#he's always stoned off his ass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nanaslutt · 6 months

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gojo and vibrator overstim??? he pleasures u like crazy after u guys go to a party and he sees a lot of guys checking u out, but instead of taking it out on u he decides he just wants to worship u😭😭 and he makes u cum a lot of times dkslmds idk

When your girlfriend is too hot for her own good ft. satoru gojo x reader

this is the longest thing i’ve ever written i absolutely loved this prompt..

contains: fem reader, established relationships, whipped!gojo, jealousy, perv!npc’s, vibrators, sooooo much dirty talk, praise, like a ridiculous amount, body worship, cockwarming, overstimulation, mating press, multiple orgasms, no condoms in sight, breeding kink if u squint, squirting for the first time, domestic af

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

After Gojo finished zipping up your dress and hooking the clips at the top to secure it for you, he slapped your ass, grabbing the fat in his palms, “Goddd, i’m so fucking lucky,” he sighed dramatically.

Sliding his large hands around to the front of your body and cradling your hips, resting his head on your shoulder while he admired your current look.

Makeup applied just right, not a glitter of highlight out of place, hair styled in a way that gave his intruding eyes free roam to admire back of your neck, dress fitted perfectly to your body, accentuating every curve and dip of your perfect stature.

Opting to wear your shorter heels because knowing satoru, you two would be at this “party” for a very long time.

Everyone always wanted to talk to Satoru every time he showed himself in public. It was no suprise, considering his popularity throughout the jujutsu world from his incredible technique and strength; maybe a little from his blunt and childish personality too; and non jujutsu sourcerers we’re quick to swarm him from just his handsome looks alone.

Eyes that lit up any room, a perfectly symmetrical and slim face that looked like it had been hand chiseled from the finest stones, and his snowy white hair to top it all off. Satoru always getting asked the same question from girls and guys alike, flirtation laced in their voice when they spoke, “So, is that your natural hair color??”

His height sure didn’t help in making him any less invisible than he already wasn’t.

You two didn’t attend parties or anything of the sort too frequently though, usually only making an appearance at certain events when you had to.

This time it was a little different. Shoko had insisted on Gojo trying out this new club she started to frequent, rambling about how the ambience was just perfect; of course she didn’t fail to mention the high quality liquor they housed in the process.

Satoru hadn’t been to a club in a minute, since he started going out with you. Not seeing the need to anymore.

He only went to clubs before to let off steam after a particularly hard mission, letting some stranger dry hump him on the dance floor, or drinking some too-sweet non alcoholic drink with shoko at the bar, complaining about his day.

He never took any of the strangers home though, he just needed to get out of his head, letting the lights, shitty blaring music, and sweaty bodies overstimulate his mind for a night.

Then he found you. Perfect, sweet, little you. He found that he much rather would wrap his arms around you in the comfort of his quiet, familiar home, and lay on your breasts while you ran your fingers through his hair.

Nails raking comfortingly over his scalp as the stressors of his day melted from his brain. Why was he even stressed again?

See? This was a hundred times better than the club.

But when shoko was insistent, she was thoroughly insistent.

When you stepped through the thick doors of the establishment, guided by satoru’s comforting palm on your lower back, you couldn’t help but notice this felt a lot more lax than what you were expecting.

Music not overbearing, people mingling with each other, and weirdly seeing a lot of familiar faces in the crowd.

“Satoru, where are we right now? I thought this was a club.” you asked, tilting your head up at him while he led you in the direction of the bar, to get you something to loosen you up; he knew how you got antsy at these things sometimes.

“Ah, I didn’t explain very well did I?” he giggled, “Thisss,” gojo paused to splay his arm out in front of him, “Is where Jujutsu sourcerers come to relax!” that explains why you saw so many familiar faces…

“I think that’s why Shoko loves this place so much, people tend to stay away from her here..” pursing his lips pretending to think, “She can be quite intimidating when you know her..” he finished, shaking his head dramatically like he was trying to forget a scary memory.

“Anyways, how are you feeling sweet thing? wanna get a drink first?” Your handsome boyfriend asked you, hand still resting against your back as he gave you a little smile.

“Yeah I uh-“ looking over Gojo’s shoulder before continuing, “I think that blonde guy is trying to get your attention.” pausing your response to your boyfriend as you tipped your head forward, signaling behind gojo.

He turned his neck, shoulders perking up when his eyes focused on the man, “Yooo! How’s it goin!” Gojo waved his free hand at the man as he chirped cheerfully at him. “Was sent on a mission with him once when i was a third year, some ‘rival school bonding’ activity.” he explained.

“Looks like it worked,” you laughed, bringing your hand down to pat him on his firm behind, “You should go talk to him, it sounds like you haven’t seen him in a while.” Encouraging him, starting to slip out from his hold.

“You sure baby?” he asked, slightly pouting, not wanting you to feel awkward or neglected by yourself. God satoru was so sweet. You laughed at his antics before smiling fondly, reassuring him, “I’ll be okay toru, jus’ gonna go make myself at home on a bar stool.”

Gojo gripped your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he started off for his old acquaintance. Your heels clicked on the ground as you made your way over to the bar in the other direction satoru had gone off in.

You ordered yourself a drink, something sweet, and not too strong, just something to relax your nerves as you were now by yourself in a space you’ve never been before.

Just when you started thinking you should go make small talk with someone there, a tall man walked up to you, noticing the few buttons on his shirt undone. For some reason this made him look less intimidating; you were already walking around like there was a stick up your ass, so seeing someone look a little more laid back eased your nerves a bit.

He introduced himself, giving your figure a quick one over that you missed as you stuck your hand out for the man to shake, introducing yourself politely back.

The two of you got lost in conversation, talking about how harboring your jobs were, the only common subject you thought of to talk about with the stranger.

Gojo had made himself comfortable on the halfmoon sofa adjacent to the bar, conversing with a small crowd now, all catching up and laughing with each other.

After maybe half an hour or so, when the conversation was diverged away from him, he averted his gaze to you, watching you giggle at something the dark haired man said.

He didn’t recognize him, but he did recognize the hungry look he had on his face. The same one gojo had whenever he looked at you.

You looked completely oblivious to the man’s gaze as you continued ranting, the alcohol obviously having some affect on you, looking so relaxed while you talked to him.

Gojo couldnt take his eyes off of the scene in front of him for the life of him. People around gojo’s voices starting to become distorted at he channeled 110% of his focus onto you.

Giving a quick glance around the room and catching two guys staring at your ass. The way you were perched on the stool, body leaned into the counter a bit, making your back arch, poking your backside out in association, made you look incredibly seductive.

One of the men elbowed the other in the ribs, making him look at the sight he was witnessing; that of which being your body.

Gojo stared at them like if he tried hard enough, he could make them go blind with his mind.

Satoru would never in a million years stop you from wearing something you wanted out of the house; scandalous or not.

He loved seeing you feel good in your body, so if that meant wearing nipple pasty’s and a fishnet bodysuit out of the house? so be it, he would be in his rightful place on your hip the whole time.

But right now, he really wished everyone would stop looking at what was his.

He knew you looked good, you always did, but that didn’t give these sleazeball’s the right to oggle you like a piece of meat.

Bringing his attention back to you and the man you were conversing with, he noticed his hand had placed itself on the side of your stool, dangerously close to your thigh.

His lip twitched at the thought of his filthy hands touching your sacred body.

Giving a one over to the people around him once more and realizing that a lot more than just the man you were talking to and the 2 sluts objectifying you in the corner were passing glances at you.

“Gojo? you good?” His old acquaintance asked skeptically when he realized the veins looked like they were threatening to burst in gojos hands as he squeezed at the arm of the sofa.

Satoru stood up without saying so much as a goodbye to the people he was with, not caring about how rude or disrespectful he came off, as he quickly made his way over to your side of the room.

“Haha, I agree,” the man laughed a little to hard at something you said that truthfully wasn’t all that funny, “Mind if I get you another drink cute thing? Looks like you finished that one.” he flirted.

Finally picking up at his flirtations you started to reply, “Oh! uh.” uncomfortably shifting in your seat at the pet name, suddenly way to aware of his hand on your stool next to your leg. When did it even get there?

Looking over to where Satoru was supposed to be, eyes widening slightly, when the familiar face was nowhere to be found.

“Sorry cute thing, did i scare ya?” gojo mimicked the man across from you, staring daggers into his eyes with his intimidating orbs as he wrapped his arms around your body, large frame towering behind you.

“Satoru! jus’ figured you went to the bathroom or somethin’” you said, rubbing his hand that was placed on your torso with your thumb affectionately.

“Uh we were having a conversation.” the man interrupted your affections to one another, not listening to Satoru’s very obvious hints that you were not on the market. He figured he would make it a little more obvious for the strangers dense little head.

“Sorry buddy, i’m not feeling too well right now, so I need my cute little girlfriend to take me home.” emphasizing the nature of your relationship as he pouted his lip fakely at him.

“Not feelin good toru?” you asked, turning your neck around to look at him, face full of concern.

He felt his heart skip a beat at your worried tone. “Yeah ‘m sorry baby, you looked like you were havin a good time, but I really wanna get outta here.” overwhelming eyes glancing over the room, scaring off each and every last person’s ravenous stares on your body.

You stood up, smoothing out your dress as gojo fell into position like always, hand on the slope of your back as he crouched down to lay his head on your shoulder dramatically, trying to get you to baby him.

It worked, your hand coming up to ruffle his hair, “It’s alright toru, my conversation here was just wrapping up.” you referred to the man who unbeknownst to you was trying to come onto you throughout this whole interaction.

Sticking his tongue out childishly at the man when you weren’t looking, the two of you started for the door.

Gojo never got self conscious about himself, but you were different. He didn’t realize how much he really hated people looking at you like you were nothing but a body until you were in situations like these.

He wasn’t scared you would leave him for someone else but…ok maybe he was slightly scared you would leave him for someone else.

He’s the great Gojo Satoru!! The strongest sorcerer of the modern age!! People think he wasn’t aware of how obnoxious his personality got sometimes, but he was. He was aware of it being a turn off for many people.

He never thought that you would feel like that about him though, but seeing all of these admittedly attractive people who possibly had less annoying tendencies than him made him hold your body against him tighter.

“Are you feeling alright satoru? you never wanna leave these things early.” you asked, coming to stand in front of him when you finally exited the building. Standing on your tippy toes to reach his forehead, placing the back of your hand against it to feel if he was coming down with something.

Gojo relished in your warm hand against his soft skin, closing his eyes at the contact and groaning when you pulled away. “M fine, people just have fucking staring problems.” he mumbled under his breath.

“Huh?” you asked confused when he didn’t elaborate. Gojo grabbed your hand, dragging you in the direction of the car.

The walk was a short one. When you finally arrived, he opened got door for you, helping you into the car as he shut it behind you, walking around to his respective side of the car and sliding in before turning on the ignition, pulling out onto the dark street.

You rubbed your hand on his thigh comfortingly when he stayed silent.

“You love me right?” He spoke up, uncharacteristically insecure.

“You big dope, did you get jealous watchin me talk to someone else all night? You left me first remember?” hand coming up briefly to pinch his cheek, making him groan, before dropping back down to his thigh.

“Course I love you.” you admitted truthfully.

“Ugghhhhh” gojo groaned loudly, slightly tipping his head back, being sure to keep his eyes on the road when he did so, “but he was practically fucking you with his eyesss.” drawling our his words childishly, pouting over at you.

“He what?” you asked in bewilderment.

“So oblivious baby, you need to be more careful, someone besides your big strong boyfriend might try to eat you up one day” grimacing slightly as he shook his head at your lack of picking-up-when-people-wanna-fuck-you radar.

“What kinda of weird things are you imagining in that head of yours, huh?” letting out a short laugh at his ridiculousness, retracting your hand back into your own lap.

“I’m seriousss,” he whined, glancing over at you, “He was lookin at you like he could fuck you better than I do.”

You almost choked on your spit at his words, “Satoru gojo!” you chastised at his bluntness.

Now it was his turn to drop his hand onto your thigh, squeezing the fat there when he spoke, “I’ll prove him wrong when we get home, gonna show him how much better I can make you feel.” He said, determination, laced in his voice.

“Satoru I don’t even remember his name.” You replied honestly, not denying that his promise sounded very intriguing though, still internally scoffing at his childishness in the current situation.

“Bet he remembers yours.” Making a point to slide his big hand higher up your thigh.

“Bet he memorized every inch of your body too, fucking undressing what’s mine with his eyes, who does he think he is.” gripping your thigh tightly as he got angry at his own words.

