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scudslut · 1 month

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Sins and Honey Flavored Sweetness

daryl x fem!reader

wordcount: 4.7k

warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut under the cut, perv!daryl (not really, he just has a lil crush), male masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral f!receiving, mutual pining

a/n: i have never written something so descriptive ohmygod. do be warned lol, hugs and kisses byeee <33

Daryl knew there were unspoken boundaries when it came to you.

A thin line of loose salt, that whispered to him. Beckoned him huskily to dust his fingers through and have a taste, but daunting enough for him to keep his soles rooted in the dirt, salivating from a distance.

It wasn’t because you were already spoken for in any way; if anything, you kept your romantic interests simmering farther on the back burner than he did, which spoke volumes in itself. Or because you were younger than him, a couple of years wasn’t anything to turn a nose up over, especially nowadays.

It was, however, the place you held amongst your people. You were like bright, shiny gold within the group, dared not to be corrupted or led astray. The heart that kept everyone’s beating, even in the darkest of times, soothing hope into the atmosphere with your infectious smile.

Oh, and you were Rick's younger sister... which he hated to admit, only tempted him more. And he wasn’t quite sure as to why.

He’d mulled it over too many times to count, noting everything about you that allured him so intensely.

He liked the contrast between you two; like sun rays peeking through the clouds after a mid-summer storm. You were soft, fresh as clean linen and he was dark, brooding. He often fantasized about taking that sweet innocent nature of yours and painting it with his essence. He knew it was wrong and constantly shamed himself for having such perverted thoughts about his best friend's sister. But, god, how could he not?

Not when you pranced around him daily, teasing him with your velvety, feminine voice and kind touches. Touches that sent brisk shivers down his spine, sure to leave him breathless and bothered — another thing he secretly liked. You were addictive in that sense, he’d distance himself the minute he felt the familiar rush coursing through his veins and then crave it immediately once it was gone. A drug he couldn’t help but relapse from.

And it didn’t help that you were always so keen to assist him, doting on his every injury or problem with such gentle attentiveness and sincerity. That might be what he liked the most. It was fascinating how pure you remained in a world so plagued, always ready to nurture. It soothed a deep, restless, and scarred part of him, finding solace in it.

He'd come to learn you were like that with everyone though. So, he found himself grappling with things to deter your attention his way, playing dumb and clumsy just to have your sweet scent fill the nearby air. He felt like a horny teenager with a hopeless crush. It was absolutely ridiculous and yet, here he was once again, feet dangling off your kitchen counter as you searched the cabinets for some aspirin to aid in his 'headache'.

It wasn't a complete lie per se - his sensitivity to light gave him troubles quite often but, whether it was enough to complain about or not, could be debated.

Nonetheless, he sat for you patiently, listening to your quiet humming as you searched about. He loved when you did that, singing your soft melodies under your breath mindlessly. It was such a girly thing to do, but it was comforting in a way, an airy blanket warming the silence.

"Ah, here it is!" drew him out of his thoughts, and he cast a glance at your bright smile of accomplishment. You popped the cap open swiftly, shaking out 2 little white pills, and handed them over with a glass of water.

“Let me know if you need any more. They should kick in soon, but I know how tough migraines can be,” you soothed, your sympathy never faltering. He bowed his head quickly, not wanting you to see the flash of guilt that surely crossed it. "Thanks," he mumbled as he tossed his head back, swallowing them both with a shivered grimace.

Wiping the water droplets from his chapped lips, his eyes found yours again and noticed a small smirk hidden in your features. “What?”

You let out a chuckle, reaching for the glass he held to wash, “Oh nothin’... just don’t think I’ve seen you cringe like that before, is all.”

His brows furrowed at your statement, “So?” he questioned further.

“Walkers, blood, rotting flesh… never. But an itty bitty pill?” Your laugh grew louder, finding the situation even more amusing as you explained it to him. “Whatever,” he scoffed, hopping off the counter with a smirk. He knew you would be expecting him to leave after that, you had helped him with his ‘issue of the day’ and there was no reason to linger any further. But he did.

Daryl scanned your frame as you washed the few dishes that were in the sink, chewing on his thumb habitually. You wore a white, long-sleeve shirt with a faded band logo printed on the front and some beaten-up blue jeans that seemed to cup your ass perfectly.

His mind wandered before he could stop it, imagining how soft and warm your skin must be underneath all those clothes. How soft and warm your hands would be wrapped around him, or better yet, your pretty lips taking him deep with a moan. He felt his own jeans tighten slightly and quickly diverted his gaze to the floor, clearing his throat as if it would erase those thoughts from his brain.

“Something else you need, Daryl?” You glanced over your shoulder, wrists deep in soapy water.

“Nah, uh, thanks. I’ll see ya later,” he said and beelined for the door praying to god you didn’t see his flushed face and half-hard cock poking through his pants. He was so fucked. Couldn’t even look at you anymore without sprouting boners and picturing you on them, milking him greedily.

He rushed down the porch and across the lawn, bursting into his shared house with Carol just next door. He didn’t even glance toward the kitchen to see if his friend was home, desperate for a cold shower to level him out. The house was dead quiet anyway, leading him to assume Carol was out for the day.

"Such a fuckin idiot," he cursed himself under his breath as he made his way down the stairs to his room. You probably knew honestly. Could tell how pathetically bothered you got him, and just put on a friendly face to keep from embarrassing him.

He left the bathroom door open in his distress and hastily shed his clothing, stepping into the tepid water. Immediate relief flooded his senses, feeling the cool stream wash away the sweat and grime the day had caked on. Pouring some homemade soap he was given into his hand, he scrubbed at his skin, determined to rid himself of your previous interaction along with the dirty thoughts that plagued his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about you that way, it just wasn’t in the cards.

For starters, you would have to want him too, (which he knew would never happen), and even if you did, how the ever living fuck would he explain that to Rick?

‘Oh hey Rick, I have a massive hard-on for yer sister, you okay with that?’ Fuck no. Just thinking about that conversation had him cringing in awkwardness and he shut the idea down instantly.

But there you were still, invading his thoughts with your dreamy laugh and perky attitude. Why did you have to be such a goddamn tease?

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the wall trying to regain some composure. He gulped down deep breaths of moist air, willing his body to calm itself down, but it was fruitless. The image of your body, pushed up against the wall under his hands, wet and flushed, bubbled to the surface. He groaned. Daryl knew what he had to do. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten off thinking about you, and he damn well knew it wasn’t gonna be the last, but it still felt wrong each time, pumping his cock when you were just next door. His body craved the relief though, relief only indulgence could satisfy.

He hissed as he dragged his fingers along his shaft, gripping at the base and beginning to pump slowly. He was painfully hard at this point, each squeeze raking shivers over his damp skin while he choked out quiet moans. With his opposite hand, he flicked the water to a warmer setting, pitifully hoping the heat and steam would resemble something close to your body against his. God, if only you were here.

He sped up, swiping his thumb over his sensitive tip with each pass, sending jolts throughout his body. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned deep and husky, not a care for the noise filling the empty house.

You were there, clear as day in his mind, moaning along with him as he pounded into you, cunt gripping him like a vice. Your breath was hot and pitchy against his ear as you begged him to fuck you harder, to go faster, to cum deep inside you. His cock twitched at that, he was already so close.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he whined, humping erratically into his long-forgotten hand. The muscles in his stomach quivered in bliss as he stroked himself, lost in his detailed imagination. You were cumming, trembling around him in languid spasms with his seed spilling out of you, and Daryl was over the edge, tossing his head back moaning your name as he unloaded, letting the steamy water wash it away.

It took him a few minutes to recover, catching his breath slowly and trying to avoid the guilt that would soon be settling in. What would you think of him if you knew what he did behind muffled walls? How he thought of you in such dirty ways, when you’d only ever see him as a dear friend. He wondered what you might be doing now. Traipsing around your cozy home, oblivious to his rapid, lustful heart meters away.

The water was beginning to run frigid and he let out a defeated sigh. Absentmindedly, he reached past the curtain for a towel and stepped out, drying his hair off roughly and then wrapping the towel around his waist, turning to the bedroom for fresh clothes and much-needed sleep. His mind ached to be thoughtless, consumed by the abyss of unconsciousness.

He should have known the world stopped playing fair long ago.

In a single moment, his heart stopped and his stomach dropped to the fucking depths of hell.

There you stood, feet frozen to the floor with his crossbow in hand, like he willed you into existence. He stuttered, his mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish. He was sure his eyes were the size of saucers, he could feel them ready to pop out of his skull and run away. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Several beats passed. The silence deafening between you both and for a moment, he honestly debated stepping back into the shower. Pretend you were a figment of his tortured imagination and just hope you’d go away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen ghosts.

“You uh- you forgot your crossbow when you rushed out today,” you finally broke the silence, solidifying your genuine presence. He glanced down to the bow and then back at you, lost for words. Did you hear him? He moaned your goddamn name, quite a few minutes ago though… had you been standing there long? Were you angry?

His racing thoughts were interrupted when you stepped towards him, leaning the bow against the doorframe and moving closer. Instinctively, he took a step back, “Thanks,” he replied shakily, but you kept moving closer. He noticed your gaze then. It wasn’t on his face, but on his abdomen, at the hem of the damp towel hanging off of him. Your eyes had a gleam to them. Something dark and lustful.

No. Surely, he was reading you wrong.

“Daryl,” you spoke, and he audibly gulped, nervousness and absolute embarrassment flooding his system, “is there something you need to tell me?”

He didn’t answer you, instead deciding to burn a hole into the floor with his shame. He couldn’t look at you. You knew. You had heard him and were teasing him about it and here he was, a coward who couldn’t even admit to it. And you had every single right. He crossed that salty line years ago, with his first sinful thought about you. Feasted on it, deluding himself into thinking all was okay as long as his actions didn’t physically involve you.

He barely registered your advances when he finally raised his head. You were so close he could feel the heat of your breath against his burning skin, the luscious scent of vanilla and pine filling the air.

“Can I see?” you asked quietly.

He nearly choked on his own spit. Your hand was skimming along his stomach lightly, suggestively toying with the towel that covered him up. “Huh?” His mind was blank.

“Can I see you?” you repeated, and all he could do was give you a curt little nod, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to just yet, but rendered acquiesced. Your hand pulled at the fabric softly, letting it drop to the floor revealing his manhood to your hungry eyes. Nothing was making any sense. Surely, you did not feel this way too. Surely.

There were those whispers again. He shouldn't have let you do that. He should be recoiling, shielding himself from your gaze but he was statuesque, like you had drank the life out of him with one simple look.

"Were you thinking about me touching you?" Like you had to even ask. The answer was written in plain sight, right there on his forehead and in his bashful eyes.

"M'sorry, I-" he had no clue how to even begin this kind of apology, remorse coursing through his veins rapidly. The dots weren’t connecting, not yet. "I know it's wrong, I shouldn't have-,”

And then he felt you, pressing your lips against his softly — timidly as gentle hands feathered across his waist, coaxing him into you. Your kiss was buttery, lips so smooth and sweet he wanted to drown in them. You tasted like fresh honey and vanilla ice cream, hints of minty toothpaste caught on your tongue. It was intoxicating to say the least, swarming his brain with a muted buzz and he whimpered, much to his surprise, melting into your touch quicker than he would like to admit.

“Y/n, y/n, nah we can’t,” he heard himself say as he came to his senses slowly, but he wasn’t pushing you away. Why wasn’t he pushing you away? You couldn’t, right?

“Please,” you whispered against him, low and sultry. Who was he to deny you? God Daryl, get a grip.

“Y/n, no,” he repeated, allowing his tone to take some authority even if that was the last thing he truly wanted. You stepped back from him then, a hurt expression painting your features and he felt his heart squeeze. “Why?”

His brain was scattered. This felt like a nightmare; another cruel joke sent his way to haunt him for the rest of his life. There just always had to be a price, didn't there?

"He doesn't mind, you know?" you whispered and his eyes were on yours instantly. You traced soft shapes across his stomach, sending those shivers down his spine and effectively turning him into putty.

"What’re ya talkin' about?" He needed to regain his composure, he could barely breathe with you this close, eyes raking his naked frame with desire.

"Rick... you and me. He doesn't care," you stated, "thinks it's cute actually... my crush on you."

Your crush on him?

"He trusts you, Daryl, with everything. You're pretty much the only person he would want me to be with." He hadn't thought of it that way, only ever assumed voicing his attraction to you would result in his head on a platter, or his dick… or both.

You began peppering his neck with small kisses, trailing them down his chest and over his puffy nipples. He hissed when you nipped at one, licking over it after, soothing the burn. "Ya sure?"

You nodded.

"Ya sure ya want me?" he asked dubiously. His question was answered when you grabbed his hand gently, guiding it inside your cotton underwear, letting his calloused fingers trace your soaked folds. He could have cum then and there, spreading your slick up and down between his fingers like it was liquid gold. Fuck me.

"This all fer me?" he panted, succumbed to a state of disbelief at your evident arousal. You were so wet around his fingers, pulsing and bucking slightly with each feathered stroke. "Were ya listenin' ta me?"

Hair fell over your face as you nodded sheepishly, gazing down to watch his fingers massaging you. You bit your swollen, cherry-red lip, “Couldn’t help it, you sounded so- so good.”

Now that... that got him going. Imagining your pretty cunt dripping in your panties, listening to his gasps while he fucked himself to the thought of you. Who knew the golden girl would be so naughty?

Daryl felt his confidence build, watching you fall apart for him from such simple touches. The last wire holding him back snapped and he needed more. He had waited for this moment for so fucking long.

You whine as he retracts his hand, only to be completely shut up when he places the thick digit on his tongue, sucking greedily and sloppily. It was better than he ever could have imagined, similar to the honey of your lips but so much more sweet. He went back for seconds. And thirds. Until he was dropping to his knees, deciding to lick the goddamn plate clean.

You enveloped him in the best way possible, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder as he tugged on your tight jeans, pulling them down enough to fit his head. His tongue pressed flat against your clothed pussy, and he sucked, tasting a mixture of your sweetness and residual laundry detergent on his tongue. His moans burned the back of his throat, desperately trying to hide them but you weren’t having it, tugging on his chocolate locks for more. “Don’t do that. I wanna hear you, honey.” Good lord. He silently thanked each lucky star of his that the house was empty before emitting a guttural groan between your thighs. If this was all he got from you, a little taste of the sugar you were made of, he would die a very happy man.

He took your clit between his lips, rolling it with his tongue. Your underwear was so wet with your arousal and his spit that it was practically see-through, just calling for him to pull aside. “Please,” you gasped.

“Hm? Wha’s that?”

He’d heard you just fine. He wanted to hear you again, and again. He was greedy and you were so damn sinful, “Please, need them off, need you.”

So, he complied, as any sane man would, shimmying them down your hips as he sucked and nibbled each inch of newly exposed skin. You watched him intently with half-lidded eyes, rocking slowly to let plush skin engulf his senses like a cloud. He felt you playing with his messy hair, taking small strands between your fingertips and moving them behind his ears to see him better. The gesture struck something deep within him. You were so kind, so focused on this moment and him, he’d be damned if he let it continue on the hard damp floor of his bathroom. No fucking way.

He stood abruptly, catching you off guard. “Bed,” he muttered, capturing your lips again in a haste. He couldn’t get enough. He didn’t want a minute to pass where he wasn’t tasting some part of you. Any part of you. Sweet, sweet honey.

You led your bodies backward till your knees hit the mattress, wasting no time as you crawled up to his pillows, taking him with you.

This moment right here, this feeling… he wanted to bottle it up. Freeze time and just stare, immerse himself into every tiny detail. It felt almost criminal to continue. You were a vision, panting and squirming beneath him; so much electricity and anticipation bouncing between your yearning bodies. Could you really want this just as much as he did? Was he truly that oblivious, all these years? Whatever that answer may be, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up. Not with you.

Your hands on his face coaxed him back to reality, molding into your touch like clay. Eager lips chased his as he pulled your shirt off and as much as he wanted to freeze time and memorize each freckle of you, the more skin each other touched the more obscene the kiss became. An unartistic jumble of spit and hands and moans and thrusts.

In all the time spent pining silently for the other, you both could care less about grace.

