoise @wrennyx @sanjisprincesswifey @fanaticsnail @mirillua @atanukileaf

zoro

"fuck, i need you." zoro rasps in your ear, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, making it drip with your essence. you looked too damn good in that dress tonight, enough so for him to pull you out of the bar and into the dim alley between the run-down building and the shop next door.

"ngh—i need you too." you whimper out as he teases you with his cock, though your words spur him to sink himself deep inside of you, making you mewl out for him. his lips heatedly slot over yours, muffling your soft whines and whimpers as he stretches your drooling pussy out.

"quiet down, unless you want someone to see me fucking you in this tiny little dress." he growls against your mouth as he turns you into a mess with the punishing tempo of his strokes, pulling out nearly entirely each time before stuffing you full.

zoro hadn't meant for things to get this far, but his not-so-subtle staring had turned into a touch on the waist, which escalated to his hands running up your thighs, until he just couldn't help himself anymore and unceremoniously dragged you outside and pushed you against the wall.

"you look so fucking good for me." he murmurs as his tongue licks up the column of your neck, his cock still relentlessly bullying your sweet spot as your legs remain hooked around his waist.

you try to tell him that he looks good too, but you're too fucked out to speak.

kid

you nearly yelp in surprise when kid slides his hand towards your core under the dinner table; you were no stranger to the possessive way he grabs your thigh in public, or the way he enjoyed you wearing the tiny little miniskirts you loved to parade around in, but him blatantly playing with you like this in front of everyone was a novelty. the way he touches you so brazenly without a care in the world was secretly exciting, but you were also determined to not let him have what he wants that easily—and besides, if he kept prodding at your entrance with his fingers you were probably going to end up choking on your food.

"not right now." you hiss at him with pink cheeks, kicking him from under the table. though you don't turn your head to look at his face, you can feel his satisfied smirk burn into your skin as he admires how flustered you are.

"what, afraid you're gonna cum on my fingers in front of everyone? you saying you can't handle it?" kid teases with a whisper into your ear. his hand is withdrawn from between your legs, but he continues to rub teasing circles into your kneecaps, knowing that striking the competitive nerve that boils hot in your veins is more than enough to get you to break for him.

"no— i can handle it just fine." you sputter out, your voice betraying your lack of willpower to resist him as your hand meets his, pulling it back up along the expanse of your thigh to urge him to continue.

"then quit being such a brat and take it." he murmurs, grin on his face as his thick fingers push aside your panties and slip inside you.

and when he gets you back to your room after dinner, he takes everything off but the skirt as he pounds into you—and he swears he cums twice as hard as usual, legs trembling as his thick ropes spurt onto the flimsy fabric.

law

standing in the door frame of the bathroom as he looks into your shared bedroom, law silently rakes his eyes over your naked frame as you mull over which dress you plan to wear to the bar tonight. as you slip the small, pale yellow garment over your head and smooth the fabric down, something ticks inside of him, doubly so when you slip on a lacy pair of powder blue panties to cover yourself before turning your attention towards picking out jewelry.

"you look great." he murmurs in your ear as he loops an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your neck; melting into his touch, you smile and mumble out a demure thank you, breath hitching as his inked hand plays with the hem of your dress. he quickly abandons all pretense, letting his touch drift up your thigh and towards your clothed core.

"law, we're gonna be late—" you stammer, face burning as he rubs soft circles into your clit, his hard cock pressing into your lower back.

"too bad." law whispers in your ear as his fingers effortlessly push your panties to the side; his fingertips run along your slit teasingly, coating themselves in your slick arousal. "we'll get there when we get there. i want to take my time with you." he murmurs, sinking a finger inside of your and curling it towards your sweet spot.

law draws out your pleasure slowly, to the point of his pace being excruciating, but not once does he even think about peeling off your cute little dress, nor sliding off your panties; he merely pushes the fabric aside, reveling in the thrill of messing up your cute little outfit.

the two of you never end up making it to the bar that night.

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kidd x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x you #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro smut #law smut #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #eustass kid x you #eustass kidd x you #law x y/n #zoro x y/n

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floatmeintothesun-2 · 4 months

Text

Utterly Enraptured

Pairing; Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

tags; breeding, little bit of overstimulation, Miguel goes into rut, creampie, wordcount 4k

Summary; Miguel seems to have forgotten about a certain side effect from having half of his genetic makeup being spider DNA

EXPLICIT - MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

—

He wants to push it all back in with spit slicked fingers, kiss away all of your tears and do it all over again until you’re sobbing in pleasure, begging for more, more, more –

Miguel wakes up feeling fire burn at the base of his spine and the undeniable hardening of his cock. He immediately wants to just roll over and go back to bed.

Right, you have your early work shift today.

And you’re not here. Unfortunately. He imagines your hand, smaller than his, wrapping securely around his length, the other curled loosely around his hot, swollen balls, and slowly exhales.

Miguel heaves a sigh and gets up, stretching lazily. The chill seeps into his skin and he resigns himself to taking a cold shower.

(He ends up having to clean spurts of creamy white off of the shower walls anyway. He is so fucked.)

—

There’s something wrong with him. There’s something wrong with today. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Miguel can’t get you out of his head.

“Lyla,” his voice is strangled. “What’s the date?”

His assistant flickers to life next to him, drawing up a calendar.

Mentally, he berates himself with a low hiss, feeling annoyed that he didn't connect the dots earlier. His throat is dry and he swallows raspily.

It happens every other month through the 8th to the 10th when his body decides that it’s time to procreate and do nothing else for the next two days.

He sucks in a ragged breath slowly, trying to calm his fast beating heart. It doesn’t work, only serving to remind him of the pulsing in his chest and between his legs.

Miguel can already feel the precum seeping out of him and staining his boxers. A whine rips itself out of his throat as he buries his head into your pillow, basking in your familiar sweet smell.

A heady mixture of your favorite shampoo, perfume and body, all swirling around him as he grinds his lower half into the bed desperately like a dog in heat.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

He wishes you were here right now, wishes that he could pepper your face with kisses and croon apologies while he slowly bottoms out in your tight cunt while you writhe beneath him.

Or on top of him. He doesn’t give a damn. Any position you want, he’ll do it.

His hips jerk upwards and he can’t help but imagine your hand instead of his, can’t help but imagine how much better it would feel.

He gasps quietly as his thumb presses against his slit, jaw tightening, fangs threatening to break skin. The hand currently not wrapped around his cock is clenching the bedsheets hard enough to rip.

He just needs to wait. He just has to wait a little longer. You’ll be home soon.

—

You peek around the hall, letting your aching feet be comforted by the rugs near the living room. Where is Miguel anyways?

“Heyyyy,” Lyla pops up in front of you suddenly, grinning when you startle. “Looking for Miguel?”

You set a hand on your chest trying to calm your jackrabbiting heart, before giving her a small smile.

“Well uh, he’s in there. Might wanna be careful though,” She mutters, checking out her bright pink nails absentmindedly. You raise an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?”

In lieu of explanation she draws up a calendar and materializes a glitching pen in her hands, circling the date. Your frown in confusion.

Lyla nods empathetically.

“Yeah…well, good luck! I've heard that massages really help with soreness.” She vanishes with a pop of golden glimmers, leaving you alone in the hall.

Oh fuck.

He doesn’t answer for a second, visibly trying to contain himself before he speaks, low and ragged.

Your shirt is practically discarded at the speed of light and you shiver for a second at the cold washing over your skin before Miguel's all over you again.

Thick fingers nimbly pull at your pants waistline.

"Hurry up, Miguel, please," You whine, wiggling your hips as if to try and encourage him. As if he needs any sort of encouragement.