You gasped quietly, thighs squeezing together almost unnoticeably at gojos rough treatment of your leg.

"T-toru you're making stuff up again. You stuttered out, watching his jaw clench under the pressure of his teeth pressing tightly together inside his closed mouth.

Satoru ignored your words completely as he kept voicing his thoughts, "He wouldn't have any idea how to touch you like I do."

"Satoru, please." You begged, starting to feel yourself grow wet at his dirty words.

"What is it princess? The thought of me touchin' you getting you all excited?" Finally stopping his chatter about the unwanted man.

"Yes, please for the love of god stop talking." you gripped his wrist connected to his hand that was still tightly on your thigh.

"But I love making you feel good baby, wanna make you feel good all the time." He wines. You drop your gaze down to his lap and notice the massive tent in his pants, twitching every so often.

He really wasn't lying when he said he loves making you feel good. Figuring that part of the culprit for his huge boner was gojo's own words, working himself up for no reason. Not like you were complaining, as it was sounding like you were about get the best dick of your life soon.

Satoru had nothing to prove to anyone in your eyes, but in his, he had multiple faces burning into his retinas of people from the club that he wanted to line up in front of his king bed, and make them watch while he showed them how to properly treat someone like you.

"You make me feel so good satoru, dont think anyone's denying that, but ur makin' me feel all needy, please shut ur mouth till we get home. Don't know if I can take it." You whine, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand.

He giggled, retracting his hand from your thigh, opting to place his elbow agasint the center console, grinning as he shut himself up, cock still throbbing for attention against his zipper.

The rest of the car ride was silent, air palpable, and thick with the need you both had for each other. When the car came to a park in his garage, he calmly slid out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Walking at a steady pace over to your side of the car while you waited patiently, hands crossed in your lap as you swallowed harshly.

When he slung your door open his hand came into your view, placing your palm in his larger one, he assisted you out of the car, shutting the door behind you. He let you walk in front of him, trailing closely behind you.

Getting your keys out of your purse, you flipped through them, trying to find the one that led to satoru's garage door, shaky hands trying to steady themselves when you felt Gojo press himself against your back.

You felt his clothed boner press against your ass first, followed by his hands sliding over your lower stomach, eyes rolling back at the feeling. Then you felt his plush lips against your neck, leaving soft kisses down the sensitive skin as you fought your brain to work properly so you could insert the key into the door and get on with him.

He whimpered your name into your neck, followed by a "hurry" right when you successfully cracked the door open.

Gojo swiftly spun your body around, pinning you against the door and shutting it in the process, pressing his chest to yours as he assulted your lips with kisses, moaning against you.

He slotted his thick thigh between yours, forcing a whimper out of your mouth as he undid the hooks to your dress on the nape of your neck.

"Bedroom" you managed to get out in between kisses. He started removing his tie, quickly undoing the top 2 of his dress shirt buttons, and pulling you backwards with him when he started for the bedroom.

The light of the night seeping in from his floor to ceiling window wall being the only light the two of you had to be able to navigate through his large house.

You whimpered his name into his mouth, cursing when he slid your zipper down your back while you made your way to the bedroom. You kicked the fabric off your body and he leaned down to scoop you up in his arms, now having unobstructed access to your body.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, panty-clad cunt grinding into the rough material of his pants when you bounced along his body as he walked. "Need you," he muttered against your lips between kisses. while he reached a heavy hand around your back and expertly snapped off your bra.

Bumping you both into the wall quite a few times, easing the tension a bit and making you both giggle into the kiss, before he finally made it to the destination of his bedroom.

Plopping your back down on the bed, legs still tightly wrapped around his hips. Gojo started needily humping against your heat, hand coming down to undo his belt quickly.

"Fuck me satoru." you moaned into his mouth. Gojo had to slap himself mentally at that, gaining a sliver of his rational brain back. He had something he wanted to do before he fucked you good.

"I will baby, I will. don't worry" gojo left his promise all over your lips.

Finding his zipper with ease he slid the metal down, leaning back from your frame to try and slide his pants off, proving to be a challenge when your legs stayed wrapped tightly on his hips.

"Gotta let me go so I can get ready for you princess." He smirked. Your eyes were lidded, face flushed, and lips swollen from his lips assault. Breathing heavily you whispered out an "ok" before dropping your legs against the mattress.

"Such a good girl." Gojo praised, sliding his pants and boxers off in one swift motion, long curved cock flopping up against his abdomen with a wet "plp" sound from he dripping tip. His cock looked so angry, the tip a darker shade of pink than it usually was from how aroused he was right now. Nothing but the thought of pleasing you on his brain.

You pressed your knees together in front of him, trying to relive some of the neediness you were feeling between your thighs at the sight of his thick cock. Your eyes flitted between his deliciously curved member, and his beautiful eyes when he leaned over you again, sliding his fingers underneath the fabric of the panties resting on your hip, and sliding them off of you.

Satoru groaned out loud when the cloth peeled away from your cunt. The part that cupped your mound sticking to your skin from how your wetness had seeped through in anticipation.

"Haven't even done anything yet and you're so fucking wet." he moaned, balling up the panties in his hand and throwing them in the pile he was creating, currently made up of just his pants and boxers, making a mental note to keep that specific pair to himself after this.

Undoing the last couple of his dress shirt buttons he let it drape off his large frame sensually, joining the mess on the floor, leaving him completely nude. You yourself were not fairing any better, having been stripped naked in the hall, expensive dress forgotten somewhere in the living room.

Placing his hands on your kneecaps, he spread you open for him, staring hungrily down at your cunt, shaking his head at his disbelief when he saw the slick practically gushing out of your little hole, clenching around nothing.

"Please do something." You begged. Gojo didn't waste any more time, he wrapped his hands around your hips, and placed his back against the headboard in a sitting position, plopping you down on top of him, smaller hands pressing themselves against his pecs.

His cock throbbed, hovering right under your pussy. If he just thrust his hips up slightly, it might accidentally slip in.

"Want you to face away from me, and sit yourself on my dick." He requested, "Dont worry about movin' jus want you to take it all in yourself." He comforted.

Gojo never got tired of watching you struggle to take in his ridiculous size, little moans and cries slipping out between your lips as your face scrunched in pleasure, tears forcing their way down your cheeks. The latter reaction he unfortunately wouldn't be able to witness this time, as you started into action.

Turning your naked chest away from him; much to his dismay; bracing your feet on the bed, one hand coming back to stabilize yourself against his hard abs while you used the other to align his impossibly hard cock with your tiny hole.

Rubbing the tip and his precum alike against your enterance, before your other hand came down to hold your weight against his abs, cock sliding into you with litte resistance thanks to how wet you both were.

"F-fuuuuck 's so big," You whined, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes shut at the stretch. Gojo bit his lip, hand gripping bruisingly into your hip, relishing in your warm walls constricting around his cock.

"I knoww, takin it so good though princess, just like you always do," He praised, rubbing his fingertips against your skin as he kept talking you through it. Both of you letting out a groan together when you finally bottomed out on his cock.

You let your weight off of your feet and hands when Satoru placed his own on the bed, slinging your legs over his thighs, and making you hold your legs open for him as he placed kisses to the back of your head, "Did so good baby, took the whole thing so fucking good." His words made you clench around him, a feeling he didn't miss, as he smiled against your scalp.

"Satoru...move," you pleaded, noticing how he was staying still. He told you not to move, so you didn't, but you didn't know if you could take it if he only wanted to cockwarm you right now.

"Patience baby," Your body moved with his slightly when he leaned his body sideways, cracking open the bedside drawer and pulling out a baby blue bullet vibrator, clicking the toy on to make sure it was charged, before clicking it beck off when it successfully vibrated strongly between his fingers.

"Gonna make you feel so good princess," Confused at the brief buzzing sound you heard, about to voice your question when you felt the buzzing this time.

Gojo had pressed the vibrator against the inside of your thigh, slowly dragging it up and down your skin teasingly.

“T-toru- what are u doin?” you asked in a small voice, legs twitching, threatening to close in on themselves if it wasn’t for your hands keeping them open.

“Gonna worship you baby, just lay there n keep those legs spread for me ok?” His tall stature meant that even sitting, he still towered over you. This gave him a great view of everything.

Staring down at you he could see the side of your face; and the blush that covered it; the way your body folded, your wetness sticking against your inner thighs. Gojo was in heaven.

Using his free hand, he splayed his massive palm out right under your breast, keeping you pressed against his body.

He felt your pussy twitch around his cock steadily, feeling the heartbeat in your walls as you continued rubbing the soft silicone that coated the vibrator, over your skin.

The continuous pulsing around his shaft was making him dizzy, eyelids drooping heavily on his face, body buzzing with warmth and arousal at the situation.

His teasing finally ceased when he heard you whimper out his name sweetly, begging for the last time without words that you needed him to do something.

Placing the vibrator on its lowest setting against the hood of your clit softly, rubbing it in small circles over the nub. Gojo alternated between the latter motion and pressing it directly against your clit, pushing the hood of your clit out of the way, being forced to make room for the toy.

Your stomach clenched, body jerking in on itself when the toy touched a particular part of your pussy, and the stimulation became a little too much.

“o-oh my go-d toruuu,” you whined. Gojo’s watchful eyes never left his ministrations on your clit, absolutely enthralled with the scene in front of him. “looks like that feels so fucking good,” he moaned into the shell of your ear, wincing when your walls squeezed around his cock like you were trying to milk him for all he was worth.

“s-oo good f-fuck.” your breathily moans filled the air as you tipped your head back on his shoulder. He quickly started pressing little kisses all over your cheeks as you shut your eyes, letting him take care of you.

“That’s right, let go for me baby, I got you.” he softly whispered against your cheek, diverting his eyes back on your pussy. If he looked close enough he could see the way your opening squeezed around him, the sight being almost too erotic to handle.

“Keep your body against me baby,” he said before he left his hold on your torso and joined it down between your thighs with his other hand.

Using a couple thick fingers, he traced around the opening of your cunt, feeling how the soft flesh was pulled taught to make room for his girth.

“That t-ickles,” you wined, feeling him make a V shape with his index and middle fingers, rubbing them around where the base of his cock and your pussy met.

“Does it only tickle?” he asked, proving your words wrong when he pressed the vibrator harder against you, the buzzing sensation making your toes curl.

“So erotic..” he let out a little giggle, “Wish you could see this right now.” he continued, drawing little shapes on your clit and rubbing around the rim of your cunt, “Pussy is stretched to the limits while she’s huggin my cock.” he spoke, amazed.

You whined at his dirty words, silently wishing he would shut his big mouth, but not daring to say it out loud. His words not-so-secretly making you even wetter.

His cock had been leaking steadily into you throughout this entire interaction. Balls tightening with the need to release his seed inside you, to really fill you up and mark you internally as his.

Gojo closed his eyes, relishing in the intamacy, pressing his plush lips to your neck and sucking, leaving little bruises all over the expanse of your neck that he could reach.

After a while, he noticed your breath had started to pick up, cunt squeezing him continuously now instead of pulsing, “T-toru, think i-i’m gonna cum.” you whined softly, tilting your head towards him, making his raise his from his place against your neck, and stare into your eyes.

He smiled, already knowing from what your body was telling him before you spoke. “Go ahead baby, want feel you cum around my dick, you deserve it.” he spoke sweetly.

As much as he wanted to watch your pussy when it gushed out around him, right now he was so enthralled with your face. The both of you staring at each other, breathing heavily, your expression was pulled in an aroused pout, while his lips were formed in a smile.

You knew this orgasm was going to be a big one, stomach tingling with a stronger sensation than normal. Internally panicking slightly before you spoke, “f-feels d-ifferent toru.” you warned.

“Feel kinda like ur gunna pee?” he knowingly questioned. It took every molecule in his body to not cum when you nodded your head twords him, “Aww ‘s ok princess, just let it out okay? promise it’s gonna feel so fucking good.” he encouraged.

You were about to squirt. This was something he thought about in the back of his mind every time he fucked you. Always wishing that when you came, something else would come out too.

You were squirming around in his hold at the unfamiliar feeling coiling itself in your tummy. The steady buzzing and delicious circles he was keeping up on your clit only increasing the intensity of it.

Feeling yourself begin to tip over the edge, you hurried out your words, “T-toru, kiss meee, p-please,” needing him to help you through the sensation that was about to come.

“I got you, I got you.” he giggled, pressing his lips to yours, messily tonguing the inside of your mouth while your moans raised it pitch, whimpering into his cavern.

“mhm, mhmmm,” he encouraged, as he started thrusting his hips up, fucking his dick in and out of you, helping you feel even better as his tip beat repeatedly against your gspot.