No, he needed to hear you. Listen to every octave of moan you had in you, all at once. He needed to know each and every spot that had you whimpering and begging, this second. If time did decide to stop at any given moment he needed to have you, be you, feel everything you had to offer, and soak in it till his skin pruned.

His lips sucked and bruised their way down to your navel, and then past, kissing up your folds with lustful intent. The sounds you made above him had him seeing stars and he wanted more. His tongue slipped past your lips, finally diving into the hive of your sweetness, rolling his tongue languidly over your clit. Your hands were everywhere around him, fisting at the sheets, the pillows, and then his hair as you desperately tried to push him closer. He didn’t mind. He’d gladly suffocate between your thighs, a death he’d welcome compared to the ones he fought from outside every day.

He dove lower, smoothing his tongue over your entrance but not delving past quite yet.

“Daryl,” you gasped above him.

Looking up between your legs, he caught a glimpse of your face tossed back in pleasure and he groaned, having to ground his hips into the mattress below to relieve some pressure. “What d’ya need, sweetheart?”

He’d give you anything. The moon if you asked for it — anything to keep those pretty sounds coming from your lips. “You, you, please you.”

“How so?”

He knew he was teasing you. He’d drawn back from your glistening slit, pressing little pecks everywhere that he could reach. Your hips, your pelvis, the little crease between your thighs and your cunt. That spot drew a deep moan from you, so he focused on it, sucking and licking till it was bright red and your hips were rolling so violently he wasn’t sure how he kept his lips on you.

“In, please,” you choked out, tugging him by his shoulders to move back up. He wasn’t done yet.

“What? Ma fingers?” he toyed further, continuing his kisses everywhere but where you wanted him. “Hm?”

He brought his thumb up to your clit, pressing lightly at first, rubbing lazy, torturous circles. His lips were on the inside of your thigh, so close to your entrance but seemingly so far. He knew you wouldn’t take much more of this, you were practically sobbing above him blubbering nonsensical curses about how much you ached.

“This pretty cunt wanna be filled, that it?”

His thumb pressed firmer.

“Uh huh,” you nodded, begging him. Oh, that sound would surely be the death of him.

He finally brought his lips to your supposedly aching entrance, delving deep with his tongue. The noises he made as he lapped on your honey were flat-out pornographic, and you writhed below him, drinking everything he was giving to you. Honestly, he didn’t know how much more he could take. He wanted to draw this out for hours, make up for every bit of lost time but seeing you like this, so needy for him had his resolve shattering by the second.

With a final peck to your weeping folds, he crawled his way up back to your face. You latched on to him instantly, sensing his give and taking absolute advantage of your moment. His hips rolled into yours slowly as your tongues danced and he hardly had to guide himself with how wet you were, his tip finding your entrance easily and slipping past. You moaned rolling your hips again and he nearly bottomed out, a long deep groan ripping out of him. If he thought your lips were buttery, lord save him.

Perching himself on his forearms, he held still, watching for any signs of discomfort. He assumed you hadn’t been with anyone in a while and he certainly knew he wasn’t small, if he’d grace himself with any sort of compliment.

Sensing nothing but pleasure as your walls pulsed around him, sucking him in further, he gave, snapping his hips harshly into you. Your moans were lewd on his lips, traveling down his throat and feeding the fire that burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he groaned again, spiraling from the fact he was actually inside you this time. Not in his hand, pretending you were fucking shower water.

No, you were beneath him, latching onto his muscles like your life depended on it. He drove deeper, hitting a spot that had you gasping for air. He hit it again, and again, needing to feel you explode around him. He watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he pounded into you. God, you looked so pretty like this. All cock-drunk and needy.

He brought his thumb back to that spot on your clit. He needed you to cum soon, he wasn’t gonna last much longer seeing you like this and there was no way in hell he was going to finish before you. Your hips stuttered beneath him, walls squeezing around him and he knew you were close.

“Come on, pretty girl, you got it,” he whispered in your ear, sucking the lobe gently between his teeth. That must’ve broken you, because then you were cursing, spasming for him which triggered his own orgasm. Your cunt milked him, his seed spilling down your thighs exactly how he had pictured earlier and it was a fucking sight. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had imagined this whole thing.

He fucked out both through the waves of release, and a bit past, dropping his head into your neck to muffle the obscene groans coming from his lips. He didn’t want it to stop, but your overstimulated senses ached for reprieve.

“Dar?” you whispered once you'd both caught your breath, guiding his stubbled cheek from its hiding spot. When his eyes met yours, they were filled with so much adoration and happiness he had to hold himself back from whimpering. Never in a million years would he thought he’d get you, and here you were, looking at him like the sun shone out of his ass. The same way he looked at you for years, it was jarring to see it reciprocated. How had he missed it?

You leaned forward, tenderly capturing his lips with your own, soothing him as you always did. He knew there was so much you wanted to say, that he wanted to say, but you didn’t need to talk about it tonight. Tonight you would simply soak in each other, a gift you both thought you’d never get and one you would never let go.

He felt you giggle against his lips, and he pulled back with a lazy, fucked-out smile, "What?" he mumbled curiously.

"How's the headache now, big guy?" you teased playfully and he realized then, you'd known he was fibbing today. Saw right through his measly excuse to spend time with you.

He blushed to the tips of his ears, bowing his head to hide it, "Oh, shuddup," he mumbled, attacking your neck in kisses and nips.

Your cheeky ass was gonna pay for that tonight.

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sh1-n0bu · 3 months

Note

dan heng, Dan heng IL (hsr, romantic)

Dan heng received a mysterious mail. The letter was cased in a beautiful elegant white and gold envelope. The envelope is decorated with small real golden roses and gold stripes decorating the sides of the envelope. The effort can be seen on the envelope alone about how.. How much emotion is put into this letter.

The letter itself is nothing short of elegance, the hand writing is.. Uniquely familiar to dan heng for some reason. But he couldn't tell why. The letter was unsigned and it is fully unknown who the sender is and how it arrived here.

My dearest dragon,

I wish to be able to stand by your side.. Though you may not remember me, no, i know that you don't remember be, but alas i am indeed was once, and is still, you, your past self's, imbibitor lunae's husband. His "mate" If you will.

My heart broke when i heard the news that he was sent to the shackling prison for a forced rebirth. And it broke even more when i heard that he, well, you, will be banished from the luofu. It has been decades, yet i still wish to be able to see you again. To be able to hold my, was once, lover again.

You don't know how happy- no, ecstatic i was when i accidentally saw you in the devine commission. You looked different, but also the same at the same time. I know it's you, dan feng. We were once, and is still bonded. I wanted to approach you, to hug you, to hold you again. But i hesitated, fearing that i might just be hallucinating. Or that you might no even remember me.

The latter was confirmed when you just asked me for directions, seemingly not recognizing who i am. It broke me deeply, but i do not wish to bring my burdens of the past over to you.

Therefore with this letter, this will be my final and last words dedicated to you. Dedicated to my, was once, lover.

my most beautiful sun.. I wish to be able to hold you again.

𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜! 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙪’𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙚!

to: dan heng from honkai star rail

the events at the xianzhou luofu was certainly draining to the astral express crew. if not, more so to certain someone of the crew than the rest simply because it brought back so many old and unfamiliar memories to him. unfamiliar memories, feelings and emotions rushing through him with so much vigor, ones that doesn’t even belonged to him but to someone else entirely. so it would be safe to say that dan heng wanted nothing to do with his past reincarnation and his feelings and memories.

but you can’t just get what you wish for, right?

even after coming back to the familiar warmth of the express and its surroundings, accompanied by the feeling of safety his companions bring, dan heng was still restless. there was this… odd feeling inside him. as if something had been awakened and was begging to be let out for an inkling of a moment ever since he asked a stranger with an eerily familiar face about directions on the xianzhou.

he tried to escape the weird feeling of deja vu by sleeping yet it only served to bring more torment rather than rest that he so desperately seek. in his dreams, he would see his past self — dan feng, with the old familiar faces that he always sees.

there’s the foxian woman — bright, cheerful and full of life — jumping around, giggling at things and bringing forth joy to the group of five. there’s the light blue haired woman, whom he later on recognized as jingliu — cold as the element she wields and yet with a certain hint of warmth alongside it, sipping on wine from the small jade cup. there’s the arrogant blacksmith, yingxing and the former self of blade before he was tainted by mara — laughing along with his friends, pointing a few fingers and saying a joke. there’s jing yuan — younger, more wild, rebellious and with a certain hints of cockiness that his current jaded self lacked.

and then there’s dan feng, his past reincarnation, the one who brought this suffering and pain onto him, the one who is refusing to let him live on, the one who is so cold and cruel and… huh? was he mistaken when counting? why had this group went from 5 to 6? who was this new face amongst the group?

this new face that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere in his dreams, or was it memories?, was kind and gentle yet carrying a hint of strength under it. seemingly a simple man at first glance but proving himself to be more with the way he carried himself. elegant, regal yet so humane. this new man approached dan feng, greeting his fellow friends and comrades with a few jokes and podding here and there as he reaches the former high elder. but when reaching the high elder, the two shared a kiss. the vidyadhara visibly softening, teal eyes staring at the man with hearts in his eyes as his tail wraps around the man’s ankle possessively.

ah, that explains it. they were lovers. or in vidyadhara terms, in dan feng’s eyes, his mate. his other half. the one he promised himself and his life to for the rest of his life. the soft teal colored mark of a dragon on the back of the man’s neck proved it.

seeing them, dan heng felt an odd emotion swirling in his chest. was he… jealous? but how could be jealous when he was dan heng and not his past self? he was dan heng, not dan feng and that man was not his mate. yet he still felt it. that annoying green monster swirling in his chest and refusing to leave. but his jealousy was at least slightly explained when he woke up that morning, with the strange letter on top of his currently reading book.

teal eyes skimming through the letter, taking in every word and syllable, rereading it over and over again, did he come to a conclusion. sudden and unexpected but the astral expressers accepted and supported his decision nonetheless.

“himeko, i need to visit the luofu for… a reason. there’s someone i would like to meet. again”

with that, the dragon set out to reunite with his husband. with his mate. just a single moment to clarify the person’s words on the letter — was what he was lying to himself about. when in truth, he knew that there was more to it. the dragon wanted to meet his husband again. the dragon wished to hold his mate again. dan heng, wanted to reunite with his lover again.

“and this time, nothing will tear us apart”

#nobu.writes #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr x male reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x male reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x male reader #dan feng x reader #dan feng x you #male reader #x male reader #male!reader #5k followers

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velvetti · 3 months

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You are my liberty

T/W: Imply human trafficking, alcohol abuse, mlm relationship, no direct mention of consent, minors/fem aligned DNI, angst/comfort + smut.

To him, you were a fever dream, a beautiful white rose blooming under the moonlight in a garden of wilting wild flowers, a cold gust of wind in the middle of a hot summer night. You make him wonder if you ever existed at all, or if it's just another hallucination he had during his dark times, when he was struggling to live day by day.

The memories of your first encounter had long engraved itself into his soul. It was a snowy day, right in the middle of September just a few decades ago when he was a child. Forced to watch as the pedestrians walk by him, ignore him, trample him while he slowly dies from hunger and cold inside a dark alleyway, he calls that moment one of the luckiest in his miserable life.

Because, it's when you laid your eyes on him for the first time. He wished he could've travelled back in time and embraced you right then and there instead of halting for a moment like an idiot, but he couldn't blame his past self, you are the most beautiful person he has ever witnessed. Can you blame him for smiling stupidly like a puppy when you offered him a loaf of bread?

He really did love you at first sight, if not love, then what could explain his emotions whenever he talks to you?

His dreams were brutally cut off by the sound of his glass of whisky falling from his work desk. This was the third time that he fell asleep while doing paperwork, by the emperor's words, "A commander shall not halt the empire's progress with his personal troubles", thus, here he is, forced to finish his paperwork while being depressed.

He struggles with paperwork every single day after your disappearance, saying that he was worried was an understatement, the world didn't even have colours when you left. He refused to even go into any taverns during his day off as a commander, just because whenever he looked at the wall, he might be greeted with a missing poster with your face on it, smiling as beautifully as he first remembered you.

He wouldn't call you his soulmate, soulmates can live a life without each other, while without you, he just wants to drown himself in liquor so he could continue seeing you in his dreams. He needed you to live, not just exist.

It didn't take him that long to find a lead about you, after all, everything can be purchased by money. Just a few hundred gold coins and he had already managed to find out where you are. To his surprise, you were kidnapped and are going to be auctioned off soon.

So, he simply killed off the owner of the auction house and stole you before anyone else could even think of getting their pesky hands on your body :)

The bastard had the audacity to lock you in a cage, you even felt skinnier than the last time he hugged you! He should've made the death slower, but he was too excited to see you again. He quickly wrapped his cape around your body and hugged you tightly, at least you're back in his arms again.

;

Fearing that you'll find a way to leave him again, he has decided, why not make you his little husband? It's too cruel to lock you up physically and he doesn't want you to be depressed, you won't be able to get away when you're legally bound to him anyways.

So, without much of a thought, he literally begged you to marry him, hugging your waist while whining to your already flustered self, it took him days if not weeks just to convince you, but in the end, he managed and almost pinned you down and did you right then and there. But he held back, he wanted to wait for you guys' honeymoon, for you to have a proper wedding instead of acting by his own desires, he might've been a cruel person but he's not an asshole.

;

How many times was this already?

Counting just today, a total of three times. He had made love with you three times in a single day during your 2 weeks long honeymoon, and this is just the first day.

The first time was quite- no, very long. At first, he was very gentle, he didn't tore off your white suit the moment you both got on the bed, instead he went slow and made sure to prepare you thoroughly. He promptly fucked you in a mating press position right after you have adjusted though, only slowing down slightly when you sobbed and digged your nails into his back, he kept having that annoying sly smirk on his face, proud to be the one taking your first time and making it worthwhile. The total amount of rounds you've both gone in one night? 15 times, with breaks in-between, of course.

The second time, it was a little more tame compared to the first time. Well, if you count fucking in a garden, anything close to being tame. He bent you over the bench and rearranged your insides right then and there. Your body was still sore from yesterday, so he tried going gentle this time, but he had to grip onto your hips for dear life to refrain from losing his mind. You managed to keep your sounds fairly quiet, so no unfortunate servants passing by would have to hear the embarrassing sounds coming out of your mouth.

The third time, he held the grudges from the second time and let all of them out on you after dinner. You were forced to wear a pair of laced underwear, the provocative kind that shouldn't be seen by any children whatsoever. Your wrists tied together by his tie while he makes out with you and fucks you at the same time. The marks before haven't even completely disappeared from your body, yet they've been replaced with a new one, littered from your inner thighs to your neck.

All of that horny stuff aside, you had to give your little husband a kiss on the forehead after all the rounds you both have gone through. He fell asleep almost immediately afterwards, hugging your waist and resting his head on your chest, without any sort of defence whatsoever. Letting out a sigh, at this point, you don't know if your husband is secretly a golden retriever in disguise or not.

A/N: The end was a bit rushed, if you couldn't tell. The golden retriever thingy is a reference to one of my work that's still a work-in-progress. Thanks for reading, I hope you like this post :b

#idk what tags to add #orginal post #bottom male reader #male reader #vel fic #original character #marriage #historical #original character x reader #nfst #oc x male reader #male reader smut #x male reader #male reader insert

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earthtooz · 10 months

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in which: itoshi rin has never thought about marriage- until he met you.

fluff sprinkled with angst, rin is vulnerable and pathetic and lovesick, gn!reader

itoshi rin has never thought about marriage.

he thinks it's a daunting, restrictive construct that should not mean as much as it does. so much money spent on something completely worthless and non-representative of what true love can look like- two couples don't need some legal certificate to prove their adoration for one another. that's mediocre and pointless.

rin would much rather spend his savings towards something productive and not some diamond encrusted, 24k gold ring, or whatever the fuck the jewellers are on about. he doesn't need to imagine a beautiful venue, or his family dressed for a celebration, or a honeymoon in venice.

itoshi rin has never thought about marriage- until he met you.

you, unlike everything else good in his life, simply fell into the palm of his hands and proceeded to ruin everything with your arrival.

every thought he had about love and relationships being lukewarm was replaced with new visions of light and warmth, and you were at the centre of them all, brightening his previously-dull world with a simple, yet heartwarming smile.

