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strang3lov3 · 5 months

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Massage Chair

Summary: Joel teaches you to massage him, then takes advantage of your new skill. After, he shows his gratitude.

Tags: Lots of joel teasing, malicious compliance, light arguing, smut, fingering, teasing, romantic massaging, creampie, slower and more emotional, joel comforting u after boning.

a/n: thank you for your patience with me! I wanted to have this done last week, but I ended up in the ER which slowed me down a little. But, that gave me more time to write and @papipascalispunk time to beautifully edit this <3 she's such a babe.

(mall rats 5, though can be read as standalone. find more mall rats in my masterlist)

A brown leather chair is flipped on its side, and Joel’s tinkering with the parts inside, cursing and hissing expletives. It’s a broken massage recliner that came with Joel’s house, and he spotted the same model at Macy’s back in the old mall. So he stole bits and pieces, and now he’s attempting to fix the chair. It’s not going too well.

“God bless it,” Joel grumbles at you, “Quit shinin’ the flashlight on the damn floor. Shine it inside the chair.”

“I am shining it inside the chair, Joel,” you argue, “Why don’t you make Ellie hold the flashlight for you?”

“‘Cause she can’t hold it right either. You girls suck at using flashlights,” Joel grimaces as he sits up off the ground, then reaches for your hand that’s holding the light. He manipulates your position, adjusting the way you’re sitting and how you hold the flashlight and says, “There. Stay like that.”

You smirk, “Oh Joel, it makes me so hot and bothered when you take control of me like that.”

Joel sighs, frustrated with you. Like always. “Was that really necessary?”

“Of course it was,” you reply. Moving gingerly, he lays back down on the carpeting. The chair makes small, metallic clanging noises as he works, and you’ve got a perfect view of his ass. So tight and plump in those jeans. What a treat.

Joel turns on his side, twisting his torso to reach for a different screwdriver. This time, he grunts in pain. He works a little longer, then tosses the screwdriver aside before hoisting himself up. His knees crack and ache as he slowly stands up, carefully pulling the chair upright and plugging it into an outlet. You watch as he sits in the chair, lifts up the armrest to press a few buttons, and the chair comes to life. He keeps his eyes squinted shut, his chest rising and falling heavily with every labored breath he takes. He fidgets with the buttons as the chair makes different mechanical whirring noises, vibrating and pressing into his back.

“Can I try it?”, you ask.

“No,” he deadpans, “S’not massagin’ too good anyway – kinda just vibrates. And before you ask – no,” you smirk as he glares at you, “It doesn't vibrate like that. So don’t even think about doin’ that to my chair, you horndog.” He knows you so well.

When Joel is done speaking, he sighs and closes his eyes again. It’s a little awkward, watching Joel sit in his massage chair. He doesn’t seem very comfortable, and it’s making you feel sort of sad. His back has been killing him for weeks. He doesn’t talk about it much, but you can tell it’s getting worse. As he squeezes his eyes shut, those two little lines between his brows grow more prominent than usual. He inhales through his nose and exhales from his mouth, like he’s trying to breathe away the pain.

Before the outbreak, he found things like heated massage chairs and beds that move up and down to be frivolous and unnecessary. In his twenties and thirties, if his back hurt he’d pop a few Advil and tough it out. Not exactly an option now. So, an old massage chair it is.

“Have you been icing your back, Joel?”, you ask but Joel opens just one eye and glares at you. You take his silence as a no. “You need to ice it.”

“My back’s fine,” Joel lies as he rolls his eyes at you, “Go away. Go play in traffic.”

“Are you keeping yourself hydrated?”, you continue.

“Yes.” You look at Joel, then you look next to him. The full glass of water on his end table says otherwise, condensation pooling on the wood. Joel looks there too, then back at you as you stare at him, unimpressed, “Yeah, I drink enough water, dammit. What’s with the third degree?”

You ignore his question, “Are you getting enough rest?”

“What do you think I’m tryin’ to do right now?” Again, you stare at him with an unimpressed expression. Joel sighs, exasperated, “For the love of god, I rest plenty.” Out of all the ways you could annoy him, this is the most brutal. It’s torturous. He continues, “I’d rest easier if you weren’t here, y’know. So get gone. Quit naggin’ me.”

“Charming, Joel. Like always,” you tell him, your tone sarcastic. Lifting yourself up, you stand in front of him and take his hand in your own. You pull with all of your might to lift him up, and drag him to his feet. He groans the entire time.

“Oh, come on,” Joel complains. He knows that look you’ve got on your face, knows that you’re on a mission and he’s coming with. Of course he’s coming with. He’s always stuck with you, somehow. “What are you signin’ me up for now?”, as you lead him to his room, matching his slow pace as he takes heavy steps, so as not to overwhelm his ancient bones.

“Bed,” you tell him.

Oh. Joel gets it now. You’re forcing him to take a rest. Could be worse, he supposes, but he always has a flair for the dramatic, so he sighs heavily as he lays down, making sure you know he is not happy that you’re putting his ass to bed. You untie his boots and pull them off his feet, then toss them aside.

Just as Joel settles on his back, you move to his side of the bed and put your hands under his torso and thigh, then roll him onto his stomach rather harshly. He yelps in pain, “Jesus Christ–”

“Sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. You join him on the bed, straddling his butt, careful not to put too much pressure on him.

Joel is confused beyond words. Before he can process what you’re doing, he feels you bouncing the sides of your hands down his shoulders and spine, and then you’re pinching and smushing his body haphazardly. “Uhh, what are you doin’ to me?”, he questions now. It is a deeply uncomfortable sensation.

“Massaging you, because your chair doesn’t work,” you tell him, continuing your work on his back, “It’ll help you rest. I’m feeding two birds with one scone, Joel.”

“That – that’s not how the phrase – fuck, never mind,” Joel relents, baffled as you “massage” him. He lets you continue for a few moments longer before deciding he’s had enough. “Sweetheart, it’s very kind of you, but you are terrible at this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, no, this is god awful. You’re gonna break my damn spine in half,” Joel pauses before speaking again, thinking to himself. There’s no way you’ve had or given a massage before now. “Am I your guinea pig?”

“Kinda,” you answer quietly.

“I could tell,” Joel taps you on the leg twice, “Alright, get off and switch me spots.”

“What for?”, you ask.

“So I can teach ya how it’s done and keep you from committing a fuckin’ felony assault on my back,” he says, “What you’re doin’... it’s inhumane, darlin’.” He’s being very Joel about this. Harsh, a little rude. Dramatic. You climb off him and he scoots off of his bed. “Take off your shirt,” he tells you, “S’rule one of a good massage. You’re supposed to massage a person, not their clothes.”

“Noted,” you say. Joel leaves then, maybe to give you privacy or something, not that you need it. If Joel wants you to strip naked, you’ll strip naked, no questions asked. You’d lay yourself on a silver platter for him, cherries on your ass and an apple in your mouth. Though, you do think it’s sweet he’s trying to keep you feeling comfortable. Joel Miller, always the gentleman.

You strip nude, then lay on your stomach on the bed, right where Joel was. His sheets feel warm from his body heat and they smell like him too, warm and musky and woody. You’re facing his window, where outside it’s overcast and gloomy. On his bedside table sits his book of crossword puzzles.

The stairs and floorboards creak as Joel returns to you. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you naked and face down in his bed, rolling his eyes at your lack of modesty. Joel places a few things on his dresser, then a little glass container full of oil on his bedside table. “Only had to take your shirt off, hon,” he says.

“Oh. I thought you wanted me naked.”

“You’ve got selective hearing,” Joel lowers the curtains by his window and lights a few candles on his dresser, “I think you wanted you naked.” In the darkened room, he moves behind you and you hear the sound of fabric moving before he’s draping a blanket over your bum. You shrug, “Sorry, Joel. Guilty as charged.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles. Joel rolls up his sleeves before beginning. “You ready?”, you nod, and so does he. He takes the container of oil and drizzles it down your spine. It’s warm, a little sweet and fragrant. You feel relaxed already. Joel then pours some of oil into the palm of his hands and rubs them together. “First thing, you always wanna be mindful of any painful or sensitive areas. Anything you need me to be careful about?”

“Uh, no. My back doesn’t usually hurt,” you tell him.

“Must be nice,” he mumbles. After rubbing his palms together, he places them on your back. He spreads the drizzled oil from your lower back up to your neck and shoulders in long strokes with his palms, so big and strong and warm. You sigh in relief. “The oil makes it easier to glide your hands. Don’t wanna use too much, though. And you’re gonna spread it out, nice and even.”

You nod, your eyes closed, “What about the candles?”

“Candles don’t make a difference. Just thought you’d like ‘em,” Joel whispers.

“I do.”

He spends the next couple minutes using wide, gentle strokes of his hands to completely spread the oil over your body. Once he’s satisfied, he places his hands at your shoulders. He works his thumbs into your traps and up your neck, pushing and sliding them up your skin. “How’s the pressure?”, he asks, “Too much? Not enough?”

“Little too much,” you tell him.

Joel lightens the pressure and continues the motion, “Feel nice?”

All you can do is hum in response. It feels incredible. His hands are so firm and gentle, so careful. Your skin is warm and his touch is comforting. He works his way down your body, massaging and rubbing your muscles. He alternates between circular and back and forth movements.

“Good. Remember that. Be nice and fluid when you massage me,” Joel whispers, “None of that karate choppin’ shit.”

“None of that karate choppin’ shit,” you repeat, matching his tone.

Joel massages you everywhere for the next ten minutes. Instructing you to stay away from the spine directly, but focus your pressure next to it. Focus on the muscles. You can dig your thumbs in, use your knuckles, even the heels of your palms. He tells you he’s being more gentle, but he’s gonna need you to use your body weight.

“You writin’ this down?”, he asks.

“Mmm, yeah. Got my pen and paper right here,” you murmur. He massages a sensitive spot on your back and you moan softly.

“Hey,” he warns, “Don’t be enjoyin’ this so much. S’for my benefit, not yours. I’ve got ulterior motives for massagin’ you.”

“Oh?”, you whisper.

“Yeah, oh. You volunteered yourself to fix my back, so I’m gonna take advantage.”

“Joel?”

“What’s that, hon?” he asks quietly.

“I’m not, fuck, right there,” you breathe, “M’not learning a whole lot. Need some more pointers.”

“Always workin’ an angle,” he retorts, “But I don’t have nothin’ else to tell ya.” Joel massages you quietly for a couple more minutes, generously giving you more massaging than he anticipated. But he likes it, likes knowing you’re feeling good. The soft noises you’re making, how smooth your skin feels. He loves watching the candlelight dance across your skin while he runs his palms up and down your hips, your sides, pouring over your curves. You’re lost in the sensation for a few moments longer before Joel taps your hip, “Alright, time’s up.”

“No, Joel, come on,” you whine, “Not yet, don’t stop now.”

“Move it,” he says, tapping your hip harder, “S’my turn. My back hurts, not yours. You said so yourself.”

You whine again, “Please? Just a little longer.”

“Mmm, nope. Let this be a lesson to ya, don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.” Joel leaves to go to his bathroom then, turns on the hot water in his sink and returns with a warm rag. He gently scrubs your back, removing the excess oil.

Finally, you sit up in defeat. “Give me that,” you grumble, reaching for the rag. You take it to the bathroom and rinse it out for Joel as he begins undressing. When you return, Joel is shirtless face down in his bed, a blanket draped over his ass, just like how he had you.

“Alright hon, I’m ready. Show me whatcha got.”

Standing next to him, you step a little closer to the bed and survey Joel. He’s on his tummy facing you, his eyes shut gently. He looks gorgeous like this, his hair messy, his shoulders thick and broad. You trace the curve of his back with your eyes, curious when you look at his ass. So plump under that blanket. Reaching forward, you lift the blanket.

“What’re ya doin’,” Joel asks in an annoyed tone.

“I’m just…”, you trail off, admiring the swell of his ass cheeks. Joel doesn’t seem to mind when you touch his bum, squeezing the flesh gently and watching it move beneath your fingertips.

“You’re snoopin’,” he answers his own question for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You look at Joel again, and he’s still got his eyes shut. A small smile on his face that you know wouldn’t be there if he knew you were looking at his face.

“Why don’t you snoop a little higher, dirty bird.”

“Okay,” you murmur, draping the blanket over his ass. “Can you remind me of step one again?”

“Ah, someone wasn’t payin’ attention,” he teases, “Sure. Ya gotta ask me where it hurts.”

“Where’s it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

You sigh, “Thanks, Joel. That’s helpful.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to give my neck and shoulders a little extra lovin’, though.” You nod, then reach for his shoulders. “Nuh uh,” he tuts, “Oil first.” You reach for the oil and hover it over Joel’s body. “Easy does it. Little goes a long–”, but Joel is interrupted when he feels a large splash of oil on his back, dripping over his sides and onto his sheets. Definitely gonna stain.

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, “My bad.”

“God bless it,” Joel grumbles, “S’alright. Get the rag and clean me up a little.”

Doing as you’re told, you get the rag from the bathroom and wipe away the oil you don’t need. Then you spread the oil on Joel’s back, using your palms to drag it from the area just above his ass cheeks to his wide shoulders. Joel hums in satisfaction. You lean over him to begin massaging his body, but you’re finding it uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I straddle you again?” you ask, “To reach your back easier.”

“Go for it.”

You hold onto Joel’s shoulders for stability as you straddle yourself over him, sitting on his ass and settling your knees at his sides. This way, you have much more mobility. You place your palms at his lower back, thumbs on either side of his spine and press into him hard, then work your hands up his body. He sighs softly. “How’s that?”, you ask.

“Jury’s still out,” he replies, “Do that again, little harder this time.” When you do, Joel sighs deeper, “S’it. Much better.”

You repeat the general motion, but vary your movements. Sometimes letting your hands explore his sides, making big and small circles, large sweeping motions. Joel groans when you walk your thumbs up his spine. “Yeah, very nice,” he praises.

Once at his upper back, you focus pressure on his shoulders and neck. You curl your fingers inward and use your knuckles for added pressure. “Little more,” he tells you. You press harder, but his muscles are so tight. “Harder,” he says, “C’mon, use some elbow grease.”

“I’m gonna hurt you, Joel,” you argue.

“You ain’t gonna hurt me,” he says. “In fact, I want you to try.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, hon. Hard as you can. Like you’re tryna squeeze the life outta me.”

Shaking your head, you try it. You squeeze his traps, digging your thumbs into his flesh as hard as you can. You watch his skin turn white under your fingertips.

“Fuck,” he moans, “There it is. Good girl, doin’ such a good job.”

Oh dear lord. His words go straight to your pussy. You continue to work his neck and shoulders, listening to Joel breathe and sigh, moan and groan. You admire his back, his freckles and moles and stretch marks here and there. “Good girl,” he praises you again. He whispers it over and over and over. Good girl.

He’s making all sorts of sinful noises, cursing all kinds of obscenities, and you’re falling to pieces just listening to him, feeling his hot skin. You picture his face, contorted in pleasure.

You feel warm, your core beginning to ache. You didn’t quite expect to get so worked up over this. As you lean forward over Joel to massage him, you tilt your hips into his back, pressing yourself against him for some sort of relief. Maybe repeating the motion once or twice.

“I can feel that,” he says.

“Feel what?”

“You. Drippin’. Rockin’ those hips on me. You’re makin’ a mess all over me, dirty bird.”

Your cheeks heat up and you’re feeling a little bashful at the accusation.

“Ya gotta finish my massage before we take care of that, hm?”

“Yeah,” you agree. Not like you have much left to do anyway. You’ve been massaging him for half an hour at this point, paid special attention to each area of his back. After massaging him for a few minutes longer, you tap his shoulder blade to let him know you’re done. Joel lifts himself up and begins to twist over, so you lift up to your knees to make room. “Wait, Joel, your sheets–”

“You ruined ‘em already.” He’s right. Oh well.

Once he’s settled, you sit down on his lap. His cock is half hard already. You reach for it, and he swats your hand away. You balk in confusion. “Ya ain’t done yet,” he tells you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Massage tax,” he says plainly, as if somehow you should have known that’s a thing and you roll your eyes, “It’s the law.”

“That is not a law.”

“Is now,” he says, taking his cock into his hand. You watch him work himself, swiping his thumb over the blushed tip a couple of times before holding it tightly, restricting your access.

“Joel,” you whine, “This isn’t– come on, man.”

“I know. I ain’t happy about it either,” he says, though his mischievous smile says differently,

“Government’s just rife with corruption, ain’t it?”

You can’t say you didn’t have this coming. You’ve tormented Joel for months in a myriad of ways. You deserve this.

“I don’t deserve this,” you tell him.

“‘Course not,” he says softly, still holding his member tightly. You try to wriggle his fingers away, but he’s got an iron grip. You sigh in defeat, annoyed. Joel looks all too proud of himself.

“I hate you, Joel.”

“You wound me sweetheart, really. It hurts,” he inhales sharply through his teeth, extending an arm to you, “Hurts almost as much as my arm, you know that? S’been so sore, my hands an’ fingers too.”