"Do you care about these panties?" He asks, quick and low. You blink.

"No…? –! " You gasp as he lowers his head and fucking rips them off of you in one quick motion with his damn teeth. "Miguel!"

"You're doing so good, so good, baby. You feel so – fuck, so good. Can you take one more?" He asks breathlessly. "C’mon, you're such a good girl, aren't you?"

"Cum, baby, you can do it, you can fucking cum for me, can't you?" He latches onto your tit, swirling his tongue around your nipple in such a way that makes your head foggy.

And who is he to deny you?

Your brain is so mushy and pleasure-drowned that it takes you a second to realize that he’s still talking and oh fuck.

“...How long does this last again?” You rasp, voice sore from screaming. Miguel hums in contemplation, nosing your shoulder from where he’s draped over you.

“About a day and a half more to go,” He responds languidly after a moment. “Are you okay with that?”

You know you’re going to be so sore by the end of it. You know you’ll probably be feeling it for weeks on end after. You know you’ll probably have to take a few sick days to recover too.

“Mhm,” You answer, kissing his cheek. “I can handle it,”

“That’s good,” He replies quietly, and you stiffen, feeling his fat softened cock twitch against your thigh. He raises his head to give you a semi sheepish look and you gulp.

Maybe you can’t handle it, actually. It’s okay though, since Miguel will take care of you long after.

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #astv miguel #miguel x you #Miguel smut #miguel atsv #miguel ohara

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voxisdaddy · 1 month

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Sweets

C/TW: Mentions of sex but otherwise nothing bad.

Nah but imagine Vox knowing you have a crush on him and he’s thinking like, yeah I could take advantage of this—meaning ‘hell yeah I get laid and an attractive partner? Sign me up’. Regardless of what your relationship with him is, he is interested and down to fuck and have a possible sexual relationship with you from here on out. So he makes his move by inviting you to his personal living quarters in the Vee Tower. You walk in, heart fluttering about at the prospect your crush wanting to spend time with you, and are quickly met with Vox. He of course puts the moves on you; charming smirk, the correct choice of words, arm wrapping around your hips or your waist as he pulls you in closer to him. He hints at something—a burning desire. You’re flustered in his arms. He’s thinking, yeah he’s got this in the bag. But then you push on his chest and unwrap yourself from his arm. Wait what? “Vox,”—You’d start, “I’m flattered but…I’m not that kind of person.” You then excuse yourself and before Vox knows it, he’s standing alone in his living quarters. You’re into him? He knows this. What happened? Despite his annoyances with the results, he still persists. He spends the next several weeks trying to seduce you, flirting with you very sexually—not Valentino level but still sexually charged. Yet every time he gets shot down. One day he’s ranting to Velvette about it to which she rolls her eyes and scoffs, “Is sex the only thing you can think about?” Velvette whips out her phone, pulling up your social media pages, all your likes, comments, reposts, music playlists, shows and movies you watch, ect,. “They’re a romantic—A fucking sweet one at that. Taking advantage of their feelings just so you can get your dick wet whenever you want isn’t gonna get you anywhere, darling.” Vox spends a few days thinking it over. Okay so a more romantic approach. But he tried inviting you over! He even set the mood and everything. Though it was with the hope that…it would quickly lead to having you naked on his bed. He probably has some sort of mental war with himself about it too. Like why’s he trying so hard? It isn’t until he spots you on one of his cameras where he realizes he may want something much more than just sex with you. But is it too late? Did all his attempts at wooing you really scare you away? He watched with bated breath as you sat on a water fountain, gingerly typing away on your phone. You were wearing the loveliest looking spring dress/shirt. You looked so…beautiful. So sweet. So innocent. And romantic. A type of romance that seemed like it didn’t exist in hell. He was so mesmerized he didn’t even realize a second figure coming to sit next to you. He only realized when you put your phone down and smiled sweetly at the person. Who was this person? Why are you so close together? Why do you look like you’re blushing—? Oh. It’s a date.

As a hopeless romantic, reading Vox x Reader fics and so many of them having some kind of sexual undertone or more mature tone makes me kind of sad. I truly love tooth rotting fluffy romance. Think—picnic in a cherry blossom field while wearing the strawberry dress. So I wanted to write a little (not so little, it kinda got away from me) imagine where Vox’s idea of romance clashes with readers and it ends up only pushing them away. So yeah. Here’s that. I mean no disrespect to everyone’s fics of them tho—trust me they’re delicious in every way possible but I just really need to feed my hopeless sweet romantic side for a bit <3

#hazbin hotel #x reader #vox #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel x reader #fluff #kinda angsty #I really wanted a more sweet fun innocent love okay lol #in my delusions he calls me sweetheart

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idkfitememate · 2 months

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Still tired but just wanted to remind you that the Obey Me Brothers (- Satan + Lilith) were probably the “Seven Heavenly Virtues” before they fell/died and that was probably so hard for them like-

Lucifer going from Humility to Pride

Mammon going from Charity to Greed

Leviathan going from Kindness to Envy

Asmodeus going from Chastity to Lust

Beelzebub going from Temperance to Gluttony

And Belphegor going from Diligence to Sloth

Imagine as Lucifer going through it because now you can’t talk with your brothers, now you hold them to an expectation you would’ve never before - and yourself to an even higher one - and watching them loose themselves to their sins.

Watching Mammon lose himself to monetary values to the point where he’d be willing to sell his own brothers out if it came to it, and knowing that at some point he would’ve sold his everything because he believed it was right. Shit thing is that he still loves his brothers, and under the greed is guilt for hurting them like this.

Watching Levi, once a kind and loving man who would never leave anyone out become a self deprecating and destructive mess who shuts the world out. Who spends his time obsessing over what others have that he can’t and fighting tooth and nail to fix that, even if it hurts him. He, like Lucifer, has to be the best at his chosen craft or else it’s all for naught, but unlike Lucifer he’s very vocal about his losses and how much he hates others who have better than him.

Asmo, who at one point was basically repulsed at the idea of carnal love and wanted to wait, to hold out until he found the one he was searching for. Believe if that saving himself for his future partner was the ultimate act of love. And now watching him fall to depravity, unable to feel love unless it’s carnal in some sense. Everything must be passionate, with little room for true love. Feelings pushed aside for the heat of the moment, giving his body away to feel something. Finding no worth in himself unless it’s his body, and that translating over to how he treats his brothers. They have to suck up his shockingly flirty remarks to them because he can’t help it, that’s how he’s forced to show love now; fast, rushed, and carnal.

Watching Beel, a man who took everything in moderation, never allowing himself more than what he needed in food and drink in favor of helping others, loose himself to the mind numbing pleasure of sitting there and eating and drinking and eating and drinking and eating and drinking with no end in sight. As he can’t help himself but do anything for a meal, much like Mammon. Willing to do damn near anything to fill the hole in his stomach. No matter the cost.

And Belphy. A man once so awake and alert and ready for anything that even Lucifer would have to tell him to take a break. Always raring and ready to go and help any and everyone in need sleep his days away. Too lazy to do basic tasks at some points like eat. Lazing about too tired to do anything, including care for those around him. Too tired to do anything.

And the haunting truth that you, as Lucifer, created Wrath. Satan, your youngest brother in age and fourth in power. Knowing on the daily that he puts on a mask, a front so that his rage doesn’t consume him in an all burning inferno. Knowing that any little thing could set him off, and that’d be it. He shares next to nothing with you and your brothers because, while unspoken, it’s known that he’ll never be as close as the six of you. He didn’t experience the war, he didn’t experience the fall, he didn’t experience her death. Unlike your brothers who have all changed in some distressing way he’s always been rage. Always been Wrath. A true sin through and through. Never will you experience the same things and that keeps you separated.