(rin thinks it’s his favourite sight- you looking at him like he’s worth something. like he’s kind enough to be loved and cared for.)

he freely admires the outline of your features, the slope of your jaw, where he loves cradling and holding. the curve of your lips and the way his slot perfectly against them. the space between your eyebrows where he kisses you the most because it’s comforting (more for him than you), he thinks he’s most fortunate to be the only one who gets to witness you like this, to touch and taint you like this.

how did he get so lucky?

giving in to his greatest desires, rin shuffles closer to you and wraps an arm tightly around you, eliminating the space that sleep has created between you. he tucks you in where he needs you most: right beside him, and sighs contently when he feels your warmth.

he wonders what you see in him. amongst the constellation of unresolved issues, abrasiveness, and glacial attitude that is itoshi rin, you have found something in him to love, to cherish, to hold. now that he’s had a taste of happiness, he doesn’t want to let go even though he knows you’re too good for him; that you’re too lovely and wonderful for someone as wretched as him to keep.

you have lit up his world and he does everything he can to keep your fire alive.

he doesn’t want to imagine what will become of the world again when you leave. for the night will never end because there will be no sun for the moon to chase, no revelry amongst the expanse of darkness. for the waves might never meet the shore again, for the fruit will never bear again, and the mountains will shrink into the plains; leaving itoshi rin to wander in a world of solitude and destitute.

so instead, he imagines a beautiful venue, his family and friends dressed to the nines for a celebration, a luxurious honeymoon in venice, and you, the most glorious and praiseworthy of all.

“i love you,” whispers the dark-haired. you shift slightly in his grip but you don’t fully rouse, and he’s relieved to know that you have not yet woken, because his love is loudest when the world is silent. “i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.”

rin hugs you a little tighter.

he imagines about living a life bound by matrimony. he thinks about a life with matching rings to represent the love you have for one another. he thinks about a life with you as his only forever; a life so sweet, he begins tearing up.

reaching for your hand, rin’s thumb rubs your ring finger. “it’s you, it’s only you, i’ll only ever want you.” he kisses it, not liking how empty and vacant it feels underneath his lips.

soon, rin will go. he’ll go to the most extravagant jeweller he can find and search and search until one deems itself worthy of you. if he cannot give you the world, then this will do in the meantime (because he will keep searching for a way to do the former).

with a shaky exhale, he presses his forehead to yours before closing his eyes, longing to see you in his dreams.

he hopes you never leave him, and if his (cruel) heart is not enough to convince you to stay, he can only hope that a diamond ring- the most expensive one at the store, will do the trick.

(he is yours, body, mind, and soul, all at your mercy. the only thing itoshi rin wants in return is for you to say 'yes'.)

#itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #itoshi rin drabble #itoshi rin x gn!reader

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thevirgincherry · 4 months

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JINGLE BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, leon is creepy ngl, dub-con at first then consensual, daddy issues, you get compared to your mom lots, creampie, daddy kink

note. HAII sorry for this being late omg :3 umm this is weird and jolty and the plot im not totally happy with but :333 ignore typos or I will cry!! feedback and reblogs always so appreciated :3

tumblr removes fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that these fics contain dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“Pumpkin!” Your dad’s embrace is stiff per usual. This guy - he seriously needs a lesson in intimacy. Can’t go hugging your daughter the same way you do a girlfriend. Dads shouldn’t put their hands below your midriff. They certainly shouldn’t grip your hips and pull you close with such fervour, now you’re tit to tit with the man who gifted you your pornstar rack. And it’s a bit awkward to say the very least.

“Hi, dad.” He backs off, skittish when he hears your tone of voice. Flat and clipped.

“Sweetpea, I’m so glad you’re here,” Leon starts, he’s laying it on super thick, “We’re gonna have a lot of fun.” Oh, you’re exhausted already.

“Mhm.” You nod in disinterest as you toe off your shoes, place them beside his mud-caked boots. Leon is your dad. Your dad is just a guy to you. One that’s around never, you see him seldom and from afar. He’s not exactly awful, but he’s nothing great. A little touchy if anything, and enthusiastic in a way that comes across as disingenuous.

The only thing you really know about Leon is that he’s your dad, he works with the government, and he’s still hung up on your mom. You can tell from a mile away. Looks at her like she crafted the earth itself, mapped out the stars, plucked them from the sky to make him a new moon. Totally whipped for a woman who forgets he exists until major holidays roll around. And you get it honestly, your mom is pretty, fun, and she’s all you’ve got. So you might take after dad in that sense.

You’ve seen the kinda women he brings home. That time you caught him mid disgusting, nasty, abhorrent sex act that you’ve only seen in porn. Had this poor girl’s head tilted so far back, blonde curls like liquid gold running along her back, brushing the swell of her ass, his arm wrapped around her neck - like, was he trying to fucking kill her? Well, she liked it clearly. That’s beside the point, when you saw her face the following morning, her sheepish smile and the slant of her eyes - you got it. Mom. She looked like mom. You overheard him telling her she was too young for him, a college girl, his daughter’s age - only after he came down her throat though. What a creep.

Then there was his girlfriend from a few years back, this chick who popped her gum too loud, bossed him around and got him to pay for a new set of acrylics weekly. It was uncanny the resemblance between her and mom. What next? You? Is it your turn to be pursued by Leon, by dad? The only thing you’ve got from him is tits, busty like your daddy, pretty like your mommy. And he fucking knows it. You know he does.

Leon places a hand on your lower back. Like, way lower back, the spot a boyfriend would touch when he wants to initiate a quickie. You shiver, glance at him through your peripheral as he guides you to the lounge, the wooden floor is so cold you feel it through the fabric of your winter socks. This dude is loaded and he can’t even get heated floors installed? Not even for lil ol’ you? His daughter? The one that resembles his one true love?

There’s a red box that contains a gingerbread house sitting on the coffee table, you groan inwardly. Here we go with the bonding activities, it’s so forced it makes your skin crawl. His Christmas tree is, well, it’s a tree alright, crudely and hastily decorated with a sparse amount of baubles and god-awful paper crafts you gave to him as a toddler. Aw, the sentiment is there though, kinda cute. You’ll cut dad some slack.

By the time midnight rolls around, you realise cutting dad even the slightest bit of slack was a mistake. “Take that off.” You jab a finger into his stomach, met with sinewy, toughened flesh. Woah, dad’s still got it going on. “It’s ugly, and I’m not twelve, dad.”

“Moving fast.” Leon - your dad, biological, held you as a baby, rocked you to sleep at night - wiggles his eyebrows at you. All while dressed in a Santa suit by the way, ‘cause that is one very important piece of information. He looks fucking ridiculous. It’s the same one he used to pull out when you were a kid, back when you actually gave a shit about him, what he thought about you, whether he even wanted you. ‘Cause if your daddy wanted you, why was he away so often? Told mom to jingle his balls once, an unsavoury recurring memory that you’d like to forget.

“Oh, dad, that’s actually really concerning, like, I’m not gonna lie.” You frown at him so hard the wrinkles that form on your forehead become permanent. “Don’t say that to me.”

“I was messing around.” He defends, “Christ, what is up with you today? Got a stick up your ass or somethin’? Y’know, in my day, kids used to be able to take jokes.” Now he’s pouting like a toddler in a sour mood.

“That was not a joke, dad!” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but it happens and within seconds he’s sat on the couch dejected. This fucking dude. Ugh. He’s pathetic. How did he manage to bag a hottie like your mom?

“I just want you to love me, sweetheart.” Here we go again. Leon sighs hopelessly as he slumps back into the cushions, and you can’t take him seriously when he’s wearing a fucking Santa hat.

“I do love you, dad.” And you do. Honest. Really. Like, pinky promise. You love him out of obligation - he’s your dad, and you’re meant to love your dad. Doesn’t mean you like him though. In your very objective-totally-not-biased view, your dad is just a bit unlikeable. A bit of a strange one.

“Yeah?” He lightens up, “You love me?” God, it’s like he gets off on it. Oh, you’re just being mean now. You scoot closer to him, lean in for an awkward side hug.

“I do, dad. I love you.” You don’t have the courage to look at him. Leon’s arm snakes around your waist, and you know what’s coming. How much do you love me?

“How much do you love me?” Called it. Up until now it’s been a harmless question, but when you face him, gaze flitting from his eyes to his nose to his lips, the general wear and tear of his aged face - it’s different. This time you won’t be able to get away with the regular bout of flattery, wax poetry about how much you love him, how you wouldn’t want anyone else but him to be your daddy. When in reality, you’d swap out Leon for any poor sod. They wouldn’t leave you hanging so damn often.

“A lot, dad.” You turn your head to roll your eyes, getting it out of your system proves worthy, now you can plaster your mommy’s smile onto your face, the one he loves so much. “So much, you know that, don’t you?”

“Just don’t seem like it, pumpkin.” Leon gives you a sideways glance, “I’m trying… I wanna make it up to you, y’know? For how much I was away.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do that. I’m over it.” You’re not. But, you’re good at pretending you are. “I don’t need you to make it up to me.” You do. Oh, you so do. You need it to a devastating degree. “Like, I’m not a kid, I don’t want Santa, and I don’t wanna make fuckin’ gingerbread houses, or watch Home Alone-“

“What, so you’re a big girl now?” He tilts his head to the side, there’s an edge to his voice that’s hard to decipher. Don’t know if it’s good or bad.

“Well, I’m not little anymore, dad.” You gasp when he tries to take a subtle glimpse down your shirt.

“I can see that.” Leon pokes his tongue into the corner of his cheek.

“Yeah, and I saw that!” When you go to stand, his grip becomes almost crushing, wanting to hold you in place so badly. For a moment it’s scary, only for a moment, this is just dad. Just Leon. He’s harmless. As lame as he is, your dad wouldn’t hurt you.

“I didn’t do nothing, baby, c’mere, don’t be like that.” Dad pets your head, and it reminds you of your childhood bedroom. “I’m sorry, alright? I never spent Christmas with just you, and I wanted to make it good for you.”

“I know, dad, and I appreciate it, just don’t need you to get all weird about it. Like, we can just— we can just be normal about it. Don’t have to do all this shit, I just want us to be normal.” Normal, huh? Neither of you can do normal, and you’re fully aware of that. ‘Cause your dad is a freak, and you can’t exactly drain Kennedy blood all that easy. You’ll be your father’s daughter even when he’s dead. “Like, I really, I really can’t deal with this whole Santa thing, did you really expect me to like it? I’m not a baby.”

“I just thought it’d be cute.” Cute? What is cute about a grown man in a Santa costume that’s covered in a thin layer of dust, dug out from the boxes he still hasn’t managed to open ten years after the divorce? “Listen, baby, I’m sorry, alright? I’m real sorry, look at me,” Leon cups your cheek, stares into your eyes with his gentle ones, “Dad’s sorry, yeah? I’m just stupid sometimes.”

“You are,” you nod, “but, I’m sorry too.” No, you’re not. Just saying it so he doesn’t drag this on, so he doesn’t call up your mom and tell her you’re not having a good time. Then your mom will be down your throat, your dad’s missed you, and you missed him too, you should be nicer to him, he tries his best, darling! “You, like, went through all that effort, and I didn’t even say thank you, I just got mad at you— so I’m sorry, dad.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, shifts so he can bring you into his chest, cheek squished against one of his fat tits, god, why’re they so big, you swear it’s bigger than both of yours combined. “It’s alright, I know you’re growing up, and I’m sorry for treating you like a baby, it’s just, it’s hard ‘cause you’re my little girl, y’know?” Not true. You’ve always been a mommy’s girl. Dad is an acquaintance.

“Yes, I know, dad.” You blink at him, he melts, traces your cheekbone with his thumb. Thank god he took that dumbass hat off, you couldn’t take him seriously.

“Gosh, baby, you look just like your mama.”

“I know, dad.”

“Crazy, ain’t it?” Leon kisses your forehead, “Only got these from me, and nothin’ else, huh?” Dad gropes your tits. The man that put a baby in your mother, that baby being you, obviously, the man whose name is on your birth certificate— the man who has given you his name, is groping your tits. “Certainly not from mommy are they?”

You shake your head. In agreement though. ‘Cause you can’t deny it, your mom’s as flat as a board. It feels weird, yes. But not bad. Maybe you’ve detached Leon from the title of ‘dad’ to the point where it doesn’t even matter anymore. It’s wrong, so you go to stop him, but he’s unyielding in his perversion.

“You look like your mommy down here, baby?” Dad asks, he cups your pussy through your jeans with his big hand. “Can daddy see?”

You shake your head again. Slowly. This time a flimsy no, one that teeters on the boundaries of a yes. You do owe him, you’ve been acting like a bitch ever since you arrived in D.C. Making a right fuss the moment you stepped through the door. Poor guy put the rather intricate gingerbread house all together by himself, he’s dressed as fucking Santa, all ‘cause he thought you’d like it. How bad can it be? Not like fucking your dad could land the two of you in jail, right? Well, it could, but that’s not the point.

“No? C’mon, sweet girl, dad just wants to see,” Leon’s plump bottom lip juts out, you kinda sit there for a minute, then lay back on the couch. What have you got to lose? You have no emotional attachment to this man. You do. It’s not weird at all. God, it’s so weird you want to claw your skin off. “That’s a good girl.” He butters you up while he unbuttons your jeans, taps your hips so you lift ‘em up and off they pop, jeans thrown to the ground. “Oh, look at her, baby, how sweet, just like mama,” Leon rests your left leg on his shoulder, holds the ankle of your right one to spread you open. “You think she likes it like mommy did?”

“How did… How did mom like it, dad— daddy?” You correct yourself, feel this horrible churning in your stomach. Both nausea and need flooding your shaky body.

Leon presses his wide nose to the bump of your clit through your tight panties, there’s a wet patch that seems to get bigger and bigger the more he sniffs around down there. He lifts his head, rests it on your thigh as he slides them to the side, sticky, gooey arousal stringing apart, sticking to the seat of your undies like PVA glue when he separates the fabric from your soaked centre. “She liked it real sloppy, baby.” With that, he spits on your drippy cunt, runs his finger through your folds, pinches your clit. “Daddy’s gonna give it to you just how mom liked it, alright?”

“Okay, dad,” you tell him breathlessly, hands clasped together as you try to calm your nerves. The warmth of his breath on your puffy clit is enough to make you shiver, he spreads you open with his index and middle fingers, the tip of his tongue traces along the centrefold of your cunt. Then Leon grows agitated by the way your panties insist on snapping back in place, so he has a little wrestle with them and your limp legs, once they’re off he tucks them into his pocket for safekeeping. Santa’s back pocket.

Sweetly, he kisses your clit, sucks on it like he’s getting to the centre of your cunt, blows a raspberry on it - you’re so wet it’s pooling beneath your ass. Leon spreads your cheeks to lick into your cunt, press his nose into it real nice ‘n deep, smacks his lips against your fat pussy, stubble smeared with your slick. Leaking all over your dad’s pretty face, letting your dad tug your clit between his teeth and fuck his tongue into your tight hole. “Should stop shaving.” Is all dad says once you cream on his face, “Your mama didn’t.” Okay, didn’t need to know that, but here you are, dad’s fat cock hard and heavy against your thigh. So you guess fucking him comes at that expense - finding out all sorts of details about their wild sex life. To be honest, you pegged Leon as the kinda guy who knows what missionary is and missionary only, not that you ever thought about that before. He unbuckles his belt, unthreads the prongs from the holes one by one, and drops his red Santa pants. Good riddance.

“Dad,” you whimper when he sits you up, handles you like a dolly. The tight-fitted Santa coat stretches around his biceps when he scoops you up, puts you on his lap, gosh, you’ve never really noticed those. Maybe that’s what your mom saw in him. Big blue eyes and big tits and big fucking arms. This Santa attire is really fucking you up, it’s hard to take him seriously.

“Your mommy’s real good at riding cock, y’know that, pumpkin?” Leon squeezes your ass, you feel him. All of him. His clothed cock grinding upwards into your bare cunt, a toothy grin stretching his lips as he watches the way your lips squish together. Yeah, fat pussy, so what. Get over it, creep. “Best I ever had she was, best fuckin’ pussy,” he licks up the sweat dripping down your collarbones, “but you’re made for me, ain’t you, baby?”