Yeah, yeah. You get the picture.

Glaring at him, you watch him shimmy into the pillows and wiggle his arm at you again. You’ve still got some oil on your hands, so you don’t bother with the bottle on his nightstand.

“Start up top,” he instructs you.

You move a little closer, taking his upper arm into your hands. You squeeze the muscles of his biceps and triceps, and as much as this is bothersome, it’s nice too. His muscles are strong, big, and firm. You’ve never really seen them until now. You admire the contours of his arm, the soft lines his muscles make. “And work your way down, down,” he says. And you follow, massaging his forearm. He sighs when you reach his hands, “S’my favorite part,” as you massage his palm, each knuckle of his digits. His hands are worn and calloused.

You drop his hand once you feel like you’ve done enough, “Done.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Hm,” Joel hums before offering you his other arm, holding his cock now with his other hand, “I’ve got an entire arm you haven’t touched yet.” You stare at him with a blank expression. Joel pouts and acknowledges your disappointment by saying, “I know, hon. I’m so sorry.”

You roll your eyes, taking his other arm into your hands. “No, you aren’t.”

“Yeah, I’m not sorry,” he says, “Not one bit.”

And so again, you repeat the motions, first massaging his biceps and triceps. The hand that holds his cock rests between your thighs, and you begin grinding into it. Eyes shut, he raises one brow in amusement at your arousal. You’re soaked.

Finally, he lets himself go. His cock springs free, rock hard with protruding veins, and you inch forward so that it sits between your thighs.

As you massage his forearm now, you rock your hips slightly. Joel surely notices, though he doesn’t mind. You rock yourself quicker, chasing that sweet friction on your clit. Your hands are at his palm now, thumbs urgently rubbing circles into the flesh. You need to be done with this.

“Slow it down,” he tells you, “S’not a race.”

You groan, but slow down anyway. You screw your eyes shut as you massage his palm sloppily, your focus now concentrated on what's happening between your thighs. Your pussy is slick as you roll your hips, grinding against his hard cock. That familiar coil in your gut is back. “Joel,” you cry, “My hands are sore.”

“Now you know how I feel,” he retorts, and you whine impatiently. “Ya never do any hard work in your life. C’mon, you’re almost done,” he taps your ass, “Lift up a little. I like watchin’ you get yourself all worked up on my cock.”

As you work Joel’s hand, you lift yourself, hovering just inches above him. With his free hand, he takes his cock and drags himself through your dripping folds, collecting your slick on his tip. It feels good, your pussy is sensitive. He nudges his head against your clit, back and forth and periodically notches himself at your entrance, playing with you, achingly torturing you. “Joel,” you whine as he teases you, “My thighs are aching, hands too, ca— can’t do this anymore.”

“Sure ya can,” he coos. It feels like you’ve been massaging him for hours, way longer than he massaged you. This isn’t fair in the slightest, even with his back pain.

Truth be told, the hand and arm massage stopped feeling good for Joel a long time ago. You’re aching and tired, and so are your hands, not giving him the proper pressure he needs. But he’s taking advantage of this opportunity to tease you, drive you insane. He feels it’s warranted.

And then finally, finally, he pulls his hand away from you. You’re done.

You flop next to Joel and take his hand back in yours, guiding his fingers to your center. “Please,” you beg him, “Touch me. Do something.”

Joel clicks his tongue, “No can do.”

“What?”

“Yeah, think I just wanna rest now.” You stare at Joel, confused. He shrugs, “And I’m just parched. Need some water. And I’d go and get it, but I don’t want ya to yell at me again. I’m supposed to be resting, like you said.”

“You want me to get you water,” you confirm, annoyed.

“And some ice, too,” he adds.

Joel watches with a smirk on his face as you shove his hand away from your thigh and huff, then stomp out of his bedroom and all the way downstairs. After Joel hears the sound of running water and the slamming of cabinets, you return moments later with a glass of water and some ice wrapped in a towel. You mumble, “You can shove this ice right up–”

“Right up my ass, got it,” Joel takes the ice in one hand and the glass of water in his other. Joel drinks a sip of the water, then makes a disgusted face, “You gave me warm water? What is wrong with you?”

“You didn’t specify the temperature.”

Joel rolls his eyes and sets both the ice and the water on his nightstand. “Fuckin’ psycho,” he mumbles. Even when he thinks he’s one step ahead of you in the never-ending quest to piss one another off, he’s not. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

You smile, “Thanks.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, admiring the mischievous grin on your face and that look in your eye. And then faster than you can blink, he takes your arm in his hand and pulls you back into bed as you giggle. You hear him laughing too, and then he’s situating himself above you. Hovering over you with one arm by your head, he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks on them before bringing his hand between your thighs.

You breathe a sigh of relief. You’re so sensitive and he’s finally fucking touching you, fingertips dragging through your slick folds, circling your clit before dipping one, then two fingers inside you. He finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing tight circles into you. “Quit teasing,” you plead.

Joel laughs breathlessly above you, “M’not teasin’—”

“More,” you interrupt him, “I need more.”

“You got it,” he says, then inserts a third finger. He curls them repeatedly inside you, your pussy gushing and soaking his fingers, making all sorts of wet, sticky noises.

But it’s still not enough. You’re so fucking needy, so ready for Joel to just fuck you. You push his hand away and reach for his cock, wrapping your legs around him and using your feet on his ass to push him down closer to you.

“Ah, fuck,” Joel hisses when he feels your hand touch his member, “Hey, easy, sweetheart. Let’s slow it down.”

“Slow it down my ass,” you argue, “I want you now, Joel.”

“Now?”

“Need you now,” you repeat, tilting your hips and bouncing your heels on his ass, “Now, now, now, now–”

Joel smiles at your desperation, at the way he’s managed to torture you. “Didn’t quite catch that, bad hearing and all that. You want me to fuck you when exactly?”, you cry in pure agony and Joel says, “Gotta mark my calendar, set my alarm clock...”

Your groans of frustration quickly turn into a soft sigh of pleasure as Joel takes you by surprise, pushing his cock inside you deeply, inch by inch, in one fluid motion. The stretch feels incredible and you’re so perfectly full of him. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close with one of your hands resting on his shoulder and the other tangled in the soft curls on his head.

“Been needin’ this, huh?”, Joel asks as he settles inside you, letting you adjust to the stretch.

You nod, your cheek brushing against his scratchy, salt and pepper facial hair. “You’re such an asshole,” you whisper, “You make me so mad.”

“Ditto, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he kisses your cheek. That’s become a regular thing, now. Always kissing your forehead, your cheeks. It always makes you blush. Joel pulls out of you nearly all the way before pushing back in. Over and over, building to a steady pace, and he makes soft grunts as he fucks you.

You love how he cages you in, surrounds you, the low light of the candles dancing on his face as he fucks you passionately. And he’s watching you, big brown eyes full of something you can’t quite read. He pulls your hand from his hair and pins it next to your head, his fingers interlaced with your own. It’s sweet and it’s intimate, almost too intimate.

You can’t take this right now. Can’t deal with the way it feels, to be treated so specially by Joel.

You untangle your fingers from his, and he watches you with a confused expression on his face. Reaching low, you slap his ass, “C’mon, fuck me harder. Use some elbow grease,” you mock his words from earlier, “Or does your old ass back hurt too much?”

Joel stills and stares at you. You stare back, challenging him. “Why are you bein’ like this?” he asks, “Do y’always have to instigate?”

“Think I just heard your hip crack, too,” you tease, but it gets no reaction from Joel.

“Quit while you’re ahead,” he warns, then composes himself before speaking again, “Have some faith. You trust me?”

There’s something different about the way he’s looking at you, watching you. You’re apprehensive, but you nod anyway.

“I said, we’re gonna slow it down this time,” he whispers, “Gonna go nice and slow.”

Joel pulls out of you then, and you groan in disappointment. He silences your displeasure with a quiet shhhh, then moves lower down your body. He runs his hands over your tummy, up your sides, tracing each and every curve. Kisses one hip bone, “I know I was teasin’ ya,” he says, “And I really put ya to work with that massage. That you offered t’do, mind you,” he adds as he kisses your other hip bone, “Really didn’t think that you were gonna get me ice and a glass of water. Wasn’t surprised when you told me to shove it up my ass, but I wasn’t expectin’ to drink warm water. Was a nice touch, trouble.”

You begin to speak, but you stammer, struggling to find the right words. You squirm under his touch. He’s being so gentle, so sweet that he’s got you all flustered now.

“Yeah, I know, sweet girl,” Joel mumbles against your skin. Pressing soft and wet kisses on your body, his fingers leisurely dragging through your dripping folds as he looks up at you, “I want you to know that I appreciate you. I appreciate all the ass backward things you do for me. I really do.”

“Joel, I–fuck,”, you moan. He’s pumping his fingers inside you again, now licking and kissing your nipples, swirling his tongue over the soft skin, worshiping every inch of your body.

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head. Y’still drive me fuckin’ nuts.” You laugh breathlessly, voice caught in your throat as Joel kisses up your neck, up your jaw, your chin, and stopping just before your lips when he hears your breath hitch. He searches your eyes, sensing your apprehension. He knows the weight of the intimacy that kissing your lips holds, especially since it’s been put off so long. He’s gonna kiss you. Just not yet. “Now can we try this again?”

When you whisper a quiet yes, he enters you for a second time, burying himself inside of you. He begins to fuck you again, slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of him, parts of him you don’t usually feel. His quiet breaths on your skin, the thick vein of his cock, his soft tummy, so warm against yours. Usually he fucks you hard, fast. But today, he’s savoring you. You dig your heels into his ass, faster. It has to be faster.

“Don’t fight me on this,” he says, “We can just be nice, pretend you like me and I like you. Just this once. We don’t always have to argue.”

“Joel,” you whine, “Please. I can’t–I want–”

“I know what you want, ya want what we’re used to. But s’not so bad, I promise,” he purrs above you, “Tell me– fuck, tell me how you feel.”

Exposed, but good. Really good. It’s new and unfamiliar, but so fucking good, but it feels like a crime to admit that. “Joel,” is all you can say, “Joel.”

“I know,” he murmurs, rolling his hips against yours, one hand on your waist holding you tight as he fucks you, “Doin’ so good for me.”

You still can’t bring yourself to say anything, don’t know how to respond to him. You’re at a loss for words, feeling him like this. How warm and protected and loved you feel. Your skin is on fire and you can’t help but close your eyes, retreating inward. But as different as this is, you don’t want him to stop, so you hold him tighter, pulling his face down to yours and burying yourself in his neck.

Joel fucks you like that for a while. Just like that, with every thrust being intentional, feeling devastatingly good. You lose yourself in the feeling and Joel seemingly does as well. Words are left unspoken as he savors this moment with you.

Hours could have passed, you wouldn’t know. Joel’s movements are becoming erratic, quicker. “Come with me,” he begs, resting his forearm above your head and moving the other to your center, as he paints tight circles around your clit, “I want you to come with me, sweetheart. Please.”

It’s not long after that when that familiar heat in the pit of your stomach is back, fluttering and intense. “Oh, god,” you moan, “M’close.”

“That’s it, just let yourself go,” he breathes, “With me, now.”

His words are all it takes. Your orgasm washes over you slowly, intensely. It’s powerful, the way lava flows from the earth, setting your skin ablaze. It’s overwhelming as Joel fucks you through it, chasing his own release. He makes broken moans and grunts as he comes with you, painting your insides with his hot seed.

He pants on top of you, catching his breath before pulling out of you, not caring that you’re now dripping his spend onto his bed. He lays next to you, pulling you into his side with your legs tangled between his and your head resting on his shoulder.

You’re crying, quietly. That’s never happened before. Joel feels your tears dripping down his skin, and he looks at you with concern.

“M’fine, Joel, I was just–It was just–”

Joel speaks to you soothingly, “I know, I know,” he whispers, “I’m right here.”

He just holds you like that, his fingertips trailing over your skin in lazy patterns. When he chuckles to himself, you look at him. “What?” you ask.

“Warm water,” he says, amused, “You amaze me.”

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #mall rats!joel #mall rats joel #mall rats

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pearlywritings · 1 month

Text

A slip of the tongue

synopsis: as smart as Alhaitham is, sometimes he blurts out things without thinking twice. It's good, however, that your husband knows when an apology is due, even though it doesn't mean you (and your friend) won't come up with something to pay him back with~

pairing and characters: Alhaitham x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), little hurt/instant comfort, a bit suggestive, Kaveh is lowkey couple's marriage counselor

word count: 3.7k+ words

a/n: wow, finally releasing this one out of the basement!

Your cheek starts hurting from how long the knuckles of your fist have been digging into it. Fingertips drum on your knee, as legs stay crossed and stare fixed on the figure before you, sitting on the chair across the table and not taking the eyes off of the book pages. The most infuriating part of it? The figure is talking.

"...and so you should be prepared for Rajkumar's endless questions. He might not have any relation to Haravatat or languages at all, but he has a bone to pick with me, so being my wife puts you in a position to attack. And you know how annoying it is to converse with an idiot."

Yeah, probably as much as hearing what you are already aware of. You love your husband, you truly do, but sometimes the urge to smack the back of his head and tell him to shut up is too tempting.

All you said was that you were a little nervous and mentioned that tomorrow is indeed one of the most important days for you. After all, you are going to defend your second thesis, one you spent years to complete and pass all sorts of verification, reviews and censorship. Having the Scribe as your husband had both its perks and drawbacks in the process - he could easily push your work forward to the necessary people in charge of all the mentioned above stages of approbation, but then the fact he was your spouse put a label on you for those who were aware, and it said “Needs to be examined more thoroughly”. Though come to think of it, it’s pretty illogical.

Fortunately you never had troubles with that - after all your brain was in place, and both topics of your first and now current papers were innovative. Moreso, many of your Haravatat professors agree on your academic success and some of them expressed their hope to see you in the role of their colleague in the future.

But it’s for the future. First you need to become the Dastur, and for that you need to defend your thesis in the present. You have absolutely everything ready, no one knows your topic better than you are (maybe only Alhaitham can come close, since he read and reread it multiple times, helping with editing and providing impartial perspective), and years at the Akademyia taught you how to withstand the piercing eyes and prickling words of the jury. You will be fine.

Or you thought so, before just one phrase of yours started this whole exchange that is now happening in your kitchen.

“...and remember the part in the third chapter we discussed with you. This will be the one they’ll claw at, since it’s a turning point in a whole theory and I heard some of them already criticizing it,” the male hums, turning another page, eyes scanning the words written on a yellowed from time piece of paper. This seems the last comment of his, as he falls silent, reaching for the cup of coffee you’ve made him - in the process of which you were short-sighted to voice your concern.

When a minute passes and you do not answer anyhow to any of the valuable advice he’s just given you, Alhaitham lowers his book and stares at you. You keep drumming your fingers on your knee, eyes boring into him and almost unblinking, and it’s not hard for such an observant man to notice a barely-veiled displeasure in your tired eyes and a scowl.

"You know you could've just said you are worried about tomorrow too, and leave it at that?"

Alhaitham blinks, hand frozen in the middle of lowering the mug back on the table. He is holding your gaze and you can practically see the thoughts running through his mind, he is clearly contemplating how to answer your bold statement.

“Why would I be worried?” He finally answers with a question on your own, putting the mug on the flat surface. “It’s just a thesis defense, and if you get rid of your nervousness you’ll see that you already have the Dastur title in your pocket. Tomorrow is just a formality for you.”

“So you are not coming to watch me tomorrow?” Your scowl and frown deepens, fingers stopping abusing your knee and curling in a fist instead. Your husband sighs, marking the page with a bookmark you’ve made for him and closing the volume he’s been on for the past week. Then his captivating eyes are back on you.

“Scribe isn’t required to attend. Besides-”

“Yeah, yeah, you know my work enough to not hear anything new in my presentation,” you interrupt him and he can clearly hear rising anger in your voice that wasn’t there before. It actually manages to shut him up. “As my husband, as my support, are you going to come?”

The man feels a twinge of guilt in his heart. He always prided himself of his intelligence and attentiveness, yet just now he failed to assume what exactly you expected of his presence. Of course he’d want to give you a peace of mind by being there, but it seems he is too used to uttering the same phrase every single time someone asks him to come, that it was out faster than he had a moment to think it over properly.

He sees a bit too late how your face drops when he doesn’t give you an answer immediately - it looks like his pause appeared to be hesitance to you. He slightly panics when you lower your gaze and move to uncross your legs to stand up, having an almost iron grip on the back of the chair.

“Wait- Dear, I will come,” at that your eyes flicker at him, with doubt on display in your beautiful orbs. “I promise, I’ll be there.”

“I thought you didn’t like to be around idiots the whole day,” you huff, crossing your arms, reminding him of how unflattering his words towards some of his colleagues were. You do not mean to act childish, but tomorrow is really important to you, and obviously you’d want to have your husband be there to share it with you.

Alhaitham puts the book aside and stands up as well, rounding the table and coming closer to you. His fingers deftly touch your elbow, and you will yourself not to jerk it, some annoyance still bubbling in your system.