And about her, to know deep in your heart that she, the Virtue of Patients, would’ve become the Sin of Wrath keeps you up at night, her face of smiles turning to a wrathful frown scares you. Nightmares flash behind your eyes of her being mad, furious even, so you starve the nights off with a never ending pile of paperwork and coffee.

… Did I just accidentally character study?-

#obey me #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lilith #character study #im gonna unpack now #then sleep some more lol

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bloodbruise · 1 month

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@jegulus-microfic | april 7: regret | 2,011 words | NSFW

sometimes your best friend's brother is so hot you just have to jerk off about it.

Fucked.

That’s what James was—completely and irrevocably fucked.

He couldn't claim ignorance; he'd seen it coming from a mile away. The change had been gradual, an ever-present whisper he failed to quiet. The subtle shift from looking at Regulus and seeing Sirius’ younger brother to looking at him and seeing Regulus. His continued presence at his and Sirius’ place had casual conversation turning into inside jokes, quips and jabs traded back and forth–James loved it when Regulus was a little mean to him. It turned into movie nights and visits at Regulus' job.

All of it was fuel to a slowly kindling fire.

So, really, he had no one else but himself to blame when he got burned. Scorched, actually.

It was a casual favor–helping Regulus move because Sirius had gotten held up at work. It was supposed to be nothing, just helping out a friend, something he would do for anyone in his life. Something he did without a second thought because that was James’ Thing. But, he really should have thought it through. Because watching Regulus, who was usually so impeccably composed, now disheveled and glistening with sweat, was an exercise in restraint. James’ mind was in a tailspin, fixated on lithe muscles moving beneath skin, flush from exertion high on his cheeks, messy hair pushed back and curls barely controlled by a headband.

James had been so normal about it all, truly, given the circumstances. Silently commending himself on his raw unadulterated strength for not jumping Regulus right then and there– he was playing it so cool. But everything teetered on the edge of collapse when Regulus, busy trying to put his couch back together, asked James to fetch the other screwdriver from the box beside his bed.

To James’ credit, there were a lot of boxes there, so he naturally went with the one closest to the headboard. And later, when Sirius chewed him out for wanting to fuck his younger brother, he would blame it on that fucking screwdriver. Because when he lifted the lid, the contents inside hit him like a physical blow. The room spun. He was going to fucking faint.

Inside the box was... Christ. It was overwhelming. Toys, lots of them, lined up all pretty and careless and innocent. Like they weren't going to kill him right on the spot. His eyes caught on the purple one, how thick it was. His mind oscillated between stupor, awe, and undeniable arousal, only snapped back to reality by Regulus' voice, muffled from down the hall.

“James? Did you find it?”

In a panic, he slammed the lid shut and scrambled for another box. “Uh-huh, yeah,” he called back, nodding to himself, still dazed. “Found it, found it.”

With the screwdriver finally in hand, James re-entered the living room, his cheeks flushed and a strained smile on his lips. He passed it over to Regulus and awkwardly clasped his hands in front of him, attempting to conceal the evident bulge in his pants. He had intended to stay, they had planned for dinner afterwards–Regulus’ treat for his help. But now, his thoughts were a vortex, endlessly spiraling around Regulus and those toys and–.

Voice too high and a little thready, he hastily blurted, “Okay, we got all the boxes, right? Yeah, okay, all set,” thumb jerking towards the door, “I forgot- I actually have to go, yeah.” Nodding to himself. He was aware that he probably looked insane, but staying was not an option. Not when every thought was a hazard. So he just stumbled through a weak excuse, pointedly ignoring the puzzled look on Regulus’ face, and rushed home. His grip flexing hard on the steering wheel and music blasting the entire time, because he was sure if he let his mind wander he would veer off the side of the road and crash his car.

It was only in the safety of his own room that he allowed himself to unravel. He twists the doorknob, pulling on it to ensure that it’s locked. His mind going straight back to that box, to Regulus, and his imagination runs.

Fully clothed, pants a mess–precum everywhere– he shoves them down. Just far enough so he can get a hand around himself, not even bothering to move to the bed. He knows the intimate details of what the inside of Regulus’ bedroom looks like. So there’s a crystal clear image that he can’t shake. Regulus, legs spread wide and fucking himself—his head thrown back, hips twitching up and opening so sweetly around a toy. There was something so erotic about the thought of Regulus coming home, maybe even from James’ place, and taking care of himself. Stuffing himself full until he was crying out and shaking with it.

Was it drawn out–slow? Did he take his time and open himself up with his fingers first? Or was he usually too worked up and eager to wait, just sinking down and reveling in the burn? Did he ever use a vibrator at the same time? It was delicious, the idea of Regulus being pleasure-drunk by his own hand. James knew if it was him, he would be insatiable, would force one more and another one please, baby out of Regulus until he was sobbing. James needed to see it, thought he might die without it.

A whimper rips from his throat at the mere thought of it– picturing himself at the foot of Regulus’ bed, content to just watch, to be so good for him. His movements become more frantic, hand working over himself faster. He pulls up his shirt and bites down on the fabric, head falling back against the door. In his mind, he wonders if Regulus would chide him for being bad, when James would finally break and scramble over to him. If he would let out a noise of protest when he pushes Regulus’ hand away and takes over, gripping the base and fucking him. He imagines how he would react when James crowds into his space, licking into his mouth and swallowing down his moans.

James is close when he thinks about Regulus’ eyes half shut and rolling back, body arching against him. How he would feel under his palm if he dragged it down the plane of his chest, if he raked his fingers through the hair under his belly button. Fuck. The thought of what it would feel like to touch between his legs, feel him wet and warm and dripping on his fingers. He’s almost there, movements getting more urgent. He starts circling his thumb over his sensitive tip with every upstroke. Has to grab at his own throat to ground himself, squeezing for just a little pressure because his body is feeling so good that it's floating up, up, up.

When James finally breaks, its with a weak, breathless, “ah- fuck R- Reg.” He makes a mess of himself. Back arching off the door, coming in ropes across his chest and dripping sloppily over his hand. He stays there for a while, slumped against the door, twitching with aftershocks. It’s only after his breath returns to its regular pattern that he moves, grimacing slightly as he sheds the rest of his clothes in a crumpled heap.

Nevermind the guilt of jerking off to his best friend’s brother, his own friend–his mind was reeling. James had convinced himself that it would help, to get it out of his system and be done with it. Deep down, though, he knew that wasn't possible. He knew that indulging himself would only pull him deeper into his spiral of obsession with Regulus. It was a little fucked up, but he couldn't find it in himself to regret it.

Exhausted, he collapsed onto the bed, a groan escaping him. The images and thoughts of Regulus were still there, but they were shifting. Had he ever used them on anyone else? What would it be like if he used them on James?

Against the mattress, James let out a heady moan. His forehead was slick with sweat, hair clinging to his skin. He found himself rocking hips involuntarily, pushing his spent cock into the bed. God, would Regulus top him? Fuck him with his strap and tell him he takes him so well. Oh, would he make him suck on it too? The overstimulation from the lack of respite was deliciously painful. He bit down on the sheets, grinding against them as he reached out clumsily and fumbled for the lube in the bedside table.

This second time was just as desperate. Lube in hand, James coated his fingers. So messy–glistening on his hand the same way he imagined it would look after pulling it from Regulus’ cunt. He drew his knees up under himself, breath picking up again and chest heaving against the mattress. His glasses askew and head turned to the side, he was looking back as best as he could at where his fingers were circling his hole.