Your mouth stopped cooperating, jaw going slack as you felt your orgasm start to wreck you. Eyes rolling back in your head as the waves of your high washed over you, “yesyesyes,” gojo groaned out laughing, feeling the first trickles of your squirt spray out around him.

You were moaning so loud, broke cries of his barely coherent name leaving your mouth as he quickly rubbed the vibrator back and forth across your clit.

Balls finally releasing his seed into you at the feeling and visual of your squirt absolutely drenching the sheets underneath the two of you.

He groaned into the air, breathy laughs mixing in with them while he humped each and every last rope of his cum into your womb, pressing his balls hard against your ass when he thrusted inside.

“Holy shittt,” he dragged out when he started to come down from arguably one of the best orgasms he’s ever had in his life.

“That was so fucking hot, good job baby,” bringing his attention back your face, leaving sloppy wet kisses all over your cheeks, licking up the tears that had fallen.

You looked so fucked out, chest heaving, and cunt twitching around him in the aftershocks, eyes fluttering at the intensity in which you just came.

“You did so fucking well, how did that feel?” he asked? Giving yourself a second to catch your breath before you spoke, you mumbled out, “intense.”

“Awww I bet, looked like it felt so good to let it out though, pussy almost snapped my dick off with that one.” he giggled into your cheek.

“Thank you toru, needed that.” you spoke breathlessly.

“Don’t thank me just yet sweet thing” he said. You cracked your eyes open when you felt him slide out from underneath you, situating you in the missionary position.

Gojo placed the breifly forgot about vibrator back on your oversensitive clit, making your legs squeeze around his hips as he used the tips of his fingers to guide his still hard cock back into your warmth.

“Fuck! S-satoru what are you doing?” you panicked as painful pleasure started wracking your body, trying to jerk and jolt away from the stimulation.

“J-jus came ‘m s-sensitiveee.” you whined, fat tears rolling down your face as he started a rough pace, fucking his cock into your gspot, making your words break up when you spoke.

“Cuming just once isn’t enough for my pretty babyyy, you deserve more than that,” abandoning the vibrator for a second to push your thighs against your head, and placing your ankles over his shoulders as he put you in a mean mating press.

“C-cant t-take it.” you voiced in between thrusts, pussy spasming uncontrollably around his fat cock. Once gojo had manhandled you where he wanted you, he placed the bullet back on your puffy clit, making you scream out.

You were feeling so overwhelmed, thighs burning from being pushed to the limits in flexibility, feeling his weight crush you while he bullied his cock into your drenched walls, and the toy? You swore this would be the night gojo killed you during sex.

“Just let yourself feel it baby, relax your body for me let me do allll the work.” he spoke, trying to reassure you as he dropped his gaze to where the two of you were connected, loud squelches emitting from him fucking into you at how wet you were, gojo feeling lightheaded seeing the thick ring of cum at the base of his dick.

Without warning he felt you squeeze around his length impossibly tight, feeling something spray against his abdomen, realizing you were squirting again.

“Yeaahhhh fuck, that’s what I wanted to see.” He brought back his hips before slamming them into you harder, feeling impossibly aroused seeing this new orgasm crash over you a second time.

Your moans and protests were incoherent at this point, tears and drool covering your face as he fucked you through another intense high.

Satoru started to feel himself reach his peak again but he needed to see that one more time before he allowed himself release.

“Good girl, gooooood fucking girl.” he praised at your lack of resistance when your body went lax against him.

You gave up on fighting the pleasure, really letting your brain go numb at the feeling of, well, everything. There was so much going on, his lips would be on your neck one second, tongue in your mouth the next, babbling some dirty talk you were too fucked out to comprehend.

The vibrator was being slid all over your folds with no rhythm, but it felt so fucking good.

“Cmon you can do it, one more time baby just one more time, need to feel you squirt around me, please.” he begged.

Gojo was fucking you both stupid at this point, he was drooling, feeling so fucking pussydrunk as he mindlessly thrusted his cock in and out of your wetness.

Quickly and sloppily sliding the bullet over your clit one last time before he heard you whimper out a warning of your orgasm, impressed you were still able to form words at this point.

His jaw dropped as he came with you, electricity zapping down his spine feeling you gush around him while he stuffed you full, his moans were so needy and high pitched, overstimulating himself by rolling his hips into yours, making sure your cunt swallowed every drop of his cum.

“F-fuck, loveyousomuch.” he slurred, dropping his entire weight against your folded body, making your tendons scream at the stretch.

“S-satoru..hurts.” you voiced, successfully getting him to lean back, letting your legs drop onto the sheets, thighs and toes tingling when the blood started to circulate through them again.

“God you’re fucking amazing, hope u felt as good as I did.” He murmured into your chest.

“are u kidding? almost died.” you whispered, brain still tingling while you gained your braincells back slowly.

He wrapped his strong arms around your body, keeping his softening cock snug inside you, his chest pressed against your was firmly.

You both relished in the feeling for awhile, intertwining your legs and feet together against the bed, wanting to feel this intamacy for a little longer before you ultimately had to clean up.

“So…think club guy could make you cum harder than that?” he spoke into your breasts.

Using your arms to gather all of the strength you had left, placing your sweaty hands on his cheeks, making him raise his head to look up at you, “Satoru,” you chastised, “don’t ruin this.” falling into a fit of giggles when he groaned in defeat, sending vibrations through your lungs.

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peachedtv · 6 months

Text

DOUBLE STUFFED ft. Bully!Satoru Gojo + Bully!Suguru Geto

✰ KINKTOBER 2023 SPECIAL...

✰ SUMMARY: Satoru and Suguru never meant to piss you off, but how could they stop when your reactions would always be so pretty? How could they stop when your reactions to more intimate things would be even better?

✰ CONTENT WARNINGS: afab, female!reader, bully!satosugu x reader, noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, multiple rounds, double penetration (anal and v), porn with some plot, marking, biting, semi-public sex (empty classroom), mentions of forced exhibitionism, breast/nipple play, degradation, fingering, squirting, cum eating, oral (fem and male receiving), face fucking, hair pulling, p in v sex, biting, minor blood, crying, creampie, unprotected sex, just a shit load of nasty fucking 😋

✰ WORD COUNT: 7.5k (WTFF)

✰ AUTHOR'S NOTE: having the most insane bully!satosugu brain rot to cope with mfing school

✰ MASTERLIST.

As much as you could hide it well, Satoru and Suguru really pissed you off.

You glare at Satoru, your hair completely drenched and your uniform in disarray. If you were naive, you would’ve mistaken Satoru for accidentally bumping into you and shoving you backward into the fountain as an unfortunate event. Perhaps the first time it could have been. Perhaps the second was just bad luck. Although, by this point, he had shoved you into the pond every single time you were tasked with feeding the school’s koi fish—and you were not some idiot to miss the way Satoru would hold back a snicker as he offered you a hand out of the fountain.

“You okay? My bad, Himiko.” You see Suguru snort from behind him, his palm covering his mouth as Satoru tries to maintain a sorry excuse for a poker face. It was obvious he was calling you by the wrong name to piss you off, to really degrade you down into your place. But what could you do?

“My name is Y/N..” You mumble, refusing his hand with a lithe wave as you stand up with a light shiver, hugging your arms to your chest, consequently squishing your boobs together in a way that has Suguru's eyes wandering to your cleavage. Your uniform was utterly soaked, hugging tightly to your body, and you held back a frown. Honestly, half the reason why Satoru loved to torment you this way was for the view he’d get. Stupid little you wouldn’t even realize your pink lacy bra would be on full display when your thin blouse turned transparent from the water. For a moment, he’d forget to even reply to your correction, prying eyes hidden behind his sunglasses as they traced from your breasts down to the way your skirt hugged your ass, admiring the way that the water dripped from between your legs could be mistaken so lewdly without proper context.

“Oh, right. My bad, Y/N.” He’d play off, patting your head and picking up the packet of fish food from the edge of the fountain, placing it idly onto a stone.

You felt your heart burn, your hands tightening into fists. Satoru really loved seeing you hold back your insults, a smile spreading across his lips every time you had to pause and take a deep breath to regain your composure after his antics—and there was a reason why you never snapped at them, a reason why you always bit your tongue.

Satoru and Suguru weren’t just your average high school fuck boys. Everyone knew Satoru as the closest thing man could get to being god, attributed to his precociously stupid six eyes and infinite void. Even with his status as a student, he still surpassed the strength of his instructors, borderline toying with them during practice spars, directly toying with his seniors during missions, and mercilessly fucking with you at any moment he could get. His power, his status, the admiration, all this built his sky-high ego that fueled a stupid smirk that could never be wiped off his face. Everyone respected him. He was a newborn pillar of the Jujutsu world, after all. And how could little you stand up against that?

Meanwhile, Suguru stood as Satoru's right-hand man. Suguru was Satoru's 'angel' on his right shoulder, the one who would talk Satoru into a foreign concept of mercy. Despite that, the man still found a certain level of amusement at your disarray. Suguru held an excessive amount of reputation alongside his white-haired friend. With his stupid amount of cursed energy, paired with his cursed spirit manipulation, his ever-growing strength paralleled any of the faculty at Jujutsu Tech. Satoru and Suguru are the strongest. Thus, how could you bite back at their antics when even the teachers kissed the ground they walked upon, too fearful to scold them without fearing for the end of their careers.

It was the way that you bit your tongue against them that was the funniest part. Reactions, that's what they fed off of. Your reaction when you were shoved into the fountain, a yelp slipping past your lips before you'd be absolutely drenched, flailing to pull your skimpy skirt over your ass. The same skirt they bribed the teachers into giving you a size too small because 'the school ran out'. Your reaction when Satoru would accidentally slam his shoulder against yours, causing you to swear it was no big deal before you'd pout as you picked up your things. Satoru and Suguru found themselves entranced in the way you'd react to things: to stress, to annoyance, to teasing. They wanted to see more and more of your sweet little expressions.

Satoru and Suguru weren't just your average high school fuck boys, but you were beginning to lose your mind, you were beginning to not care of whatever reputation and power they had.

It didn't start off tame, but it still managed to rapidly skid downhill. Satoru and Suguru's antics kept progressing further and further, pushing your boundaries and dignity to the limit. At first, there was a minor jump from physical annoyances, such as 'accidental' shoulder bump, developing into more verbal degradations. Suguru would slip one of his cursed spirits into the door of the classroom, fumbling with the key pins until you were trapped inside.

"Oh, is poor little Y/N stuck?" Satoru would smile, his six eyes watching through the door as you would desperately toy with the knob, eyebrows furrowed. "Please, just open the door, Satoru! I have a club meeting today." You frowned, lips pouty as you looked to the door pleadingly, unknowing that Satoru was feeding off your helpless and frustrated expressions.

"Why don't you ask nicely?" A smirk spread across Satoru's lips, he could practically taste the humiliation rising inside you.

"What?" Your voice was trailed off, faint. You knew it was needless questioning for clarification as if you hadn't heard Satoru as clear as day.

"Beg us to open the door. Come on now, I know the weak usually have experience begging for their lives, use that skill in a different aspect. You're a smart girl, no?" Suguru chimed in. You felt the back of your neck burn with embarrassment. There was no way they were being serious, right? You glance to the clock. 16:52, your meeting was set to start in 8 minutes.

"Guys, please. Not today, I really need to get goi-"

"That doesn't sound like begging. Now does it, Suguru?" Satoru cut you off, his voice dismissive. Suguru smiled. "No, you're right there, Satoru." You fell silent. The minute hand ticked. 16:53.

"...please open the door." You said flatly, resting your forehead against the door with your hand weakly hanging off the knob. You were growing tired. Tired of their antics.

"You can do better than that." Satoru snorted. The door slightly sank towards you, likely as a result of Satoru leaning his back against it. You bit the inside of your cheek, gripping your hands into fists. You had the power to break down the door. To shove past them. To curse them out. It was becoming too much to hold back. You swear under your breath, sliding your palm down your face to recollect before you let out a deep sigh.

"...please, Satoru. Please, Suguru. I'm begging you to open the door." You tried to lace as much emotion into your speech, but it still held an undertone of absolute irritation that anyone wouldn't be able to miss. Still, the door clicked, sliding open. "See, that wasn't that hard, was it?" Satoru leaned over you, towering as he smirked, his hands dug deep into his pockets. You frown at him, pushing past him and Suguru as your shoes tap against the wooden floors to get to your meeting.

"Cute, wasn't that?"

"You're right on that."

You didn't think it could get worse. Although, the devil truly knew how to make things work. The devil being Satoru and Suguru.