“Yes, dad.” You don’t know what else to say, breath stuttering when he sits you down on his cock. Thick and fairly long in all the ways a dick should be, you suppose. Look at that, giving a review of your dad’s cock. How far you have come. Fucking degenerate cock critic. It sure does feel good, his tip nestled snug against your cervix, pulsing within the silky walls of your tight cunt. Feel every vein, how his tip leaks pre endlessly, how it twitches when you clench around him.

“Baby, you’re such a big girl now,” Dad kisses you smack-bang in the middle. On your pouty lips. The ones that remind him of your mom, same lips that sucked his cock in the marriage bed, same eyes rolling back into your skull when he begins to rock his hips into you. “Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t you? Better than mommy.” Almost, he wants to add. You know he does. He’s so predictable.

There are no words in your brain, only able to let out shaky breaths and the occasional yelp as he takes you, grabs your hips and bounces you up and down on his cock. “Fuck, wait, let me— let me-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he’s sliding you off and bending you over the couch. “Better like this.” That’s ’cause you look like mom from behind. Same hair, same hips, same perky ass. Leon fucks you harder, his strokes deeper, knocking his cock into your poor cervix with his brutal thrusts. Your nails scratch at the cracked leather of his couch, unable to help the way you moan for him, it’s so embarrassing, even more so when your hips begin to move on their own, fucking yourself back on dad’s dick.

Each thrust is harder than the last, god, is he trying to go through you? Put you in A&E ‘cause his cock got tangled in your intensities? “Is this… Is this how mom likes it, dad?” You manage to get out through a stifled groan, he digs his teeth into your neck, licks a stripe over the tender skin then tugs at your hoop earring with his teeth.

“Your mom likes it even harder, baby,” Leon snickers, “your mama is a dirty bitch.” You gasp, tighten around him involuntarily, your pussy behaves in mysterious ways. “She liked it when I did this,” his hand comes down on your ass hard, you squeal, almost lose footing and fall face-first into the couch cushions. “And when I pulled her hair, and slapped her tits, and spit down her fuckin’ throat.” Your mom is one nasty bitch, good on her. Personally, you’re new to it all. “You want that?”

“I don’t know, dad.” You say helplessly, thighs trembling when he reaches round with his nimble fingers to rub neat circles into your bud, so you come undone around his cock. Coat the shaft in cream, drip slick down his balls. You muffle your moans into a pillow, painted toes curling against the wooden floor, suddenly thankful for his lack of underfloor heating - ‘cause you’re sweating like a pig.

Your body trembles with aftershocks as he continues to fuck you through it, helps his little girl out by kissing the wet nape of her neck, a big hand on her waist to steady her. Sweat prickles your skin, jolting as he gives one last sloppy push into you, hips jerking as he unloads all he’s got to give and you milk him just right. ‘Cause you know, you’re his kid, made for him. That’s why he fits like a glove. Born to get your cunt bred by dad. You think he says your mom’s name into your hair, but you don’t question it, slumping over in exhaustion.

“Dad, can you just do me a favour and take that off, please? I’m really tired and it’s pissing me off.” You curl up on the sofa, uncaring of the seed that drips out and trickles down your plush thighs.. Leather’s easy to clean.

“Why? I like it. Don’t you think it’s cute, sweetpea?” Normalcy or what the two of you consider normal returns.

“No, take it off, or I’m taking the next flight home.”

“Alright, pumpkin.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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ervotica · 3 months

Note

Domestic fluff with Lucien

Just soft compliments, cuddling, hugs and fluff

My baby deserves the WORLD

pairing; lucien vanserra x fem!reader

warnings; none! just fluff and a little suggestive flirting

The apartment is quiet this time of morning. Blazing hues of orange and yellow and pink creep over the horizon, and iridescent rays push their way past the curtains and onto your sleeping face, illuminating the gentle scrunch of your features as you rouse from softly dozing.

A yawn cracks your face right in two, and your limbs stretch and twist in voyage of your mate, of the warmth of him that you so desperately want to curl into- you find only crumpled sheets and a bare space where he should be.

Then you're reluctantly rolling out of the cocoon of comfort between the thick bedsheets, and tiptoeing your way down the stairs in nothing but your thin sleep shorts and a bra.

A flash of bright auburn draws your eye to Lucien, his back to you as he pours two mugs full of scalding tea, the steam rising and curling around his long, ring adorned fingers that clasp the teapot. A smile tugs your lips up at the corners, even more so when he turns to set the pot down, his rasping cadence humming a lilting tune that pulls you toward him like a magnet.

Your hands move of their own accord, snaking their way up the base of his spine and flaring out until your fingers are splayed against miles of bare, golden skin. He shivers under your touch, leaning back just as you twine your arms firmly around his midriff and plant your face against the dip of his back.

"Hi, gorgeous," you murmur, voice thick and sticky with sleep. The heat that emanates from him wreaths itself around your very bones, crusting lashes falling closed when he amusedly tugs on the mating bond and exhales a deep breath through his nostrils.

"Morning, sleepy girl," he laughs, twisting in your grip until you're eye level with his chest, cheeks red-hot with affection and smushed against the smooth plane of muscle of his pec. "You're up early."

"You weren't in bed," you murmur; the vibrations of your words reverberate against Lucien's bare skin. His boxers are hung low in his hips, enticing your hands to sweep lower, tips of your cold fingers breaching the thin elastic.

"Easy," he groans, stopping you short on your journey beneath his underwear. "You little minx."

You tip your head back to meet his eyes - one russet and one of incandescent gold that whirs when he tips his gaze down to watch you.

"You love me," you tease. "You can't get enough of me, handsome."

"Mm." The grating scratch of his voice has you arching into his touch, tucking your shoulder beneath his armpit as he stretches to the counter and places a mug in your free hand. You hum appreciatively, nose scrunching tight when he leans down to smear a kiss over the crown of your head. "You're insatiable."

The words are a murmur against your hair but you don’t miss them- you never do. Your head tilts up to scrape against the sharp curve of his jaw, and then you’re tugging him to the living room, forcing him down into the soft leather and haphazardly attempting to lay across him; you’re a mess of sprawled limbs and frazzled hair, draped messily over his lap as you try to avoid sloshing him with your cup of tea and barely succeed.

He hooks a corded bicep over the nape of your neck and sinks into the sofa, softening at your reverent touch, the way you idly twist the ends of his hair and shuffle yourself closer to cover more of his body with your own. Your breath is hot and tickling at his bare chest.

“I love you, y’know,” you sigh, watching the way his face contorts with adoration at your words; your sticky lashes kiss at the corners, pushed together by your beaming grin. “Didn’t think I’d ever find my mate. But you. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be tied to my soul.”

“For a descendant of Satan, you’re pretty cheesy, my darling,” he drawls, crows feet crinkling with laughter as you gasp, features morphing into a scowl that only serves to make him laugh with more fervour.

“I won’t stand for this, Lucien. Don’t make me take it back!”

“You wouldn’t,” he roars with amusement. “You love me.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, flushing white-hot all over.

“I love you too, my little devil.”

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

Text

Jungkook: 8:45 PM 🔞

Tags/Warnings: Adult, smut-heavy, making out, Idol!Jungkook, Fluff, Established Relationship, implied foreigner!Reader, not home AU though, Jungkook struggling hard, misunderstanding, angst with happy end, emotional smut, oral (fem. Receiving), protected sex bc this is me writing this and I teach you kids the true life lessons

Lenght: long.

AU-Masterlist

Languages are marked as English / Korean.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

He still can't believe your first time got interrupted by something as ridiculous as his manager calling him.

It's like a reminder that his career will always somehow wiggle itself between him and whatever happiness he tries to find outside of it- nothing ever truly personal for him, everything always meant to be well thought through so it fits into his public persona.

But he refuses to give you up, even knowing all of that.

Apologizing for it just feels.. odd now, like bringing up something awkward you did ten years ago that everyone forgot about anyway before you decided to rekindle the memory in their heads. But the problem here, right now, with you, is that he knows he should bring it up. Somehow. Because he's struggling hard to keep himself in check, even having had to embarrassingly rub one out in the shower this morning after you'd made yourself tea in his kitchen wearing nothing but a shirt and panties.

It's a problem.

He's hesitating to initiate anything now mainly because what if it happens again? He can't just put his phone on silent and ignore what could potentially always be very important calls from people who only want what's best for him in the long run- real life doesn't work like those movies where the protagonist throws it all away for his girl. He wants to, he truly does- but at the end of the day, he's also scared, because if he falls, he'll potentially take you down with him, and God knows how deep he'll fall with where he stands right now.

A drop from a height this high would shatter you inevitably, and he's sure he'd crack like delicate porcelain just as much by having to watch you suffer the consequences of his actions. You don't deserve that.

"..-ungkookie?" You try again, and he snaps out of his thought, looking at you.

"Hm?" He responds, looking at you next to him.

"I asked if you want me to cook for us tonight. Is that alright?" You wonder, and he nods, eagerly so, because of course he'd love to have you do something so domestic with him. He's always dreamed of being able to experience these things after all, despite his curse of being a public figure who's not supposed to appear unavailable. "Alright-!" You hum. "Gonna have to put pants on now though, gotta go get some groceries.." you whine under your breath as you stretch on the couch naked feet pushing against his thighs and oh, how your back arches-

No, bad brain. Not right now.

"I'll give you my card, hold on." He tries to save himself, getting up to fetch his wallet as you begin to laugh.

"Jungkook baby, I can cover some groceries, don't bother!" You argue softly, getting up as well before walking over to him. "You'll just have to survive some minutes without me, that's all." You tell him, hugging his middle as you put your chin on his chest, looking up at him. "Also, people would think I'm a gold digger for using a black card looking like.. well, me." You joke, as he can't help but reach out to affectionately brush some hair out your face, hands holding your cheeks.

"M'sorry." He mumbles, and you part a bit from him, serious at his tone of voice used.

"Hm? For what?" You wonder, and he sighs. Why did he bring it up now? This is going to be so awkward, he already dreads it. But now that he's put the noose around his neck, he might as well stand on the chair too.

"Yesterday. Or.. day before? Technically it was, wasn't it.." he rants, before sighing. "I hate that we.. had moment, you know, and then.. nothing. Ruined." He complains softly, and you can't help but look at him affectionately. He's such a soft soul sometimes, worries about so much that doesn't even need to be worried about.

"Jungkook, it's fine." You answer.

"Not fine-" he shakes his head. "Not fine, I- ugh, I want you, you know? Want to, but now, it's awkward and I don't know how to initiate it because every time I plan to I keep thinking of that moment he called and-" he groans in frustration, head thrown back before he looks down at you. "I'm sorry." He apologizes yet again, and you laugh.

"I forgot to pack socks for this trip, that's why I'm always barefoot in your apartment here." You say, and he blinks once, twice, before he looks at you, confused but amused the same.

"What?" He questions, tilting his head for a split second and you shrug.

"Now I've made an awkward moment for myself too. We're even." You explain, and he laughs.

"Thats not how that works-" he wants to argue but he inevitably leans down to kiss you- a peck quickly deepened by you, because God knows you want him just as much. But the struggle of initiating isn't solely his alone, because you don't know how to either. All is still new with your relationship, you don't even live together at this point in time, only a week more and you'll be back home trying to figure out how to move most of your stuff to his country so you can be closer. This was all a test, after all- to see if it's worth it. If you'll be okay.

And you know now, you'll be just fine with him at your side.

"Hm I need to get going now though-" you say, trying to escape him now- but he won't let you, hands firm on the small of your back as he keeps you against him, lips chasing yours making you giggle as you lean back as far as you can. "Jungkook!" You laugh, but he just playfully bites at your neck.

"No, I'm hungry." He mumbles against your skin, and you look at him, pushing against his chest.

"Yeah that's why I have to go? Get everything to cook?" You remind him, but he shakes his head, gaze making it clear that he doesn't care for that.

"Not.. that." He tells you. "Hungry for you." He says, raising his brows and you laugh at how ridiculous he's being. How can he be both so cute but also attractive at the same time? It's truly unfair.

"You're so cute." You tease, catching him off guard to escape his grasp and run into the bedroom to get some proper pants at least. But he's faster, palm slapping flat against the wood of his door before the momentum of his move slams it into the wall with a loud noise, making both of you jump for a second before he stalks towards you.

And once the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed, you know you lost.

It's like his patience had finally snapped, his hands eagerly helping you out of his shirt, happily running his palms over your skin, warm and soft as you move around a bit to get comfortable. He sighs when his phone vibrates somewhere close- probably having fallen out of his pocket on the couch earlier, and you laugh, visibly uncaring of his misery. "Go get it." You tell him when it sounds again, and he groans out loudly as if he's in pain, angrily stomping back into the living room, where you can hear him answer the call with an annoyed tone to his voice. It surprises you when he walks back into the bedroom however, pointing to the shirt you're attempting to put back on, before he motions for you to put it back on the floor where he'd thrown it down earlier.

Just what is he thinking right now?

"Yeah, that's fine." He talks into the phone, his free hand untying the strings of your sweatpants, before he pulls on the hem, tapping your hips as if to silently ask you to lift them so he can get you out of those pants. "Not right now, but tomorrow is fine." He continues to talk to whomever is speaking to him over the phone, while simultaneously running his hand from the side of your knee, up to the hem of your underwear, the last item of clothing covering you at the moment. It's oddly exciting to see him so serious, yet clearly more focused on you than anything else.

You've never felt so adored before.

His fingers slip underneath the side of your panties, teasing you, so close yet way too far from where you'd like his hands to be most right now. And he's clearly aware of it too; if the hooded eyes and the small smirk on his lips was anything to go by. "No, right now.. I'm pretty busy. Sorry." He speaks again into the phone, thumb running over the dip between your inner thigh and your by now more than aching heat. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip for a second, before the whole thing visibly seems to edge him just as much- then tent in his pants evident.

"Alright, yeah, just- text the schedule to me and I'll talk to you tomorrow about it, okay?" He offers into the phone, moving to stand up and search for something in the drawer of his bedside table- colorful foil package pretty obviously hinting at what he means when he's said he's currently busy. "Alright, hmhm, yup- bye." He rushes out, ending the call before he throws his phone somewhere onto the shirt you'd been wearing, his eyes rolling in an annoyed manner before he takes off his own shirt, joining you on the bed.

"Did you really hang up on him like that?" You wonder, giggling when he has to sit back to slip out of his loose grey sweats as well, jumping on one foot for a bit as his other gets stuck in the fabric for a second.

"I'm not sorry." He shakes his head, crawling closer to you on the mattress to get a hold of both sides of your panties. "I've got my hot girlfriend all pretty and ready, no one can ever blame me for being needy." He shrugs, shaking his hair out of his face before he tries to pull your underwear off. "Hey come on now!" He whines almost, a stark contrast to the tattooed, muscled appearance of him currently already flushed and fully erect, straining against the cotton of his own underwear.

"Needy." You tease, and suddenly, as if you'd pushed a button, as he suddenly pulls on the fabric with more determination, successfully getting rid of the item of clothing with a gaze that screams fake innocence. Jungkook isn't new to sex, and neither are you- but it's the first time doing it with each other, which naturally places a bit of pressure onto you.

Or maybe it usually should be like that- because somehow, it all comes naturally.

When his hand finds your heat, you're already melting underneath his gaze, no words spoken as he leans further over you, catching your lips again. Only that this time, he truly seems hungry; no longer offering you fleeting pecks but desperate kisses that try and convey just how much he wants you right now. He knows that he could never truly make it clear to you though- because he himself doesn't even know if that's possible.

He's never wanted anyone so bad.

And while usually not too fond of it, his need to prove himself as the perfect lover- emotionally and physically- makes him detach himself from you for a second, before he adjusts his position, leaning down to have you lay your legs over his shoulders, hands holding your thighs apart as he lays his mouth onto your heat.

It's an entirely new experience for you, and he knows.