He eased one finger in. He didn't feel nearly full enough but there's a slight burn– a reminder that he hasn’t done this in so long. He wishes Regulus were here to stroke his cheek, his neck. For him to press down on where James’ hand is inside of himself and tell him, “You can take more baby, I know you can. Need it, hm?”

James is gasping with the thought, mouth open and drooling a bit. He can’t bring himself to care though. He briefly pulls his finger out, swiping hastily at his stomach where his cum hasn't dried and mixing it with the lube before he’s pushing back in, another alongside it.

“Christ” he swears to himself. It’s a little clumsy, an awkward angle. His own fingers are a little too thick to move them fluently. He thinks it wouldn’t be like that with Regulus. In his mind, Regulus would work his fingers inside him with the same poise and deadly precision that he does everything else. He’d probably talk him through it too, breath hot against his ear as he teased James for being so needy, for wanting to be filled. It would have James on the edge in minutes, and that thought alone is so hot that James can't even feel shameful about it.

He shifts, pushing up on one arm and arches his back, so he can drive his fingers deeper. He slips in another finger. He’s so– so worked up, body so warm. Sweat beads on his neck, trailing down and pooling where his back curves. Both of his arms ache with the strain, but he’s too far gone to notice. Too caught up in the slide of his fingers, lost to the thought that even three of them were still not as thick as the purple toy in Regulus’ room. He’s pretty sure he’s making noise, he can't really tell though. Everything’s gone a bit fuzzy from the pleasure.

He knows he’s loud when he comes though. He finds the spot that has him going weak, almost buckling the arm that's holding him up. It’s overwhelming, he focuses on a few hard presses of his fingers right there and he's coming. A broken sob wracking his body as he gives into it, writhing against the feeling, ruining himself even more. He draws it out as long as he can, fingers moving relentlessly until his nerves sing with raw sensitivity. He slips them out before collapsing into the mattress, just breathing.

He can't help but laugh at himself-–thinks it's a little pathetic. That one accidental peek into a box has left him lying here, covered in his own sweat and spend. And yet, his mind is still running over the possibilities. A constant loop of Regulus and toys and straps. A low whine escapes him at the idea of going another round, his cock already twitching at the mere thought.

And through the haze of it all, the pleasure and the embarrassment and the Regulus, he can only make sense of one thing:

He is so utterly fucked.

#a part 2 is coming methinks #microbial genetics exam on tuesday... i havent reviewed any lectures but i did write this!#jegulus #regulus black #james potter #jegulus fic #jegulus microfic #marauders #starchaser #marauders fanfic

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toruro · 1 year

Text

— ✧ desperate

i don't know what i'd be doing without you (raise y_our glass / huh yunjin)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

description: when your husband starts to get more and more busy, you naturally grow needy. it’s only after long game of cat and mouse that he finally gets you to fess up about what's been bothering you, and it's safe to say your answer is definitely not what he's expecting.

tags: smut (18+), husband!wonwoo, fluff, oral (f receiving), bulge kink, angst and miscommunication but it's resolved ^-^

w/c: 3.7k

a/n: inspired by this ... so sorry it took me so long to get to this, it's been sitting in my drafts for SO long ... but i hope u all enjoy! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated :3

You’re convinced you’ve gone crazy. This shouldn’t be right—your fiancé being exhausted shouldn’t turn you on—it’s wrong. Isn’t it?

It’s been bothering you recently, but you’ve held back.

When he comes home and immediately drops his black suit jacket on the floor and his jaw is tight, you turn away and ignore how it reminds you of the way he clenches his teeth when fucking into you. When he unbuttons his white formal shirt at the top, revealing the chiseled curve of his chest, you leave the room for a few moments, hoping that the burning ache between your legs will soon ebb away. It’s exhausting in its own way, you think.

Coming home every day to a quiet house, with nothing but you and your hand slipping under the waistband of your panties trying to do anything and everything to make your fingers feel like his; Wonwoo walking in hours after your futile attempts to make yourself cum, muttering sincere apologies of, “I’m sorry, there’s just this one deal we’ve been trying to make and—“

You’d have to shush his words, wrapping your arms around him saying, “It’s okay, I understand—you’re working so hard.”

"I hate being away from you," Wonwoo would admit, and you'd kiss his cheek softly. He'd melt in your arms and in the moment you'd feel so guilty for feeling so needy earlier, but you can't lie and say the way that his arms are so large and hard under your touch has you throbbing.

You'd get into bed before Wonwoo is out of the shower, doing your best to lull yourself to sleep so you don't have to be awake to feel his bare skin against your body, because you just know your poor pussy won't be able to handle it.

Tonight, he comes back around the same time as others—weary after a long day at work—a small frown etched on his lips as he runs a rough hand through his tousled hair, noticing that you aren’t by his side to greet him like normal. A twinge of disappointment runs through his body as he glances around, waiting silently to see if you're just a few seconds away from walking up to him,

To be honest, you’ve been horny all evening—like pretty much all other ones—so when you hear him unlock the door, you just can't bring yourself to go see him, knowing that you probably wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to just sink to your knees in front of him and unbuckle his pants.

Wonwoo, still standing by the doorway, is frankly quite confused. "Baby," he calls out, wondering that maybe you just didn't hear him walk in.

But when you only let out a low hum and say, "Yeah?" in response, he feels...dejected? No, that it's the right word.

To be honest, Wonwoo has been sensing something's wrong. He brushed it off earlier, thinking that it was probably just him being too tired to tell the difference between you being tired too, and you avoiding him. Up until right now, he had convinced himself it was the former—you two both had been swamped in work, so he figured that you were just as exhausted as him.

Now, Wonwoo isn't too sure of himself. Those thoughts that 'what if she's not interested anymore,' are creeping back into his mind, but when he walks into the living room to see you curled up in the couch, he tries to push them away. Absentmindedly slipping off his suit jacket and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, he walks over to you and sits next to you on the couch.

"How was work?" you ask him, not really looking up from your phone as you lean in slightly to his side. Fuck, he looks so good with the way his glasses hang low, collarbone on display, eyes gazing intensely at yours—fuck, fuck, fuck, you just can't take it.

"Good," Wonwoo hums, wrapping an arm around your side and you might just combust with the way the rough pads of his fingers brush against your skin because—fuck—you can't stop thinking about the way they rub the inside of your cunt. "How was your day?"

"Tiring," you reply honestly, and just when Wonwoo thinks you'll sink deeper into his hold, you're pulling away, leaving him cold and confused. "I'm going to get into bed now," you murmur, "'m really tired, you know?" Sitting up from the couch, your fiancé just stares at you for a few moments, blinking, before you force yourself to turn away and walk hastily to your bedroom.

If Wonwoo thought something was wrong before, he definitely knows something is wrong now. You and him, you're good at communicating. Wonwoo expects you to tell him if there's anything bothering you, and you expect the same of him; so now that there's obviously something you aren't telling him, he's more worried than anything that there's something you aren't comfortable telling him.

After snapping out of the somewhat shocked state he's in, he doesn't hesitate to stand up and follow behind you. You're crawling into bed when you hear his footsteps thudding up towards you, and this is when you think your luck has run out—your patience is running thin, and if you look at Wonwoo any longer, you know you won't be able to handle it, turning yourself over in the bed to smush your face in the pillow.

Maybe if you pretend you're asleep he won't talk to you. Unfortunately for you, like you said: your luck has run out.

"Baby," Wonwoo coos softly, as you feel the mattress dip next to you with his added weight. There's a hand on your shoulder and you think you might just crumble right there and then. "C'mon, I know you're awake." Maybe if you just hold out a little bit longer—"Okay seriously."

You open one eye and let it flicker to the direction of Wonwoo's voice, finding him sitting on the bed on his knees next to you, eyes pleading. "'m tired," you try to tell him, turning back before he grabs your shoulder again.