Quickly, the two's antics would turn purely humiliating. They'd have you beg to be let out of locked closets, classrooms, bathrooms, and storage rooms, until it was having you kneel in front of them and apologizing for bumping into Satoru even if it was obviously your right of way. You'd keep your palms resting on your knees, eyebrows furrowed as you looked up to Satoru with your doe eyes, speaking a soft apology with shame rising heat to your cheeks. Your fingers would fiddle together, nails digging into your skin to try and push past the embarrassment. There was a brace of silence in the classroom after you mumbled your apology. Satoru stood tall in front of you, while Suguru leaned against the teacher's podium with his arms folded in front of his chest.

"You know, I don't think sorry is enough anymore." Your chin picks up to look at Suguru with widened eyes. "What..?"

"I think you're right," Satoru added, kneeling down to you as he took your chin between his fingers, redirecting your gaze to him. "You've been causing so much trouble for us, no? I believe you need a better way to make it up to us this time." Satoru's voice was silky, his head tilting as he spoke, eyes trailing down to your neck, collarbones, before resting his gaze on your breasts. You felt confused, and for some reason, your heart began to sink down into your stomach. "How do I make it up to you?" You were hesitant, slow, your voice hiding back its quiver. Satoru smiled.

You choked out a sob, stifled by the fat cock nudging into the depths of your throat. Satoru's hand held your hair back tightly, your scalp burning as he carefully thrust into your face and used your hair as leverage. You blinked through a build of tears, hands weakly pushing against his thighs to try and tell him to let up, to not fuck his cock so deep into your face. With a particularly forceful thrust, the tip of Satoru's dick punches into the back of your throat, your esophagus contracting as you gagged. Satoru held you firmly in place, and tears began to fill into the corners of your eyes.

"Fuck, just like that, pretty girl." Satoru's breath was ragged, his eyebrows knit together as he looked down to you, pulling back before fucking another harsh thrust into the back of your throat. "Breathe through your nose, now. I can't have you passing out on me." Satoru guided you gently, yet the way he gripped your head and held you to bottom out contrasted greatly with his kind tone. It was a lot easier said than done, especially with how large his cock was, stretching your throat and causing a deep ache in your jaw. Satoru groaned when you swallowed, his head falling back as he closed his eyes. He began to pick up his pace, thrusting his hips while simultaneously pulling and pushing your head up and down him. He never failed to hit the back of your throat with each thrust, smiling when your two hands on his thighs would slowly grip him tighter, a silent way to beg for him to slow down. He never did.

Precum leaked from his tip, swathing against your tongue, salty with a lace of sweetness. He felt himself losing his mind. Satoru cursed under his breath. Why hadn't they done this earlier? How could they have let such a perfect little thing like you slip past their gaze all these years? He watched as you turned your gaze up to him, locking eyes. Your mouth was stuffed full of him, tears welled up in your eyes before they ran down your pretty face. This, this was it. This is what he and Suguru really needed. Throughout their years, he and Suguru had had their way with many dumb, pretty doormats just like you. But as Satoru starts fucking your mouth, heavy breaths falling past his lips as his balls began to slap against your chin, he could tell that your holes were going to be the best they'll ever fuck. You shut your eyes tightly, looking up to him pleadingly with him to give you a break, to let you breathe even just for a little bit. He could tell you've never done anything like this before, or at the very least, never with a cock as large as his. Your innocence was only driving him even more mad, having him relish in the way that he and Suguru would be the first ones to break you in. To use you. To fuck all your holes. Satoru's eyes traced down to your throat, watching the outline of his cock bulge in your neck and a build-up of your saliva drip down from your chin onto your clothed tits.

"Fuck... Eyes on me." His eyebrows knit together, voice airy. With one hand still gripping roughly in your hair, his other reaches down to your throat. His palm wraps around the entirety of your neck easily. You're so small compared to him. Like a dumb little lamb that's wandered too far into the woods, too far into a lion's den. He gives your neck a light squeeze when he bottoms out, hearing you gag and your throat tightening around his cock in response. Once he notices your hands practically scratching down his thighs, he builds up the restraint to give you a break, pulling his cock out of your mouth with a grunt. You gasp, coughs and choked heaves of air borrowing through as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Maybe that was enough, you thought. Maybe now, they'd leave you alone, your dignity bruised and purity shattered.

Much to your dismay, Suguru unbuckled his pants, walking towards you slowly. You look at him with wide eyes.

"W-Wait, I don't—"

"Don't what?" Suguru cut you off, lightly tapping the tip of his cock against your cheek with one hand, his other hand pushing his hair out of his pretty face. Your lips quiver, and you turn your face away from him.

"I don't want to do this anymore..." You looked down to the floor, your hands fiddling together nervously while you knelt before him. Suguru clicked his tongue, his fingers running through your hair gently, tucking loose strands behind your ear.

"You really think we care?" You look up to him slowly. His eyes were half-lidded as they stared down into you, cold. He felt like another person. Many times Suguru would be the one to hold Satoru back, Suguru would be the one who kept you just a little bit safer. Between the two, you'd pick him. Suguru seemed kinder. Yet, you realized your mistake soon enough. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Suguru's grip tightened upon your scalp, he looked irritated.

"When are you going to drop the act?" He pushed your head back, craning your neck to look directly up to him, holding you firmly in place, like a dog being punished to stay still and look to his owner from the ground.

"What..?" You felt a sense of dread sink about you. Suddenly, Suguru lets go of your scalp, grabbing onto your neck and manhandling you into Satoru's lap. Satoru is sitting upon the teacher's desk, with your back against his chest, flush upon his lap. You choke, struggling, hands trying to push and pull at the wrist that kept air keenly out your throat. Suguru signals to Satoru, and Satoru's hand replaces Suguru's on your neck, holding you scarily still. You felt trapped. Small. Vulnerable. Sugur's large hands hooked beneath your thighs, pushing your knees flush against your shoulders before Suguru knelt in front of you. Your skirt pooled around your midriff, and Suguru traced his fingers idly from your clit down to your hole through the fabric of your panties.

"I'll make a deal with you," Suguru's eyes flickered to your face, his gaze sharp as he tilted his head. The view was stomach-churning. Seeing one of the pillars of the Jujutsu World, knelt between your thighs as he played with your cunt through your underwear, just didn't look right. Suguru hooks his middle finger into the side of your underwear. "If I check your pussy and it's not wet, Satoru and I will leave you alone. Does that sound okay?"

"That's not—"

Satoru cuts you off. "I think that sounds like a great deal." Satoru laughs. Suguru hums, pushing your underwear to the side and leaning towards your cunt with a curious look. You writhe, struggling against Satoru's hold on your neck. His large hand gives a warning squeeze.

"Wet pussy never lies, does it?" Suguru chimes, you choke out a panicked moan when his finger probes against your hole, his middle and pointer finger spreading your labia with a V. His other hand slips into his pocket, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture.

"Stop—"

Suguru flips his phone screen towards you and Satoru, your pussy on full view. "What do you think, Satoru?"

"I think," Satoru speaks, "Y/N's body is a lot more honest than her mouth, hmm?" His breath hitches against your ear, you could practically feel him smiling against you.

"Please—ah!" You jolt when you felt cold air blown right against your hole. You squirm, clentching around nothing as your hips struggle and your breath writhes. Satoru groans a little in response, as your needless struggling has amounted to nothing but grinding against his clothed erection. Suguru laughs, leaning back in to gently suck onto your clit. You wretch out a moan, biting harshly into your cheek. Satoru begins to knead your breasts with two large hands, completely enveloping your chest with his palms, his mouth kissing and sucking deep marks of purple and blue into the side of your neck while he works his way to toy with your nipples.

Suguru begins to slowly lap at your clit, sucking onto your clit before his tongue swirls about it harshly. You shutter out a moan, your hands grabbing onto Satoru's wrist to hold on for dear life, your legs trembling and trying to close. Satoru clicks his tongue.

"We can't have you hiding from us, pretty girl. How can Suguru make you feel good then?" Suguru rests your legs onto his shoulders, his hands going to grip your hips, holding you firmly in place as he continues to suck and lick at your clit, his tongue working wonders and flicking against the bud skillfully. Your breath catches as a lump in your throat, head falling back into Satoru's chest. It's too much. It's too way too much. Tears well up in the corners of your eyes, and you try to push your legs against Suguru's shoulder to no avail.

"T-Too much—" Your voice is weak, shaky from the overstimulation. Satoru gently shushes into your ear. "You can be a big girl for us, can't you?" He hums, his hands grab your wrists and bunches them behind your back. You curl up, body stiffening, opening your eyes to see Suguru looking up at you, staring at you intently and you nearly become lost in his dark eyes.

Soon, you're dragged right back down to Earth when Suguru presses his middle finger against your hole, twisting it until it pushes past your walls, and the heel of his wrist bottoms out against the underside of your clit. You yelp, sharply sucking in a breath of air as Suguru redirects his gaze back to your cunt, humming as he laps up your clit, sloppily pressing the flat of his tongue and dragging upwards before moving his tongue side to side across your bud. Your wrists twist against Satoru's grip when Suguru works another finger inside your hole, stretching you out as he scissors deep inside of you, the pads of his fingers pressing against your g-spot.

Squelches mixed with your struggled moans fill the silence of the classroom, Suguru's tongue pulling away from your clit. With his fingers still inside of you, he stands up, grabbing your chin between his fingers as he leans in to kiss you. You squirm under his touch, closing your eyes tightly, trying to block out what's being forced onto your body. His kiss is full of passion, although it's completely devoid of the kindness and affection that couples usually display. It feels as though he's eating you alive, mouth hungrily enveloping with yours, his tongue pushing past your lips and tasting you completely, muffling all of your panicked sobs and moans. Suddenly, Suguru's fingers begin to pound into your cunt, the heel of his hand slapping against your puffy clit as he slams his fingers in and out of you repeatedly. You feel a knot begin to form in your womb, legs shaking and hips trying to wiggle away from the stimulation. Suguru doesn't slow down. His tongue lapping up into your mouth, teeth biting your lower lip so hard it bleeds as he quickens the pace on his fingers while they curl upwards once fully inside you. A tang of iron spills onto your tongue, and Suguru feels himself being driven halfway insane, drunk off the taste of your pussy, the taste of your mouth, your moans, and your struggled whines.

"I-It hurts." You cry, pussy burning from the stretch as his fingers remain relentless to your cunt. You feel like you're being split in two, and Suguru experimentally scissors inside of you, causing you to shiver and your hips to grind in Satoru's lap.

"I bet," Suguru says. "You're really tight. Relax, and let me in, pretty girl." Your thighs tremble, and Suguru continues to work his way at your cunt, letting go of your chin to rub circles into your clit. Your head falls back as your mouth drops into an O against Satoru's chest. The build-up of pleasure stacks tenfold over itself, completely coiling until it snaps. You cum hard. With a nasty squelch, your pussy clenches around Suguru's fingers tightly, writhing out broken moans as Suguru keeps his fingers deep inside you to curl and probe upwards against your g-spot while he leans back down to suck and tongue at your clit. You sob, his pace persistent and mean, bullying you past your orgasm into painful overwhelms of overstimulation. You feel as though your body is being thrown into overdrive, and your thighs are trembling upon Suguru's shoulders, wrists struggling to get out of Satoru's grip as he holds your arms firmly behind your back.

"Enough, S-Suguru, plea—ah! Too much..—!" You sob, Suguru's fingers continuing to curl and fuck into you, his tongue swishing around your puffy clit. You feel something deep in your pussy snap. You squirt onto his fingers with a scream, tears welling into your eyes as he slams his fingers into you until you're fucked dumb—thighs trembling, chest heaving, and back laid limp against Satoru's chest before he finally pulls his sloppy fingers out of you, his face completely drenched in your arousal.

"That was fuckin' hot." Satoru breathes out, letting go of your wrists and kissing your neck. Suguru licks his lips, relishing in your taste as he lightly slaps your clit, laughing when your eyes widen and your body jolts in response.

"Alright now, upsie daisy." Satoru grabs underneath your arms and pulls you off his lap. You stumble, legs much too weak to stand on your own so soon after your orgasm. Suguru catches you on his chest, peppering light kisses onto the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings on how good you did as he holds you up by your waist. Satoru comes up behind you, pushing your skirt over your ass and pulling off your panties until they pool loosely about your ankles. You sob, your hands moving back to push Satoru away by his hip when one of Satoru's large hands wraps about the entirety of your two wrists, pinning them behind you and arching your back until your ass is flush against his dick and the back of your head is against his shoulder. Satoru's free hand wraps around your neck, holding you in place as you squirm.