“That is correct. However, you are not one of them,” he murmurs, caressing your arm. You huff again, but this time your posture is more relaxed. “Besides, all you need is to be confident, and if my presence can assure you that, then I’ll be more than happy to be there for you.”

You give him a long stare. Your drilling eyes to his bewitching ones, searching for the truth in the greenish depths, while he stands still, waiting patiently, expecting your verdict silently. It’s as your frown softens, he knows you’ve found what you’ve been looking for in this kind of staring contest.

“Maybe just as quick you are switching from fuming to forgiving,” his palms are warm as they slide up your arms, featherly resting on your shoulders. Your smile widens a little and you meet him in the middle when he leans to press his forehead to yours.

“Oh Archons, Alhaitham…” You shake your head with a small smile and the man feels relief washing over him. You are no longer mad at him. At least, it seems so. That is definitely good. “We’ve been married for years and it still surprises me how you can be a jerk - affectionately - one moment, and a completely sweet guy another.”

“Yeah, yeah… But to your credit you were quick to fix your attitude, and as long as it’s sincere, I am grateful.”

Or rather realizing when an apology is due.

“It is sincere,” he says with emphasis. “You know I am not the one to change my mind lightly.

You hum, content with his answer. Yet, a mischievous glint finds its place in your eyes.

“Even though you are forgiven, I am still complaining to Kaveh about the mean and heartless husband of mine.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be glaring at you murderously. Much.”

“Of course you are,” he rolls his eyes, but you know it’s playful. He knows it too, and the shift in the mood is apparent, and he is thankful for its course to the positive destination. “I guess it’s deserved.”

Alhaitham only sighs at your giggles. He could care less of what the blond architect would say about him, so he’ll survive some annoyed buzzing from the senior, and if the little exchange which is about to occur makes you happy - he doesn’t mind. Plus it will be good for you to take your mind off of tomorrow.

“I’ll trust you on that,” he finally says, slowly leaning back. You smile, patting the back of his hand still resting on your shoulder in reassurance. With a promise to collect you from your ‘girlish talk’ (you swat his shoulder at that) in a couple of hours, your husband helps you to make a new pot of tea. It’s quite ironic that this one is gonna be emptied while he’s the main focus of the conversation.

Minutes later, when you leave the kitchen with a tray, Alhaitham can faintly hear the knocks on the other end of the house, and the door opening not a minute later, the voice of the man you two have been housing for months coming clear and concerned. Kaveh remained your friend even when he and Alhaitham got in a horrible fight over their beliefs and you were partially the reason why the Haravatat graduate was convinced to let the blonde stay. Though loud, flamboyant and snarky, there is some perks of having him around - even if the architect always complains how he didn’t sign up to be a marriage counselor, he’s never let you or your husband be in a conflict for long (fortunately it happened really rarely), being your shoulder to tear up on or begrudgingly becoming an ear to be talked of by the other man and the foot that would kick Alhaitham into action or the hand that would gently nudge you in the right direction.

Or, just like tonight, simply be ‘your girl’ to chat with.

Alhaitham, as promised, lets you be for a couple of hours, meanwhile busying himself with his book. To outsiders this scene may appear weird and paint the Scribe in an awful light as a husband - but it is just like that with this man. And the strange dynamic the three of you have while staying under one roof: a wife, a husband and their… loquacious canary-like-therapist.

Only when it’s close to the time you usually go to sleep, does he also end up before the door of Kaveh’s temporary room, and firmly knocks three times.

“What?” Unsurprisingly it's the blonde’s voice, and by the tone of it he is pissed. The ash-haired male chooses to ignore him.

“Darling, let’s go to bed,” he calls for you softly.

Alhaitham hears shuffling and muffled curses the architect surely prepared for him and some short, but incomprehensible conversation happening between you two. Not a moment later though, the door opens revealing your face, and your husband can’t help but feel extra weight lifted off his shoulders. No line reappeared between your eyebrows, no pout and no distress is written on your face. Quite the contrary, when your eyes meet, you give him the same warm smile you graced him with back in the kitchen.

“Sure, let’s go. It’s quite late already and we need to wake up early tomorrow,” you hum, exiting the room. Through the gap Alhaitham spots Kaveh sitting over some blueprints with two mugs on the table and a chair placed on the opposite side of the fine piece of furniture. When the architect lifts his eyes to glare at him, the Scribe slams the door closed. To your bedroom you returned with arms linked.

The silence of your shared space is comforting and is only disturbed by your light steps and rustle of changed clothes. The Scribe glances at you every two minutes, still a tiny bit concerned about that animatic exchange you had back in the kitchen.

“You know I will come, right?” The man suddenly asks you, as you’re fluffing the pillows. Your eyes slightly widen for a brief moment, so quickly that he almost misses it, but then they soften again as you chuckle.

“Yes, I know, dear. Sorry I reacted the way I did initially. It seems I really was pent up after all.”

“I could tell. You looked like you could bite my head o- ow!” He gasps when you throw your pillow into his face, which he catches at the last second.

“Oh, shut it, or I might get mad again,” but there is no anger in your eyes, only hardly veiled mischief. He drops your weapon of choice back onto bed and raises his hands in defense.

“Okay, okay, point taken. Any way I can make it up to you?”

At that your eyes strangely glint, and the scholar can’t place his finger on what exactly feels off about it. But it does.

“Actually you can. I’d like you to wake me up when you do, and let me use the shower first.”

And that’s it? Well, odd, but not disturbingly odd. Surely you wouldn’t go as far as to play some pranks on him by mixing something in his shampoo - you are way too intelligent for that. Also not one for revenge.

“Of course. I will wake you when I do so myself, and let you use the bathroom first.”

Even if the mornings are not Alhaitham’s forte, he still opens his eyes disgustingly early, so sleeping for a bit more while you are at your morning routine sounds nice. Not as nice as doing it with you in his arms, but still quite nice.

“Thank you, dear. Now, if you are going to read-”

“Not tonight. You need sleep,” to that you smile warmly, crawling under the blankets, which he is quick to follow. You do not deny his embrace, and willingly scoot closer, extending an arm to put around his waist, as he does the same. Nor you turn away from a kiss he places on your forehead, pecking his chin in response.

“Good night, Alhaitham.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

True to his word, your husband pulls you out of the dreamland just moments later after exiting it himself. Cerulean eyes drink in your sleepy face contorting in displeasure, arms reaching over your head, and body arching in a morning stretch. He can’t help himself, leaning close and pressing a kiss just above the hem of your chemise, relishing the feeling of your heart thumping against his lips. You yawn, reaching a hand into his hair, but your breath hitches, when his mouth is suddenly on your throat, peppering it with soft pecks.

“Mmm… If you are trying to make up for yesterday you are a bit late,” your groggy voice is so adorable to the man. With you he tends to forget how to rationalize things. Yesterday was one of the times when his ‘Alhaitham for anyone else but his wife’ slipped into his interaction with you, the behavior he’s been trying for years to suppress when it comes to you. Now he knows he should’ve acted differently, and regrets his unique way of trying to give you reassurance. If only he-

“Are you overthinking again?”

Your question makes him emerge back to reality. Eyes meet, and his heart skips a beat when you smile at him. Archons, you are beautiful.

“You know I am joking? Yesterday was yesterday, and you are already making it up to me, right?”

Words can’t describe how much he loves you, and at this moment he feels like he’ll never be able to express it fully.

“Right. Shower is all yours. Also,” he leans in again, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “good morning.”

Your smile gets wider and you wrap your arms around his frame to kiss his cheek.

“Morning, Haitham.”

With you gone to the shower, the man buries himself in your pillow, inhaling the lingering scent. Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. Your husband is intelligent enough to evaluate his own deeds and behavior, so he knows he is far from perfect to be someone’s partner. Yet, here you are, loving and accepting all his flaws - not without some complaint, but you are trying.

He might come off as arrogant to some people, but in arguments with you, he can tell when it’s his fault and not blame you for giving him a cold shoulder and requesting some space. He might look like he doesn’t care, but he cares for you, for your well-being, for your likes and dislikes, for your opinion, carefully storing all this valuable information in his brain, to show how much you mean to him. He is aware he has a long road ahead of him to get rid of all of his annoying conversing habits, but he is willing to keep trying for you. He seems to not show gratitude to anyone, but he is so grateful that you remain by his side, going as far as telling him you are proud to be his wife.

He wants you to know that it’s mutual.

That being said, Alhaitham is a smart man, but when he himself exits the bathroom after his shower time, his brain is reduced to just one thought.

You are absolutely gorgeous.

His gaze is chained to your pretty fingers, rolling the long, dark green stocking up your left leg. His throat bobs, when the elastic hem of it snaps against your skin, squeezing the flesh of your thigh a little. Then you take the second one, elegantly lifting the other leg and repeating the taunting process, but this time he is here to watch it from the beginning to the very end.

You happily hum, observing your work, and, satisfied, get on your feet, adjusting the band of your panties a little. Archons, you are wearing a matching set of the richest green shade. Lace leaves little to imagination, as his eyes flicker up to your chest, noting the pretty, natural swell of it and the outline of your nipples, and then down, as you turn around and bend to grab the shirt from the bed, demonstrating to him your ass and thighs.

His hand almost reaches out to touch you, to get a hold of the round globe, to sink his lithe fingers in your flesh. After all, your husband is not above earthly pleasures.

But your voice snaps him out of it.

"My love, if you keep standing like this in the middle of the room with just a towel on and no intention to dress, you might be late for breakfast," you chide him not even turning around and throw on the shirt, hiding the bra and some of the lower half, yet still leaving a bit of an appetizing view for an eye.

Alhaitham wills himself to tear the almost burning gaze away from you and redirect it to his own clothes, already prepared and neatly hanging on a chair. You mischievously smile as he takes a step to move past your figure. He's kept alarmingly silent and you are dying to know what reaction he has for your little plan.

The man has just a second to react when you abruptly turn around and stumble into him. Big palms instantly grab your hips to steady you against his chest, and the heart quickens at the feeling of soft lace under his fingertips, peeking from beneath the hem of the shirt he accidentally crumpled in the process. Your hands on his chest are so warm, put out just in time to catch yourself, and Alhaitham finds himself thinking of how would've it felt if your chests collided - maybe the thin material of the only layer of clothes you have on paired with some flimsy bra would not make any difference from direct skin to skin contact?

"Ah, sorry, 'haithy," you sheepishly smile up at him, eyes soft and staring innocently, "Are you alright? I haven't heard you speak ever since you left for the shower…"

Archons, please, don't let his voice betray him.

"I'm," he quickly clears his throat, "alright. Was just about to start dressing."

You hum, pushing onto his pectorals to move away and continue with your own - though slightly changed - routine, but strong fingers flex, keeping you in place by the sheer hold on your hips. You look at him inquiringly, ignoring how the very tips of his thumbs just barely slip under the thin material of your panties to caress your hip bones. It's almost an absentminded action.

"What's with this lingerie?" He finally drops the question swirling on his tongue ever since he first laid his eyes on the tantalizing sight. It's hard to hold back a smirk - you admit you were a bit doubtful if it'd actually grab your husband's attention. Who knew the stoic man was into it…

"Oh, this?" Nonchalantly you tug on the collar of your shirt and Alhaitham sharply inhales upon catching a glimpse of your barely covered breast again. "Do not worry, habibi, it is not to seduce you," he is not that sure about it.

Taking his hands in yours, you pry them off of your body and put them back to his sides, gracing his waist just above the towel with your touch. He shivers.

"I know it's different from what I usually wear, especially to work," you admit, turning around again, to grab the robes of the Akademyia's scholar. "But I really-really loved this one I purchased a couple of weeks ago on that outing with the girls. I feel so beautiful in it," fuck, you are. "And today is a special day. Want to have some confidence, you know?"

And as the rest of your body disappears under the long article of clothing, Alhaitham is finally aware of what this whole thing is about.

It's going to be an agonizingly endless day, where the only thing he can do is watch.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x fem!reader #alhaitham #genshin impact fluff

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kiibichio · 1 month

Text

SAY IT ✩ C. STURNIOLO

OVERVIEW ;; last time you and your boyfriend, chris, had sex, his brothers heard you, you two played it off and managed not to get caught. but ever since, you’ve been insecure about your volume.. so you try to hide your noises, but chris fixes that.

CONTAINS ;; dom ! chris, sub ! reader, no use of y/n, begging kink (?), hella praise

mora speaks ;; so i was listening to say it by tory lanez and i thought abt this fic . then it left my mind 😭 THEN i saw an EDIT OF CHRIS to the song and i knew i just had to get this done. SO HERE WE AREE !! ENJOY 🙏🏾 (btw we jump straight into the story so buckle up)

date published ;; 3.20.24

not proofread

——————————————————————————————

4:11 pm

chris slams his lips onto mine while grabbing my hips and positioning me so im straddling him.

“god, baby..” he mumbles onto my mouth, “ive been waiting to do this since you got here..”

i came over to my boyfriend, chris’, house to visit my him and my friends (nick and matt). although they left about 20 minutes after i got here. claiming they were ‘getting food’ but they would probably be a while considering they never come straight back home. chris immediately took his chance and dragged me downstairs to his room eagerly. as soon as he got in he began taking his hoodie off and throwing on the floor, followed by mine. which brings us here.

after a good 5 minutes of making out, chris stops. he realizes he hadn’t gotten a sound out of me at all, which is odd because im usually the most vocal out of us two. this whole time it’s been ‘so good baby’ and ‘i missed you so much’ combined with small whimpers and quiet groans from chris. but none from me.

“hey, you’re real quiet. something wrong, ma? is it me?” he genuinely looks at me.

i sigh. there was something wrong.

“no, no! chris, baby, you did nothing wrong. you’re doing great. it’s just..”

“you can tell me. im here to listen and i won’t judge.” chris reassures me as he rubs my shoulder

“well.. it’s just- ever since that one time last week. you know, when matt and nick heard us?”

he nods, making eye contact with me.

“ive been thinking im too loud and extra… so im trying to change that. i don’t want to be an inconvenience to everyone else.”

which was true because who wants to hear me and chris fuck everytime we do. that’s also embarrassing to deal with. getting weird looks from your friends because of something that you’re were supposed to keep private, but couldn’t because of your volume? crazy.

he stares at me for a moment. did i say something wrong? then he chuckles.

“hey! what are you laughing for? i thought you said you wouldn’t judge.” i huff, pouting my lips and crossing my arms.

he throws his head back and continues to laugh, “baby.. are you serious? matt and nick aren’t even here right now.”

i look away from him, arms still crossed.

“hey. look at me, ma.” chris grabs hold of my chin and moves it, forcing me to make direct eye contact with him, “i do not care if my brothers hear us. i swear. i want everyone to know that you’re mine and im yours. i need to hear you say it. make all the noise you want, baby.”

“are you sure, chris?” i ask hesitantly

“100% positive”

he doesn’t let me respond again and immediately starts kissing me. he moves his hands up and down my body slowly, his left hand going to my ass and the right one moving to unclasps my bra under my shirt. he breaks away and his mouth travels towards my neck and chest area.

“mmh.. chris..” i whine.

“there’s my girl, keep those same pretty noises up for me while im inside of you.” he smirks against my collarbone.

he flips us over as to where im laying down on my back and he’s hovering over me. he starts moving his face downwards, leaving a trail of kisses on my stomach behind him. he hurriedly takes my pants and underwear off with one pull.

“ready, ma?” he breathes against my heat

“mhm..” i whimper

“louder, i can’t hear you.” he says teasingly

“yes, chris, please just touch me” i say, starting to beg, which i know he likes.

“whatever you say, princess.” he gives a sly grin before completely going down on me, eating as if this is his last meal.

“ohhh… fuckkkkk, just like that chris. keep going baby.” i moan loudly

chris smirks against me. hearing my noises is just turning him on even more. this makes him move his mouth faster. he loudly slurps and licks on me, trying to get more noises out of me as he lets his own out himself. my legs start to wriggle and close a bit, trying to get more pleasure. chris takes notice of this and holds them open and still with his left hand, his right being occupied with my clit, which he was toying with at a rapid pace.

“mmh.. taste s’good, baby. s’good.” he moans, face deep in my pussy, moving and hitting all the right places. he starts to quickly motion his tongue in and out of me. hands still on my clit and legs, holding them open.

“mghh.. yes, chris right there!” i yell out as my legs start shaking “b-baby, im about to-”

“do it. cum all over my face ma.” he mumurs

with one final flick of my clit, i burst and my juices start rolling onto chris’s mouth. he happily laps all of it up.

chris lifts himself up to give me a slow, heated kiss, making me taste myself on his tongue.

“you’re so good, princess. lets see if you can be even louder.” he smirks, winking at me.

he pulls his sweatpants down, his boxers following after. he gives himself a few pumps, spreading the precum all over his dick. chris looks up at me.

“ready, baby?” he asks, sweetly, lining himself up with me.

“yes, chris.. please” i whimper

he gives a small, silent chuckle at my begging before pushing himself all the way in me. he gives me a few seconds to adjust before slamming in and out of me.