"Something's wrong." Yeah, maybe it's the fact that you haven't been able to make yourself cum in weeks.

"Yeah," you say bluntly, the words coming out harsher than you'd anticipated. "I'm tired and you aren't letting me sleep. That's what's wrong." Wonwoo gives you that look and now you know you're really in for it.

"You're avoiding me."

You open both your eyes, sitting up and leaning against the headboard with a frown. "I'm not."

"You didn't say come hi when I came home."

"I was cozy on the couch."

"Angel, you always come say hi to me," Wonwoo says, and you can swear there's almost a pout on his lips. You rub your eyes with your hands, trying to distract yourself from the way you can see under his shirt when he leans forward, revealing his pretty set of hard muscles.

"Sorry, I don't know I just—I was really tired today," you try to say sincerely, looking at your fiancé with eyes practically begging him to just let it go.

"Did I do something wrong?" Wonwoo blurts out, and your eyes widen.

"What, no?" you exclaim, nearly mortified that he would even think that. "No, why would you think that?"

Wonwoo's eyes furrow, and you can't quite read his expression. "You've been so distant..." his voice trails off. "If I did something wrong I want us to talk about it, not have secrets." You sigh as he reaches his hand over to intertwine with yours, squeezing your eyes shut when you find yourself focusing in on the thick, prominent veins.

"It's embarrassing," you murmur under your breath, not daring to look Wonwoo in the eye while a series of downright filthy thoughts run through your mind.

"It's okay," Wonwoo whispers, inching closer to you, so sincere that it's driving you crazy.

"I—" your voice hitches in your throat, and he looks at you worriedly as you pull your hand away from his so you can bury your face in your palms, inhaling deeply. He places a hand on your back immediately and the proximity has you squeaking out his name.

"What is it, baby?" Fuck, his voice is so deep and it's slightly hoarse and it's strumming your heart in ways that you can't even describe.

"It's just—you're just gone so—so much," you finally manage to say. You know it's vague, but it's the only thing that you can muster up.

Wonwoo's face scrunches up, and he looked at you confused. "I—I know," he sighs, getting frustrated with himself for leaving you like this. You catch the somber look on his face, and your heart tightens at the idea that he thinks this is his fault because it's not.

Not his fault his cock is so fat and long and pretty in ways that has your mouth salivating when you even just think about it. Not his fault that whenever you close your eyes and press your thighs together, all you can think about is his length carving its shape into your aching cunt. Yeah. Totally not his fault.

"I'm sorry," Wonwoo continues when you don't respond. "Have I been neglecting you?"

Your pussy, yeah. "N-no, it's not that," you stutter out, trying to push the thoughts away. Maybe there's still some time for you to back out of this.

"Can you not lie? I can tell you're upset with me."

"No!" you say quickly, bringing up a hand to catch his wrist. His skin burns against yours, and you aren't sure how much longer you can put this up. "I guess I just...I missed you a lot..." your voice trails off hoping that Wonwoo will understand what you’re getting at, but the dazed look on his face tells you he hasn’t got a clue.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says with a frown, linking his fingers with the ones on his wrist, pulling you close. Fuck, you really should pull away because his gentle tug is reminding you of the way he pulls you on top of him when you're about to ride him and—“Work has just been a lot lately,” he explains sadly, looking down at you as he pulls you flush against his chest.

Your face is burning and his exposed skin pressed against you is just too much, and you need to pull away. “Wonwoo, just—“

“Do you not love me anymore?” he blurts out and you freeze.

“What?!” you gasp out. “What the hell—no, Wonwoo.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and now you know that you can’t let this go on any longer.

“I’m trying to figure out why you’ve been so so distant and you keep pushing me the fuck away and—“ he rambles, clearly frustrated when he rakes a hand through his hair.

Your eyes well up with tears and you aren’t sure if it’s because of how sad Wonwoo looks or how bad you feel for letting it all build up to this point or how you feel guilty for being so needy in the first place.

“It’s not you, it’s not you, it’s me!” you finally manage to tell him. Wonwoo stills, watching tears leak from your lashes as you go on. “I’ve just been missing you so much, Won,” you blabber, “and when you come home so tired and exhausted I don’t wanna bother you and—sometimes it hurts to be in the same room as you because I just wanna feel you but—”

“Wait hold on,” Wonwoo murmurs, his faced scrunched up. “That’s what this is about.”

You look away bashfully, burying your face in your hands. “I told you, Won—it’s embarrassing!” Wonwoo stares at you for a moment, blinking as he lets your words sink in. You're scared of his reaction, keeping your eyes shut tight—afraid you'll see him looking down at you and seeing you for the desperate, needy girl you are.

The anticipation of his response is still killing you though, and you're about to murmur something more when you hear Wonwoo stifle a little laugh. Peeking up at him through your fingers, you catch him watching you with a rather amused smile.

"You were just horny?" he murmurs, bringing his hand up to pull your fingers away from your face.

Quickly averting your gaze, you mumble, "I—I wasn't just horny...it's just—it's been weeks and you look—" you bite your lip wondering if you should go on. The smirk on his face tells you yes. "—you look really nice when you get home."

"Pretty sure that means you were just horny," Wonwoo teases, and although you feel like the world might as well swallow you whole, a lot of the tension that's been weighing down on your shoulders has vanished. Since your confession, Wonwoo has traced his hands up your arms and down your body so they now rest on your waist, pulling you close to him as he shifts his own body so he can lay against the headboard.

"No," you huff, easing back into a more comfortable setting now that you're sitting on his lap, the heated mess between your legs growing even more dirty. "Missed you. Missed this." You punctuate the last word with an peck on his lips that has you both grinning.

"Missed my dick, is what you're trying to say," Wonwoo says with a roll of his eyes, and you slap his shoulder.

Pouting, you reply, "Hey. Stop doing that, or you're going to make me start feeling like I'm the only one who wants this..."

"This?" Wonwoo's eyebrow is cocked up, and you feel yourself shrinking under his gaze. Your hips are resting dangerously close to his, but his firm grip on you has you stuck in your place.

"You know..." your voice goes quiet, and you look up your husband pleadingly.

"I've really left you needy, huh angel..." he mutters under his breath, running one finger along your bottom lip as you lean into his touch. And then his lips are crashing onto yours, a wet mess of tongue and saliva as you both lick into each other's mouth.

Whining, you grind down onto his pelvis when lets go of his bruising grip on your waist, allowing you to find that friction that you've been craving for weeks. Your hands instinctively fly up to tug at his button up, the flat rounds of plastic slipping through his fingers as you claw your way to feel his skin against you.

Wonwoo lets you work his shirt off of him, pulling away so he can fix his own attention on your pajama pants, wondering how many times you've tried to make yourself cum in them. He shoves away the thought of leaving you so needy that you felt the need to fucking play with yourself, instead bringing his hands to the elastic waistband and yanking down and over the curve of your ass.

"I missed you so much, Won-won," you mewl into his shoulder, legs instinctively wrapping around his bare torso once you successfully rid Wonwoo of his shirt and kick off your pajamas off.

"You could've—" he cuts off with his own grunt as he adjusts under you, trying to push his pants off of himself as he grows harder by the second, "—said something earlier. You should've."

You look up at him meekly once he finally get's his work pants out of the way and thrown off the bed, squirming in your own panties and loose shirt. "I know but you're working so hard," your voice trails off. "Coming home everyday, all tired and all."