"Atta girl, don't be such a cry baby." Satoru kisses your shoulder, pulling his hips back slightly, fucking his cock between your thighs, grinding it against your puffy clit and pussy. You clench around nothing, knees gluing together and hips trying to push back against him desperately. You struggle, wrists squirming to free themselves out of Satoru's mean grip. You scream when one of Satoru's thrusts between your thighs causes the head of his dick to catch into your hole before sliding up to your clit. Suguru smiles at the sight, leaning against a desk in front of you and Satoru as he strokes his cock slowly. Satoru lets go of your neck, still holding you up by the wrists held behind your back, as he takes the base of his dick to press his tip against your hole.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" He muses, voice airy as he slides the head of his dick up and down from your hole to your clit. "No wonder you're so wet." He hums, kissing the side of your neck.

"Stop—oh!" Your voice dies in your throat when he sinks his fat cock into you and bottoms out completely in one thrust, your mouth falling open silent as your eyes widen from the pain. You try squirming away, and the moment you do, Satoru's free hand slides down to press his palm firmly against your womb.

"You feel me in there, pretty?" He muses, licking up the helix of your ear. You sob, trembling in response. You look down to make sure you haven't been split in half, seeing the way Satoru's hand nearly covers the entirety of your lower stomach, seeing a bulge in your tummy from his fat cock nestled deep inside you and against your cervix. Satoru can barely concentrate. He hasn't even begun moving, yet you're already squeezing him so good.

"Fuck... Just like that, baby." Satoru's breath is heavy against your ear, and he bites down on your shoulder to ground himself. You're a strangled mess. Writhing in his arms, your entire body trembling as broken pleas fall upon deaf ears the moment you cut yourself off with your own little moans. Satoru and Suguru can't help but glance at each other, smiling. Fuck, how could such a pretty little thing like you slip past them all these years?

Without warning, Satoru pulls back until only the tip remains inside, before he thrusts his hips forward and bottoms out into you, his hips pressed flush against your ass. You choke out a scream, just as Satoru's hand slaps against your mouth to muffle you.

"Oh common, it wasn't that bad, mm?" Satoru's index and middle fingers push past your lips, swirling about your tongue. "Don't be so loud, unless you want the whole school to know?" Your heart sinks to your stomach, and you swallow, shutting your eyes tightly as you weakly shake your head in response.

"Maybe she really is that dirty of a girl, we'll never know until we try." Suguru muses, pulling out a cigarette from his pants pockets along with those fancy butane lighters with a stupidly long, purple-colored flame. He lights it idly between his long fingers, watching you furrow your eyebrows as the first puff of smoke is blown your way.

"We'd have to start off easy though, she's so sensitive she might die on the spot if we just fuck her in front of a crowd," Satoru replied, slowly pulling his cock out to the tip before sinking back in harshly. You can't even understand what they're saying, Satoru's hand completely shutting you up, his fingers fucking your mouth while his dick has you completely filled to the brim. You feel as though your brain is stupidly empty, overfilled with pain, laced with what you refuse to believe is absolute pleasure. It's too much. The feeling of his fingers in your mouth, against your tongue, his cock dragging against your walls. It's too much. Way too much, and yet Satoru has barely even begun moving.

"Should we start it off with a couple cursed spirits as our audience?" Suguru chimes, head leaning back as the nicotine seems to take its hit. "Nah, that's boring. How about...ah, I know!" Satoru sounds much too cheerful, when he suddenly pulls out to the tip and slams back into you once again. You yelp, muffled sobs passing through the fingers in your mouth as you struggle with your hands pinned behind your back. You moan aimlessly, forced up on your tippy toes to keep taking his dick due to how tall Satoru is compared to you.

"S-Sato—ru! P-Please stop..." A particularly hard thrust stutters you, drowned out by the sounds of him as he begins to pound into your cunt. Perverted squelches drip arousal down your thighs, wetting Satoru's dick, and allowing him to fuck you faster, to fuck you harder. Your legs feel tingly, your clit a puffy, overstimulated mess when Satoru removes the digits in your mouth and uses your own spit to rub circles onto your clit.

"Mmm, how about Nanami?" Suguru suggests. "Fuck her in front of that blonde?" Your heart sinks.

"Oh! That's a good ide- hmm?" Satoru laughs darkly, continuing you fuck into you, his grip on your wrists as relentless as the cock fucking up against your cervix. "God, you fucking clenched around me when Suguru said that. What a dirty slut." Satoru's voice is dark, amused, and even without looking at him, you can bet his usually perfectly kept hair is messy and his face is flushed. He sounds pussydrunk, and his pace begins to stagger.

"No way Mr. Limitless is done already?" Suguru snorts, Satoru scoffs in response. "When you get your turn, let's see how long you last." Satoru rolls his eyes. Satoru becomes annoyed at Suguru's tease, wanting to prove his best friend wrong. And so, he bends you over the teacher's desk, your tits squished against the cold wooden surface as he grabs your hips with both hands, fucking into you like there's no tomorrow. You yelp, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching as you held onto the edges of the desk to soften the recoil Satoru's thrusts were causing to your body. He was so big. Both his dick and his stature. As Satoru leaned over you, pressing his chest against your back as he furthered his markings of hickeys and bites upon your shoulder and neck, you felt as though you were cornered, sandwiched with no way to escape. Satoru fucked into you nonstop, and you swear if he kept up his thrusts he would eventually push right into your cervix and fuck his precum into your womb.

You tightened your hands into fists, sobbing in response to a particularly brutal thrust that fucked you so hard you swear you felt it in your stomach. You haven't been pleading for a while now, your moans cutting off your speech completely, Satoru's dick fucking you too dumb to even know what was going on. Where were you again? What time was it? All of your questions would be fucked out of your mind from the drag of Satoru's cock against your walls alone, a vein catching against your velvety walls before he'd slam back into you with no regard to your pain, to your overstimulation, to your sensitivity. He fucked you mercilessly, like a little human fleshlight, as though Satoru wanted to mold your insides to perfectly fit his cock, to ruin you for any other man besides him and Suguru.

"Shit, you still with me?" Satoru asked, his voice low, breathing heavy. He moved your head to rest your cheek against the desk, and he laughed when he saw your fucked out face, eyes rolling back as he kept fucking into you even as he spoke, even as he was trying his best to hold off filling you up with his cum just to avoid Suguru's teasing if he came so soon. Satoru looked at your fucked out face. And although he felt himself fall in love with the view, he needed something new, something more. Sure, your cock drunk state was a view that engraved itself happily into his mind, but he wanted to completely use every part of you. To take all of your firsts as his own. Satoru's pace suddenly flaters, until it comes to a stop. Your chest is heaving, and you sniffle a little. Tears running from your eyes and down to the teacher's desk you were bent over and pinned down into. Satoru gestures to Suguru. Suguru digs into his pocket lazily, before throwing a small bottle to Satoru.

"It'll be a little cold, but don't worry, yeah?" Satoru mused. Even though he was giving you a warning, it was clear his tone held no sense of concern for you. Your eyes widened and hips jolted when you felt something cold and sticky fall onto your asshole. You were about to turn around, when one of Satoru's hands slammed your head back down to hold you flat against the desk.

"N-No! N-No way, stop!" You struggle violently, and Satoru grips your hair roughly, shutting you up through his aggression.

"Oh cool it. Someone would've fucked this pretty ass soon enough, be glad your first is me." Satoru laughs. He ignores your panic, taking his middle finger and swirling it around the rim of your asshole before he pushes it in gently. You scream, biting your bottom lip until you swore you could taste tangy iron. You shut your eyes tightly. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

"Please...p-please I'm begging you... Stop—ah!" Satoru pays no mind to your pleas, thrusting his middle finger into your asshole slowly, curling the tip and wiggling inside you whenever he bottoms out. His fat cock is still stuffed in your cunt, cockwarming him as he preps your other hole.

"I'm being so kind, no? I'm not even moving and I'm prepping you too! Gosh, be a little grateful, Y/N." Satoru hums, his finger prodding and probing deep inside of you. You've never felt anything like this before, and it feels weird. You try to squirm, to buck your hips away, but you hear Satoru sigh in response, suddenly pulling his cock out to the tip and slamming his hips back into you.

"If you keep being ungrateful, I'll stop caring about you completely." He warns. You sob quietly in response, and the grip in your hair remains firm, pressing your cheek hard against the desk. Smoke from Suguru's cigarette permeates throughout the room, before he drops it onto the ground, stomping upon it and sweeping it up into a small trash can by the door. All you're left with is strangled whines, mewls, and tears that fall down your face, until Satoru works his ring finger into your ass as well. You sob at the stretch, clenching around him to try and push away at the foreign intrusion, yet all that seems to achieve is sucking his fingers deeper. Satoru deems you to be stretched out enough, beginning to pull his fingers out of your ass, before pushing them back in. You buck your hips. You don't know if you're trying to pull away or to the stimulation that's being forced onto your body.

You soon know it to be the prior.

Satoru pulls his hips back, slamming back into you as you yelp and sob in response. He begins to fuck into you while simultaneously fingering your ass at the same speed. Soon, Satoru picks it up. Although he's fucking your ass at a medium pace, the cock pressing against your cervix again and again returns to its previous pounding. You're back to sobbing, moaning aimlessly as you struggle pathetically from the overdrive. You swear you're seeing stars when Satoru adds a third finger into your ass, scissoring the three and curling his fingertips inside you, while the head of his cock presses firmly against your g-spot and cervix, dragging back and forth until your vision feels as though it's fading away. You don't know how long it goes for, but soon, Satoru's three fingers are simply buried into your ass as he focuses all of his energy on fucking your sloppy cunt. His hand releases your head, running down the side of your body to catch your clit between his middle and index finger. You jolt, choking out a wonton cry as he begins to swirl your clit aggressively.

"Cum for me, f-fucking cum." Your body seizes up, stiffening as your eyes roll back and Satoru's cock punches against your cervix. Everything builds up. His cock brutally fucking into you, his fingers pinching and circling your clit, and the three fingers in your ass that begin to pick up their movements as they curl deep inside you. You cum hard, sobbing as your pussy and asshole clench around him, spasming and your legs trembling. If it weren't for the desk you were bent over, you would've fallen completely into the floor, collapsed like an empty fuck doll. Yet you weren't done, not until they were. Satoru fucks you through your orgasm.

"C-Cumming, f-fuck! S-Satoru, too much—AH!" Satoru continues to finger your ass, dick pummeling into you and his pace becoming unsteady when he slams back into you for one last time, tip pressed hard against your cervix before you feel hot spruts of cum filling you completely. Satoru thrusts into you slowly to ride out his high, heavy breaths and degrations falling past his lips.

"F-Fuck, such a fucking whore, huh? Shit..." Satoru leaned over you, chest pressed against your back as he regained his breath before pulling out. You felt a spurt of cum slide down your inner thighs, dripping down from your pussy, and you clenched around nothing. Head empty, fucked dumb, fucked senseless. You didn't even register when large hands pulled you off the desk. You barely even reacted when you were manhandled down to straddle Suguru on the floor.

"Please...enough..." Your voice was weak, your entire body sore and trembling lightly. Suguru shushes you gently, holding the back of your head and cradling you so affectionately. "Shh, we'll take care of you. Wanna feel good, hmm?" Suguru whispered, licking up your neck. You sob in response, knowing that no matter how much you tried to fight them, they wouldn't let you go until they had their fun. Suguru grabs your hips firmly, holding your ass up as he pushes his cock into your cunt. You choke out a moan, grabbing onto his shoulders as your head fell against his chest. You simply cried as he began to fuck you. You thought Satoru surely had molded you into the shape of his cock enough to numb the painful stretch, but you never expected Suguru to be so much thicker. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly, his shirt bunching up beneath your fingers as your desperate cries mixed in with confused little moans as you could only take his fat cock that punched your cervix so hard you felt as though your insides would be scrambled and bruised the next day.

"F-Fuck, n-no more—" You whimpered. Suguru paid you no mind, holding you painfully, his fingers digging into the plush of your hips as he pounded into you with deep grunts. Suddenly, you felt another presence from behind you. Satoru knelt behind you, his cockhead sliding up and down your asshole. You panicked, trying to push your hips away, but Suguru's grip remained bruising. Satoru laughed at your pathetic attempt of squirming away, slapping your ass hard, a sting ghosting where his hand had hit.