“ohhh! oh my g-god…” i moan out

“yea, baby. say it. who’s making you feel like this?” he asks, relentlessly pounding into me

“you! fuckkkkk.. you chris. only y-you baby mmm..” i yell

all that’s heard now is the sound of squelching, coming from the spot where me and chris connect, moans, groans, whimpers and whines from the both of us, and skin slapping. a few moments later, he speeds up, now rapidly thrusting against me.

“chris! oh. shit shit shit shit. b-baby im close!” i warn, my legs starting to shake and my body starting to tremble under him.

“c’mon, baby. let it all out on me.” i can tell he’s close to by the way he tightens his grip on my waist and his thrusts get faster and sloppier.

“fill me up, baby. p-please.” i request.

that sentence alone makes him cum right there. and im close behind him, letting out a pornographic moan as i let my liquids out. chris’ thrusts slow down as he lets both of us ride out our high.

he pulls out and falls beside me as we take a few moments to breathe.

“that was great, baby.” he smiles at me, turning on his side so he can look at me.

“yea, you did amazing” i reply, giving him a smile as well

“im gonna go get a towel to clean us up.” he lifts himself up and makes his way to the bathroom. he returns with a damp towel and wipes me down. after that, we both get up to get dressed and make our way back to the living room. we put on a movie and wait for matt and nick to get back.

“ma.” chris looks at me.

“yes, baby?”

“do me a favor and don’t ever hide those pretty sounds from me again.” he says

“you got it baby” i laugh as i pull him and give him a soft kiss.

——————————————————————————————

mora speaks (again) ;; lmk if you guys enjoyed this oneee. i really liked writing because this is my first chris smut ‼️ ALSO MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN SO REQUEST AWAYYY. (might take me some time to do them but i will get to them !!) TOODLES <3

tag list ;; @sturniolos-blog @mayhem-72 @hearts4chris 🍵

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ddejavvu · 4 months

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Omg! I saw that fic you wrote based on friends tv series and i love it! Its so freaking cute!! Reading that fic remind me of another scene of friends tv series if you dont mind writing it?

Where chandler is having a bath and everyone just comes in at one point and start having conversations in the bathroom.

Maybe reader is like the therapist of the group and everyone wants her opinion on smtg and while reader is taking a bath, one by one just starting to enter and start having conversations with her and the rest until one of marauders (reader’s bf) start shooing everyone out so reader could have a peaceful bath?

i changed this a teeny bit, i'm sorry! but i've never seen friends so i think that's okay

"Y/N," Sirius is the first to interrupt your warm bath with James, meant to soothe his sore muscles after Quidditch practice, and lull you to sleep against his chest. Thankfully, James has poured a liberal amount of strawberry bubble bath into the water, so there's foam up to your necks.

"What's'a matter, Pads?" James answers for you while you try clearing the almost-sleep from your brain, but the man scoffs at him.

"Prongs, no offence, but I need help with makeup. And you're the last person in this castle I'd come to for that."

Before James can make an affronted retort, you pipe up, smoothing a soothing hand on James's thigh beneath the bubbles, "What do you need, Sirius?"

"Black or blue liner?" He shows off his outfit, then the two eyeliner pens in his hand.

"Black," You decide with a wrinkled nose, "Blue doesn't match your earrings."

"Thanks," Sirius grins, tossing the blue pen onto the counter and leaving with the black one, "Oh-! Sorry, Rem, go ahead."

Just when you'd been about to settle back against James's chest, Remus steps in, clearly having run into Sirius on the way out. James groans, but Remus incurs less of his wrath than Sirius often does, the price of becoming siblings as well as brothers.

"I left The Nightingale on your bed," Remus informs you, "Can I take Falling Leaves?"

"The smaller one," You nod, "Not the special edition. Sorry, Rem, I know you're careful, but I can't afford a chocolate stain on it."

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but he'll respect your wishes. After all, he's careful in lending out special editions of his books, too.

"Thanks, Y/N!"

"Remus," James calls at the retreating form of his friend, "Do me a favor: close the door behind you!"

Remus does so, and James hooks an arm around your waist beneath the suds. It's warm and slightly pruned, and you sink into it gladly, reclining once more against his bare chest.

"Now that that's over," He gripes, his hand travelling below your waist, fingers hooking into the pudge of your thighs, "We could..."

"Don't even think about it," You pinch his thigh, just above the dome of his kneecap, ignoring his yelp in response, "This bath is to fix your sore muscles, not make new ones."

"I'm fine," James insists, burrowing his nose into the nape of your neck where fine droplets of water cling to your wispy hairs, "Please, darling, I swear I can-"

"Y/N?" Lily calls, the sweet tone of her voice matching the strawberry scent heavy in the air, "I know you're bathing, I'm sorry, but it'll only take a moment."

James holds his breath, but you use yours to call, "Come in, Lily," And he releases his in a scoff, fingers finally abandoning your thigh.

"I was just wondering if I could borrow your green sweater," Lily hums, politely avoiding any eye contact with James's muscled shoulders as he drapes his arms over the sides of the bathtub.

"G'head, babe," You smile sweetly at her, "You going to Hogsmeade?"

"The whole dorm is," She nods excitedly, "You wanna join?"

You consider it despite James's hand plunging back into the water and latching tight to your hip. Finally you decide, "No, but I might end up joining you if James can't learn to keep his hands to himself."

"Hey!" He tears his hand away from you once more, spilling water over the side of the tub when he finds purchase against the edge, "If you keep letting people barge in here, we won't be able to do anything anyways."

"Excellent point," You nod thoughtfully, and James's exasperated groan brings a smile to Lily's face that she shares giddily with you, "Lily, if you happen to see Professor McGonagall on your way over, send her in."

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #james potter one shot #james potter one-shot #james potter headcanon #james potter headcanons #james potter hc #james potter hcs #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter dialogue #james potter fluff #james potter x reader fanfiction

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jamskateable · 7 months

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putting this one on this account because its a bit. suggestive.

had a discussion with some friends about v1 being very dirty and stinky and probably needing to be washed. we talked about waxing. i figured gabriel's a bit of a neat freak and v1 doesn't like being cleaned very much, so the angel has to hold them down in order to get them decently spotless.

also fun fact that you (hopefully) didn't notice. the thumb of v1's right hand is on the wrong side. i've fixed it but i'm too lazy to take another picture so they have two left hands. oh well.

why's he half naked? doesn't want blood on the armor, of course

here's some progress shots:

edit: very important addendum

#ultrakill #gabriel ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #art #cw suggestive #gabv1el #trans gabriel #HELL YEAH TRANS GABRIEL LETS GOOOO #love him and his stupid slutty fucking miniskirt #minos prime #sisyphus prime #DON'T LOOK! he's ass!

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zhongrin · 8 months

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“honey, can you… put it in my mouth?”

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, kaveh, pantalone, ayato

◇ tags ◇ minors dni, gn!reader, very suggestive but nothing explicit believe it or not, oral fixation (reader), implied spanking (pantalone)

◇ a/n ◇ ough i finally have the energy to edit this..... why do i feel so tired from just editing send help i need kithes ;w;

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli looks up at you in confusion, before looking at what he is holding. surely you didn’t mean you want to have these bitter coffee grounds in your mouth? he smiles kindly at you and resumes tamping the coffee grounds, the veins on the back of his palms prominent as ever ever against his blackened skin, before locking the portafilter onto the machine and placing two espresso glasses under it.

“dear, as much as you need your coffee, i think we need to process this specific ingredient first before you can fully enjoy the beverage-”

he blinks slowly at you, the hum of the espresso machine the only noise for a moment following your clarification… until the corners of his lips turn upwards in a little smirk, and he chuckles onto his bare fist, the geo lines shining brightly with mirth before reaching out to trace your lips.

“sometimes i wonder if i've spoiled you too much… very well, perhaps after your coffee, you can have a… not-so-little treat. or should i say, treats.”

al haitham’s answer is, as per usual, logical and straightforward.

“absolutely not. this is one of my most prized limited collection books. that would be unhygienic, both for you and the book itself.”

his verdant green eyes lined with orange-hued lines switch focus onto your expression, narrowing upon seeing no remorse in your face. he’s about ready to scold you more when the next words leave your lips, and for a moment he’s distracted by how delectable they look as they spill sinful words and pronounce your chosen nickname for him.

“… you could have clarified that sooner,” he says, still in that monotonous tone, though you can see how his gaze burns hotter now and the visible excitement starting to make itself known. one of his gloved hands beckons you closer and grabs onto your wrist to pull you onto his lap.

“well, what are you waiting for, then?” his book snaps shut and he smirks at you in anticipation, “go on. put it all in your mouth. well… as much as you can, that is.”

kaveh beams and skilfully opens a lychee for you, ignoring the way the juices drip all over his slender fingers, and offers the sweet fruit to you immediately, urging you to taste the deliciousness. when you merely stare at him in amusement, your boyfriend tilts his head, his smile unfaltering as he pushes the fruit nearer to your lips.

“they’re really sweet! if you like it, i’ll feed you more!”

the architect’s grin widens when you take the fruit between your lips, although he blushes at the way your tongue brushes onto the calloused skin of his fingers. he tries to tell himself that it was just a coincidence, but five more lychees later, he’s convinced that you had to have done this on purpose. and when you tell him you’re full and you want something else in between those sweet lips of yours… well, he’s already a people pleaser by nature anyway - and there’s no one he wants to please most other than you.

pantalone’s gloved fingers fix his glasses before motioning for you to follow him a little down the hallway toward the adjacent room. moments after the door slams close behind you, he signals you to kneel - and the condescending chuckle when you obey like a trained dog in front of him makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

he folds his arms in front of his chest, smiling down at you, “i’m going to need you to explain further what you meant by that vague statement, dear.”

the more you stumble over your words, the wider your master’s smirk grows. golden eyes peer down at you in half amusement and half anticipation. he shakes his head when you finish, his next words cooing and belittling as if he’s scolding a misbehaving child, “oh my, darling, how can those lovely lips spew such filthy words?”

the seemingly condescending words are followed by a hum, though you sense no underlying malice or sarcasm in his tone. no, this was him playing with you - if anything, he seems to be amused at your words. you love being bratty and he loves disciplining you, after all. this is just right up his alley.

“i think you need more disciplining before i can grant your wish. now turn around and get on all fours. remember to start counting.”

ayato’s eyes seemed to curve in delight as soon as the words leave your pretty lips. an amused and condescending smile blooms on his lips, like a lotus greeting the morning air that is the breath of your ambiguous request. imaginary scenes fill his head, replacing the neat schedule he’s mentally set for the day today, each images filthier than the previous ones.

your beloved toys with you for a while, however. stalls with a series of teasings and seemingly innocent touches on your chin and cheeks and lips - so close yet so far from where you want him most. he chuckles when you whine and plead,

“perhaps we should find a way to constantly satisfy that greedy mouth of yours. how does keeping me company while i work sound? i’ll make sure to get the most comfortable pillows for you to sit on, under my desk.”

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #al haitham #kaveh #pantalone #ayato #zhongli x reader #al haitham x reader #kaveh x reader #ayato x reader #rin writes #honey can you...#minors dni

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phyrestartr · 1 month

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Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader

Main Fic W/C: 5.9k Bonus Drabbles W/C: 1.6k

[#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, I KINDA EDITED BUT I JUST WANT THIS TO BE YEETED INTO THE OPEN OK BYE SORRY IF PARTS ARE CLUNKY]

@better-imagination-9 I summon thee

Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business.

He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as it was made out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders.

“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand.

“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”

Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”

“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I'm not.”

Sukuna laughed again, then ripped his plush, leather chair across the room, sending it hurtling into the expensive ebony walls he encased his place of business in. He roared in overwhelming fury as it clattered to the floor.

“How hard is it for you to listen? How come you can never just fucking–”

“Yelling won't solve things,” your cool voice interrupted as you hurried into the room, medical bag in hand. “I thought you learned that by now.”

Sukuna whirled on his heel. His hands were still fisted in his hair and his blood boiled, but now, there existed an explosive tension with you in the room.

You, his pretty little omega. The one he chased away. The one he still craved. The one that drove him insane.

“Uraume,” Sukuna growled, crimson eyes locking onto his most devoted.

“My apologies,” they said with a pensive look and deep bow, “he was the only one willing to come.”

“So mind your manners, or I'll let your brother bleed out,” you said airily, so haughty and bitchy and annoying. But Sukuna knew you wouldn't let Yuuji die. You wouldn't let him suffer with a wound like that–you were too fond of the little brat.

Sukuna snarled in frustration and fixed his jacket with sharp tugs. “Just fix him.”

He stalked away, ignoring the way Yuuji yelled at him before preening at you as you tended to him. Sukuna knew his brother had a bit of a thing for you, his bitch, which caused more than a handful of problems with the two arguing and fighting for your affections. Naturally, you chose Sukuna. Of course you would.

The alpha's frustrations boiled, reducing the rage in his gut into simmering desire. He leaned his head back against the elevator mirror with a sigh as it shot up toward the penthouse--the one you, too, used to occupy. The one where you'd spread your legs for him, drowning in expensive, black silk sheets while he bred you like the good little thing you were. The one where you'd cook for him if (when) you woke up before him the morning after. The one where you first whispered I love you against his skin when you thought he was asleep.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he stormed out, eager to rid himself of the tightness pulling at his slacks. A cigar and a drink sounded good, too.

–

Ding.

He knew it was you. It had to be you. You were a good person, willing to let Uraume rest while you gave your ex the update he needed about his brother. After all, you didn't fear him, nor did you yearn to please him. You were more than capable of delivering shit news and getting off scotch free.

“So?” Sukuna took a deep puff from his cigar and leaned further into the balcony railing as you approached.

You hummed as you sidled up next to him, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as the breeze tugged at it. “He'll be fine. Yuuji's tough. He's a bit shaken up now that the adrenaline’s worn off, though.”

“Maybe that'll teach that idiot not to get shot.”

“Probably not.”

“Probably not,” Sukuna sighed, tapping off a dash of ash from the butt of his cigar just before it was plucked from his hands. “Oi.”

“These things'll kill you,” you scolded airily. “So will that.” You tried reaching for the crystalline glass of amber, too, when Sukuna scoffed and took a sip to spite you.

“Don't,” he snarled. Any normal omega would have backed away. Any normal omega would have keened. Any normal omega would have tried to please him up with a sweet scent of submission. But you were a different breed entirely.

“Don't growl at me–” you gaped as Sukuna downed the expensive liquor before whipping the glass at the skyline. “Sukuna.”

He stalked back into his penthouse with heavy steps as he ran his hands through his hair. He had to busy his fingers, his palms, just so he wasn't tempted to touch you, to grab you like he was used to. It'd been years since you were properly together–properly engaged in fact–but he still couldn't shake those infuriating fucking habits. You were a cancer in his mind, plaguing his body and thoughts.

But he didn't want you to leave. Maybe he liked the chase. Maybe he just liked how his entire, explosive world narrowed down to just one infuriating thing that he wanted so badly. He didn't know. Maybe he didn't need to know.

Sukuna poured himself another drink and collapsed onto his soft leather couch with a deep sigh. His arms draped along the back, one hand still holding the glass by the rim. He let his head fall back, and stared at the ceiling.

Thankfully, you wandered in. And you wandered toward him, not to the door like you usually did when his temper flared and he acted out. Something small and pathetic in him uncoiled and settled down, purring in content when you took a seat beside him.

“What's going on?” you asked quietly. Your fingertips singed sparks of pleasure against his skin where you touched: his cheekbones, his hairline, his furrowed brow.

He lolled his head to the side to look at you, his stupid pretty boy. “Nothing.” Not even Sukuna believed that.

You brushed his hair back, and the stupid alpha in him rose to the surface and moaned. “Yuuji’s not behaving?” Your warm palm cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it.

“That little shit never behaves,” he mumbled through the vibrato of purrs rumbling from his chest. “Gonna make me die young.”

“Hm. Is that why you haven't slept?”

“I'm sleeping.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Sukuna.”

“I said–”

“You and I have different definitions of ‘enough,’” you chided lightly, like you were scolding one of your cats. “You look tired.”

“Maybe it's because my mate scampered off in the middle of the night.”

“Don't blame this on me.”

“Why not?” Wine-red eyes glowered at you, deciding whether he should dominate or decimate you. “It's your fault.”

You recoiled the slightest bit, your top lip twitching in that oh-so familiar way it did whenever you were close to snarling and snapping at him. You had such a temper for such a calm thing. Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't try to rile you up on purpose.

“Ho? What,” he started, grinning wickedly when you made a move to get up, but his arms snaked around you and held like wrought iron. “Feelin’ guilty?”

“No,” you hissed, half-pissed by his drink spilling on you, half-pissed by his accusation. “Let go. I'm leaving.”

“Leaving?” He crooned. “You always get so pissy when I don't wanna talk, ‘n now that I'm in the mood, you're tryna leave? Come on, sweetheart, that's not fair.”

“I don't feel like fucking fighting tonight,” you snapped, and Sukuna stayed quiet for a change. “Yuuji got shot. You look like shit. And we--I haven't–” you took a deep breath. “Can't we just be civil for a night? Can't we just talk about–”

“About what?”