"I always have energy for you," he murmurs, nipping at the skin of your neck, allowing himself to taste as much of you as you'll let him. Quickly and firmly, he flips the two of you so that you're leaning against the cushions and he's on top of you, settling in between your legs. Sucking hard, Wonwoo vaguely thinks about how you might complain about the hickey in the morning, but the thought is swept away when you thread your fingers into his hair and tug gently.

"Wonwoo," you coo, and you don't need to say any more for him to know what you want. He briefly considers teasing you a little longer—making you plead with him, tear up as you beg for him to fuck you, but he knows that you've been thinking about this for too long to have the will to make you wait any longer. Wonwoo can save the edging for another time, he reminds himself, as he slowly makes his way down your body so that his lower half is resting flat on the mattress, strong arms wrapping around your legs and hips.

"Missed seeing you like this, pretty," he murmurs, nuzzling his cheek into your inner thigh, placing wet kisses on the sensitive skin.

"Missed you too," you mumble, growing shy by the way Wonwoo's staring down at the wet spot that stains your panties in front of him.

"Yeah?" he hums, bringing up one hand to pinch the nub of your clit between the fabric, causing you to gasp loudly and throw your head back. "I can tell baby...you're soaked." The tips of your ears burn and you bury your face into the crook of your arm.

"Won-won..."

"Sorry baby, you just look so sexy right now...take your shirt off for me," he responds with a cheeky grin, pressing a kiss onto your soiled panties before peeling them off while you shimmy off your own top. You hiss when the cool air hits your slick folds, hips bucking for some friction. "Easy," Wonwoo orders, grounding your hips down with one strong arm, "Let me take my time with you."

"But I can't wait anymore!" you whimper, watching him bring his face dangerously close to your core. A choked moan rips from your throat when Wonwoo heeds your body's request, liking a warm stripe up your cunt, swirling his tongue over your aching clit. He hums against you as he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, sucking so hard it has your arms flying down to grip at his hair.

Without anymore words, Wonwoo glides his tongue through your folds, pressing against them flat and hard and fuck, does he move so languidly, it's like your bodies were made for each other. He lets you tug at his hair, loosening his grip on your waist so that you can buck your hips in a shallow motion while he swivels his head up and down in sync, allowing you to grind against his face perfectly.

"Fuck—Wonwoo—I missed you so much," you cry out when he prods one finger at your hole, the gyrating of your hips taking its opportunity to suck him right in. And before you know, he's got two fingers plunged knuckle deep inside your cunt as he continues to lap at your clit. His name runs from your lips like a mantra and you wonder how you'd gone more than day without having him go down on you like this, because right now it feels as if Wonwoo is all you can breathe, smell, feel, and think.

"Yeah? Think you can show me how much you missed me?" he manages out, finally pulling his face away to catch his breath before diving right back into your filthy cunt, allowing the glistening mess that runs from his lips and down his chin to grow even messier.

"Yes!" you moan as he slips in a third finger, curling them up into that one spot that is burned into the back of his mind—the one spot that has your legs shaking and eyes shutting tight as you cry out his name when your orgasm hits. Wonwoo finger fucks you through the high, and suddenly you're trembling for his touch, to feel his skin against yours, to have him so close you wouldn't be surprised if you mold into one.

Intertwining your fingers with his clean one, you pull him up so fast that he nearly falls over you, grunting a little as he climbs his way up to have his body hovering over yours. It's not enough, you think dazedly, wrapping your arms around his torso to yank him down on you so that your bodies are pressed up right against each other. "Baby," he huffs as his clothed cock rubs up against your bare cunt.

You push your lips against his in an awkward, sloppy kiss as you body roll around in the sheets as Wonwoo tries to shuffle off boxers and you try to wrap your legs around his bare torso as best as you can. As soon as you're both successful, he's pulling away from your lips for a moment to gasp when he slides his cock through your dripping folds. Fuck, it really has been too long, he thinks.

Wonwoo is drunk on the feeling of your wetness alone, and then you're holding him so close—tits pressed up against his chest and pelvis pressing into his and god, he can't take it anymore. He'll apologize later for giving you no warning, but right now he just needs to be inside of you, sinking his fat length into your warm cunt with no hesitation.

The stretch is delicious, and you're reminded of just why your fingers were never able feel the same—he's splitting you in half, and you can't help but crave for more and more and more. Your skin burns and it feels like you might just pass out from the pleasure, but you don't mind if you meet your end—not if it's by Wonwoo's hand.

And then he shifts inside you just a little but that's more than enough for you both to feel it. Wonwoo's stomach is pressed up against yours and it'd be impossible to not feel it. He grabs your hand in his and slips it between the little space that's left between you two so you can both smooth your hands over your stomach and the realization is more than enough to have your feeling another orgasm bubble up in your core.

Because at the base of your belly is the imprint of Wonwoo's cock inside of you, so deep that you're body forced itself to make room for him and the thought alone is enough to have you moaning into each other's mouth as your lips meet for another filthy kiss.

It's about to be a long fucking night.

#wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo fluff #wonwoo fluff #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen fanfic #📝 writing

3K notes · View notes

little-worm-grant · 4 months

Text

How They Loved You

Moonboys x You (Reader)

730 words / 18+ only, no minors

Masterlist.

If you like what you see, leave a like or reblog and follow me ♥

Summary: Who fell in love with you first? How do they behave around you? Some ramblings of how each of the alters likes to love you.

Warnings: No smut but suggestive.

Dedicated to @lunaselena - ♥

Steven thought it the moment he met you. The way you talked. The way you smiled at him. How kind you were. Didn’t show him any sign of being sick of his rambling. He was smitten. Didn’t take him long to blurt it out. He wanted to please you in every way he could think of. He learned fast. Intuitive towards you. Empathetic to your needs. He listened. Searched for ways to gently push buttons he never knew existed before you.

Simply having you existing gave him all the motivation he needed to try and make you happy. You let him explore and find his confidence. In turn, he’d find ways to surprise you. Always with that dopey grin on his face and that eagerness like you wouldn’t believe.

He’d be the one that’d spend a whole movie massaging your back. Cuddling or staring at you that little bit longer or until he couldn’t any more. He’s easily flustered and still bashful at times. Eyes quickly cast away as you strip the last of your clothing. His gaze would always return.

Once he was comfortable in your space? He’d be sneaking up to try and surprise you. Playful in his kisses and bites against you. Knowing exactly what he was doing but feigning innocence. More giggly in his flirting and teasing. Checking in when he can to make sure everything he’s doing and you’re doing is okay. He’d worship the ground you stood on if he could.

Sure, he liked you for a while, but it took Marc getting to know you before it came down hot and heavy. Suddenly there was no air to breathe unless it was yours. You were his thoughts day and night. He needed all his time with you. Felt he was missing out anytime the others were with you instead of him.

Years would pass and he’d still be the same way. Utterly devoted. Not loud in his affection or words like the others sometimes were, but he made sure you knew he loved you. Gentle in all the right ways. Rough in the ways you both needed. He’d be the one doing the most to make sure you were cared for. Feed you. Drag you into baths and showers with him. Pull you into his arms to nap with him.

Marc loves you and only you. You’re more important to him than himself. He’d be the kind to burn the world down just to keep you safe. He’d kill for you. He’d be the most unstable if you left. A kind of obsessiveness he knows can’t be healthy but can’t help himself.

Took the longest time for him to express his feelings. Even if he felt it, he never expected it to be reciprocated. Marc’s good at putting on a show of being stoic and decisive. Deep down he still felt undesirable, like he wasn’t worth you. How lucky he was to have such a person to orbit around. You were his sun. His planet. And all the stars around him.

Took him the longest to come around to the idea of loving you. Told yourself it was because he wasn’t out much and when he was he’d tried to avoid you and the others. Too used to his own bubble. Worried you’d hurt him if you got the chance. By being in constant proximity to the others, you caught glimpses of him. And in those glimpses, you seemed to like what you saw.