But luckily, if your Impatient whining was anything to go by, you're definitely enjoying yourself as he flattens his tongue over your sensitive nerves, eyes focused on you while he has to use a little strength to keep your legs apart, especially when you grow close to your first orgasm. He's eager to see it, moving away to gain a better view before one of his hands finishes the job, gaze on you as you arch your back and come undone from his actions.

And its now that he really can't take it any longer.

"Fuck I need you." He curses under his breath, finally getting rid of the last item of clothing he still had on until now, no need to give his length any form of help to get ready for you. He can't help but groan a little under his breath at how sensitive he feels, rushing the act of wrapping the condom over as to not rile himself up too much.

After all, he wants to be inside you for his own orgasm, no matter what.

"Hm I'll go slow, ok?" He asks, and you nod, hands reaching out for him, making him chuckle. "You're cute." He comments, earning a roll of your eyes in return. He lets it go for now- giving you a pass this time, but only because be truly feels needy now.

He'd love to tease you a little, make you all whiny and desperate for him, but right now, he just wants you as close as he physically can get.

Though in his haste to get onto his own road towards pleasure, he never forgets you- pride swelling as he watches you hold onto him, wanting him just as much as he wants you. He's a little sweaty already, and the sheetsbare tangled badly at this point from all your squirming, arousal already staining some parts of them but right now he really can't bring himself to care.

He uses one of his hands to aid him in finding your entrance, positioning himself to carefully push himself inside, and at this point, he just feels as if he truly became one with you. It's the last key experience in a way he's had to have with you, and now that he's in exactly that moment, things start to feel real.

"I love you." He almost whispers into your neck while he starts to move. "I'm.. so grateful you're here." He tells you, hips moving at a steady pace. "I want you to.. stay forever." He almost asks, in a way, and while you can't give him an answer to that right now, you probably will later.

After you're back with the normal thinking human beings, because right now, with his pace and strength gaining as he chases his high, your head is definitely unable to form thoughts.

In a way, he loves the sight of you like this. It's awfully sinful, a sight only he wants to ever be able to see, no one else.

He can't control his own noises at this point, uncaring of his groans of pleasure as he chases after his peak, noticing you growing antsy as well, visibly eager to cum as well. And he will make sure you'll get your attention as well- he'd never let you down, ever.

And with his hand reaching in between you both to find where he needs to be, you're gone and out; head thrown back into the pillows while he pushes himself in deep, condom filling with his seed while he slows down into almost no movement at all.

Catching his breath, he leans down to you to kiss you once more, ticking of his clock on the bedside table coming back into the background noise, as well as the cars outside from the opened window, and your breathing underneath him. His senses return one by one as he pulls himself out, moving to get rid of the condom and start the shower.

"Come on." He asks, tapping your thigh, but you just whine all grumpy at him. "Noo get up, get up- the bed's all messy and we're too.!" He laughs, all energized from his own afterglow, while you seem to be the exact opposite, having to be physically pulled into a sitting position by your wrists. Jungkook himself can't help but simply laugh, before he takes matters into his own hands, lifting you up over his shoulder-

And of course, landing a loud smack onto your butt for good measure.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader

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emsvertigo · 1 year

Text

Let The Light In

image not mine, found on pinterest

summary & genre — fluff & nsfw. it’s a hot day and you & seb are relaxing in your shared bed. (not fully smut)

warnings — sexual references, seb touches you a lot (i got a bit carried away), can’t think of anything cause this is actually tooth rotting.

character & pairing — sebastian wilder x fem!reader (la la land. 2016)

word count — 1.5k

a/n — i arise with a tooth rotting self insert. this came about because ever since i watched ‘la la land’ i can’t stop thinking about ryan. i’ve also been religiously listening to lana del rey’s new album so ofc this fic was written when i was listening to ‘let the light in’. anyway if anyone reads this i love you cause there’s actually no fics for ryan, let alone seb, and you understand what i’m going through. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

find my old fics here! ✿

His hand ran slowly up and down your thigh, an effort to trace every single blemish on your skin. The warmth of his fingertips danced, coating your skin in a layer of sprinkled love, tickling his way along your freckles. Golden pools of light spilt into the room, painting the space in an amber aura of tranquillity; reaching to the crevices of the ceiling and plunging to the floor like a waterfall. Occasionally silence was broken by cars speeding past, or the harmony of birdsong in their melodic major key. You hummed, content with the pleasure and peace experienced at the moment.

The heat had forced you to bare your legs, curling towards you as the bedcovers drooped over your figure, your feet barely covered by the white duvet. Your head settled against the pillow, blissful in the comfort you had created. You stared at the dancing dust glimmering around his hair, coating it in a haze which painted his hair blond. The shimmering light drowned his face, illuminating his cheekbones, and causing his shadows to become softer, a soft fuzzy glow radiated from his face. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as he stared down at the book lingering softly in his hand.

You’d tell him religiously, like a preacher reciting a mass, all the ways in which he had made you come undone. How in the gorgeous light, he looked otherworldly, godly, like he was dripping with nectar. His bare chest was smothered in gold and small beads of sweat, a little patch of hair growing across his chest which was tanned with the Californian sun. The pink blush flushed against his cheeks absentmindedly decorated his bone structure. You could’ve stared for decades, letting your imagination run wild as his teeth caught his bottom lip, slowly biting at the soft flesh.

“Quit looking at me.” He laughed, turning a page of his book, not paying any mind to your form slowly inching closer to him. His eyes darted along the page, soaking in the information.

You hummed in response, reaching up and moving a strand of hair out of his face, tucking it back into place. He sighed, his eyelashes flickering and dropping the book into his lap, no longer interested in the contents it held. You smiled wildly, teeth grinning.

“Was the book not interesting?” You inquired, moving to place your hand under your chin and balance the other against the sheets. Seb smiled down at you, eyes sapphire in the blinding light.

“Too political.” He whispered, his eyes growing wide in a joking fashion. His hand had now removed itself from your thigh and was tiptoeing its way up to your waist. Your tummy was bare, the top you wore hugging as little of your frame as possible. The heat was incredible, and looking adequate was the least of your worries.

The silence returned as you both gazed into each other's eyes. A dog barked in the distance, the only thing shattering your peaceful moment. You licked your lips as Seb’s hands caressed your midriff, his touch tickling your warm skin. His eyelashes were heavy, and hair fell into his eyes once again, framing his face with curls. Stubble littered his face, a subtle hint that summer was here and his want to shave had disappeared.

“I love the way you look.” You exhaled, soaking in his features like an anaesthetic lulling you to sleep.

“That’s a strange way of saying you love me.” He laughed, his fingers still tracing the outline of your belly button absentmindedly. You rolled your eyes, wanting to smack his chest but deciding against it.

His head leaned down, planting a peck of a kiss onto your forehead. Lingering for a few seconds to breathe your scent in.

“I'm joking.” He mumbled into your hair, eyes fluttering closed. His hand coming further up your front, laying flat against your stomach.

His head returned to its original position, but in the newfound proximity, your breaths became one. Wavering for a moment, he let himself gaze in awe at your complexion. Drinking in every ounce of perfection, which dripped off of you.

“Now who's the one that's staring.” You breathed, his mouth swallowing your thought in a kiss. Your posture tipped towards his frame, a hand finding its way to rest gracefully at the side of his face. Stubble close to your fingertips.

His lips pressed flush against yours, causing his nose to meet your face. Tongues interweaving in dance, lips interlocking with passion. Your breath hitched in your throat as he pulled you towards him, hand now on the small of your back. His palm dragged its way up, and underneath your top.

A groan emerged from his lips as you parted from the bond. Leaving his lips pouted and flushed, eyelashes still closed against his pink cheeks. His hand still lazing on your back, drawing circles in impatience.

You swung your hips around, now sitting up on the bed facing him. He obliged without remark and sat the same way, pulling you in further with his other hand. Your hand had fallen to his chest and now rested flush against him, head raising to bathe in the golden sunlight filtering through the blinds. His eyes winked shut once again as he came forward to lock your lips with his.

“Seb.” You moaned into his mouth, gasping when his lips moved at a sensual pace, coating your mouth in his love. Your prayer was answered by a low hum, as his hands both felt their way around your torso. Your own hands wrapped themselves around his neck, desperate to pull him even closer to you. With your quickened movements, his book was left discarded on the wooden floor, pages open and ruined.

He swallowed every moan that dared to drip off your tongue in sweet praise, letting out a gasp when he let his fingers dance around the edges of your breasts. Your hands locked tightly into his hair, curling strands in between your fingers. Nails scratched down his scalp, allowing soft sounds to escape his throat like honey. Two bodies became one in a haze of cloudy lust.

His hands outlined your breast, almost frightened to touch you in case you shattered into millions of pieces. His tongue traced your teeth, as he attempted to consume every inch of you. His fingertips faltered, resting his thumbs against your chest, narrowly missing what he wanted to touch most. A slow hum erupted from your throat, threatening to break out into a moan, attempting to communicate your genuine need for him. Yet he still faltered.

You considered the fact his tongue was down your throat, yet he wouldn’t let his hands cup your breasts.

“Touch me.” You moaned in between kisses, acknowledging his hunger to feel you. Interlinking your souls together with a simple intimate touch.

Immediately his hands shifted into place, palms pressed flush against you. A strained noise choked in his throat at the action, a sound that sent an electric current running down to your core.

His hands began to work at a steady pace, moulding you like clay. His long fingers were covered by the cloth dividing him from the real world. Kneading you slowly like dough or putty, causing you to moan with every squeeze. You shifted positions so your heel sat in between your legs, desperately hoping for some friction against you.

He suddenly broke free from the kiss, panting into the air still coated in sun. His glistening face glowed in ecstasy and light, sunbeams bouncing onto his skin. His eyes worked their way down your front to meet with his hands beneath your top, the outline squeezing flesh. Your eyelids drooped at the sight of his features glimpsing your body.

Your hands released from his neck, and found their way to the hem of your shirt, tugging the fabric to pull it over your head. Once it was tossed at the side of the bed, you thanked God that you hadn't worn a bra that day. Your hands, gripped into his shoulders tightly.

Seb’s hands stopped for a second with the newfound sense of freedom, loosening their grip for a moment. You let your head lull backwards, gazing up at the ceiling and closing your eyes as his hands resumed their routine. A curse trickled from your lips in a stolen breath as your over-sensitive skin was pleasured.

“Oh, my God.” You uttered, repeating it like it was your last word on Earth. As though Sebastian was keeping you afloat along a river of satisfaction.

You couldn't see his face, but you knew he was smirking. Enjoying the way your brows furrowed with every movement of his hands. His head came up to meet your exposed neck in open-mouthed kisses, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“You’re perfect.” He declared in between kisses, sucking sensitive spots on your skin and provoking loud groans from both of you.

As his fingers worked pinching your skin and nipples every so often, you wondered how you got so lucky. To be located in the city of dreams, and wrapped in a musician's arms, with his piano-player fingers working overtime to please you.

You couldn’t be happier.

#ryan gosling #la la land #sebastian wilder #damian chazelle #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling fanfic #ryan gosling fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #emma stone #hioreh fanfictions #sebastian wilder x reader #sebastian wilder fanfiction #sebastian wilder fanfic

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harleehazbinfics · 3 months

Text

My Sweet Boy

Lucifer Morningstar x reader (fluff)

Synopsis: Lucifer has a bad day and feels insecure about himself, luckily you were there to comfort him Note: reader plays the ukelele, has 4 arms and taller than Luci. Enjoyyy~ inspired by a song by chevy - sweet boi

You quietly sat on your shared bed strumming lightly your ukelele as Lucifer paced back and forth in front of you, ranting to the little rubber duck in his hands. His rants ranged from how his daughter was doing to whatever plans his ex had while she was gone or how his duck inventions were going and what he wanted to do next.

You plucked the strings in between his rants finding a mellow tune as he confesses.

"I don't think I'm even good enough for you, (name)."

You plucked a string a little bit harsher when you heard what he said. So, he was finally acknowledging the fact that you were also in the room with him. But what the hell did that meant.

"Why do you think so?" you asked starting from the beginning of your melody.

"I don't know?? I just feel worthless all the time. Me and my ex split, my daughter barely calls me, while I'm just in my castle just making toys all the time. I always even wonder how I met someone like you that could like someone like me!" he professes in frustration, plopping on the bed right next to me, rubbing his face and hair in annoyance.

You giggled and reached your hand to fix his hair and caress his face which he immediately enjoyed and latched onto your touch.

"You laughing isn't assuring," he pouted crossing his arms despite his flushed cheeks.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," you apologized still having a smile on your face, "Come here."

You picked him up with your other set of hands and sitting him down on your lap and placing a kiss on his lips.

"I think you're wrong though, there are so many things to love about you," you replied holding his waist. "You're handsome, an incredibly hot blonde."

"So, you're only attracted to my appearance," he gave you a judging raise of an eyebrow. He flips on his head almost immediately and boasted, "Honestly though, all your assumptions are correct. I've extremely good looking."

You laugh at prideful joke earning a smile on his face again, far from the sad and depressed one he had earlier and that was progress, and all you could ever ask for.

"Oh, definitely, love," you agreed with him and continued, "But that's not all that I love about you though. You're sweet, funny, gentle. You have a dangerous habit of taking care of other before yourself, but I think that's what I'm here for. And most of all, you have a heart of gold, Luci. Never forget that."

Lucifer felt his eyes well up with tears as some already fell off his chin, with your gentle hands wiping them away for him giving him a kiss on each eye.

"Thank you, darling. I love you so much and I'll love you until the very end of hell itself," he proclaims pulling you in for a hug and kissing temple.

"So do I, my love," you replied happily in his grasp, basking in each other's warmth. Reminding yourselves that you will never be alone as you both have each other by your side.

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin fotel fanfic #harleehazbinfic

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qierxing · 9 months

Text

yandere Corpse bride AU, where you're a undead person who died in their wedding attire and swore to be reunited with their spouse.

When Trey accidentally summons you after practicing his wedding vows to his fiance, he nearly faints when you stagger to your feet, covered in dirt and silk white tatters that barely cover flesh and bones. You happily accept the polished silver ring and trap him in a tight hug. It's much too late for him to get a word in while you babble about plans on whether the wedding venue should be decorated in white lilies or red roses. But he's too kind, and he can't find it in himself to squash the sparkling hope that lights your gaunt eyes, and so–

–he keeps quiet. His groomsman, an eccentric cat like gentleman who has a fondness of unsolvable riddles and mischief, merely grins widely when he hears Trey's conflicted explanation.

"The poor dear probably means no harm," he laughs and shrugs. "And if you help them, then they might be able to pass on."

Trey sincerely hopes so. From your overall look, it's clear that you've been dead for a good while, and although you refuse to talk about it, the gaping hole in your chest most likely meant that your death was not caused by natural means.

He comes to learn that you had planned to elope with your fiance, but somewhere along the way, you had perished waiting for them. Robbed of the meager gold coins you took to keep you and partner afloat, you were resigned to waiting for the day they would come back to your waiting arms.

He didn't plan on this. He thought it was just pity that kept him by your side, gently adjusting your limbs when they became askew from rot or making sure to fix your tattered wedding wear back to its original luster, with the help of an old teacher. No, it was not pity when he showed you how he baked cakes, watching with a soft smile as you admired wholeheartedly his frosting skills. It was not pity he felt when he let himself listen to you play elegant piano pieces, haunting melodies echoing off stone walls.

Somewhere, along the way, you had become endearing.

He doesn't think about the fiance who wonders where he must be, whose curiosity leads them to follow Trey to his meeting place with you. They are horrified, but most of all, outraged. How dare you take away their future partner? And that is indeed what they shout when they confront you when you're alone, shrieking about how you were a monster and taking someone else's husband away. Needless to say, you run from them in confusion and fear.

Is that really what you are? Just a heartless monster? The more you ponder upon it, the more you realize their words ring true as you try to search your memory of Trey agreeing to marry you. Anything that would have confirmed that he loved you. But it all comes up blank. There are no watery tears when you weep; but your ribs crack under the weight of your stuttering breaths, your lifeless body barely able to maintain your lively emotions.