“About whatever.”

“Fine.”

“Alright. Okay.”

Somewhere behind the haze of alcohol, Sukuna's consciousness celebrated–this could be his shot at starting to fix things. This was his moment to rebuild that lost relationship and maybe clean up a space in his life for you to sit safely in. Your expectant expression agreed with him. You looked quite cute, what with your big eyes and the way you leaned into him. But instead–

“Was it a boy or a girl?” Sukuna asked before taking a sip of whatever remained in his glass.

You blinked and shook your head, eyes narrowing the slightest as you looked over his face. “What?” You asked.

Sukuna snorted and turned to face you, one arm gesturing with his scotch glass while the other arm stayed slung across the back of the couch. “I said,” he started, gesturing to your stomach and chuckling through his low, bassy words, “boy or girl? If it was a girl, then maybe the world did you a favour. You know how it is for women in this day and age.”

You stared blankly like you were shellshocked, and Sukuna bubbled with near-manic, reedy laughter until you got up and walked to the door.

“Oi, where the hell are you going, huh?” He got up and followed you, hastening his steps when he saw you b-line for the door. “Omega.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, purring into your ear as he pressed his chest to your back. “Come on, we can make another one. You'd like that, huh?”

“Get off,” you barked, ripping his arms away from you. But he grabbed you again and spun you back to face him. You shoved him back, your mind whirling in a chaotic waltz drenched with grey thoughts and crimson rain that almost drowned out the words he barked at you until–

Whack.

He hit you. Backhanded, fingers adorned with thick, bulky rings and knuckles that'd seen too many fights. A natural disaster contained in the vessel of a mortal man–sometimes, he didn't know his own capabilities.

“Shit,” Sukuna mumbled, scrambling to set down his glass to, what, tend to you? Rewind time? Sure. “Babe–”

But you, too, were a natural disaster. The tsunami that came after an earthquake, raising tides high and staring down at split earth with a taunt: you think you're bad? Watch this.

Thwack.

You snatched up that bottle of fancy scotch and hit a home run, watching Sukuna collapse to the floor.

–

Sukuna woke up with a concussion, his wallet missing, and one of his favourite cars torched.

It got him riled up. He was too ready to hunt you down and make you rectify your mistakes–that is, until he remembered why you did what you did.

Boy or girl?

Maybe the world did you a favour.

Fuck. He flew way too close to the sun this time.

He watched you stack up expenses on his card instead of hunting you. Your little rage-filled crime spree was kind of funny anyway, and he couldn’t help but hope it made you feel at least a little better.

Though he knew it could never. Nothing could make it better.

–

“You should quit messing around with him,” Ieiri said as she tended to the half-dead gangster laying on her operating table. “He's bad news. A kid like you shouldn’t be getting involved.”

The one little, wiggly lucid part of Sukuna wanted to strangle Ieiri; you were young, sure, but not stupid. Sukuna wouldn't go so far as to say you were mature for your age, no, but you'd been beaten down by life and forced into the role of an adult for long enough that it'd changed your way of thinking, of perceiving the world. You could make your own choices–just as long as it involved him.

“You're not the first person to tell me that,” you said softly, words rising with a small, warm chuckle. “Good guys try way too hard to put on a show, to hide how garbage they can be.” You squeezed Sukuna's hand and ran your thumb over his split knuckles. “Guys like him show you who they really are right away. Then, you get to figure out what his good side is like.”

–

You were there again. In the elevator, looking a little pensive beyond your cool exterior.

Sukuna took a drag from his cigarette as he stepped in beside you. The button for his penthouse leered at him and whispered, “you have time.”

All he had to do was think of what to say. The right course of action was obvious, but–well, was it really his fault? He couldn't accept that 100%. You clocked him upside the head with a fucking glass bottle and stole his–

“Those things'll kill you.” Your fingers snatched the smoke from his lips before he realized it. He caught you butting it out on the fancy gold railings.

“I like things that can kill me,” he hummed, lighting another cigarette and chuckling when you snatched that one too. “What, scared of a little competition?”

“Yes.”

Oh. Sukuna liked that.

“I, uh,” you started, fumbling with your pockets before handing something over. “Found this.”

Sukuna glanced your way finally. He couldn't help but laugh as he plucked the wallet from your hands.

“Found it, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Such a benevolent, pious thing. I would've kept it.”

“Yeah, well. You're a dick. ‘Course you would.”

“Where'd you find it?”

“My pocket.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Weird.”

The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the empty hall leading to the penthouse. He glanced down at the door before looking back down at you.

“Have a drink with me.”

Your expression soured.

Sukuna threw his arm against the doors to keep them open. “Coffee?”

Your brows lifted, the creases smoothing from your face. “Coffee.”

Sukuna's alpha bloomed with pleased content. He sidled up next to you and rested his broad hand on the small of your back, leading you down the hall.

“With a bit of Baileys.”

“No Baileys.”

–

He let you try to sooth his stress while you waited for your favourite, poor-person coffee to brew.

You straddled his thick thighs as you kissed at his neck. Your hands roamed and threaded through his gelled hair, your blunt nails dragged along his scalp, coaxing rumbling purrs out of your alpha.

“Shit,” he moaned, leaning back into your hands, digging his head into your digits and grumbling like an old dog. You hummed in sympathy, and gave him harsher scritches, making his knee bounce in double time like a dog getting the spot scratched.

You weren’t done, though. You licked at his neck’s scent gland and coaxed more of his natural musk to the surface to mix with yours–a classic way to get one’s partner to calm down. You were methodical as fuck about it, too, knowing how Sukuna’s stress abruptly blocked any good scents in favour of excreting foul, angry odors into the air when he was pissed. Or, sometimes, he’d shut down completely, the only scent coming from what clung to his skin and clothes.

And so, he needed a little more TLC to get things flowing again, to make his body disarm and let the good vibes flow.

You nipped the swollen spot lightly, eliciting a strangled growl from the man. “Too rough?” Your tongue pressed at the spot again, and pulled more of that deep purring out of him. “Maybe not.”

“By all means, rough me up.” That was as close to a warning as you would get from a greedy bastard like Sukuna. He wanted you to bite harder, to break skin and set the wild tornado of a mating rut into motion. You were careful to avoid him when your unholy heats crashed down on you, but being in the presence of your estranged man when he was set off–well, it’d jumpstart your sex-crazed frenzy, too.

“Raincheck,” you murmured.

He huffed and rubbed circles in your hips before grabbing your ass and squeezing. “When's the last time–”

The coffee maker sang a tune and you got off, saved from your warm, fuzzy marking daze. “Does it matter?”

Sukuna got up and stalked after you, rubbing the ache out of his shoulder. “Like it or not, we're stuck with our binding vow.” His chest pressed to your back, his arms slipping around your waist as he leaned down to nuzzle into your skin. “Mated for life.” He couldn't help the smile that branded into your neck.

You cleared your throat and snatched up two mugs. “There're surgeries–”

“No.”

“How do you take your coffee again?” Hah. You didn't even try to argue it.

Sukuna's ego boomed. His scent grew more dominating and demanding in tow. “You know how I like it. You know the way I like everything.”

You scoffed and slapped his hand away, the sweet, teasing omega that happily marked him up and scented him to high heaven gone, now replaced with your annoying, bratty self. Ugh. He loved it as much as he hated it.

“You used to be cuter,” Sukuna commented, quiet and breathy, so out of character. His hands retreated back to hold your waist instead of keeping you trapped against him. “What happened to–”

“You know what happened.” You sounded tired, too. Angry. But not at the Sukuna standing with you right then and there.

Sukuna's old friend, unyielding frustration, bore down on him. He sucked his teeth and beat down the urge to snap, to yell and scream, claim it wasn't his fucking fault and that you never filled him in, so how could–

His forehead pressed against your shoulder. “I don't,” he sighed. “I don't fucking know, (Name). We lost our kid, I know that much, so what the fuck else is there?”

For a moment, he thought he'd lost you again. He expected you to whirl around, throw a cup at his head and curse him to hell to start off another fight; instead, you slipped out of his hands gently, and replaced your warmth with a cup of coffee.

“Come sit.”

Sukuna complied.

You tucked your legs up under you when you sat down. Your own mug was held snugly with both hands, yet your fingers fidgeted, twirling around whatever rings you had on while you thought of what to say.

“So,” you started. “How much do you know?”

Sukuna leaned back and thought. “Uraume called. Said something was wrong.” He could remember their voice ringing in his ear, that usual, frigid demeanor exploding into something panicked and tortured as they tried to comfort you, order idiots around, and explain the situation. “They didn’t know what, but said you were bein’ taken to Ieiri. I met ‘em there, Gojo wouldn’t let me come in.” He sighed, the memories pricking his nerves. “Told me you miscarried, and–well, that’s more or less it.”

You nodded a little, digesting the scraps of knowledge that’d been given to Sukuna. “I was alone,” you breathed. “I was–I’d been cramping. A lot. I thought–I didn't know–I just–I thought it was normal.” You cleared your throat, fidgeting more and only stilling when Sukuna's palm rested on your leg. You covered his hand with one of yours. “There was a lot of blood. I thought I was dying. Uraume and Yuuji took me to Ieiri.”

Sukuna remembered that, too. He remembered catching sight of you just before his brother carried you away from him. It was hard to forget the sound of your wailing amidst all that red–that damned noise came from hell itself, from the burning, fetid pits of agony and despair and up through your beautiful voice. For something so foul to touch you was nothing but blasphemous.

Sukuna tried to follow you in, but that moron Gojo wouldn’t let him in, spouting some bullshit about how he’d make things worse. Needless to say, Sukuna snapped, and Ieiri suddenly had more than a mourning omega to deal with.

“I pinned it on you to cope. I didn’t know what else to do.” You spared a shy glance at him before staring down again. “...Uraume filled me in, though. You were dealing with so much shit. All that crap with the Zenins. And you didn’t even–you didn’t even know I was knocked up until I wasn’t.” You sighed and sipped your drink before setting it aside. “Guess it was easier to blame you for everything than it was to just accept I got unlucky.”

“‘Unlucky’?” Sukuna repeated lowly, void of mirth for once.

You nodded. “Chromosome bullshit, garbage genetics, a shitty cervix. Coulda been anything.” Sukuna watched your expression shift from desolate to bitter. “And if you fuck up once and lose your pup, odds are it’ll happen again.”

“Says who?”

“Science. Doctors.”

“You really gonna take their word like that?” Your eyes met his, doey and expectant. “I'll gut ‘em myself if they say that shit next time you're knocked up.”

You looked a bit bashful then, looking away from him with pursed lips and glossy eyes. For a second, Sukuna thought you were about to snap and argue with him about how you vowed to never get pregnant again (which he'd indulge in), or maybe even bolt for the door (which he wouldn't allow), but instead, you grabbed the remote.

“Tch. Don't say such stupid shit. It's annoying.”

Sukuna could only grin to himself as you settled in beside him, tucking up against his side. Neither of you could swallow your pride enough to properly apologize for anything ever, but that wasn't necessarily needed–understanding was what was needed. Things had just become a little bit clearer.

–

For once, the alpha found himself at ease. Sure, you had your petty and some less-than-petty spats, but there was a coil of contentment that stayed at the forefront of Sukuna's mind through it all. Now, he no longer fumed nor bristled, no longer wondered if you really belonged to him, no longer thought about how to trap you if he wanted to keep you around.

Because you made more of an effort to see him, to call when you couldn't, to set his vicious wolf's heart at ease so he could rest soundly. He rested the most when you were so gracious as to curl up in those black, silken sheets with him, too.

Don't get too excited. It's just because we're mated; we'd go insane otherwise, Is how you rationalized it. And, honestly, it was cute to see you act so flippant and uncaring when Sukuna knew you were so the opposite.

Little liar. Loves playing pretend. He gently tucked stray hairs behind your ear as you snoozed soundly beside him. It was unlike you to sleep in so late (“late” meaning past 6am), and it was unlike Sukuna to wake up before you, so it must have been kismet.

Because this moment was the first in a long time where he got to touch you. Beyond the playful ass slaps and grabs at your hips, you never really let him feel you. Or did he just never try to touch you like this? Gently, just for the sake of feeling your skin and your warmth?

Sukuna was a brutal man. He didn't often have a chance to be careful. If he'd had that kid, then he might've learned how; he could've learned not to throw glasses at skylines, not to lash out at his omega, not to expect you to still love you when he broke you.

He brushed his thumb along your cheek and down to your jaw, admiring the soft skin and strong angle that led him to the curve of your chin, and your perfect lips. God, he wanted to kiss you. It'd been an eternity since he had a taste of you. Maybe if he was gentle–

I can do gentle. Sukuna shifted the slightest bit towards you until his nose lightly brushed against yours, until he felt your light breaths fan against his skin. Ah, why was his heart beating so fast now?

He did his best to ignore the way his pulse thundered in his ears when he brushed his lips against yours once more, before he kissed you softly. Gently. Perfectly. And he took his time parting. He had to savour the taste of your lips against his because who knew when he'd get to kiss you again?

I love you, he heard echo in his memories when your lips parted. But he never heard himself reply.

“Love you too, brat,” he murmured. “Don't you dare think otherwise.”

Your eyes opened a moment later. “You mean that?” came your reply, just as light and whispered. Sukuna felt waves of heat come off your skin–were you blushing?

Crimson eyes flickered from your bashful look to the slight parting of your lips and back again. “Always.” Even though he never said it. But he let you get away with everything to show that love–credit card theft, cracking him upside the head with a bottle, abandoning him for months on end.

A soft ‘hm’ hummed through you. Your sleepy gaze melted from Sukuna’s, and down to his lips, too, while your own pursed, pensive. Thoughtful. Christ, you were really something else–just a single look from you had his mind reeling, his chest easing into a warmth so reminiscent of a campfire, the sort you both used to sit around when you’d bullied Sukuna into buying one for his too-big balcony.

Back then, you were just “friends,” though the flirting and meaningful touches said otherwise. You were still a street doctor, introduced to him by Yuuji of all people, but you had more pep in your step, especially when you worked to try and swoon the hardened, deranged alpha you’d decided belonged to you. You’re mine, you said simply after shooting whatever whore the big, bad boss had hired for the night. The look in your eyes, cold and determined, got Sukuna achingly hard in an instant. He never wanted you to look at anyone else like that–your rage, your obsession, it could only ever be for him.

“‘M I still yours?” You still want me? You still love me? Am I still just for you?

You looked a little sentimental. A little sad, too, maybe. But maybe it was just the culmination of your fears and worries, your wants and desires finally breaking through your solemn being.

“I'm a minimalist at heart. I've only got room for so much.”

“Don't tell me you're back on that Kondo Marie kick–”

“But you're something I can't do without.” Yeah, I love you. I want you. I don't want much, but I want you. You're mine. “You bring me joy, or whatever the saying is. But I wanna beat the shit outta you sometimes for being a dumbass.”

Sukuna laughed and nudged your nose with his–a small, primal gesture of fondness. “Yeah, yeah, I'm aware. Tch. You're gonna have to be careful--you're gonna send my old ass to an early grave if you keep up with all this fiery youth shit.”

“Then I can inherit your fortune,” you offered airily before kissing him teasingly. Sukuna growled when your small fangs dug into his bottom lip playfully. “That'd be nice.”

“Hah. Everything's going to family–Yuuji, the old fart.” Sukuna pulled you in closer and purred as you complied. “You'd have to–”

“I'll marry you if that's what it takes,” you cooed, and Sukuna froze. You paused for a moment, too, before lifting yourself up to look down at his dumb face. “Oi.” You pat his cheek lightly but he scowled at you, half-cranky, half-defeated. “Eeeh? You mad?”

“Tch.”

“Awe, big alpha's mad.”

“Don't.” A command. A warning. One that had your subgender reeling and whimpering behind you, but your human side smiling, ready to mock.

You slid on top of him, straddling his waist and splaying your hands out on his broad, solid chest. Sukuna still kept his gaze elsewhere. Honestly, you couldn't blame him--you were in a mood.

“Oi,” you prodded, poking at his ridiculous pecs and tracing over the dark lines of his irezumi. “Hey. Don't pout.” But he grabbed your hands when your stupid fingers threatened to assault his nipples, and he continued to pout. “Come on, I said I'd marry you.”

“Tch.” You've said that before.

“I mean it.”

“Tch.” You’ve said that before, too.

You leaned down, and nuzzled the hollow of his cheek while he grumbled and grumped. “You don't like the idea of breeding me anymore? You don't want me to yourself, all caught up in your bedsheets with you between my legs? Hm? You don't wanna fuck me through my heat, knock me up a few more times, make me bare your children for the world to see how I belong to Ryoumen Sukuna? You don't want me to be drenched in your scent–”

You squeaked when your man flipped you around, pinning you before ripping off the sleep shorts keeping your skin from him. His rough fingers dove deep into your slicked up hole (apparently your long list of hypotheticals had worked you up into a soft, wet, pliant thing) and hurried to stretch you wide.