"O-Ouch—! Ah!" You yelped in response, and Satoru's hands replaced Suguru's grip on your hips. You were about to open your mouth to protest once more, but Suguru's hands cupped your face and pulled you into a deep, rough kiss. Your moans muffled into his mouth, a confused gasp cut off as his tongue slipped past your sultry lips, your eyes rolling into the backs of your head when Satoru slowly sunk his cock deep into your ass, while Suguru's pace was still unrelenting as he continued to fuck into you like a ragdoll, bruising your cervix and stretching you completely.

Soon, you were an absolute mess. Satoru and Suguru's paces were completely out of sync. Satoru fucked you rough, hard, and fast, his hips slapping against yours as your ass would recoil in response. He held you so firmly, holding no regard for your smaller body as he held you still with too much strength than needed, just to remind you of your place. Satoru moaned each time you'd clench around him, aka each time the tip of Suguru's cock would punch against your cervix once more. Suguru's pace was similarly rough, although he and Satoru would fuck you just out of sync, making sure that whenever Satoru had pulled out to the tip, Suguru's cock would be nestled deep inside of you—and whenever Suguru would pull out your cunt, Satoru would be slamming right back into you. You were nothing but a pretty little fleshlight for the two by now. The two men letting out a series of grunts and low moans as you use your body to their own pleasure, breaths heavy against your ears, deep marks of purple, blue, and bites scattered across your neck, shoulders, upper back, waist, inner thighs. You were completely defiled by them. And fuck, how did they love that. Like a twisted sense of being the first to have something all to themselves, to ruin it for anyone else who wanted to try having a taste.

Your thoughts were completely gone by now, filled with nothing but a cycle: a numb buzz of pleasure that would wind in your womb, a climax to your orgasm, getting fucked right through it, rinse and repeat. How many times has it been? How many times have you cum? You feel as though they have been pounding you for hours, and you shut your eyes tightly, thighs trembling when the coil in your stomach begins to build up once more as Suguru's cock fucked into your cervix, as Satoru's dick pounded into your ass.

"C-Cumming, 'm gonna c-cum..." Your voice was strained, slurred, intoxicated. Satoru laughed from behind you, and Suguru began to circle at your overstimulated clit once more.

"Put on a show."

"Cum then."

You came hard, your grip on Suguru's shoulders tight as you moaned loudly. Suguru stuttered. "F-Fuck, gonna fill you up...make you mine." He rasped, slamming into you one final time before he came deep, hot cum filling you up completely, his dick slowing down his pace to properly jut its final ropes of cum deep into your cunt. Satoru's pace faltered as well, before he gave one harsh thrust that had you recoil forward, pressing your cheek harder against Suguru's chest with a yelp as Satoru bottomed out and filled your ass with his hot cum.

The classroom was quiet. Quiet as opposed to the three mix of heavy breaths, your three bodies tangled together, two cocks stuffing you impossibly full. Satoru was the first to pull out, sitting back on his heels as he pushed his hair back. Suguru grabbed the underside of your armpits firmly, lifting you up and off his dick, a mix of his and Satoru's cum dripping out and onto his abs. Suguru stands up, pulling you up to lay you gently on a table as he leans down to your sloppy cunt. You're completely dazed, and you can only muster a pathetic jolt and whine as Suguru begins to lick your cunt slowly. Your eyes zone out and only occasional whimpers slip past your lips. He laps your pussy up clean, holding your hips firmly as he swirls his tongue around your clit slowly, as though to apologize for being so rough with you. Suguru pulls away momentarily, a string of saliva connecting him to your cunt. His hand slides up the underside of your thighs, pushing your knees into your chest with one hand as he leans down to your ass. His tongue rims you gingerly, and you moan quietly, sobbing so weakly from the final drive of overstimulation.

Once both your holes are clean, Suguru and Satoru gather up your uniform, stealing your panties but being kind enough to fix your uniform. Satoru pulls you up, holding you bridal style as you close your eyes, drifting off to sleep. Suguru stands in front of Satoru, his face still flushed and breath still heaving.

"Should we get plan b?"

"Why the hell would we do that?"

You're watching...

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bemuseing · 11 months

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If someone told Descole that he had a mental illness, how would he react? / What if a close friend suggested it? / What if a professional made an official diagnosis? / What if a close friend or relative of his was given the diagnosis instead?

I am not sure exactly how he would react but considering this man and what has happened to him during his life I am pretty sure he would not be surprised. I think he's fully aware he has issues. (For the first option at least, the exact reaction will probably depend on the tone in which it was said.)

I tend not to go into named specifics of what my muses may or may not be suffering from (I'm not confident enough or knowledgeable + experienced enough to do that beyond offhanded mentions or hints here and there) but that doesn't mean there is Nothing Going On.

Honestly, I think he would give it credence no matter who said it, as long as they weren't saying it in a mocking way. He might not express that he's giving it weight depending on who's saying it, but he would at least evaluate it - again, he Definitely has issues and he isn't blind to them. If it's coming from a close friend or family member [even if his family situation is... complicated], he would give it serious consideration. A professional diagnosis would re-enforce that, although I can't see him seeking one at this stage for any reason.

I'm not sure being aware of it would change a great deal about what he does. He's not really a seeks recovery or help type of person, at least in canon.

As for the last option, I think again the specifics would depend on the person and the situation in question (mental illness is a very broad term after all). If it was his brother or his father for example he wouldn't be surprised at all. They ALL have issues. Traumatised the entire family. Overall though I think he would approach it from a fairly intellectual point of view (as in he's accepting of the fact it is how it is, and will try to understand, even if he can't relate or isn't well-versed in it. But he'll probably research it, then! Man is a nerd after all and when he cares he cares).

#messages. | inbox.#freeddead #wasn't sure how to directly address this so i ended up rambling #these kinds of questions are always a little weird to answer for me bc my own experience is still very limited #but yeah he definitely has issues and in his little private special episode he is 100% aware of them. he's not happy #i don't really lean for a post azran legacy he heals easily take bc he just. sails off into the sunset. who give a shit #as far as we know he didn't even let his brother know if he made it alive out of the giant ass crumbling stone temple in the sky 😭#and i have written him before being i guess? depressed (especially now he doesn't Have a clear goal in life anymore)#(seeing characters set on revenge is great but what happens Afterwards when that goal is met/defunct)#also he is So angry always #constantly having repressed rage. repressed rage descole is important to me.#he's also very good at masking tho. no pun intended that should also be noted

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 4 months

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon needing to hold you after a bad day.

The tiny apartment was completely silent as Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside, head hung low and shoulders tense. Lights were turned down, tv was off; you were most likely already asleep by now. It was late, much later than he had told you he’d be back, but he had been struggling with the weight of his thoughts again today and had barely made it in. He would have let you know that he was going to be late… it was just…he couldn’t find the will to even shoot you a quick text.

It wasn’t like him to be concerned about who knew where he was or what he was doing, choosing to distance himself from everything and everyone that could potentially catch a glimpse of him cracking behind the mask, but right now all he wanted was to get back to the place he called home before he fell apart and the world would swallow him whole.

As quietly as he could he set his things down beside the door and continued on through the flat, catching little bits of you everywhere: your shoes lying scattered by the wall, the blanket you’d just been curled up in tossed haphazardly in a bundle on the sofa, a mug on the coffee table that had the remnants of your drink stuck to the inside. Scattered bits of you everywhere across his life as little reminders of what he had that waited for him here and for the first time all day it felt a little easier to breathe to know his angel was close by.

Passing near the kitchen, Simon spotted a piece of paper with his name scribbled on the front waiting for him on the countertop, your familiar handwriting obvious to his eye. He picked it up and unfolded it.

Hey baby,

I really tried to stay up, I promise, but you know how work has been kicking my ass lately. I thought maybe I could just take a nap until you got in, but I was worried that if I laid down I wouldn’t wake up, so I thought I’d leave this here for you to find. Didn’t want you to think I forgot about you. Just wake me when you get in, alright? I don’t care what time it is, I want to see you!

Love you.

P.S. I left some dinner in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet. We can reheat it and eat it together. XOXO

Christ, what did he do to deserve all this?

Always looking out for him, always making sure he had a place back in the real world whenever he came home. He held that piece of paper between his hardened fingers, the note more significant than it should have been after the type of day he had. You were the closest to heaven as he could get, more than he ever thought he would get to have and that’s why it was you he was trying to break down that wall to come to for comfort.

His sight flicked to the fridge where you said you’d left him something; he was definitely starving, but just the thought of the effort it would take to eat right now was too much and the knot that rested in the pit of his stomach made him too nauseous anyway. There was something that would fill him far better than food could and he knew just where to find it now.

Moving on to the living room, he set himself down heavily on the couch and began to remove his boots and the outer layers of his clothing along with his mask, stripping away all the bits of his life as the stone cold sniper now that he was safe here in his little sanctuary. Stripped bare until he was down to his boxers, Simon gently crept towards the back of the apartment hoping he would make it to the bedroom before this feeling took him.

Closer and closer he walked towards the other half of his heart.

The door stood slightly ajar to invite him inside and as he stepped up to it, he caught the hushed, rhythmic sounds of your breathing as you slumbered. It sounded so peaceful that he could have stood there in the dimly lit hallway and listen to it all night long. Just a few more steps, barely any distance left, and he would truly be home.

The room was completely dark save for the small crack in the curtains that let in just a bit of light from the streetlamp outside, helping him to find his way through the maze of darkness. As those brown eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Simon turned his attention to the bed and his heart skipped a beat. There you were: the outline of your body silhouetted under the covers, your head buried in your pillow, all cares left behind as you slept.

No sound did he make as he crept to the edge of the bed and lifted the sheets so that he could climb inside and up against your body laying in the center. One strong arm slipped up under your pillowed head while the other wrapped around your waist until you were encircled and he pulled you slowly so that your back rested up against his chest. His body molded into yours still warm from being wrapped up tight.

You stirred awake gently at the feeling of that familiar large body suddenly laying beside you. “Hey you,” you whispered sleepily, a smile on your lips as your eyes fluttered as they worked to open. “Tried to wait up, but I got so tired I had to go lay down. I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you.”

Only silence greeted you as a response. No chuckle at your predictability, no picking remarks about how you couldn’t even stay up to see him, just the sound of labored breaths in and out as he lay there in the darkness curled up against you.

Silence only meant one thing and you knew it well.

“You okay baby?” you asked, but again there was no answer. Only the squeeze of his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter to his chest gave you any sort of reply as Simon’s nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his eyelashes brushing over your skin.

It was clear just from the silence that he was far from okay, that he must have been bottling this up for God knows how many hours so that the world would not see that he was not always the tough, put together soldier he was supposed to be. But he could not hide it from you...he didn't want to hide it from you.

You heard him inhale deeply, trying to capture as much of your scent as he could until it filled his head: your natural musk mixed with the smell of the sheets and added hints of shampoo and body wash. That comforting scent that belonged to only you that he couldn't ever get enough of, the one that helped to relax his troubled mind. Instantly the tension he had been carrying like a boulder upon his shoulders all day finally released him from its stranglehold.

Gentle, exploring hands tentatively went up under your baggy shirt, one of his old worn ones you loved to wear to bed to keep him close even when he wasn’t there, as he just wanted to make contact with all that delicately soft skin. He traced over curved paths he knew by touch alone: it was soft, it was familiar, it was safe and his heartbeat slowed as the ache in his chest dissipated enough that he could finally talk.

“Bad day,” he whispered finally, warm breath against your shoulder. "Really fuckin' bad day... again."

You rolled over in his arms until you came face to face with those sad auburn eyes, moved by the shame in his tone. It broke your heart that each time he had one of these days he felt such guilt about it, as if he simply should have been over it all by now, as if he wasn't human, but you were not about to let him overthink the struggle. There was nothing to be shameful about.

“I’m sorry baby. These things just happen, you know, but its alright; we'll get through it together, ” you said quietly, fingertips gently running over the line of his eyebrow, down his cheekbone and further to his jaw in soothing circles.

Together.

Simon closed his eyes and eased into your hand as you traced patterns across his temple and through the cropped sides of his hair, letting the vile, churning thoughts rummaging around in his brain to fall away. No one else could ever see him like this save for you, no one else's touch he craved more than anything to bring him back into himself after the day had brought him down so low.

He brought his hand up and placed the tough palm over top of yours to hold it firmly against his cheek as if to make sure that all of this was real, that you were not simply a mirage cast by his broken mind.

“You’re home now, baby,” you reassured him as he took deep breaths in and out with his eyes closed, only wanting to feel you. “It’s gonna be okay, I got you.”

Home, still such a strange word for him.

Wherever you were that was home. Not a place, but a person, one who made certain that no matter how far he drifted she would always pull him back in. Simon had never had such a tether before, but fuck did he need it. He could feel it like medicine running through his blood, when you held him he could feel the chemicals rush to soothe the gaping wound in his heart.