And so, you decide to let go. Perhaps you can bear to love Trey, but you can't bear being the reason he couldn't love. When Trey comes to see you again, you quietly slip off the silver ring, still shiny and new, and hand it back to him. His face pales, worried confusion lacing his questions on if you changed your mind because of something he said? Were you mad at him for not staying longer with you the other day? You can only smile as he rambles on, and it's only when you clasp both his hands gently, he finally, finally, looks you in the eyes.

You apologize for everything: not asking him whether he wanted to even marry you, forcing him to spend time with you, making him acquiesce to your stubborn demands. It's a miracle you don't break down midway through.

There's a comforting pull when you laugh with tears in your eyes at Trey's horrified face. It's so soothing, there's barely any resistance, as pieces of you start flickering away, flesh finally rendering itself to dust, silk fluttering into petals that float away on the wind.

If you're lucky, you'll pass on before Trey grabs you in desperation, attempting to bring back dust and particles in hopes of making you stay. You can finally be free of your mortal coil and sorrows–even if you leave behind a man who spirals into madness and insanity. Cursed to roam the earth until he could find a way to join you in the afterlife and beyond.

–but if not, beware.

Death is not torture, it is repreive. Being forced to endure your flesh falling apart at the seams, while in the arms of someone who cannot see sense, is more agonizing than being able to accept your life and move on.

Yes, beware the man who has learned to love so fiercely, he's willing to defy nature's laws and whatever god is out there so you can remain his lovely spouse, for the rest of eternity.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #my works #yandere trey clover #had to get this out of my mind bc trey rot strong tonite

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squishycheekanon · 1 month

Note

I have a request: how would the Techno react if Reader dies but appears a few months later alive but very injured?

Now this inspired me.

Warnings: 18+, angst, suicide mentioned, hints at nsfw, blood, alternate timeline where she was never pregnant; adding Athena and Apollo into this would have made me cry so no.

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Techno was distraught, it was against his nature to love and be loved and yet you taught him how. You were his everything and more. From the moment you shot him in those woods all that time ago, when the voices went quiet when your face came into his eyesight, everything changed for him.

He loved you more than life itself, so when Phil broke the news to him that you were dead, he lost it. Standing in the living room of the home you had shared together, rage burned through him, his shaking hands ripping, shoving, destroying. By the time he was done, Phil had witnessed something he thought he’d never see.

Techno was weeping, sobbing, screaming for you. A broken man wanting the only thing he couldn’t have. For months Techno barely ate, barely slept, contemplated suicide daily. How could he live without you? Why would he even want to? Without you there was no meaning to his life. It was like a huge hole had been punched through his chest.

The absence of you was everywhere he looked, the little touches you had slowly added to the house over the years. Your perfume, oils and lotions on the white vanity in the corner of the room. Techno remembers vividly, when you had talked about wanting one and he worked for weeks to build and paint one you’d love. He sat for hours carving intricate designs onto the legs and around the mirror just for you.

The wardrobe filled with your clothes, the beautiful materials you covered your body with, he was always envious of them, they got to touch you all the time. Dresses hanging there that hugged your figure perfectly, that made his heart beat faster.

The bathroom filled with your sweet bath oils and bath salts, countless times he had come home from fighting and you drawn him a bath and washed him clean. Countless times had he taken you apart in the sweet smelling waters and steamy room.

The bed was the hardest to deal with, it reeked of you. The mouthwatering smell he wanted nothing more than to roll around in, it was always present when he slept. It was a slight comfort to him, but always left him distraught. He thought about sleeping downstairs but had to remind himself that he had destroyed the couch.

More time passed, around six months now since Phil had told him about your death. He was a hollow shell of himself, he had lost a lot of weight and always had dark bags under his eyes. He was surprised he was still breathing.

“Techno!” Phil had screamed, a dreaded, fear filled, confusion dripping scream. Techno sighed, it took so much energy out of him to simply stand. Feet practically dragging along the floor, he shuffled to the front door sparing a longing look to his axe of peace. Whatever was on the other side of his door was dangerous if Phil’s scream was anything to go by, and he was happy to let whatever it was kill him.

Opening the door and stepping out onto the wood panels just before the stairs that led down to the snow, red cloak and gold crown nowhere in sight, The Blood God isn’t who stepped out to fight, but a broken man ready to die.

That all changed the second he saw you. You who had been dead for six months, you who he had mourned for six months, you who was bruised and covered in cuts with blood dripping from them. You who looked just as starved and exhausted as Techno did, in fact you looked worse.

“Sweetheart?” Techno’s voice cracked as he uttered the term of endearment he hadn’t spoken in so long.

“Tec.” Your voice was small and fragile, your hand reaching for him. The clothes you wore were torn and certainly not enough to keep you warm in the freezing cold snow you had trekked in to get home.

He ran to you, feet moving quicker than they ever had before all so he could take you in his arms and hold you close. “I’ve got you darlin’, I’ve got you, hold on to me.” He used all his strength to help you into the house, Phil running to your aid too.

You took in the state of your home and honestly it was alot better than what you had expected. Glancing at your husband, he avoided eye contact sheepishly, normally it would have made you smile. You don’t even think you know how to do that anymore.

“Let’s uh, get you upstairs.” Phil said awkwardly, helping Techno carry you up into your bedroom, and onto the bed. You sighed in pure relief that you body didn’t have to hold itself up anymore, that you weren’t on a nasty cold stone floor too but the soft, Techno smelling, mattress you had been dreaming of for six months.

You were so happy you cried. You cried ugly, hard, loud. Letting all your emotions out. Techno was there stroking your filthy, greasy hair and holding your dirty, sore hand. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m just so happy, I thought this day would never come. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t. And yet here I am. Home.” You sobbed out the words, looking at your husband through your tears blurred eyes, just about making out the crooked smile on his gorgeous face.

He wanted to ask what had happened, wanted to know who had done this to you. But just seeing your relief to being in a bed, to being home, he knew you’d need time.

Phil went home after Techno had asked him to, they agreed not to tell anyone you were back until they figured out what had happened to you and by who.

Techno ran you a bath and took extra time and care into washing you off, he had to pull you out of the disgustingly mucky water and run you a new bath. This one you could soak in, allow yourself to relax, even when the clear water did dirty again, only a little this time though.

You saw the look in Techno’s eyes as he washed you and you knew, remembering the vow he made to you all those years ago; “I love you, it took me a while to say it I know. But I need to know you understand—“

“Understand?” You asked.

“How much I love you. I’d destroy empires for you. Pillage country’s for you. Kill for you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “If anyone ever even thought about hurting you, they’d be dead before they could finish that thought.” He growled, deep from within his chest. The ruby of his eyes shining brighter the more he talked about it.

“I understand.” Of course you did. You knew from the moment you said ‘I do’ exactly what that meant.

“You’re going to kill him aren’t you?” It was a question you knew the answer to but you still felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

“Yes.”

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struggling-with-drivers · 2 months

Text

More brainrot thoughts, blame and thank @pucksandpower

Au where Charles is a gold digger and Max is the f1 driver Charles wants.

Okay okay okay so, can you really blame Charles, like can you really blame Charles?

His mom had been arm candy to his dad, that much was by no means a secret. It might have influenced his way of looking at life, more than anyone realised. But it's not like he wasn't influenced by anything else he grew up with.

The opulence that surrounded him, the over indulgences lurking in every corner, the wealth that absolutely did not whisper. Especially not during those few weeks the entire country breathes for Formula racing.

Charles was raised in luxurity, and it was everything he had ever known. The words your face is all you're worth, had been intrgrained into his mind and body since he was a child. He had showed no really skill in any of his subjects, neither any of the 100s of sports his Maman had rotated him through. He was hopeless at seemingly every single one of them, it did however make him a very interesting person, and if there was one thing Charles Leclerc could.

It was talk.

Charles was a great conversationalist, and an even bigger flirt. Cheeky in just the right way, and seemingly obliviously innocent in every other. Except he knew what he was doing, he knew he was a tease, especially when he ran his hand over someone's chest and practically purred into their ear. About how good he could be.

Then he would pull back, bat his eyelashes. Hook, line and sinker. Charles was have an amazing night, and then be showered in gifts and hush money. With an invitation of next time tucked away in his back pocket.

Pierre had called him a practically unsafe escort once, Charles had corrected him, he was in fact being very safe.

Then Pierre had brought along his Formula 1 colleagues, and can you really blame Charles?

Max had seemed so sweet, so forbidden in the crowd of Eden. Charles wanted to sink his teeth into Max, if not for the hush money, but for the way those eyes would look at him when he begged for more.

Then Max had rejected Charles, even after he had touched his chest, even after he had purred in his ear. Max had even resisted the way Charles battered his eyelashes at him.

What Max hadn't been strong enough to do, was look away. His eyes had been fixed on Charles's open shirt since Pierre had introduced Charles to the other. His gaze locked to the way that translucent shirt had a cut so deep, so when Charles bend over, Max could see his belly button. Not that he needed the gap, the shirt itself was seethrough enough on it's own.

Charles had guided Max's hand to his side, and Max had excused himself for a drink.

Abandoning a full drink on the table.

He had needed air.

Max didn't see Charles again for a month, and he should have known better, in fact he should have expected the beautiful man to show back up in his life. Because then there Charles was. Right at the Monaco GP, walking down the Paddock, his arm linked with someone else, dressed in all red, supporting Ferrari.

Max should have brushed it off and moved along, so why couldn't he?

Why was the only thing he could think about as he accepted the trophy and got doused in champagne, that a certain beautiful man clad in Red would look better in Blue?

Pierre - who Max didn't think he had talked to more than few times in the last year - had clasped his shoulder, warned him not to be stupid. Then that was it, and Max had seen him move away, hug Charles, and pepper a few kisses on his cheeks, before Charles had nuzzled his way back under the arm of some guy Max didn't know. Not that he cared.

But Charles had looked at Max, even as the Monégasque kissed the cheek of his lover? Keeping the eyecontact, as though he had forced Max to watch, a way to taunt this could be you. He needed to get his shit together, they had met once, and seen each other twice.

Then came the victory celebrations, and Max didn't know how Charles had ended up on his lap, there was plently of spaces left in the booth, but he had picked Max's lap as his preferred seat. Except, Charles hadn't looked at Max not even once. Even he had kissed Pierre hello, right there, on Max's lap.

His eyes had been glued to Charles.

Who did not even look at him once, and Max - fully sober - was feeling so fucking intoxicated. Over this guy, a stranger, a something. Something dangerous, something that reeked of scandals.

When Charles had gotten up, all eyes turned in his direction as he sauntered away. Max knew, for he had looked as well.

Monaco GP was over, and Max could relax, at least that's what he told himself. The world had other plans for him, how had Max never realised how small Monaco really was. That Damned beauty seemed to show up everywhere, at the coffee shop, when he was on a run, even at the paddle club.

Had Charles always been around?

Except, each time he saw the Monégasque a longing feeling spread through his chest, it was followed by the reminder, Charles was always looking at someone else. Max doesn't think he saw the same person twice with an arm around Charles.

Max wondered briefly, in a moment of weakness, and post nut clarity, would the price be worth the feeling of his hands on Charles waist. Then he had chased the thought away, with the unnessecary paperwork, and NDA's and besides. Pierre had said to not be stupid. Pierre - who probably cheered every time Max made a slight mistake - had warned him.

Charles knew his effect on others, he was fully aware of each set of eyes that followed him. Nothing thrilled him more than walking through the street, being someone's accessory, and everyone appreciating him. Charles had quickly found himself enjoying a specific pair of eyes, they belonged to a certain Dutchman. Someone Charles would never had imaged being able to get with a few years ago. But that had been when Charles was younger, and now, he had honed his skills well enough.

He knew that it was only about time before Max Verstappen would break.

Max will sometimes see Charles hanging around the paddock during the European stint of races. He had convinced himself that he had become immune to the magnetic pull of the charming Monegasque. But it was quite a shock when - after having made the long journey to Suzuka - he sees the familiar perfectly messy hair.

More somber than he had ever seen Charles before. The beauty had traded in his typical Ferrari red for AlphaTauri white and navy, and a guest pass declaring him “Guest of Pierre Gasly.” Then he had joined Pierre on a track walk.

Max had watched as Pierre and his trainer continued making their way around the Suzuka Circuit even as Charles wandered towards the run-off area on the outside of the Dunlop Curve. And then Max watched as the normally composed and aloof man fell to his knees.

Max looked around. No one else seemed surprised to see the Monegasque’s body shaking as he sobbed on the gravel. Max had spotted Daniel across the track with his own trainer and nudged his way over to the Australian.

“What’s up with him?”

"Charles Leclerc?" Daniel questioned, "You don't know? He's Jules- was Jules god son."

"Oh," Is all Max said, he didn't know what else he should have said.

And Max felt so stupid, how hadn't he made the connection before?

No wonder no one else had seemed surprised, that Charles was constantly hanging around the paddock, wearing Red when his friend was in white and blue.

No wonder that in addition to being especially close with Pierre, the older drivers seem to have a bit of a soft spot for him. He probably should have realised there was more going on after hearing someone mention Pierre and Charles grew up together.

They'd all seen that the sport can take and take and take - the sobbing man of front of him was proof enough of that.

Max had barely realised, he was standing in front Charles before the words. "It sucks." Had rushed out of his mouth, and god, the other man snorts. Too taken aback with what Max just said, to have realised he stopped crying.

He looked up at Max, and a brief thought barrels through his mind. Fuck Charles looks good on his knees. But then Max reminded himself that that was probably pretty fucking inapproiate. Instead he reached a hand out, a sort of apology, but definitely an attempt to help to other to forget what Max had just said.

"Thank you." Charles smiled at him, the tears were still fresh on his chins, but Max could breathe a bit lighter when his hand clasped with Charles. He rest his other hand on Charle's back, as he wobbled for a few moments. Before Max realised where they were, retracting his hand to his side, far too fast, far too uncomfortable.

"Thank you." Charles repeated, letting go of Max's other hand. Max made an attempt to not show the disappointment on his face, the way the Monegasque smiled at him, told him he had failed. And Max didn't mind loosing that much when Charles looked at him like that.

With a few weeks in the back mirror, and some alcohol in their bodies. Charles had found himself with Max in the driver's penthouse apartment.

Max's lips were moving against his own, but then Max spoke, and Charles just wanted him to shut up. That's why he kissed him to begin with.

"What's your price?"

Charles froze for a moment, before returning to running his fingers over Max's sides.

"Your guilt will tell you tomorrow." He murmured back against Max's lips, so Max was aware of how Charles worked, and for some reason, it hurt.

Charles had never been paid directly, never a predetermined amount, it was all in hush money and gifts, places he had been taken and shown off, the clothes on his body, the drinks in his hands, the jewellery around his neck and fingers. Pierre had once called him a prisoner in golden chains, and Charles had told him he was full of shit.

But then Max cooked him breakfast.

This was not part of the deal, this was not part of anything. This was not how this was supposed to go. Max was supposed to tell him it was a mistake, and pay off Charles to keep quiet. Not cook him breakfast.

"Why- why are you-" His voice failed him, the Monégasque known for his smooth tongue, and tempting words, cannot speak. His greatest weapon had been lowered by a man in a silly apron.

"I don't regret anything."

Charles had been gifted jewels by princes and dukes and lords. He had been gifted Ferraris and Lamborghinis and Bugattis by billionaires. He had even been gifted a yacht by a sheikh once (long story). But this was the first time that he had been made to feel human after. That someone had gifted him the feeling of being wanted for more than his body. And now he feels like crying at the sight of slightly charred toast and scrambled eggs.

Max seemed to panic at the distress Charles was feeling. Unable to understand what was going on, not that Charles blamed him at all.

"I'm so sorry," Max had rushed out an apology at the first sight of potential tears, "are you vegan? Celiac? Fuck I should have asked, I have celery! Do you want celery?"

Charles had laughed at that, tears in his eyes at the sight of the formula 1 world champion reduced to panic because someone like Charles might not like his breakfast.

"I fucking hate celery," Charles had told Max, feeling a lot better, despite the Dutchman's confusion and seemingly oblivion to all the feelings that had been cruising through Charles.

Then one of Max's cats had jumped on the counter and tried to kidnap Charles's toast, and Max had set chase after the cat, and Charles had found himself thinking.

I could get used to this.