“Such an annoying little shit,” Sukuna grumbled. And you laughed, lightly and so achingly genuinely through your fluttery mewls and moans. “If you try ‘n back out this time, I'll break your fucking legs and tie you down to the bed, you got that? I'm not gonna be so fucking nice this time.”

“Eh? You were being nice last–” you whined when his wet fingers jammed into your mouth. But you obediently sucked and bit at them, holding onto his muscled arm for leverage while he kicked off his bottoms and pressed his sweltering tip to your soft entrance.

“You got no idea, princess.” Sukuna pushed in, groaning with ancient, cursed need as your insides welcomed him and obeyed, letting his uncomfortable size push you open. Seemed your body still remembered him. Wanted him as much as your stupid pretty mouth claimed.

You were gasping, your molars chewing into his fingers as your missing piece slid back into place, filling you up until it hurt to breathe. Strong thighs clamped down against Sukuna’s sides as he dragged you down, forcing the last bits of his cock into your very depths, squeezing a reedy whine out of you, before he pulled out and slammed right back in again and again and again.

Your cry nearly sent him over the edge. It was a loud, bassy thing, something like a cello toppling or having its string plucked too hard by a callous touch–a sound Sukuna reveled in. You were the only partner he'd had that was like this, so demanding and bitchy, absolutely horrible and as poisonous as alphas were, and he loved it. He lived and died by your gospel, by the very life that thrummed underneath his touch.

And you promised to be all his. Sukuna could have everything, anything and anyone, and that apparently included trapping and claiming a god. One that only he prayed to. One that'd only smile upon him. One that only delivered to him divine blessings.

What a divine gift.

He folded you in half with ease and blanketed your trembling body with his own. The fingers fucking into your mouth slipped out and down to your throat where they squeezed lightly; then, they traveled to the back of your neck, found your cute little nape, and squeezed.

Your eyes rolled back as your body arched up into him. Words left you in some ancient tongue neither you nor Sukuna could decipher. But it was a language of love and pleasure, the sort that brought delicious submission coiling through your blood in offering to the lowly creature devouring your holiness.

“Sukuna,” you choked out. Your fingers dug into his shoulder and fisted in his hair, pulling him closer to the old, scarred mark left there by him a decade ago. “‘Kuna, I need–”

The boss laughed low, but with fluttery, manic high tones warped throughout. “Need me to bite you? Mark you mine again?” He taunted. His nails dug into your soft side as he fucked into you harder, lifting your waist up to meet his brutal angle as his base started to swell. “I wanna hear you say it–say you need it, you want it. Say you need me to fill your guts every fucking night. Say I'm the only one who can get you there. I'm the only one–” his other hand grabbed your nape harder, forcing your submission further, forcing your neck to the side to present it to him.

Then, with a snarl, he added, “say ‘I do.’”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you murmured those very words into his ear.

I do.

Sukuna's heart howled with the beast living inside him. Blood flooded his mouth when he tore into your shoulder, digging deeper than needed to brand you his again just before his pulsing knot squeezed into you and locked into place, stilling his wild rampage and holding you hostage beneath his hulking body.

You shifted and writhed against him, so obviously overwhelmed by such an archaic, crazed union–your omega must have been going wild, willing you to fight against the monster pouring his seed into you, locking you in place, taking away your autonomy. But a short, rough warning growl settled your inner self the slightest bit and straightened out your thoughts enough for your human pettiness to urge you, too, to sink teeth into flesh and mark up your alpha to complete the re-bonding.

Good boy. Sukuna's hips rutted against you in light pulses, attempting to jam his knot further into you to ensure you'd take everything he so graciously offered you. But every little move your bodies made together tore more hot strings of cum out of him and into your core. Apparently an eternity of not having you was culminating into this one moment.

You were the one to let go first. You collapsed onto your back with a loud sigh, and the crushing constriction of your thighs laxed just slightly.

“Fuck,” you gasped, wholly content and pleased. Your hand wiggled between your bodies and rested on the still-inflating curve that your partner had oh-so loving built out of cum and obsessive dedication. “That's gonna make a mess.”

Good. Sukuna's chainsaw purr reverberated against your bloodied skin. He chewed into you further and relished in the taste and smell of you, the way it mingled with his own scent of existence and made him feel so irrevocably whole.

Your fingers laced through his hair as you laughed. “Oi, let go already. Your knot's not gonna go down for like thirty minutes. I'm not going anywhere.”

Your mate obliged, dislodging his chunky fangs from you and lapping at the wound dutifully until the bleeding staunched. Next, he got to work leaving an array of dark hickies and light bites all over your neck and shoulder, just in case the gnarly bite mark wasn't enough to ward off idiots who thought they had a chance with you. He grumbled at the mere idea of it.

“So?” You cooed, running your hands up and down his muscled shoulders. “What do we do for half an hour?”

Sukuna scoffed. He tried to pull out just a bit, just to see if he was seriously locked in there, and you spat a vile hiss his way, your nails digging into him at the same time. And, fuck, you were tight–

“Fuck.” He didn't think this through.

-- DRABBLES --

“You're dumb as fuck, you know that?”

“Ah, such romantic words to hear from my wife.”

“Husband, jackass.”

Sukuna managed to open his eyes through the pounding of his head. God, he felt like shit. But that probably came with the territory of getting shot point-blank before bailing out of a moving car on the highway. Honestly, he was lucky only one car hit him when he hit the pavement.

Still, it was bad enough to warrant him a ticket to the hospital. Uraume worked behind the scenes, ensuring their boss got a private room and that the police would stay the fuck away if they knew what was good for them, and it all somehow worked out. Uraume was definitely a sorcerer of sorts.

“Can you save it for home? Fucking hell,” Sukuna groaned, letting his eyes fall shut again. “Too tired to argue.”

“That's a first,” You huffed, and marched up to his side, sitting down in the cozy seat waiting for you. Your careful touch prodded at his hand gently, as if assessing the damage, guestimating if you could hold his hand without hurting him, but he made the choice for you. He caught your hand weakly, and you held him safe with both of yours.

“Missed you,” he grumbled, squeezing back lamely. “Have fun on the trip at least?”

“Yeah, until I heard what happened.” You sighed, watery and warbled. “I shouldn't have left. You're too stupid to survive alone.”

Sukuna laughed, then coughed. He felt you tense. “F-Fuck you, little shit. I'm fine.”

“You got shot.”

“Been shot before.”

“Jumped out of a car.”

“I've jumped outta faster.”

“Then got hit by another car.”

“That was a first.”

You sighed to fight back either a sob or ill-placed laughter, or maybe both. “This is so fucking ridiculous. Never make me take a vacation again. I can't be off fucking around in Hawaii when my baby daddy's getting hit like it's GTA.”

“Christ, I already–” he paused, though, and cracked an eye open to look at you. “What did you…”

He lost his words when he saw you. Your skin glowed in a way he hadn't had the luxury to see before. Your face looked rounder, too, like you'd put on a little bit of weight since you'd been gone. But your scent–your usual sweet, full-bodied scent of flowery coffee was cranked up to a trillion. If Sukuna's nose wasn't busted, he would've noticed the way it filled up the room, and he might've noticed how his own scent rose to meet it in greeting. Something strange was happening.

“Oh. Right. Uh…” you cleared your throat and hastily tucked some hair behind your ear. You looked a little bit lost for words too, in all honesty. “I’m pregn–”

Sukuna sat up. You barked at him to lay down, your voice rising a few octaves when something that was probably important dislodged from his wrist as he reached forward when you stood. And you froze when his palm pressed against your stomach–a natural, maternal thing to do. Sukuna remembered when he caught your cat for you when she was trying to dart out the door whilst pregnant, and how she froze dead in her tracks when his hand caught her by her kitten-filled stomach, and let him carry her back inside.

But this was different. This wasn’t his partner’s cat’s kittens he was feeling, it was yours. His. A shared little nugget doing its best to grow big for its expectant mama–and now expectant papa.

“How long?” Sukuna rasped. When did his throat get so dry?

“Two months. Ish.” You rested your hands over his again despite the awkward angle he caught you at. “I didn’t know until last week. I tried to call, but–” You got obliterated and couldn’t answer your phone.

“I get it. Don’t gotta explain.” Sukuna gazed at your stomach a moment longer with droopy, half-lidded eyes before looking up at you as nurses burst into the room. “You’re moving in.”

And for once, you didn’t argue.

–

“Dude, you guys can't fuck when he's pregnant! You'll crush the baby like a tin can!”

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth as your tea shot out your nose. You coughed and wheezed, turning away and waving at the brothers in a desperate plea for them to not look and continue their petty argument.

Sukuna, caught between the urge to mock you and kick the shit out of his annoying little fucknut brother, sighed and rubbed his face before handing you his fancy handkerchief he kept tucked in the breast of his jacket for nothing but looks. These days, though, the damn thing had been paying its dues.

“You think I'm gonna listen to a fuckin’ virgin about this kinda shit?” Sukuna quipped back as he watched you clean up before trying to take a sip of your drink again.

“Hey, man, I'm just saying. Your dick is like a third leg.”

You slammed your hand down on the table after spitting a mouthful of tea back into your cup. “Yuuji. Please. Why do you even know that?”

Yuuji pouted and scooted closer to you under the kotatsu. “Wh--we're brothers! It's not even that weird!”

“It's weird as shit,” Sukuna offered as he reached out to rub your back.

“So not weird.” His honeyed eyes locked onto the small affection the older showed you. “Man, so not fair you guys are ganging up on me now that you're, like, a thing,” Yuuji whined and let his arms and chest flop across the table like a petulant child.

Sukuna smirked. “Jealous?”

You grumbled. “Sukuna. Don't start.”

Yuuji's ears turned bright red. “Jea–what?! No! I like girls like Jennifer Lawrence, not--I don't–”

“N'awe, little pup's tryna cope with losing.” Sukuna grinned wildly when Yuuji's head snapped up, pinning a deadly stare onto the older alpha. “Oh? Finally grow a pair?”

“Sukuna,” you warned again.

“You better shut it, dude,” Yuuji threatened next, and you knew it was a lost cause; two alpha brothers, both incredibly competitive, both pining for the same omega, spelled disaster.

Your partner laughed that familiar, ugly laugh–the sort that was too genuine and sounded borderline insane. “Or what? You gonna make me cry–”

Yuuji launched over the table in an instant, tackling his brother to the ground with a bratty snarl. You watched on, unimpressed, waiting for any signs of their wrestling turning into a serious fight, but it never came. So, you enjoyed it a bit. It wasn't everyday the two idiots played nice.

You rested your hands on your curved stomach while the two growled and snarled half-heartedly in their dumb attempt to subdue the other. Sukuna could've won in an instant, you both knew that, but he'd let Yuuji think he had a fighting chance for a little bit. It was part of the fun for him, letting his little brother gnaw on him like it'd do anything, letting him try to use his horrible jiu-jitsu skills on his older, bigger brother. It reminded you of–

“Oh,” you peeped when a rowdy kick jostled your hand. It didn't come from the boys, no, it came from the tiny tot inside you.

The boys froze and stared at you.

“Huh? What's ‘oh'?” Yuuji asked through his panting and straining. Sukuna had him in a headlock, one of his hands giving a brutal noogie to the younger's head.

“No, just–I think she kicked. Maybe not, I don't–” but your expression brightened with delight when another little throw hit your hand.

“No shit?” Sukuna grinned, waves of excited alpha scent rolling off of him. He face-shoved Yuuji away before sidling up next to you and pressing his palm against your stomach. You guided his touch to rest over the kicky hotspot, and sure enough–

Thump. Thump.

“Two kicks for your old man, hey?” Sukuna hummed, looking so damn triumphant.

“Hey, hey, I wanna feel!” Yuuji scrambled over like a nightmare and wiggled up on your other side, pointedly ignoring the snarl Sukuna sent his way. “Come on, it's my niece, chill out.”

Sukuna growled again, but you pulled his hand off to let Yuuji feel the little life making herself known. His eyes, too, lit up when those tiny thwacks battered his palm.

You looked up at Sukuna dreamily, making the other's ticked expression smooth down into just mildly-annoyed; if your omega wasn't threatened, then he wasn't going to threaten. Sukuna didn't think Yuuji would hurt you, absolutely not, but anyone who came near you, or so much as accidentally bumped into you, pissed Sukuna off, sending his over-protective instincts into overdrive. He always had to rely on you to know when not to react.

“That's so cool!” Yuuji squeaked. “She's seriously in there!”

“Where the fuck else would she be,” Sukuna grumped.

“Don't ruin his fun, Sukuna.”

“Yeah, don’t ruin my fun!”

“Yuuji’s banned from the house.”

“WH–HEY!!”

“Sukuna.”

“Heh.”

“What about gramps, then?”

Sukuna paused. His heart stopped for a long, long moment.

“What about him?” He answered, nonchalantly as possible. “Old fuck cut me off years ago.”

“He still cares,” Yuuji offered with a shrug. “And I told him about the pup ‘n everything.”

Sukuna frowned. “Yuuji–”

“You seriously think he doesn't give a shit? Dude, be real, the guy raised us.”

“That's generous.”

“Didn't you say you were leaving everything to Yuuji and ‘the old fart’ originally?” You cooed, unhelpful as ever.

Carmine eyes found yours. “...If he actually wants to meet her–”

“Awesome, I’ll let him know!”

“Oi, runt–”

But Yuuji jumped up and pulled his phone out, leaving Sukuna to wonder what he’d just gotten himself into while you laughed at his misery.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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dailyadventureprompts · 3 months

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Monsters Reimagined: Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Insatiable Hunger

It's been some years since I did my overhaul on the lore of the gnolls and how they embody the weird de/humanization that goes on with various monsters over d&d's history. Ever since I've had more than a few folks write in asking about how I would handle the default Gnoll God Yeenoghu, who exists in a similar state of "Kill everything that ever existed" to Orcus and a good portion of the game's other late game threats, thematically flat and not really useful for building stories around.

For a while I've avoided doing this post because I thought it might skew a little too close to my personal philosophy, and risk going from simply being influenced by my views to an outright soapbox. I personally hold that despite being part of our nature hunger is the source of the majority of human cruelty, and if society and cooperation are the tools we developed to best fight against the threat of famine, it is fear of that famine that allows the powerful to control society and secure their positions of privilege.

I've also dealt with disordered eating in a prior period of my life, alternating between neglecting my body's needs and punishing myself for needing in the first place. I'm well acquainted with hunger and the hollowing effect it can have, though I'd never claim to know it so well as someone who went hungry by anything other than choice and self hatred.

Learning to love food again saved saved my life. The joy of eating, of feeling whole and nourished, yes, but there was also the joy of making: of experimenting, improving, providing, being connected to a great tradition of cultivation which has guided our entire species.

If I was going to talk about an evil god of hunger, I was going to have to touch on all of that, and now that it's out in the open I can continue with a more thematic and narrative discussion on the beast of butchery below the cut.

What's wrong: Going by the default lore, there's not much that really separates Yeenoghu from any other chaotic evil mega-boss. He wants to kill everything in vicious ways, and encourages his followers to do the same. He's there so that the evil clerics can have someone to pray to because the objectively good gods are on the party's side and wouldn't help a bunch of cannibalistic slavers.

This is boring, we've done this song and dance before, and the only reason that there are so many demon lords/evil gods/archdevils like this is because the bioessentialism baked into the older editions of the game's lore was also a theological essentialism, and that every group had to have their own gods which perfectly embodied their ethos and there was no crossover whatsoever, themes be damned.

Normally I'd do a whole section about "what can be salvaged" from an old concept, but we're scraping the bottom of the barrel right from the inset. Likewise my trick of combining multiple bits of underwritten d&d mythology to make a sturdier concept isn't going to work as most of d&d's other gods of hunger or famine are similar levels of paper thin.

How do we fix it: I want Yeenoghu to be the opposite of the path I found myself on, a hunger so great and so painful that it percludes happiness, cooperation, or even rational thought. Hunger not as a sumptuous hedonistic gluttony but a hollowing emptiness that compels violence and desperation. More than just psychopathic slaughter and gore, it is becalmed sailors drinking seawater to quench their thirst, the urban poor mixing sawdust and plaster into their food because their wages are not enough to afford grain.

This is where we get the idea of Yeenoghu as an enemy of society, not because violence is antithical to society ( I think we've learned by now how structured violence can really be) but because society fundamentally breaks down when it can't take care of the people who provide its foundations. Contrast the Beast of Butchery with one of my other favourite villainous famine spirits: Caracalla the grim trader, who embodies scarcity as a form of profit and control in to Yeenoghu's scarcity as suffering.

Into this we can also add the idea of the hungry dead, ghouls yes but also vampires, anything cursed with an eternal existence and appetites it no longer has the ability to sate. A large number of cultures across the world share the idea that the dead cannot rest while they are starving, which is why we leave offerings of food by their graves or pour out a glass to the ones we lost along the way.