Jake’s moment of falling in love wasn’t hard and fast like Steven’s, or hot and heavy like Marc’s. It was an “awww fuck. Shit.” Kind of moment. Him standing there rubbing his gloved hand over his face because he realizes he really does care about this spicy little dumbass. You drive him crazy and he couldn’t understand until now why he wants you to keep doing that.

He wants to excite you. Take you out to see and do things you’ve probably never seen or done before. Enjoys the company in those long drives he loves to take. You catch him off guard with being okay he’s more his own person. He likes to be around and indispensable to others. Likes that you like seeing him like that. Marc’s bold, but Jake can be bolder. He’s possibly a little more on the competitive side. Isn’t one to back down.

#steven grant #marc spector #jake lockey #moon knight #oscar isaac #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #open rp #open starter #marcs pov #jakes pov #stevens pov #moon boys

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literaryavenger · 3 months

Text

Happy Birthday

Summary: It's your birthday and the only person who doesn't seem to be excited about it is you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Angst. Fluff. Language probably. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: This story was completely self-indulgent, but I hope someone out there likes it!

Masterlist

You’ve always been very reluctant to celebrate your birthday.

You haven’t had a birthday party since you were 12. The following year your mom died a couple of days before and neither you nor your family were in the mood to celebrate anything.

It wasn’t by any means unexpected, she had been sick for a few years, but it still hit you hard.

You were the youngest and were far too young when she first got sick to really understand everything going on.

You were 8 and all you really remember is watching your mom get more and more sick until eventually there was nothing more the doctors could do.

Her death hit you hard and you closed yourself off, never talking about it or even crying after the day of her funeral. To this day you’ve still never cried, in front of others or even by yourself.

You started exercising to channel all your energy, refusing to do anything more like the therapy your family suggested.

When you were 15 you discovered SHIELD and decided you wanted to help others, so you signed up for the SHIELD Academy, working your hardest and pushing yourself to your very limit.

You ended up being not only the youngest cadet ever, but the youngest to actually graduate and then the youngest recruit at SHIELD at only 16 years old.

Natasha was very impressed when she heard about you and took a liking to you, convincing Fury to make you part of her team during her missions and teaching you everything she knows.

That’s how you ended up in the Avengers Initiative, not that you felt you didn’t deserve it since you know how hard you worked and everything you gave up to work towards this achievement.

The team themselves were initially skeptical since you were barely 18 during the battle of New York, but they were quickly proven wrong when they saw how well you handled yourself against the Chitauri.

You were devastated when SHIELD fell, but carried on as an Avenger, battling Ultron and then moving to the Compound with the team.

You met the actual Bucky for the first time when you were 22, during the whole Civil War thing with Baron Zemo. Like Natasha, you were on Tony’s team, fighting mostly Pietro, but the conflict eventually ended.

It took Tony some time to get over the whole “Bucky killing his parents while brainwashed” thing, but, as he likes to say, he can’t call himself a genius without admitting that Bucky didn’t have much of a choice.

Thanks to Tony’s help Shuri was able to find a solution to Bucky’s brainwashing faster than she would’ve alone, meaning Bucky didn’t have to go back into cryo and was pretty quickly cleared to join the team, about a year after the airport battle in Leipzig.

You were warmly accepted by everybody and, the more the team grew the more you felt at home with these people.

And now you wish you could burn down the whole compound because, somehow, Tony convinced you to have a birthday party for the first time in 13 years because, in his words, 'you only turn 25 once'.

Good news is you managed to make him limit the guest list to the team and other people close to you like Maria Hill and Fury. Bad news is you’re still gonna be the center of attention, which you hate.

You couldn’t stop Tony from making everyone dress up for the party, and you couldn’t stop the team from getting you gifts even though you insisted all you wanted was everyone together and to have fun with them since for the longest time nobody ever even knew when your birthday was.

What you didn’t realize was that the only person more worried than you about your gifts was Bucky.

Since he joined the team the two of you have gotten close, starting with his first training with the team where he very loudly told Steve about his disbelief that someone as young and small as you could actually be an asset to the team.

You quickly put him in his place by taking him down after less than two minutes of sparring, taking full advantage of his underestimating you because he “didn’t want to hurt a pretty little thing like you.”

Admittedly he was impressed and wasn’t shy about letting you know that, while the rest of the team snickered at his initial shock when you pinned him down.

You became friends after that, not as close as you’d like but friends nonetheless.

If you were honest with yourself you’ve been harboring a little crush on the supersoldier, but he’s never shown any interest so you resigned yourself to just being his friend.

Something that you did come to treasure, though, is your and Bucky’s late night talks.

It started with you walking in on him in the kitchen on a late night where you couldn’t sleep, nothing new to you, but the two of you barely talked other than acknowledging each other.

You took a bottle of water and left.

A couple of days later you ran into him again and you stood there in silence while you made yourself a cup of tea and then left for your room.

A few days later again he was just sitting there and said nothing as you made your tea, except this time you put a cup in front of him and silently took a seat next to him at the counter.

Two nights later when you arrived at the kitchen he was already there with a cup of tea in front of him and one in front of the seat next to him.

You didn’t want to assume it was for you, but you took a chance when you noticed it was the cup you always used, a blue mug with Stitch on it that says “Let’s get weird”. Your favorite in fact.

You hesitantly sat down next to him and, without you having to ask or without even looking at you, he told you that the nights you stay up late because you can’t sleep you tend to be more quiet during the team dinners and while you hang out afterwards.

You didn’t say anything in return and just sat there, trying not to overthink how much he seemed to watch you.

But the more nights you spent like that, the more you two talked and you gathered quickly that Bucky is a very observant person, nothing more.

You loved the time you spent together after dark where you’d talk about everything and anything, but come morning it was almost as if it never happened, which you came to accept.

It weirdly made the nights you spent talking even more special, which was almost every night.

But back to the present, you’re currently getting ready with Natasha and Wanda, who know much more than you about hair and makeup and are always happy to help you out with getting ready for Stark parties.

You put on the black cocktail dress with rhinestones all over the corset and a slit down the left side, then the three of you make your way to the party room and you take a deep breath before entering.

Everyone is already there, all dressed up in fancy clothes as they all shout “Happy Birthday”.

You laugh and say hi to everybody while they all take turns hugging you, there’s not too many people but everyone important to you is there.

Even Laura and Clint’s kids are there, which you consider a second family at this point, since Laura always did treat you like a daughter.

You hate to admit that it's a nice party.

Knowing you, everyone makes an effort to not put you too much at the center of attention and you just go around talking to your friends like every other party.

Eventually time comes for the cake and, the moment you kind of dreaded, opening the gifts.

Since it's the first birthday you allowed the team to celebrate everyone decided to go all in for your gifts, which you picked up on from the very first gift you open.

Pietro got you a first edition of “The Picture Of Dorian Gray” which is your all time favorite book, Wanda and Maria got you a leather jacket and an amazing pair of boots that you knew were expensive because you were all out shopping together when you came across them.

Steve got you a gold heart-shaped locker with a picture of the team inside it, Natasha got you a charm bracelet with a little charm to represent everyone on the team, and Sam got you a cute necklace with your birth stone on it.

When you open Fury’s gift you start laughing since it's a gun, a SIG SAUER P226 to be precise, which is very Fury.

“It was my first gun when I joined SHIELD.” He says with a smile and you smile back, knowing how much thought he put into this gift.

You open Clint’s gift next, a bow and arrow that he already taught you how to use, and Laura got you a pair of diamond earrings.