#lestappen #max verstappen #Charles leclerc #f1 #Fic #Delia brainrots

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lala1267 · 9 months

Text

Don't let momma know

Notes: I cringed making this since I'm not used to writing smuts lmfao. This was a request, btw. Reader is a virgin and calls Elvis daddy. Idk if this is good.

Innocent f reader x stepdad Elvis.

Warnings: SMUT. Elvis is the readers' step dad, pain, barely any swearing, Elvis is very rough and aggressive.

Summary: You were Elvis' stepdaughter until he turned you into his bitch.

From the times that Elvis scolded you to the times that he would cuddle you in his big arms, you would still feel a magnetic force that would draw your eyes to him. Ever since your mother and Elvis married, things have been different. You were used to doing what you wanted and living freely, but that all stopped when Elvis burst into your life. He was strict. You weren't allowed to disobey him, talk back to him, or be a bratt. But the one thing that Elvis had made clear to you was that you were not to have a boyfriend ever. This meant that you weren't allowed to have any friends who were boys. You weren't even allowed to talk to boys. You were very close with Elvis, though. You would cuddle him like a teddy bear and call him daddy as if he were your real father. But the one thing that you couldn't describe was the feeling of love. You loved Elvis, but it was a different kind of love, a kind that you could only invision.

You were doing your chores in the kitchen and working hard. You were even on your tiptoes as you bent yourself over the sink to reach the window sill. Your mother was at work, so you had to do the housework for today. The damp little blue towel in your hand leaked onto the floor. Your short, frilly pink dress hugged your figure perfectly. Thinning your waist and tucking in your baby fat. It was studded with little fabric flowers, but they were unfortunately hidden by your long, luscious locks that drapped over your shoulders and seeped down your back like a majestic waterfall. Your bare feet moved along the tile kitchen floor as you scrubbed and wiped the marble counters. Polishing them to a tea. You stood up straight and let out a loud sigh as you brought the back of your hand to your forehead that was slightly beaded with sweat. Your hand held the soaked towel above your chest, sending a good amount of droplets in-between your breasts and leaving a damp water mark. Your eyes shifted to your boobs, which were now glistening with bubbly warm water. Your bambi eyes rolled as you placed the towel on the counter and attempted to dry your now damp dress that stuck to your boobs. Suddenly, you felt a large set of hands wrap around your waist from behind. It came with a musky woody cologne scent. Your body turned itself around to find Elvis. He wore a lavish silk shirt and a pair of white flare jeans. A large gold belt got comfy just above his pelvis. Your eyes locked with his icey blues.

"Oh, hi daddy, you startled me."

You said, following it up with your childish laughter that was like a melody. Elvis' face didn't smile back.

"Why did ya stop doing your work, baby?"

He asked, his southern drawl leaving a tingle in the atmosphere that was slowly tensing.

"I just needed to dry my dress, I got some water on it."

Elvis' eyes shifted to your breasts that were coated in a shiny bubbly liquid. His hands still held your waist. They were slowly tightening.

"How about a dry that for ya, I don't want my baby to be all damp now."

"Ok daddy."

Your head nodded in agreement as you watched him grab a soft dry towel from the counter. One of his hands were still making themselves comfy on your waist as the other held the towel. He looked at your shiny, wet chest area before rubbing the dry towel over your pretty breasts. He made sure to get every crevasse. His fingertips slightly overlapped the fabric just so he could get a feel of your soft, delicate skin. He was taking an unusual amount of time. He seemed to be wiping even when the water was gone. He finally stopped and threw the towel back onto the polished counter before his attention drew back to you. His hands slowly rubbed your hips as he spoke.

"Your dress is still wet, come on, let's go get changed out of it, baby."

He didn't give you a chance to speak before his big veiny hand grasped your pretty little wrist tightly. His led you upstairs, practically dragging you. He led you into his room instead of yours. He sat you down on his king bed, the satin sheets were comfortable.

"I'm gonna get you a change of clothes, you stay here and be a good lil' girl."

He said his long finger pointed at you. He left, and you sat there just waiting patiently for your daddy to come and dress you up like a doll. The door knob twisted, and soon, Elvis walked back in. He held a few of your pastel coulored clothes in one of his hands. Your excitement bubbled inside of you as you waited for him to undress you. He walked over to you and placed the clothes next to you on the bed.

"Stand up, princess."

He said. You did just that. Sooner or later, his hands began to unzip your dress. Revealing your bare back. He let the dress swiftly fall to the ground as he watched your body unveail. His white teeth bit into his plush lips as he stared at your body. Your bra perfectly held up your boobs, pushing them together a little. Your white panties were studded with a singular pink little bow in the front. Your thighs had the perfect amount of chub as your waist was curved. Your colar bones spread out from your neck all the way to the ends of your shoulders like branches. Your ribcage was slightly visible around your chest area.

His eyes couldn't seem to be pryed from your body.

"Daddy, Daddy?"

You said, attempting to pull him from his lustful daze. His eyes finally met yours.

"Daddy, are you gonna dress me now?"

You asked. He stepped forward to your fragile body, his hands gliding along your torso and his eyes wandering along your body. His touch made you feel all fuzzy inside.

"Well, I think I like ya better without clothes."

He said as his eyes were still searching every inch of your body. You felt your cheeks flush red as a cheeky smile played up on your soft face, dimpling your cheeks.

"Am I flattering ya, baby?"

He asked as his body inched closer to yours. You could feel his hot breath blow on your face.

"No, never!"

You protested playfully as you tried to hide your underlying love. You felt an unknown liquid begin to pool in your panties, causing you to cross your legs as butterflies fluttered around in your stomach. What was happening? You've never felt this before.

"Don't lie to me, baby. I might have to teach ya a lesson."

He said as his face was only centermeters away. A smug grin appeared on his lips, sending the butterflies in your stomach on a rampage. He looked into your eyes.

"I, uh, I ain't -"

Your cute little stuttering episode was quickly interrupted by Elvis' lips on yours. Your stepfather was kissing you. You couldn't pull away, even if you wanted to. His hands explored your body as his tongue lapped around yours. This was amazing to you. You've never had a kiss, let alone have a kiss with your stepdad! The wetness in your panties only worsened, forcing your legs against eachover. You could taste the cigar smoke on his tongue as he kissed you like there was no tomorrow. Suddenly, you felt your body get lifted up by his big hands. His hands squeezed your ass as he carried you before throwing you onto the satin sheets of his bed. His hungry eyes examined your body once more before he bent down to your level. His hands gripped the soft lace fabric of your bra before tearing it off like an animal. You felt your nipples harden as the cold air met with them. He didn't waste any time snatching your panties off either. His hands held onto the edges of them before he pulled them from your ass to your ankles. He discarded them onto the floor.

He looked down at your bare body, biting his lips and tugging on himself. He bent down to kiss your pretty colar bones. You felt your eyes flutter shut as he sucked and bit your skin seductively. This was so new to you. You were still a virgin. His lips kissed your breasts and chest area, leaving dark purple hikey marks. His hands gripped your waist aggressively as he kissed your skin. Your hands held onto his velvet black hair as he worked his magic. He kissed your abdomen as he looked up at you through his dark lashes. You could see his sly grin form as he looked at you. He soon stood up tall and began to unbuckle his golden belt that shimmered in the light. A click sound could be heard as his belt fell to the floor. You looked up at him with a worried expression, you had to tell him.

"Daddy stop!"

You said desperately as you sat yourself up and looked up at him. He looked down at you and raised a brow.

"What's wrong, baby?"

He asked. His voice was soft and kind. You bit your lip as you broke eye contact with him. A million thoughts clouded your head.

"I've never done this before."

"I know, my baby, I'll be gentle, I promise."

He said as his once dark eyes returned to the usual cool blue. You looked up at him, your brows still furrowed, and lip still pouted.

"Baby, you can trust me. I will make ya feel good, I promise. I would never go rough on my lil' babygirl."

He said as his hands played along your body delicately. You believed him.

"Ok, Daddy."

You said as you layed back down onto the silk sheets. He gave you a reassuring look. His hands wrapped around your hips before dragging you towards him forcefully, making your breasts bounce. His hands fiddled with his zippers before his pants fell down to his ankles. Revealing his hard cock. It sprang up against his lower belly before he stepped closer. You looked at his cock in awe, it was so big. He carefully pulled your hips towards him and opened your model legs. A grin appeared on his face.

"So wet for me already huh?"

He said as he chuckled slightly. He grasped his cock in his hands before aligning it with your wet cunt. You felt the tip touch your folds, forcing your mouth to open and your eyes to glue shut. Without warning, he thrusted into you forcefully, making you gasp out of shock. A strong pain coursed through you as he thrusted into you like you were his toy. It hurt. You bit your lip, and your doll eyes watered up. He took notice.

"Don't worry, baby, the pain will be over in a minute. You're gonna feel real good, trust me."

He said as his hips clapped against your skin. You were getting worried as the pain only worsened. You felt some tears escape your eyes as your body bouced up and down. Your whimpers slowly turned into moans as the pain drifted away and disintegrated. You began to moan in pleasure as he hunched over you. He carried on abusing your cunt with his gigantic cock as he grunted into your ear. You felt like you were in heaven. His grunts and sighs only grew louder as he punished your body. He stood up straight to take a look at your pretty self, bouncing and moaning for him. His large hand situated itself on your neck, only allowing you little air. His gripped your neck, his nails dug into the soft skin, making you squeal a bit.

"It's alright baby, j-just be a good girl and t-take it...oh god."

He said through his teeth as he continued his assault on your poor body. It hurt so bad but felt so good. His large cock stretched your walls, making your moans only grow louder. You looked at the beads of sweat from his forehead, fall onto your naked body like tears. His damp hair stuck to his forehead. He bit his lip as he continued to thrust into you like there was no tomorrow.

You felt a heat build up in your abdomen. It slowly made its way lower. Your eyes squeezed shut, and you felt your body jolt and twitch. You had no idea what was happening, but it felt good. Suddenly a watery substance began to ooze out of your cunt and onto Elvis' dick. A loud moan left your lips as your hips raised. You felt your legs shake and tremble. You let out a sigh before you relaxed. You felt a wave of tiredness and sleepyness wash over you like a tidal wave.

"Daddy, I think I'm done, that was so good."

You say with a weak smile. He looked down at you and shook his head side to side.

"I ain't done with ya yet, baby."

He said sternly before turning your body over forcefully. He made you get into a doggy position before he carried on thrusting into you. You wanted to go to sleep, but if this is what your daddy wanted, then you were obliged to listen. He slapped your ass harshly, leaving a red handprint and forcing a yelp out of you. Your body bounced aggressively as he did so. His large hand gripped your precious hair, he pulled on it strongly. Your head jolted back as he tugged your hair and dragged it. You whimpered as you felt the sting of your scalp. Your back arched like a cat as he was hitting it.

"You're gonna take t-this like a-a good girl."

He stated sternly, not giving you a choice. All you could do was whimper and moan like a kitten. His grip on your hair worsened. Soon, he was tugging your hair too harshly, causing another round of tears to flow from your eyes. He slapped your ass a few more times with his big hand. That was definitely going to bruise. Suddenly you felt a warm substance shoot out of his cock and fill you up. Your eyes widened as your knees weakened. You let out the loudest moan, and it echoed around the room. You could hear Elvis grunt and breathe heavily as the liquid only carried in shooting into your battered pussy.

"Oh, oh....fuck."

He said with his shaky breath. You felt his dick twitch inside of you as his cream fully filled you. He pulled out of you, a white liquid came gushing out of you before your poor body collapsed onto the bed that was now covered in yours and Elvis' cum. You breathed out and tried to process what had just happened as your exhausted body shut down. Elvis lied down next to you and pulled you close. His hair was soaking wet, and so was yours. You felt his arms pull you close to him.

"I knew you could do it. My good girl."

He said breathlessly into your ear as you felt his chest heave up and down against your back.

"Don't tell momma about this, or it won't end well for you."

He said. You lay there, struggling to process this all.

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supercap2319 · 3 months

Note

Percy jackson x older brother reader

After their mom got turned into gold dust by the Minotaur reader used his water bending powers and killed the beast saving both him and percy

Percy collapsed on his older brothers chest crying at the lost of their mother,his older brother immediately picked him up and continued moving to camp half blood using his powers to move faster in the rain

"I love you. I love you both. Be good to each other. Fight for each other."

Those were the last words Y/N and Percy's mother had said to them before she disappeared into a shimmering golden form, almost as if she never existed at all. The Minotaur had grabbed her by the throat and lifted her up when she tried to side step with Percy's red coat. It hadn't worked out well for Sally Jackson.

"Mom! Mom!" Percy said through teary-eyed eyes. He couldn't believe what had just happened. Their mom was gone right before their very eyes.

The Mintotaur tightened its now empty grasp and snarls. It almost sounds like it's laughing. Percy felt a wave of anger crashing through his body. He tightened the grip on his pen, ready to uncap it, but Y/N held his hand out, stopping Percy. "This is my fight, little brother. Get to the hill. Both you and Grover. Go!"

"But, Y/N. I wanna–"

"GO PERCY!" Y/N snapped. He turned to him, eyes glowing a bright blue as the water from the rain started to wrap around his body. The Minotaur's silhouette turned towards them. Percy nods and help Grover up as they hobbled up the path to the hill.

The Minotaur roars and charged on all fours. Y/N could hear its angry snarls and bellows as it got closer and closer to him. He threw his head and arms back as the water forming around him sharpened itself to a point before Y/N let them loose as they zoomed towards the monster, cutting one of its horns off as the rest embedded themselves inside the Minotaur's head and body as it continued its charge.

In a rage over losing their mother, Y/N slashed the air with his hand towards the Minotaur, and it stopped in its tracks as it looked at Y/N for a moment, before it was split down the middle. Y/N had sharpened the rain water like a blade. The Beast turns to ash and disappears. Y/N falls to his knees and catches his breath, tears staining his face over his lost mother.

He walked up the path towards Percy and Grover as Percy ran to him and hugged him. Percy buried his curls inside Y/N's chest and cried and cried until he passed out from exhaustion.

Y/N carried Percy in his arms and Grover on his back, as he made a water wave and rode it all the way towards camp in the rain.

#x male reader #male reader insert #percy jackson #percy series #percy jackon and the olympians #walker scobell #walker scobell x male reader #platonic #platonic relationships #platonic reader #brothers

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inkykeiji · 9 months

Text

character: jouno saigiku x fem!reader genre: smut warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, face fucking, boot humping, a lil degradation mixed with a hint of praise, dacryphilia, size kink/size difference, lots of cum words: 3.7k

He knows you’re up, the moment he steps through the flat’s threshold.

He can hear your gentle breathing, can hear the soft rustle of lace and satin against your skin as your chest rises and falls, can hear your sock-clad toes, overlapped and wiggling, weight shifting slightly from one foot, then the other, as you wait in anticipation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” he asks aloud, not bothering to turn toward your hiding spot, attention focused on his hands as he slowly pulls a white glove from his fingers, one by one. “What are you doing up?”

“Missed you,” you mumble out through a pout, cheek pressed into the doorframe, face half hidden.

“Yeah?” he’s asking as he tosses the first glove onto the counter and begins work on the second, his features contrasted by shadows, but you can still see the smirk on his face. “Why don’t you come give me a hug, then?”

A sweet little squeal of affirmation sounds in your throat and then you’re off, bare feet pitter-pattering against the polished hardwood, body barreling into his chest only a second or two later, hard enough to knock a gentle chuckle from his lips, his arms catching you easily.

A deep sigh deflates his chest, his body melding into yours. His head droops, lips pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before he rests his forehead against your skull. A thick thigh slots itself between your own, your limbs twining together; a tangle, a knot of a single entity.

With a slow, steady, purposeful inhale, his ribs stretch against yours as he fills his lungs with your scent, breathes you in and gulps you down and holds you close to his heart, steeping his tissues in your essence, infusing his blood with you.

A beat or two passes, the two of you motionless but melting into one another, before he finally plants another kiss in your hair, arms tightening infinitesimally, squeezing you to his form.

“Hate that you work such long hours. Love this uniform on you, though,” you murmur into his chest, nuzzling your cheek against the starched fabric of his jacket.

A gentle laugh rumbles behind his sternum.

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How much do you love it on me?”