On that topic, there's also a scrap of lore involving Doresain god of ghouls, who has been depicted as an on and off servant of Yeenoghu. Since I'm already remaking the mythology, I'd have Doresain act as a sort of saint or herald for the demon lord, the wicked but still partially reasonable entity who can villain monolog before the feral and all consuming demon god shows up.

Summing it all up: Yeenoghu isn't a demon you wittingly worship, it's a demon that claims you, marks you as its mouthpiece and through you seeks to consume more of the world. It gives you just enough strength to keep on living, keep on suffering, keep on filling that hole in your belly and feed it in turn.

The greatest of these mouthpieces is Doresain, an elf of ancient times who's unearthly hungers elevated him to demigod status. Known as the knawbone king, he dwells within a dread domain of the shadowfell, and is sought out only for his ability to intercede with the maw-fiend's rampages.

Signs: Unnaturally persistent hunger pangs, excessive drool and gurgling stomach noises, the growth of extra teeth in the mouth, stomachs splitting open into mouths.

Symbols: An animal with three jaws, a three tailed flail or spiked whip. A crown of knawed bones (Doresain)

Titles: Beast of butchery, the maw fiend, the knawing god

Artist

#monsters reimagined #fiend #yeenoghu #undead #deity

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gh0stlyfixation · 1 year

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Five AM

Warnings: none, reader has like 4 kids.

It’s been 8 months, will the kids remember me? Will my wife hate me for not having any communication? That is all Simon can think. He’ll certainly be surprised when he sees a new baby in your arms. Just two weeks old

It’s five am, and all four of your kids are awake, including the newest edition, a little two-week-old baby girl, girl number 4. You found out only weeks after Simon left and he was cut off from communication. You didn’t know when he’d be home or if he'd be home.

You did it all by yourself. Your oldest did help the best she could but she was only 8, she couldn’t do everything that Simon could but it was better than nothing. The littlest was born a month early, but to your hopes and prayers, she was as healthy as could be. She came home a few days after she was born.

This morning though, you were overwhelmed and stressed. You didn’t know if Simon was alive or dead, and if he was alive, what would he think of his fourth little girl? The kids screamed around you as they chased one another, who has energy this early in the morning?

You stand in the kitchen holding the crying baby who for the life of her, wouldn’t stop crying. You bounced her in your arms as you start to cry yourself. You don't know how much longer you can deal with Simons job. It's about time he does down. You needed more help now with the fourth but you didn't want to seem selfish, he did love his work.

Little do you know, Simon is on the other side of the front door. He too had his worries, would his kids remember him? Would you hate him for having zero communication? What if things changed?

But all of that is wiped away when he hears the screaming of kids inside and running footsteps all around. It was never a dull moment in the Riley house. He opens the doors and there’s running feet circling back around to the front door, they all stop and stare at Simon for a moment, “DADDY!” They all scream running into his arms.

They all push him down with their force, climbing all over him telling him how much they missed him, and kissed his masked face multiple times before one of them eventually rips it off, but he hears one say something about a baby, then he hears a baby crying.

Your ears perk up when your girls yell daddy, and how their running ceased and all of them yelling together, your eyes tear up more, he’s home.You walk to the front room to see Simon laying on the floor with the girls sitting all over him laugh and giggling. You see the smile on his face, he’s really home.

Eventually the girls get up, “wanna see new baby sister?” The youngest ask.

Simon looks up and sees your red teared face. You smile at him, but he can see the exhaustion behind it. He looks over your body, he sees your wearing one of his large t-shirts and slippers, you looked like you’ve just given birth. His suppositions are right when he sees the bottom of the “fancy underwear” as you say.

“Simon,” you say quietly rocking the baby who has now quieted down. He stands up and walks to you, his towering body looking down at the newborn. You don’t notice the tears falling, you are too shocked to see Simon in front of you.

“Mommy? Why you crying?” The middle child asked.

You snap back into reality, rubbing away the tears as you see Simon has his eyes fixed on the newest addition, “mommy is just really happy daddy is home.” You finally say with a few sniffles.

The kids shrug and run away leaving just the three of you, “what’s her name?” Simon asked you.

You smile, relieved he isn't angry. “Emma, I remember you saying you liked it when I was pregnant with our last little.” You say as you look down at her, she sleeps peacefully now. “Wanna hold her?” You ask Simon. He nods and gently takes her from your embrace and rocks her softly as she stirred awake.

Simon smiles at her, looking up at you and he sees the love and adoration in your eyes as you watch him hold his fourth little girl, you smile, but he sees how tired you are. It is now only five-thirty in the morning.

“Go back to sleep. I’m home now, your not alone anymore. And I don’t want you getting out of bed, you need to heal.” He tells you.

You hold yourself with your arms and nod your head feeling emotional again, “how long until you leave again?” You whisper. You knew his line of work and that his calls could be unpredictable, but this last deployment messed you up, he can’t leave you again.

He sees a few tears slip, “I’m retiring love,” he tells you wiping away a tear with his thumb. Your eyes brighten at those words. You hug him as tight as you could with the baby in his arms. “I’m gonna send the kids over to the neighbors for the night, just us three. You can fill me in on what I’ve missed.” You nodded in his shoulder.

“Lyssa says she has a boyfriend.” You start with information.

“What? She’s only eight!” Simon speaks and you giggle taking the little one with you as you carefully walk up the stairs to your room.

#simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost x you #ghost x reader #mw2 #cod mw2

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dreamescapeswriting · 8 months

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Stray Kids Reaction || You're Not Answering Your Phone [Mafia Edition]

⤜MASTERLIST

CHAN:

Chan did his best not to freak out when you called him, he knew that you were responsible and he could trust you but after four hours of you not answering your phone, it was beginning to send him into a worrying spiral.

"Changbin, I want you and Jeongin to go out into the city and look for her, she could be anywhere. Seungmin, I want you to try and track her phone pings, and see where it last went off." Chan was so busy ordering his men around that he hadn't heard the front door open and close while you walked in casually,

"Hey baby, I picked up some Chinese food for dinner. I didn't want to cook tonight." You called out before stopping in the doorway to see Chan staring at you along with all of his men.

"What?"

"Where have you been?! I've been worried sick!?" He panicked rushing over to you and holding your face in his hands, turning your head side to side as if he was looking for any sign that you weren't okay or that you were hurt in some kind of way.

"I went into town, to get my phone fixed...Remember?" You tried to jog his memory and as soon as you did he began to flush a bright red colour and sweat gathered on the back of his neck.

"O-Oh yeah...Right," He laughed awkwardly as he turned back to his men who were all smirking in his direction.

MINHO:

As soon as your phone continued to go to voicemail Minho lost every rational thought that there was in his mind and he was ready to throw caution to the wind and find you. He was already having Felix track your GPS in your car and then if that didn't work he was going to get him to track and find you with the GPS tracker on your phone. Maybe he was a little overprotective when it came to you but he always wanted to make sure that you were safe.

"I can't stand the thought of something happening to her," He ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the strands a little groaning as he tried not to think about it too much. There had to be some kind of logical explanation for it all,

"Yn's GPS shows that she's in the building," Felix stated as he turned to look at his boss who frowned and rushed over to the screen.

"Search the house," He ordered before running up the stairs to search every bedroom in the home that you shared, god, why did he have to have such a big house. He swore to himself that he was going to move,

"Yn?!" He breathed out as he walked into the library to see you fast asleep on the sofa that was inside there,

"W-What?" You groaned waking up and staring at him as he rushed over to you, holding you in his arms as he called off the search on the rest of the house.

CHANGBIN:

"I have all the time and resources I could need to find her and yet she's nowhere to be found?" Changbin paced outside of the building your car was parked in front of, The security inside of the door wasn't letting him inside and he was ten seconds away from blowing their heads off.

"Do you know who I am?!" He boomed out but the men stared at one another before turning to look over their shoulders. Changbin followed their line of sight and you were standing there with an unimpressed look on your face,

"Where were you?" He'd been panicked all morning and seeing you standing there in a robe and sweating a little he was starting to feel a little bad.

"In the spa! I told you I was going to the spa," You smacked his chest as he made his way over to you. You'd been telling him for weeks about your trip and he'd been all for it, telling you how much you could use the break.

"I was in the middle of a massage when I had to come out and stop my husband from killing someone." You glared at him as a blush began to take over his cheeks.

"I forgot."

"Hmm." You still didn't sound impressed with him and he smiled a little,

"I'll make it up to you."

"You will. By letting me go back to my massage and you go home," You pushed your finger into his chest and he nodded, kissing your cheek quickly.

HYUNJIN:

Every single hospital was being checked within walking distance of the house, then every hospital in the city was being checked as well as everyone calling any hospital that they could think of to try and find you.

"She has to be somewhere!" Hyunjin cried out as he stared down at his laptop,

"Why do you think she's in a hospital?" Chan questioned as Hyunjin looked down at his phone, The last thing you'd text him was a photo of your favourite cafe and then you went radio silent. No phone calls were going through, text messages weren't being delivered,

"Because she has to be injured if she's not responding to me."

"Spoken like an overprotective husband." Chan teased before instantly wishing he hadn't judging by the look on Hyunjin's face. It might have sounded overprotective but you'd always told Hyunjin if you suddenly didn't respond then something was wrong.

"We got her," Felix called out as you walked into the office building, rushing over to your boyfriend as you panted heavily.

"Hyunjin, I've been trying to get up here all day. I-I got mugged and they took my phone, my ID, everything, I couldn't call and then-" You couldn't finish your sentence as you were suddenly wrapped in his arms as he sniffled a little, just relieved to have you alive and with him.

JISUNG:

Jisung wasn't clingy by any means but when you weren't answering your phone for two hours he was beginning to get a little worried about it and calling you constantly. He must have called your phone over 250 times by now and he didn't know what was going on, had he scared you that morning? You'd walked in on him in a meeting and he was yelling at the guy. Did it scare you enough to never speak to him again? He called your phone again as he walked through the front door of your shared home,

"Call me. Please." He begged into the phone, freezing when he walked into the living room to see it surrounded by darkness safe for some fairylights and the giant flatscreen TV being on,

"What's this?"

"Birthday surprise," You smirked looking at him and he frowned,

"It's not your birthday-Oh, it's mine." A blush took over his face as you walked him into the living room and sat him down on the sofa,

"Is this why you haven't been answering your phone?" He gestured to the table that was filled with home cooked goods and you giggled, nodding your head.

"I didn't mean to worry you, you know I cant lie to you so I thought if I ignored you, I wouldn't have to lie." You smirked before he dragged you to sit down with him.

FELIX:

The door to the public library was booted down before people began yelling for everyone to get down on the ground, your head shot up from the book you were reading and you turned to see your boyfriend looking around panicked. You instantly glared at him, of course, he would do something this overdramatic and insane just because you were gone for the day.

"Felix!" You cried out before looking around at all of the other terrified people who were inside the library.

"You weren't answering your phone," He said as though that was ever going to justify knocking down a door and scaring a whole bunch of people.

"Because it's off when I'm in the library." You gestured around you before shutting your book and sighing at him, you couldn't believe he would go to this lengths to find you.

"I left a note in the kitchen for you. Which you would have seen if you'd had breakfast this morning." You scolded him and he blushed a little, instantly apologising to everyone inside the library as he got his cheque book out ready to fix any damages he may have caused.

SEUNGMIN:

Your phone had been off ever since Seungmin had yelled at you that morning and you'd refused to turn it on, You knew it was probably going to cause another fight when you got home but you didn't care. After the fight, the two of you'd had that morning you'd been feeling petty.

"Have you checked at her friend's places? She has to be somewhere," Seungmin sounded stressed as you walked past his study and you stopped in your tracks, peeking through the door to see your husband looking dishevelled.

"I don't care if you checked. Check again!" He boomed before hanging up the phone and downing the scotch that was in front of him. You slowly pushed the door open more and he stared at you,

"Yn?" He quizzed as you walked further into the room, stopping on the opposite side of his desk, he was a mess and you felt guilty.

"The one and only."

"Fuck, baby." He rushed toward you and held you tightly in his arms,

"I'm so sorry about this morning, I'm so so sorry," He held you tighter and tighter until you were sure he was cutting off your air and you whined and began pulling back.

"I'll never fight with you again, just please never run off." He begged as you nodded at him, both of you sitting down to discuss your fight.

JEONGIN:

Jeongin knew that you could look out for yourself, it was one of the things he loved about you but it was scaring him when you continuously ignored his text messages. Worry began to cloud his judgment as he thought about all of the things that could possibly be going wrong with you. Maybe you'd been kidnapped and they took your phone away. Or maybe you'd been involved in an accident and your phone broke in the process. Every thought was making him out of his mind with worry. So he sat and waited. He waited for hours until the front door to your shared home opened and you walked inside followed by two of your best friends.

"Innie? I thought you were going out with the guys tonight?" It was your understanding that tonight was his party night, which was why you'd stayed out so late in the first place.

"I was...But I got worried, you weren't answering your phone." You frowned a little, digging through your bag to find your phone and when you did you felt a wave of guilt hit you.

"It must have died, baby, I'm so sorry." You whined holding onto his face as he held onto you, your friends making their way up to your room to give the two of you some needed privacy.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @hanasonmi @taestannie @acciocriativity @scarletemeterio @halesandy @aerastus @laylasbunbunny @critssq @lenfilms @btsiguess-kpop @meowmeowisdaname @imafivestarkpopstan @lost-leopard-beanie @djeniryuu @backintomykpopphaseagain @choisoorin

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gaysindistress · 2 months

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Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley trauma edition

Warnings: mentions of trauma and relating effects

Simon Riley masterlist

Plain and simple, Simon Riley has trauma. He’s seen and done some unspeakable things. He’s met the grim reaper and made it beg for forgiveness as he clawed his way back to this plane of existence. He’s looked God in the face and said “fuck your plan. I’m doing things my way.”

With that comes consequences.

He has terrible nightmares most nights where he wakes up with a raw heart and covered in sweat. His throat hurts from the screaming he must have been doing while he dreamt about his family’s murders. His eyes are sore from the tears he shed when he relived being buried alive. His body aches from being in fight or flight for so long. He hurts everywhere all of the time. Most nights he can’t sleep in bed. Instead he’ll lay on the floor or the couch because it’s uncomfortable but it’s what he’s used to. He only uses a thin blanket and maybe an old pillow that’s basically cardboard. Nothing can be touching him because he immediately wakes up. No one can walk past him or the room he’s sleeping in without his eyes snapping open. He has to face the door when he sits down because he needs to be able to see if anything happens. He’s concealed carrying at all times because he feels exposed without the familiar weight of a weapon at his hip.

Loud noises and crowded places are a big fuck no. Any loud bang causes him to flinch and his eyes to twitch. Crowds leave too much room for error. When he’s with you, he will not be out into a position where he can’t protect you. If that means you don’t go to concerts or clubbing so be it.

Your blood will not stain his hands.

Physical touch is difficult for him. He has to work his way up to it. It starts with small gestures like brushing his hand against yours when you’re walking or when you’re siting down. It eventually goes to holding your fingers (not your whole hand) and gripping your knee when he’s driving. After some time he’s able to keep his hand on the small of your back while also kissing the top of your head. However do not ask this man to kiss you in when you’re around the others. He will spontaneously combust at the mere thought of them seeing him be Simon and not Ghost.

He tries therapy but at a certain point, it doesn’t seem to help. Consistency is key and he doesn’t exactly have that with his job. The other issue is that therapy is not a cure. It is a managing tool. It will not ‘fix’ whatever you feel is broken. It can help repair what needs to be mended and it’s done that for Simon. He’s repaired all that he can but the long term effects of his trauma are here to stay. He’s not going to like going out. He’s not going to be comfortable with touch. His sleeping habits will be different until he finally shuffles off this mortal coil. He’s going to be harsh and abrasive to most. He’s going to be Ghost most of the time.

He’s going to be all that is he now because it’s who he is…and you love him for it.

#simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost imagine #ghost call of duty #call of duty #ghost cod

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emjiroki · 9 months

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Pool Boy Yuuta Okkotsu x Lonely Housewife Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Infidelity, exhibitionism (outside), Yuuta is the lonely housewife slayer fight me

A/N: I'm back babies with Pool boy Yuuta for the lovely Wet Hot Slimeball summer block party collab event! My prompt was 'Humid' so I hope I captured the theme and everyone enjoys! @bastardblvd (look at Yuuta holding the pool skimmer! Im pretty proud of my editing skills)

Collab Masterlist

likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated

‘God they need to do something about this global warming shit’ You thought as the sun beat down. It had been storming over the last week in Grimetown so the humidity was intense; thick like you were being compressed and forced to breathe the water evaporating from the ground. And with the storms came strong winds, knocking small branches and a whole heap of leaves into the once pristine blue water of your pool. You had made plans to clean it out…soon, maybe ask that big man that stole your package and stuffed that block party flier in your mailbox to fix it, had really planned to ask your husband to do it before he left for two weeks on a “business trip”. It would be comical to believe that these trips were for business at this point, your husband coming home one too many times smelling of perfume that wasn’t the scent you wore. Something cheap and cloying that set a stone in your stomach. But you liked your life, all your bills were paid and your husband still treated you like you were his world, why bother rocking the boat over some whore? He’ll get bored with her eventually and come crawling back, take you on some big vacation as a secret sorry and it’ll be done with.