Pulling your hand off his cheek, he brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the surface before leaning in to give one to your gentle lips. You embraced him back with such tenderness as if to remind him of that promise you had made to each other that neither of you would have to traverse the hell of this world alone.

“Home,” he repeated the tender word in his gravely tone, letting the emotionless second mask fall away. "I hope ya know... that you are my home, sweetheart."

You smiled. "You're mine too, Simon."

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Bein' near ya is the only fuckin' thing that seems to help quiet the shit in my 'ead these days."

Pulling him back in, you gave him another kiss. "Then get nice and close," you said softly as you squirmed up under him more, setting his arm back over you.

Securing his arms around you again he moved over top of you so that his head rested against the middle of your chest, ear pressed in against your sternum to listen to your heartbeat rhythmically thump inside. With his hand still inside your shirt he drew his fingertips along your bare hips, not wanting anything more than your company tonight.

Your calming fingers ran through his short hair and over his scalp as he counted the beats of your heart until he melted into your body. Discussion could happen later if and when he was ready, for now this was all he needed. However long he wanted to cling to your torso, you’d let him.

You were his life raft, pulling him back in and no matter how far he drifted and it was because of you that for the first time in his life he didn’t feel like he was going to get lost.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simin ghost riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

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bountycancelled · 8 months

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OPLA characters reacting to a sweet, girly reader who turns out to be a a ruthless fighter

genre: headcanons, fem! reader, kinda suggestive??, idfk just read it bro

requested: nope, but reqs are open! pls, for the love of god, request for the opla♡

feat: zoro, sanji

a/n: reader's feminine but not female if that makes sense, only witting again because I'm obsessed with the one piece live action. also, this may be a little ooc, since I haven't watched the anime/read the manga, sorry about that! also, if you wanna be added to my perm taglist, pls feel free to ask!

☆ZORO☆

when you first joined the crew, zoro was immediately unsure of what exactly you brought to the table. I mean, they already had a swordsman, a sharp shooter, a navigator, a dumb cook and a captain/motivational speaker. so what were you doing here?

from luffy's explanation of you, he was aware that you were a good fighter, but he had never seen you in action.

the only things he had seen from you were stuffed animals laying around the ship, pastel outfits he could spot for miles, and bows that had been put in his hair while he slept.

he was tolerant of you at best, and straight up apathetic at worst, but finally, there came a time where someone tried picking a fight with you since you seemed like an easy target while you were walking with him and nami.

although he wasn't particularly fond of you (lies), he still felt the need to defend you as a crewmate, but the ass whooping you gave the stranger made him freeze in place.

there was blood splatter on your pretty face, deep red sploches of your cute clothes, and a look of pure hatred in your eyes. and you had never looked more beautiful in zoros eyes.

that was the first time zoro had ever smiled at you. sure, he had slightly smirked at your cuter tendencies, but in that moment he was truly smitten with you.

from that day, zoro wanted to train with you. what you lacked that he had in experience, you made up for in absolute cruelty when fighting. you were quick, agile and you weren't afraid to make zoro hurt, and he loved every second of it.

zoro would sometimes smile when he saw bruising on his body from his time training with you but catch himself and go stone faced immediately. no, he was not falling for you, absolutely not.

except he was, and the next time you showed up by his side with a slight limp, some tears in your cotton candy coloured clothes, blood all over you, and a sadistic smile on your face, he would tell you as much.

SANJI♡

sanji is unsurprisingly, enamoured by you the second you join the straw hats.

I'm talking, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, cheesy and constant compliments like "you're cuter than any of your stuffed animals, yn-swan~" and even brushing up on his baking skills to bake you aesthetically pleasing sweet treats that always put a smile on your face.

if I'm being completely honest, it doesn't bother him that he doesn't know exactly what your strengths are, you could be amazing at everything like barbie or you could literally not know night from day and he'd still admire you all the same.

one day, you're wearing bottoms that are on the shorter side not that sanji minds at all and you're out exploring the island you're at with him by your side, holding all your bags because in his words "angels don't do hard labour when he's around" when someone decides to hit on you.

you reject them politely, but when they make a less than appropriate comment about your outfit, you click your tongue and shake your head, readying yourself to hospitalise someone.

sanji's mood switches to one of being happy because he's around you to one of murderous intent the second this rando tries you, but you already have them wheezing on the floor with broken nose before sanji can even lift his leg off of the ground.

you're back to usual self, fixing the bow on your hair while complaining about how fucking hard it is to get blood stains off of your clothes, while sanji is thinking about how fucking hard he is

safe to say that this heartless, terrifying side of you makes sanji fall even harder and question whether or not he's a masochist.

he'll still insist on doing things like carrying you anywhere (most of your shoes you impractical as fuck, but style>functionality always) lifting things for you and treating you like a piece of fine china because that's exactly what you deserve, no matter how badass you are.

only difference is, now he'll never come to aid when it comes to kicking ass, because he enjoys seeing you take people to heaven and back more than anything.

he compliments now range from "omg you are the most adorable, lovable, doll-like angel I've ever seen" to "please punch me, step on me, make my nose bleed, choke me-" and he's now ten times more annoying about you than he was before, which no one thought was possible.

believe me when I say that images of you in frilly outfits with your eyes gleaming like diamonds eveytime you make someone bleed occupy 90% of his thoughts. (the other 10% is all things cooking, of course.)

#opla #one piece x reader #one piece live action #x reader #reader insert #roronoa zoro #zoro live action #zoro x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #sanji live action #sanji x reader #one piece #one piece headcanons

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eumivrse · 7 months

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BE NATURAL : nanami kento

warning(s) breeding, creampie, mentions of pregnancy, shower sex, spanking, slight hair pulling, biting, a little degradation, reader & nanami are married, aftercare

word count 3,844

author’s note cuz nanami is the master at fucking you senseless then taking care of u after :,)

you aren’t sure what pissed him off, all you know is that kento came home already pent up.

you came out of your shared bedroom with nothing but a towel on— being on your way to take a shower— but you heard the anticipated click! of the door, which naturally made you wanna greet the love of your life. he hooked his finger in to the back of his loafers to take them off, meticulously placing them back on the shoe rack next to the front door. he hadn’t noticed you at this point and something about the underlying tension is stopping you from greeting him with your usual cheer.

after all, it’s rare for him to not acknowledge you considering that you’re his first priority to kiss and hug as soon as he opens the door to your humble abode.

his eyes aren’t visible from the specs he often wears for work, rotating his neck to unravel his tie, wrapping it around his palm as he walked towards the kitchen. he placed his glasses and silk tie down on the quartz counter and he finally took notice of you, walking up towards you without saying anything before resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“what’s wrong?” you lace your fingers through his hair, trying to comfort him, an arm around his back. your husband is never particularly emotional, but at times, there’s days like these where he comes home fatigued like he just fought a war or something.

he sighs, “work.” you give the back of his head small pats, trying to comfort him as best you can.

you ponder, offering, “what about we take a shower together then you can sleep it off? sounds good doesn’t it?” prying about his day will just worsen his stress so you decide to keep any potential questions to yourself. plus, you honestly just wanted to take a shower after a long day of errands, so you’re hitting two birds with one stone.

his meager “mm” in response was enough said.

—

you turn the knob, cold water drizzling out of the shower head. holding your hand out to check the water’s heat, you watch as kento was getting ready to undress, popping out the buttons from his signature blue linen top one by one. he slipped off of it, folding it neatly before placing it on the sink counter. he then slips off his wedding band and sets it on top of his clothes.

you had seen his bare body an ungodly amount of instances, but you never fail to just stare… it’s truly glorious. his broad shoulders along with his subtle six pack, not to mention his arms that you wouldn’t mind being suffocated with. he noticed your darting gaze when he unbuckled his belt and instead of panicking, you just shoot him a meek smile, unaware that the water pooling on your hand is already warm, apparent by the moist on the shower glass.

“baby, i think the water is ready.” he chuckles and you snap out of it, quickly unwrapping the towel around you and getting in the spacious shower. he followed shortly after, and closed the door behind him.

your intentions were innocent, really just wishing to ease your husband’s exhaustion, but kento had something else in mind.

he didn’t think about it until the soap suds trickling down your boobs and ass was seriously turning him on for some reason. you asked if he could put soap on your back because you couldn’t reach well, and of course he obliged. it’s crazy because he’d seen you naked more times than he could imagine, but something about today just made you so desirable.

when you turned around to slather soap on his body, you paused when you noticed that he’s staring at you so blankly. like you were a problem he couldn’t simply figure out. while you were distracted with his cold gaze, he takes the soap from your hand and puts it back in its respective place.

always so thorough, you know just how much he loathed making a mess.

he’s a taller man than you are, requiring you to crane your neck up to see him eye to eye. he guides his fingers to take ahold of your chin gently before tapping at your cheek with a bit of force, enough that it hurt.

“honey, what-“

before you could even finish, your face was smashed against the cold shower glass, kento’s chest trapping you in between him and the wall. you gasped in complete surprise, trying to turn your head to look at him, but he just turned your chin back towards the glass. though you didn’t mind whatsoever, it’s a rare sight to see kento so… aggressive with you, you didn’t even expect it since he came home weary and expected him to sleep it off right after this.

he whispers softly, lips against the shell of your ear, a hand grabbing ahold a chunk of your hair. “no talking unless i tell you to.” while keeping a tug on your locks, his fingers had already sneaked in between your legs, in which you spread in compliance. he pressed the pad of his finger against the bud of your clit, rubbing it ever so slightly. you yelped, palms backed against the glass that you’re being pushed against.

the water trickled down your cunt and on his fingers as he swiped your clit in tight and precise circles to get you aroused. your mind was already going stark, hazed with the thought of what he’s capable of when he’s in this state of mind. his teeth dug into the skin of your shoulders, trailing his bites up to the side of your neck. there was absolutely no way these weren’t going to bruise tomorrow, the pain on your neck mixed in with his fingers sliding into you so suddenly leaving you no choice but to curse out loud.

“fuck, kento- ah-“ the immediate slap on your ass when he specifically told you to not speak left your jaw hanging open. you felt like you were being tossed around with how rough you’re being treated, but you weren’t going to lie: you’re enjoying it to the fullest.

one hand went up to squeeze your breast, threatening to slip out in between his fingers from the silky water, the pitter patter of the shower masking the lewd noises of your cunt. he pinches your nipple, rolling it in between his fingers, and you gasp sharply, breathing heavily.

he rasps, “do you like it when you’re being treated like this, hm?” his voice was low and sultry, tongue grazing up your ear, with you shivering from his warm tongue juxtaposed with the shower’s humidity.

you whimper, “yes, i love it… ‘need more” the desperation lingering in your voice made his cock twitch, if he wasn’t already hard before, he’s definitely throbbing now, a bead of pre seeping out of the slit of his tip. kento knelt down on the tiles, using his huge bulky hands to spread your ass cheeks apart. your pussy glistened with slick, lips puffy, just asking to be devoured.

squirming, you arch your back to give him better access, kento licking his lips then sticking his tongue out to lick a stripe from your clit to in between your drenched folds.

he nuzzled his face in between your ass, lips smacking against the wet heat of your cunt, the tip of his tongue poking on your dripping hole. your moans were bouncing off the thin walls of the glass, kento only encouraging it by teasing your poor little clit with his finger while he feasted in between your legs.

his palms were gripped on your plush ass, massaging them to alleviate the tension out your body from his manhandling. to say that you were struggling to not curse or moan his name was an understatement. you were practically choking on your words, whines that nearly passed as sobs drifting past your lips. kento pulls out for a moment to take a breather, watching a glob of his saliva dripping from your pussy down on the tiles beneath him.

pushing you a few inches away from the wall, he positioned himself so that he could see your pussy from the front. “you taste so fucking sweet, doll.” he slid two fingers inside your hole, velvety walls immediately clenching around them, appreciating every crevice of his thick digits. “pretty pussy so wet f’me,” he reveres in between licks on your clit, each time sending shivers down your spine. he’s babbling at this point, just saying anything in his mind which isn’t in character for him. you’re usually the vocal one, but having him do the talking for once is doing nothing but turning you on— enough that you’re already pushed on the brink of orgasm.

his fingers plunged in with ease, and so far up that it quickly reached your sweet spot, that blended in with the warm muscle of his tongue jostling up against your clit had the corner of your mouth dribbling with saliva. you rock your hips on his face, an attempt on getting yourself off, however he strikes your ass for doing so, harsh enough that you could still feel the sting even minutes after.

he rasps, “do that again and you’re not cumming tonight. would you like that, hm?” you screamed when he smacked your ass again, his fingers plugged inside you never faltering in speed.

you whisper, voice barely capable of spitting out coherent sentences, “no… ‘m sorry kento. i’ll be good.” being unable to discern whether it’s tears trickling down your cheeks or the water from the pouring shower, you just moan in helplessness, cheek resting against the cool glass wall.

a point came where his digits were just in too deep in your poor cunt and his teasing tongue was leaving your clit swollen that you couldn’t hold it anymore. “oh fuck, can’t- i’m- ah—!” a warm stream of fluid dripped down your thigh, your husband licking up every last drop of your slick, kissing your clit one more time before standing back up, this time behind you.

he bit your lower back and dug his teeth up to your neck, leaving you with a trail of love bites. it felt as if he was gnawing at your skin, holding onto your forearm and pinning on your back before he nibbled on your earlobe. you were still coming down from your orgasm, legs trembling, ass cheek marred with the print of his palm. you turn your head, where you meet his eyes. the moment you felt his lips pressed against yours, you immediately succumbed back into his touch.

despite his ravening demeanor, his lips were so gentle as they brushed over yours, his tongue slithering in your mouth as soon as you gasped when he slapped his tip against your sensitive clit. he lets go of your bounded arm and from the corner of your eye, you notice his hand press over the wall, the other guiding his tip, resting his fat cock in between your plush walls. “do me a favor and let me know how good you’re feeling, okay?” he teases, poking the head of his dick against your drooling hole.