“I think you know,” you say shyly, peeking up from his chest.

He does know—he can smell it on you, can smell the arousal rapidly seeping into the silk of your panties, can feel the warmth on his thigh through the thin material, a swiftly expanding patch of slick.

But he wants to hear you say it.

“How much?” he repeats, slow, stern, an order.

A stringy whine sounds in your throat and your bottom lip juts out further, chin puckering, but you obey anyway, heat staining your cheeks.

“So much. So much it makes me wet,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut, scorching prickles of humiliation rippling beneath your skin. “So much it makes my clit throb and pussy flutter,” you grind against his thigh in emphasis, legs tightening around it. “Feel it?”

A hum of recognition vibrates on his tongue, head nodding. His cock twitches against your hip—just once, nothing more than a greeting—and you giggle, humping his leg with a little more vigour.

“Sit down, Daddy,” you say softly, delicate fingers unfastening his cape and pushing it from his shoulders. “Let me fix you a drink.”

“It’s late,” he says, but he goes willingly, collapsing in his favourite armchair. “You should be in bed.”

“And you work so hard,” you respond lightly, prancing over to the gold bar cart, filled with sparkling decanters and amber liquor. “Let me do this for you. Then bed, pinky promise.”

With a small resigned smile, he nods, accepting a crystal glass of scotch from you a moment later. Ice clinks against the sides as he brings it to his lips, taking a slow sip, another sigh seeping from his chest, the burn of alcohol eating away at more tension, liquifying his tired muscles.

You assume your designated position then, on the floor at his feet, between his spread knees, cheek laid against his thigh. A large hand cups your head, thumb stroking your hair in slow, rhythmic motions.

This has become somewhat of a habit as of late. The Armed Detective Agency case has been devouring all of Jouno’s time, and it has left him with mere crumbs to give to you.

He’s just about polished off his drink when your hands begin to wander, palms smooth as they run up his strong thighs, dainty fingers digging into lean muscle as they go, his legs instinctively spreading wider.

Your head shifts, eyes gazing up at him adoringly—he may not be able to see you, but he can feel you, your body welded to his shin as your hands work, your face nosing along his thigh, cuddling into him, desperate to be as close as physically possible.

He swears he can feel your stare, too, potent and powerful and oozing thick love as it slathers across his skin, dousing him in indescribable warmth. It saturates the air around you both, enveloping your tangled bodies in its dense embrace, permeating his flesh straight to his very soul, where it poisons him so sweetly.

It’ll always amaze him, how someone can look at him with such reverence, such admiration, like he’s a fucking god, so strongly that he can sense it—feel it on his body, taste it on his tongue. It’s fucking intoxicating, his cock twitching again in his trousers, a rush of hot blood fizzing through his veins.

Your fingers knead aching muscles steadily, expertly, climbing a little higher with each cycle through the routine, closer and closer to the apex of his thighs but never quite reaching it.

It’s utterly teasing, rigid flesh mollifying beneath your amorous motions as the pressures of the day leak from his pores, massaged from his body by your gracious hands, wrung from his soul bit by bit.

It’s utterly teasing, but it’s so good, a craving for more clawing at the pit of his stomach, igniting a mild itch in his veins.

Something sounds in his throat, the ghost of a whimper—something he’s hopeless at smothering, an instinctual, uncontrollable reaction to you—and he feels your body respond, a minuscule jerk of your muscles in response, a curious little gesture imbued with a question.

Gasping gently, your gaze slides down, watching with a sort of morbid fascination as his cock fills with life, as it strains, more and more, heavier and heavier, against his maroon trousers, yearning for your tongue, your touch. Grinding your fingers into tense tissue near his hips, you giggle a little at the way it jerks gently, begging you for attention. Another noise plays on the back of his tongue; a caution this time, not to play around too much.

Finally, you lean forward, hands clamped around his thighs, and nuzzle into his swelling cock, rubbing your face against it like a cat with a small hum of contentment.

A fond little melody falls from his lips, nothing more than a wisp of breath—so starkly different from his usual sharp snickers, most often kept sealed behind smirking lips and reserved for those who deserve it—something private, something just for him to savour and enjoy, his palm moving to caress your head again, urging you further into his groin.

“Really do love this uniform so much,” you mumble out dreamily, muffled by the material.

“Show me,” he breathes, just barely shifting beneath your touch. “Show Daddy.”

Fondling halted, you pull back slightly, staring down the bridge of your nose at his cock, almost as if you’re taking a moment to admire it before scattering a few well-placed kisses along the silhouette—underside, shaft, tip. It jumps beneath your lips in response, and you giggle again, snuggling back into it lovingly.

Tongue unfurling from your mouth, you trace the bulge slow and sloppy, dragging your the slick muscle along the outline of his massive cock and leaving a damp, gleaming trail across his lap. His hips twitch ever-so-slightly, a motion you wouldn’t have noticed had you not had your entire face pressed into his crotch, and you relent, tongue grinding over the head in hard, steady strokes—back and forth, back and forth—before your mouth closes around it as best it can, suckling at the tip.

And you swear you can taste his pre-cum, dribbling from his slit and oozing through the thick material of his work pants, bitter and strong like his favourite blend of coffee. A moan slips from your lips, the sound hot and wavering against him, your lapping turned desperately vigorous, starved for another drop of him.

You’re making a real mess now, he’s sure of it, threads of spit knitting your lips to his trousers, chin syrupy with your own drool, smudged across your mouth and jaw, a direct result of your burrowing.

He’s getting restless now, you can tell, can feel it in the way his thighs clench, can hear it in the gentle, barely-there hitch of his breath with each firm glide of your tongue over his cockhead. And eventually, finally, he snaps, just like he always does, just like every other night before.

“It’s not nice to get Daddy’s cock hard and then not do anything about it, baby,” he warns, amicable tone sewn together with an implicit threat. “Don’t be a little tease, now. Finish what you’ve started.”

The authority in his voice—not a statement, not a suggestion, but a demand, a direct order—sends spears of heady adrenaline shooting through your chest, body jolting, and you nod, fingers obeying immediately, instinctively.

The heavy brass buckle of his belt jingles as you hastily unfasten it, leaving it hung undone as you shove his jacket up and pop the button of his trousers, mewling a little at the way the smooth planes of his stomach flex, tightening in anticipation.

Hooking your fingers in his waistband, you tug his pants to his ankles, Jouno lifting his hips and aiding your efforts, cock greeting you eagerly a moment later, slit drooling pearly sap.

“Oh, gosh, Daddy,” you whimper, sounding almost on the verge of tears—you’re not, of course, he would know if you were—voice infused with sheer awe. “It’s—It’s so pretty.”

He’s sure it is, with its pretty pink tip, flushed a shade of rose, and its perfectly symmetrical shaft, straighter than Cupid’s arrow, and its delicate veins, ivied around his girth and softer than velvet.

Logically, you should already know this; you’ve certainly seen it enough times. But every time you pull it from his pants is like the first time all over again, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love your fawning, even if it is characteristic.

“I bet it looks even prettier in your mouth,” he says, and there’s a trace of melancholy in his tone, as if he genuinely regrets being unable to see it.

You take that as your cue to get to work, wrapping a palm around the base of his cock and taking him between your lips, tongue curling almost protectively around the shaft as you suck him in.

“That’s it,” he encourages, a palm cupped beneath your chin, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “Take the whole thing down your throat, as much as you can.”

And, really, you do try your very hardest, your very bestest, to take as much of him as possible, throat gorging on his cock.

But it still isn’t nearly enough.

Because you’re already coughing just before you reach the halfway point, spasming around his tip as your body tries to reject him.

And, oh, that just won’t do.

“Aw, is that all you can fit in your little mouth?” he clicks his tongue, as if he’s disappointed, though there’s a sharp smirk on his lips. “How pitiful. That’s alright, Daddy’s here to help you.”

A large palm finds its rightful place on the crown of your head, fingers splayed across your hair and digging into your scalp as he presses down, slowly, his breath stammering with each constriction of your throat.

This is how it always starts.

Leisurely but firm, you’re forced to take his cock inch by inch until the whole thing’s shoved down your throat, your nose pressed flush to his pubic bone—pause, hold, choke, release, repeat—enabling him to feel every single gag and gurgle his actions elicit, taking his time to savour them, to breathe in your pain and torment and let it marinate in his bones.

Because it’s all so heavenly, isn’t it? To feel every pulse, every choke, every squeeze of distress and know that, despite it all—despite the drops of crystal streaking your cheeks (he can smell them) and the viscous snot pouring from your nose (he can feel them, dripping on his cock) and the foaming little bubbles of spit collecting in the divots of your puckered lips (he can hear them)—you’re still taking him, you’re still doing the very best you can for your Daddy, to please your Daddy.

And that dedication, that utter devotion—that’s better than anything else in the world, that’s the best.

He continues like this, agonizingly unhurried, until your throat is grated raw by the sobs, and your jaw is aching, little muscles stiff and locked, and he can no longer tell which convulsions are from his cock and which are simply a result of your crying.

Christ, it’s so easy to make you cry, sweet little sniffles and shredded little snivels that dribble past the seams of your lips—pretty little mouth jammed full of him—and it’s such a beautiful sound, precious noises reduced to nothing more than a gentle stuttering in your throat as they’re pushed back into your chest by the steady driving of his cock.

Finally the pressure on the back of your head lets up, but you don’t dare raise a mere centimeter, whole body quivering as you struggle to stay right where he left you, mouth stretched wide at the base of his cock.

He ceases all action for a moment or two, forces you to hold the position, revels in the sweet sounds of anguish trembling around his cockhead, before his palms grasp your cheeks, fingers so long they nearly overlap at the back of your skull, holding your head steady.

And then, he truly begins, abrupt and without any warning, hips pumping hard and fast, fucking your mouth with a sort of ruthless vigour, a relentless voracity, the thick soles of his boots squealing against the hardwood as he uses his planted feet as leverage.

Your grip on his legs tightens with each piston, nails biting into the flexing muscles of his thighs, and he laughs breathlessly; how absolutely adorable.

And oh, it’s so messy, he can feel your stringy saliva drooling from the corners of your mouth to drizzle off your chin in fat, sticky cords, swaying and stretching with each ram of his cock. They splatter almost artfully across his bare thighs, cooling upon impact, inspiring a crop of chills to pebble across his skin.

He can feel your warm tears, too, dripping off your jaw to collect on his flesh in little puddles, can smell their potent salt—bitter and tangy and making his mouth water—as they leave crusted trails on your cheeks. Thick hunger collects in the creases beneath his tongue, a longing to lick them clean from your face, to sop his tongue full of your devout servitude and stain his tastebuds with your tartness, to swallow down any and every bit of you, let you take root in the pit of his stomach and bloom there, grow there, fester there, for eternity.

Everything must hurt, he thinks, all your muscles coiled tense and taut, but you pry your jaw open wider for him, just like the good girl you are, desperate to take as much of him as possible, devoted to your cause.

Because no matter how much it hurts, you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

A moan catches in his throat as the dense scent of your arousal hits him, and God, it’s so strong, you must’ve soaked right through your panties by now, must be gushing slick all over your inner thighs, coating them in your essence.

He wishes he could taste that, too; mop it up with his tongue and saturate every inch of his mouth with you.

“You’re so wet from this, huh?” he says, question fading into a feathery breath, the only indication this is affecting him at all. “Naughty girl. Are you leaking all over our nice hardwood floor? Should Daddy make you lick it up afterward, punishment for making such a mess?”

You choke around his cock in response, and he groans, hips stuttering slightly before regaining momentum. The rubber toe of his boot nudges your thighs and they part instantly for him, allowing him space to wedge beneath your cunt.

“My poor baby,” he spits through a mocking pout. “You must be so horny from sucking Daddy’s cock. Here,” his toe pushes up, grinding into your hole and evoking a soft yelp, “why don’t you hump Daddy’s boot while he occupies your mouth.”

You comply immediately, hips snapping into action, rutting against his foot with a sort of greedy eagerness, ravenous for any little part of him he’ll give to you.

He can’t feel how sopping wet you are through the thick rubber of his boot, which is truly such a shame, but he can hear the embarrassing squelching of your drenched cunt as you rub it into his toe.

It’s probably leaving such a pretty sheen of your slick across the top, a thick layer that glitters as prettily as the tears on your face must.

“There you go,” he says, sugary sweet condescension dripping from his words. “Does that feel better, baby?”

All you can do is whimper in agreement, the gentle sound sending vibrations down his shaft, and his hips jerk, belt buckle clinking together as his thrusts turn vicious, such a delicate melody contradicted by the growls and snarls he keeps swallowing back.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he nearly gasps out, edges of his letters turned ragged. “Such a good little toy for me, aren’t you?”

He hears your heart jump in your chest, fluttering at his praise, a torrent of warmth rushing through his veins in response, leaving his blood tingling.

“You love it when Daddy uses you, don’t you, precious?”

You respond with another sloppy moan, tongue quivering around his cock, and a whine breaks in his throat, sharp and jagged.

It’s building in his gut, a heady rapture, stomach beginning to contract as the muscles draw up into firm knots, scrunched by cresting pleasure. Shards of hedonism escape his nose in uneven little huffs, matching the relentless pace of his hips.

It all harmonizes so perfectly, the sounds shattering on his tongue and the stifled sobs shoved back down your throat and the squeak, squeal, squelch of your cunt on his boot, of his soles on the hardwood floor, of his cock fucking your mouth.

His actions have turned clumsy now, a stark contrast from his usual prim perfection, palms slippery with sweat on your jaw, grip tightening as his fingers readjust, digging bruises in the shape of his prints into your scalp.

He’s sure they’ll be swollen tomorrow. He can’t wait to feel them.

Three more thrusts and then he’s forcing copious amounts of hot, thick cum down your throat, holding your head in place as his cock throbs on your tongue, each pulse spilling another rope of cream into your mouth.

And, oh, it’s so much, too much, cum collecting in the divots of your cheeks and the creases beneath your tongue, but you don’t waste a fucking drop, swallowing obediently around him with every surge, making room for the next load.

And then you don’t fucking stop, zealous in your quest to milk him for everything he’s got to give you, desperate to fill your tummy with as much of him as you possibly can, enough to sustain you until you get to see him next, at this time tomorrow night.

You suck him fucking dry, suck every ounce of cum from his balls, suck until a bristled shudder runs through his form and a hiss is spit through his teeth, the white-hot overstimulation now too much for him to bear, fingers tangling in your hair and pulling you up.

You collapse on his thighs the moment he releases your head, weeping into his soiled skin—a mess of salt and drool and snot and cum—your ribs hiccuping with frayed breaths and harsh sobs, nails scraping weakly against his flesh in a pitiful attempt to tug yourself closer.

A coo slips from his lips, the sound both compassionate and condescending, as if he finds your tattered soul so cute; slashed yourself to pieces for him, always for him.

“Come here, darling,” his hands slip beneath your languid arms and hoist you up, dragging you into his lap and cradling you to his chest, collecting the remaining ribbons of you in his arms, strong and protective.

“Da-Daddy!” you’re wailing into his neck, fingers curling in the collar of his stiff jacket, spit and tears staining the pristine material a chalky white. “Daddy, Daddy.”

Clinging to him, you bury your face in his shoulder, another rough sob hacking through your form, and he hugs you tighter, gentle hushes falling from his lips as they scatter kisses across the top of your head.

“I know, I know, I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. “You did good, sweetheart. You did so good for me. You always do.”

Tender fingers press into your sore muscles as he rocks your bodies; a slow rhythmic swaying, back and forth, back and forth, while sweet nothings pour from his mouth, voice hot against your skin. The words are even warmer, snuggling into your flesh between soft kisses, the little hitches in your breath—residual sobs that have your chest stuttering and your nose sniffling—ironing themselves out with each brush of his lips.

And although he loves returning home to you no matter what the circumstance, this is, and always will be, his favourite way to be greeted after a long, gruelling day.

Maybe he’ll sit here, just like this, for a little while longer.

#jouno x reader #jouno smut #jouno x you #saigiku jouno x reader #saigiku jouno smut #jouno saigiku smut #jouno saigiku x reader #jouno saigiku x you #i can't get him out of my minddd i swear to god it's a sickness

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