Your heart melts when you open Lila, Cooper and Nathaniel’s gifts, respectively a friendship bracelet, an Avengers action figure of yourself and a Stitch plushie.

The three of them hug you tightly as you say thank you and now you only have two gifts left, Tony’s and Bucky’s, and they’re both little boxes.

You open Tony’s next, thinking it’s some fancy necklace or earring but you frown when you see a car key.

“Is this the key to your car?” you ask Tony, knowing full well you’re holding the key to an Audi R8 Spyder, the car Tony’s let you borrow so many times you’re now wondering if he’s gifting you his spare set of keys.

“No.” He says casually “It’s the key to your car.”

You’re even more confused and simply stare at him with your mouth gaped, not really processing the information.

“Y-you… You got me a car?!” You almost yell out of shock and everyone else starts laughing at your antics when you start basically jumping up and down and hugging Tony, squealing like a little girl.

“Well, come on, let’s go see it!” Tony says enthusiastically after you’ve calmed down, and you get up, just as enthusiastic, but are stopped by Steve’s voice.

“Wait, wait. You have one gift left.” He says, picking up the small box and giving it to you. “It’s from Bucky.”

You were so pumped up by the car, you almost forgot about it and completely miss the mischievous look Steve gives Bucky and the murderous glare Bucky gives back.

You also miss Bucky starting to protest before you open his gift, but he instantly shuts up when he sees your face falling the second you open it.

It’s a small necklace with a blue rose in it, it really looks like something you’d give a little girl more than a 25 year old woman.

You look at it for a minute, running your finger on it before you raise your head and look at Bucky.

The whole room goes silent as they all watch you worriedly, everyone noticing immediately that tears are streaming down your face.

Nobody understands what’s happening and nobody knows how to react or what to do, it’s like they’re all frozen by the sight of you being vulnerable for the first time ever.

Meanwhile Bucky’s heart is beating so loud he’s sure everyone around him can hear it, and he feels himself starting to panic at the thought of having ruined your birthday with that stupid gift.

Everybody else got you expensive gifts and all he did was get you a small, cheap necklace that reminded him of a story you briefly talked about once on one of your late night talks about a necklace you had as a kid.

He saw it at the mall while looking for a gift for you, remembering the sweet smile you had on your face when you mentioned it and the fleeting sad look he thought he saw when you told him you lost it when you were 12.

He was really proud of himself for that gift, but the more he saw the other gifts you got the more he regretted his choice, especially after Tony gave you a fucking car.

And now you were crying, not saying anything while just looking at him.

He doesn’t know what to expect from you at the moment, nobody does, he thinks you might yell, throw his gift back at him, tell him how much you hate it and him.

But you surprise everyone by throwing your arms around Bucky’s neck, hugging him tightly while crying into his shoulder.

You honestly forgot telling Bucky about that story and certainly didn’t expect him to remember it, especially since you always got the feeling that he didn’t care about your talks as much as you.

You just assumed that come morning he deleted everything you told him to make room for more important things, and you didn’t blame him.

But he didn’t.

What you didn’t tell him about the necklace is that your mom gave it to you because blue roses were her favorite, you had that necklace since you were born but you somehow lost it the day of her funeral.

That day you lost the two most important things in your life and cried yourself to sleep, and that was the last time you allowed yourself to be weak and cry.

Until today.

Bucky hesitantly wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back hoping to get you to calm down. He looks around at the rest of the team, panicking a little and not knowing what to do.

Everyone else is as clueless as he is, never having seen you in such a state before.

Bucky starts apologizing, his heart breaking at the sight of you crying, and he feels horrible that it’s because of him.

You shake your head quickly and pull away a little to look at him, wanting to reassure him you’re not sad or angry but incredibly happy, but words refuse to come. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and finally manage to speak.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” It’s quiet, but it’s something, and it’s enough to make Bucky let out a breath of relief at knowing you don’t hate him or his gift.

He brings you back in for another tight hug, almost forgetting about everyone else in the room as you hug him back without hesitation.

You’re honestly not even embarrassed at crying, all you care about at the moment is Bucky, his arms around you while he lets you bury your face in his neck, like you’ve been wanting to do for years now.

“Happy birthday, doll.” He whispers in your ear and, for the first time in 13 years, you really feel like it is.

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theemporium · 9 months

Note

sugar daddy charles concerned af when he doesn’t hear from his girl but she keeps pulling all nighters for uni and she is crashing and burning so he jets over to sort her life out

listen this just happened and i don't even know what to say for myself but anyways🤠

“Charles—”

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. That’s it, mon amour, just like that,” he cooed softly as he ran his fingers gliding up and down your thighs. “Just let go f’me.”

“I-I can’t,” you whined, shaking your head as the tears began to well up in your eyes. It was too much. Far too much, and still a part of you craved more. “I need to—”

“You need to listen to me, amour,” he murmured against your skin, pressing light and soft kisses along the inside of your thighs. “And I’m telling you to relax.”

It wasn’t unusual for you to not answer your messages straight away. After all, Charles himself got caught up in meetings and duties, and it sometimes meant that he wouldn’t be able to reply for a few hours. He knew you were in a similar position with lectures and classes and meetings with your professors.

But it was different.

Usually it was just a bad day here or there, but this time it had been a few days in a row and his concern was growing. You barely replied to him, and even when you did, your replies were sporadic at best. When he looked at the shared location you both had, his worry grew tenfold when he realised you hadn’t left your flat in days. But his breaking point was when he sent someone to deliver food at your door, and despite the insistent knocking, it went unanswered.

You weren’t taking care of yourself, and he didn’t like it at all.

Charles pushed all his meetings and duties back a week. They still had a fortnight until the next race weekend and they could cope in Maranello alone without him for a while. They would have to. He called the company to have the jet waiting for him at the airport as he drove over, and he hopped on a plane straight to you.

And when he arrived, Charles realised he was right.

You were overworking yourself. You were barely eating or sleeping or drinking enough water. You probably had more caffeine in your body than a human ever should have. You looked exhausted and he could see the toll it was starting to take on you, and yet you still insisted that you needed to study for your exams that you had in almost a month’s time.

You weren’t taking care of yourself in the slightest, and his heart broke. You were his: his love, his equal, his partner, his to take care off. He wanted nothing more than for you to be happy and spoiled like you deserved to be, and instead you were working yourself to the bone and he didn’t think you even realised just how far you were pushing yourself.

So, Charles got you to relax in the only way he knew how.

Maybe it was a little manipulative to say he just wanted to hold you, that he wanted to be selfish and enjoy just laying down with you before you started studying again. But you were too tense and too tired and too overworked, and it was Charles’ job to take care of you so that’s what he did.

“Hmm, my girl wants to come again?” He questioned, his hands pawing and squeezing the fat of your thighs as he pulled your legs over his shoulders. He had you sprawled on the bed for the last forty minutes, made you come at least twice on his tongue, and he had no interest in stopping. “Say it, amour. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you gasped out as your fingers fisted the sheets, a choked out moan leaving your lips as he licked a thick strip up your soaking cunt. “Charles, I need you. Please.”

“That’s it, amour,” he groaned happily as he nuzzled his face further against you, kissing and licking and sucking until his hands were pinning you down to the mattress. “You need me, and I’m gonna take care of you like I always do, yes?”

“Yes!” You whined, your back arching off the bed as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked hard.

“Good girl,” he groaned as he lifted his head, his lips and chin glistening with your release. “Gonna make you come one more time and then you’re gonna dress up all pretty so I can take you out for dinner. Do you understand?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, a little high-pitched and a little too dazed to say words right now.

But Charles grinned in response anyways. “My perfect girl.”

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