So here you were lounging on one of your pool chaises trying and failing to read your book with your brain a frenzy of thoughts when you vaguely heard a knock on the gate. You pulled on the slipcover for your bikini and went to open the hefty latch to the privacy fence. The sudden heat to your skin wasn’t from the sun beating down or the suffocating humidity, but most certainly from the man in front of you with a pool skimmer propped up on his shoulder.

“I’m Yuuta Okkotsu from Grimetown Pool and Landscaping, sorry for the intrusion but I tried the front door and no one answered”. He seemed about your age, maybe a year or two younger, with sweet dark eyes and a handsomely cut jaw. Obviously fit under the company t-shirt that hugged his body. You bit your cheek slightly to try and keep your thoughts in check and not written across your face as you extended your hand to his to shake and introduced yourself.

“I’m guessing you’re the poor soul that they sent to come clean my disaster of pool?” You asked opening the gate a bit wider for him.

“That’s what was on my schedule for today ma’am,” He said with a sheepish smile as he fumbled to close the gate latch behind him and followed you over to the poolside.

“And in this humidity too? Yikes,” You empathized, taking a discarded magazine from the table and fanning yourself as he surveyed the mess.

“This will probably take a day or two to clean out and get balanced again,” Yuuta said with a determined look set on his face.

“Please, take all the time you need” You requested, pulling the slip from your bikini off, “I’m assuming the husband will just write a check for whatever”.

“R-Right, of course” He stammered, a rosy hue to his cheeks as he not so subtly looked you up and down. But he didn’t look away from your gaze when you made eye contact, going so far as to take a small step forward. You gave him a soft alluring smile before slipping your sunglasses on and lounging back in your chair.

“This humidity is a killer, let me know if you need anything” You commented as he pulled his phone from his pocket, assumedly to call his boss and tell them the plan.

“Oh I will, don’t worry,” He said with a lowkey promise in his tone that had you clenching.

♡

An hour or two passed as he pulled out branches and skimmed the pool, the humidity absolutely baring down and making the air thick. You were glad for the sunglasses because you couldn’t help but stare when he stripped off his shirt. Sweat ran down his neck to the dip in his collarbones before rolling down his chest and chiseled abdomen, your eyes tracing the wet path down as you unconsciously clenched your legs together. You reached for your drink and realized the glass was empty, the ice slowly melting at the bottom.

“Yuuta, would you like a drink? Take a break in the a/c for a minute?” You called over as you gather your stuff to head back inside away from this killer heat.

“Sure that would be great” He replied, pulling the skimmer from the water and setting it aside before quickly following you as you lead him in through the back door to the kitchen. The cool was a relief from the stagnant heat hovering around outside, Yuuta gratefully taking the towel you handed him and wiped his face and neck.

“Water? Lemonade?” You asked as you opened the refrigerator, pulling the pitcher out and refilling your own glass.

“Lemonade is great, thanks” He huffed as he sat back in one of the bar chairs, pushing his damp black hair back away from his face. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t ogle for a moment, quickly turning away when looked up at you and filled the glass you pulled down for him. He said thank you again as you handed it to him, watching as he took a few big gulps of the cold liquid, his Adam's apple bobbing as he drank greedily.

“You know Yuuta, I really wish my husband had a job like yours,” You commented, taking the seat next to him.

“Oh? And why’s that?” He asked, surprise in his tone but something curious and almost heated sparkling in his dark eyes. Damn, how could he be this pretty?

“Well, he’s always gone and I think the finance industry is making him dishonest” You admitted, casually messing with your discarded sunglasses on the island. The worst has already happened, at this point, you didn’t care about throwing yourself out there as you gently touched his fingers resting next to yours.

“I’d be dishonest too if I got a house like this and a wife like you” He commented, a rosy hue to his cheeks though he didn't pull his hand away when you expected him to.

“But the house is always so empty, it's lonely here… all by myself,” You said tracing one of your manicured nails up his hand to his forearm, goosebumps breaking across his skin, “He gives me everything I want but nothing that I need”. Yuuta turned slightly, leaning in close enough that a gasp escaped you, his dark eyes swimming with something you wanted to be devoured by.

“And what is it that you need?” He murmured, his lips close enough that you would only have to lean in an inch or two to feel them against yours, “Love? Good dick?”. It felt as if someone had lit a fire in your cheeks and it was rapidly traveling to the spot between your legs, your breath not filling your lungs anymore as his hand moved to your bare thigh. Your hands were shaking as you tried to take a drink from your glass, a small splash of lemonade running down your mouth to your chest. You squeaked out a soft moan when you felt his warm tongue against your skin, his mouth following the sour liquid down to the curve of your breast and sucking lightly in a soft kiss. Gripping his arms to keep yourself steady, he smiled up at you, that seemingly innocent shy boy smile from earlier. “Is that a yes?”.

♡

“Yuuta! Fuck!” You cried as he bottomed out inside of you for what seemed like the hundredth time today, you both barely able to get out of your bed this morning.

“You really never get tired do you?” He said with a chuckle, hissing as your walls squeezed around him, “Can’t even get my job done”. He’s right, hadn’t even gotten the chemicals ready for the pool before he was spread on the chaise lounge for you again, your thong bikini shredded by his eager hands and thrown somewhere in the yard. You were both slick with sweat from the heat, humidity ever present as you devoured each other for your neighbors on both sides to hear. His hands were rough against your ass as he squeezed and help you along to take his length, your hands on his sweaty chest as you bounced, spearing yourself on him again and again like you were possessed.

“You’re just… so good” You moaned as he pulled you down to press against him, nipping his teeth across your throat and thrusting up into you.

“Oh, you’re so good too beautiful, so fucking hot” He groaned, feeling your slick leaking out and running down to coat his balls in creamy white. He was so deep inside, carving out a place only his cock could satisfy, rutting into your soft walls like an animal. You couldn’t get enough as you moved your hips against his, his hand going up to wipe the drool from your lips as you fell apart.

“With a pussy like this I might just get obsessed,” He said his voice turning to a growl as you raised up again, his dark eyes seeming to grow darker as he watched your breasts bounce and the sweat rolling down your skin. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”. You nodded, groaning out a soft yes as the flames of your climax licked up your spine, your brain foggy with the heat and the pleasure buzzing through your bloodstream. If only your “husband” could see you right now, being ravaged into a puddle in this primal humidity.As if he heard your thoughts, your phone began to ring. You didn’t think to pick up, only looked when you saw Yuuta’s hand move. His hand wrapped around it, squeezing the volume button until it buzzed on silent, flipping it over. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you down to lay against his chest again, practically growling as he pressed your face to his throat and fucked so deep into you you could feel him battering your cervix. The sound that broke from your lips as you creamed around his cock was something you hadn’t heard before, breathy and wild.

“That’s right baby, cum on my cock as much as you want” He panted, his hands running soothingly up your back despite him still hammering into your sensitive pussy, “I’m your husband now, I’ll make him disappear and you'll be all mine won't you?”.

#yuuta okkotsu smut #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu #jjk smut #slimeball collab 💚#em writes ✍#em talks 👄

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kaciidubs · 5 months

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Rock and Roll

❣ Summary: Jeongin's new comeback look was truly irresistible. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 2.08k ❣ Warnings: This specific Jeongin, Dom! Reader, Switch! Jeongin, use of honorifics [Noona], smut, semi-public sex [bathroom], fingering, clothed sex, praise, begging, desperation, slight degradation ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Jeongin is referred to as Innie, baby, baby boy, and IN-ah [once], Reader is referred to as Noona, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

He looked too good with that hairstyle.

He looked way too good with that hairstyle.

Maybe it wasn't just the style, maybe it was a combination of the split dyed golden blond, curled into a messy mop, paired with the fake lip piercing, colored contacts, and collar that shouldn't look as enticing as it does around his neck.

Yeah... That was it - that explained away the way you were practically vibrating in your seat across the room, watching as one of the stylists fixed a curl at the back of his head.

She patted his shoulder with a nod, her lips moving with words you couldn't catch before he nodded in response and slipped his way out of the styling chair.

Making his way over to you, he stood in front of you with a smile brighter than the sun, truly resembling the fluffy fox he was personified as.

"What do you think, Noona?"

Truly, this was the universe testing you, waiting to see if you would stick with your morals or succumb to the irresistible charm of your darling boyfriend.

Humming thoughtfully, you made a thorough up-down of his full attire, "How much time until you're needed for the pre-recording?"

Slipping his phone from his front pocket, he tapped the screen and watched the device come to life, "About... 45 minutes?"

You stood from the couch with a dignified nod, sliding your hand in his before leading him toward the door of the communal dressing room. "Great, I'll only need 30."

Morals be damned.

It took; two minutes to slink your way into the bathroom down the hall, tugging him in behind you and locking it the second it shut, another two minutes to silence his jumbled questioning with a kiss, hard and statement making, and one minute for him to succumb to your stellar persuasion.

"Have I ever told you how fucking hot you look?" You moaned against his lips with no intent to give him the time to answer, your own lips barely leaving his for even a second.

"I-" Jeongin gasped, returning your heated kiss, "You've-" a whimper cut him off, his hands holding onto your hips, "-mentioned it-" you nipped at his bottom lip and his knees buckled, "-once or twice."

Pulling away, you gazed at him with lust fogged eyes, "Well, baby boy, you look so god damn hot, I wanted to fall to my knees the moment the stylist finished curling your hair - but then..." Your eyes dropped to the collar resting against his neck, sliding your hand from his shoulder to dance your fingers along the silver letters, 'IN'. "When I saw her put you in this, it made me want to put you on your knees."

The whine he let out was sinful, almost pitiful in the way his hips rocked against yours - arousal evident in the presence of his dick filling out the front of his pants.

"C-Can you? Will you?"

His expectant pout made your heart swell, and your lips to curl into a pitying frown, "Oh, baby, you're on the clock, remember? We wouldn't want to give Jiyeon more work in fixing you back up again, now do we?"

"But- But-" he moved his head, making a point of the locked personal bathroom you all but dragged him into, "You brought me in here! I thought you'd at least-"

"Let you fuck me silly on that insatiable, deliciously long cock of yours?" You finished for him in more colorful words than he would've chosen, "I know, but you're already in your makeup, and you and I both know that less than 30 minutes isn't enough to get you off fully."

Deflating against the door, his hands squeezed your hips in disdain, "So, what? I can't just leave like this, Noona, I'm so hard it hurts."

Smirking, your fingers cupped his chin, "Well, you're lucky I have a plan, a deal if you will." Watching as he nodded for you to continue, your smirk grew into a grin, "I want you to finger me, Innie - make me come before you have to go and I'll do anything you want once your performances are over. Can you do that for me, baby boy?"

A light sparkled in his eyes, the urge to please you making him straighten up, "Anything?"

"Anything, baby, just as long as you make me come with those pretty fingers of yours."

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours and your position was switched; one hand protecting the back of your head as the rest of your body thudded against the door, while the other got to work on unbuttoning the button of your jeans.

Five minutes for him to get them unbuttoned and down your legs, your right shoe paying the price for your right leg to be freed and hooked around his hip - your panties simply pulled aside by his thumb and his fingers sliding along your folds. His left hand relinquished its cradle on your head to hold onto your waist, keeping you as stable as possible in the precarious position.

"Wet." He murmured against your mouth, middle and ring finger curling and collecting the arousal practically dripping from you, "So wet for me, Noona."

Your head fell back against the door, an airy moan floating past your lips as he focused his attention on the column of your neck. "A-All for you, Innie - only for you, baby."

You needed to play your cards right, push all the buttons that would get him ticking just the way you needed.

"Can't wait to have you in me, maybe I'll just drag you back in here after the show - won't even wait for you to change."

He moaned against your neck, his fingers pressing against your entrance before slowly sinking both digits in at once with learned ease. "Wanna fuck you, Noona, please - I'll be quick, w-won't mess up anything."

Bringing your right hand to the nape of his neck, you curled your fingers through the hair at the back of his head - a taste of what he could have later. "You know our deal, baby boy; make Noona come and I'll be on my knees faster than you know."

With a shivering breath, he steeled his resolve and curled his fingers inside of you, targeting that spongy spot at the front of your vagina and hitting it with ease.

Your left arm tightened around his shoulders, working double time to keep you balanced with the help of his left hand holding you against the bathroom door.

"T-That's it, baby, fuck-"

He didn't give you any time to revel in the sensation as he tilted his hand down, the drag of his fingers bringing a low moan out of you before he flicked his wrist up, thrusting his fingers back into you at a speed that made your toes curl.

"Fuck!"

That was your test run, the calm before the storm, and with a slight adjustment of his arm, the bathroom was soon filled with the sounds of your moans and the slick squelching of your cunt around his fingers.

"Innie- Innie- Oh, fuck me-"

There was no desire to keep quiet - it wasn't a secret that whenever you and Jeongin disappeared, someone was getting their rocks off, but what happened next came as a shock.

When your mouth opened to let another wanton moan float through, a large hand covered the bottom half of your face, his fingers just barely resting below the bottom of your nose.

"Be quiet." He practically growled against your ear, fingers flexing against your cheek, "J-Just shut up and take it."

You were shocked you didn't accidentally break a finger from the way you clenched at his tone, eyes fluttering as he ground the palm of his hand against your pussy, your clit getting the stimulation it deserved.

This was the Jeongin you were going for, your darling boy who switched hard with the right provoking; the one who had you seeing stars in ten minutes flat.

His hand was hot with your muffled moans trapped behind it and he couldn't care less; not when your walls fluttered around his fingers, and your arousal puddled in the palm of his hand and dripped off the back.

"W-Wanted you to make me fall apart," he scoffed, rutting his hips against your left thigh, "but now I'm making you fall apart first - just like you wanted, huh, Noona?"

His quick thrusts were subbed out for rapidly jack hammering his hand against your pussy, the sopping noise practically bouncing off the walls of the bathroom.

"I could've filled you easily - bent you over the sink to watch me fuck you dumb through the mirror," pulling his head up, his dark eyes held a glint, stunning and all encompassing, "but I guess you love my fingers too much to even care."

Your left hand tightened in his curls, an unabashed moan catching in the palm of his hand.

Just a little more - you just needed him to-

As if reading your mind, he sunk his fingers in to the knuckle and traced fast, tight circles around your puffy clit, "Come for me, Noona - make a mess of my fingers."

Your body trembled, limbs all but locking him in place against you as you came with a loud cry - even muffled, he could make out the whined scream of his name vibrating against his hand.

He worked you down with gentle thrusts, groaning at the sensation of your cum dripping down the back of his hand, "Oh god, you're so much warmer now... S-So slippery."

You came back to your senses enough to realize he was still grinding himself against your thigh, the once dominant air surrounding him now melting away into the needy baby bread you loved even more.

"I-I did good, right? Made you come like you said - now, can I?" His hand dropped from your mouth in favor of gripping your waist, quickly succumbing to the deliciously harsh rub of his denim pants against his boxer-brief hidden dick. "Can I come, Noona? Can i? Can I, please?"

Knowing you wouldn't forgive yourself for letting him ruin himself in his stage clothes, you dropped your right hand to his wrist; pulling away the fingers that were still nestled inside of you before untangling yourself from him and unceremoniously getting onto your knees.

A short cry fell from his lips when you pulled away from him, but when he saw you kneeling with your hands working fast against the button of his pants, he nearly came then and there.

You got his pants undone in record time, tugging them - and his underwear - down just enough to pull his cock out and wrap your lips around the shiny, precum covered tip.

"S-Shit, Noona- 'm gonna- I-I'm-"

A flick of your tongue against his slit, a gentle suck, and in no time a desperate whine fell from his lips as he came in your mouth, the slight tang coating your tongue with each wave that coursed through him.

Swallowing in kind, you stroked him a few more times to make sure that was all he had - albeit a bit greedily - before pulling off of him with a soft pop.

You tilted your head to look up at him, and you met his familiar, bright eyed smile - even after fingering you like a man possessed, then coming down your throat in mere seconds, he still looked like he didn't even break a sweat.

"Wow," he breathed, a breathless laugh escaping him, "that was ama-"

"IN-ah! We're leaving in 15!"

The sound of Minho's voice on the other side of the door nearly made you both jump out of your skin, urging you to scramble back into your jeans while Jeongin hastily tucked himself back into his boxer-briefs.

"Don't forget to get your makeup touched up again!" Came Hyunjin's teasing voice, laughing as if he could see the blush currently turning your boyfriend red.

"See?" You huffed, pushing yourself off of the ground and fixing your jeans as casually as you could, "Told you I only needed 30 minutes."

Rolling his eyes, Jeongin fixed his shirt with his head held high, "That just gives me 15 minutes to think about what I want you to do to me when we're done."

You laughed at his haughtiness before tugging him by the collar, pressing your lips to his in a soft, sweet peck.

"Go on and get touched up, rock star."

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#skz smut #stray kids smut #yang jeongin smut #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #jeongin smut

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