“just fuck me already.” you plead, screeching when he pushed his lenght past your hole, pussy squeezing onto him for dear life. he didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even ask if you were holding up okay like he usually does in his loving husband way. but to be fair, he was just heeding to your request.

he groaned when he thrusts into you to the hilt, taking both of your wrists with only one hand to pull you back slightly to reel you in deeper, while the other trapped you in between the sheer glass wall, now completely fogged with humidity.

it seemed like he was taking his time, basking in the warm feeling of finally being inside of you, holding still for a few seconds to appreciate his wife’s snug cunt. after for what seemed like a good minute, he pulled out, then rammed back in, leaving your mouth dangling wide, the slight upper curve of his cock having no hard time to prod onto your squishy g-spot.

“my god, kento… fuck.” you giggled, partly because you’re amused at how multidimensional your husband is despite being together for so many years and also because that hit the spot.

literally.

without a word, he was quick to thrust out and back in, each with a slightly deeper stroke, making your mind go in circles, ass bouncing against his lower abs. you felt like his tip was trying to poke through your abdominal walls with the way you’re arched, wrists gripped back with just his firm hand. the shower was too fucking hot, you can quite literally feel the condensation getting thicker, the sound of the water spraying onto your bodies muffled in your hearing.

he grunts your name, following with a string of curses, “fuck, fuck, fuck… hah—“ the clapping sound of his pelvis slamming up against your feeble body was enough to get him off, fucking into you in a vigorous pace for a few seconds before keeping himself plugged into you, making your whole body jolt forward, boobs pressed against the shower wall. it was all starting to hurt— you felt like putty, yet you couldn’t help but crave more. “kento,” you wince, yelping at the sensation of being so full of just him.

kento lets go of your wrists, so sore as if they were wrung like a damp towel. he pulls out, turning you by the forearm and takes a good look at your face after not being able to do so this whole time.

he’s always so adamant about how he hates clutter. in the years you’ve been married you’ve never seen his office messy no matter how busy or stressed he might be. even the way he gets ready in the morning and how he decompresses before bed is structured.

but with you? oh god, he absolutely strives for it. the mess. the nastiness of it all. your beautiful body adorned with his markings to remind everyone who owns you.

yes, he’s reserved. probably won’t even say anything brash when you tell him about the occasional times you get hit on when you’re out without him, but there’s no doubt that he's territorial. once in a while, he plants a little something on you to show everyone that you’re taken.

you’re just too oblivious to realize why he does it.

he strokes your cheek with the side of his index finger, then lifts your chin to force you to make eye contact. your eyes are glazed over, throat strained with nothing in that little head of yours besides his name and your animalistic desire to get fucked dumb. “i wanna see your face when you cum, is that okay?” he’s much more mellow now than minutes prior, gently rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb.

your mind is empty, responding with a frail “mhm”. you cup his cheek, leaning onto your tippy toes to give him a soft peck on the lips. he smiles tenderly, kissing your forehead before he lifts one of your legs by the back of your knee, leaving your pussy wide open. your wrap your hand around his cock, feeling the ridges of the protruding vein rubbing against your palm as you pump him.

“baby…” he moans, nestling his face in the crook of your neck, pressing his lips on each bite mark littered all over your upper neck and shoulders. you lead his cock back in between your slit, sliding him up and down for lubrication before slipping him back inside you, kento hissing from the tingling feeling of his dick being swallowed whole by your pussy.

your nails claw onto his shoulder blades, as he slammed his pelvis against yours, one hand keeping your waist locked while the other pried your leg open. you glance down to see the work being done on you, huffing when you used two of your fingers to frantically rub at your clit. you watch as his cock slid into you so swiftly, how your tight cunt was so welcoming for him. you see how flexed your husband’s abs are from having to thrust into you so precisely, eyes wandering up to his flushed chest then his brown eyes.

it’s funny because you were simultaneously watching how good he’s deliciously stretching you out amidst the moans and curses under your breath, resulting in a quick exchange of chuckles. “it’s turning me on. watching it, you- you know?” you stutter, followed by a little whimper when you feel that familiar knot in your stomach.

“nn- ‘love it when my princess feels good.” there were so many other things in mind that he wanted to say; how sexy you look while being fucked and how he wishes he could record your face so he could masturbate to it on nights he can’t go home due to a work trip, but kept quiet. you’re too sarcastic to let him get away with saying something so crass, honestly, he was a bit surprised that you even put up with his bullshit when he was slapping you around like some whore.

he pauses for a second, wrapping your leg that he was holding onto around his waist and he pulls on your other, signaling for you to hop on his arms.

you softly retaliate, setting your hand over his, “kento, i’m not light.”

“are you underestimating me?” you should’ve known he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer either way since he forced your other leg around him, your whole weight hanging on his waist. you were hesitant about this, mainly because you didn’t feel comfortable having him carry you, but then all your worries wore off when he squeezed your thighs for reassurance.

“i got you, baby.” he kisses your cheek. you had your arms around his neck, face a few inches from his. the veins from his forearm were prominent as he kept a bruising grip on your thighs.

you mumble, “you’re so deep,” swearing you could feel him in the pit of your stomach. he uses your thighs to propel himself in and out, and he turns around and pins you against the tile wall for a change of scenery. he felt so warm, his tender embrace all while your eyes rolled to the back of your head, chin rested on his shoulder. slight embarrassment rushed through your cheeks when you saw the moist shower glass printed with your boobs and your as well as kento’s hands.

your nasty moans so close up his ear only provided him with more stamina, his hips moving endlessly with the intent of drawing out another orgasm out of you.

nails digging on his back, you yelp, “kento, ‘need to cum.” you use the last bit of your strength to warn him, body manipulated by him, unable to buck your hips.

he pants in between sloppy thrusts, the water sloshing against his thigh as he slammed himself into you, “yes, yes, yes, cum for me, my pretty girl.” he’s mumbling sweet nothings as you let yourself release, eyes closed shut while nearly screaming his name, ultimately pushing him straight at his own high.

“ah fuck yeah,” he grits his teeth, stuffing you full of his hot, viscous cum. he waits a few seconds before pulling out, savoring in the few minutes of pure heaven that you gave him.

kento lets you loose, a little pop! audible as his cock slid out, coated with cum. arms still wrapped around him, he clashes his forehead against yours. “i love you, kento.” you whisper with a dulcet tone.

he smiles, “i love you more,” taking you by the lips one more time, his hands massaging the plump of your waist. you could feel his seed pooling in your stomach, being so filled that some is seeping down your inner thigh.

you unclasped your arms and he turns the shower knob off, walking out to open the bathtub’s faucet. you raise your voice a tad so he could hear through the glass, “what are you doing?”

“starting us a bath, so we can relax before taking a proper shower” he shrugs, reaching towards the mirror cabinet to take one of the bath bombs you’ve been storing.

when the tub was filled, he quietly turned off the faucet and went back into the shower where he proceeded to soak off with you. you help each other clean up, kento placing soft kisses over your raw hickeys while you rinse the intimate parts of your body.

“sorry for hurting you, sweetheart. i should’ve asked before doing something like that.” he mutters in between pecks on your skin.

you reach your hand behind to rake your fingers through his golden locks, humming, “it’s okay… what about your back, though? i’m sure it stings.” you snuck a glance at it when he was turned around earlier and there were two long red streaks, the apparent traces of your nails. although, it wouldn’t be the first time his back would be full of scratches.

“don’t worry about it, it’s a reminder of our love.”

you scoff at his choice of words, “okay, whatever you say, mister. let’s put petroleum jelly on it later.” you’re never quite sure if he’s being real with you or if he’s trying to be funny, but you appreciate it either way.

after cleaning up, kento prepared some strawberries and wine to compliment your bath, placing the platter and the wine glasses on the wooden bathtub tray you purchased a while back, but never ended up using. you light up a candle while he takes off the towel he draped around his waist while fixing up the food. he takes one step on the tub to test the waters, then sits across from you.

you clink your glasses together and after a sip, you joke, “what if you actually got me pregnant this time?” you always kid about being pregnant and he usually pays no mind to it because you’re never serious, but the question struck him differently this time.

he places the glass back on the tray. “then you’re pregnant.” his stoic expression and dry tone almost made it comical.

you roll your eyes in response, “so you’re saying you don’t mind?” it wasn’t like you two weren’t trying, it just has never really been a big factor in your relationship. you wouldn’t be upset if you live the rest of your life with him without children, but at the same time you often imagine how it would be.

“well, i don’t think it’ll be a burden if it ends up happening. plus, i think it’s about time we start a family, don’t you think?” he takes a strawberry and holds it in front of you, in which you lean in to take a bite. you were really just joking, but the sincerity in his response warmed your heart. he never really gave you the impression of a family man, so you didn’t think he would comply so easily.

you swallow before sighing, “so do you think it’s a boy or a girl-“

“don’t push it.”

#wrote and edited this half asleep so pls bear w me!#also im so bad at endings bye #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami #nanami kento #nanami fanfic #nanami jjk #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #nanami x reader smut #kento nanami

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simonzmama · 19 days

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hear me out?

training days with ghost were always the hardest. you came in with despair written across your face, shoulders slumped with exactly what you knew was comin for you.

ghost was hard, hard on you, hard on everyone. but so were those meaty, thick ass mf thighs of his. built like boulders, muscles jacked like stone.

his ankles locked over your chest, thighs wrappin tight around the width of your closing throat. you could feel the muscles flex as he pulled you tighter, your air restrictive n lungs stuttering through deep breaths.

your nails coiled deep through his joggers, back arching off the training mat as your panties turned into nothing but a soiled, slick mess.

“you wanna breathe, huh?” he taunted, laughing down out you, voice nothing but a breathless rasp. “fuckin fight for it, seem’in like you’re giving up on me.”

n you were with the way you could feel the soft bulge of his dick tucked away in his sweats at the back of your head. with the way his fatty thighs squeezed at your skull with dizzying force. fucckkkkk.

n with a couple pats against his calf he was loosening up watching as you struggled through deep breaths. breasts rising and falling quickly as you stayed put between his legs, a softness slowly thickening under your head.

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azullumi · 30 days

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”know it’s for the better” ; aventurine

summary — memories come in waves and tonight, he’s drowning; the grief of his past haunts him and visits him in his dreams; alternatively, you comfort and assure him after his nightmare.

pairing — aventurine (w/gender-neutral reader)

warning — 2.1 QUEST SPOILERS (about his past)

tags — established relationship, angst with comfort, soft and kind of insecure aventurine, mentions of alcohol (he just drinks a glass that’s all), there’s some fluff if you squint, lots of metaphors, mentions of death, mentions of depressing and negative thoughts, all told and narrated in aventurine’s POV, i never proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs !! dedicating this to you

note — this is what reading his character analysis, character essays, scene and dialogue interpretations, and his whole ass lore and dissecting each one of it does to you. day 3 of writing for him.

“kakavasha.”

he opens his eyes to the sight of his planet: seemingly empty, barren, as nothingness continues to stretch towards the horizon. there was nothing on this land but the stench of death and cruelty that lingers in the air—it was heavy, thick, as if the clouds were binding him down to the ground and forcing him to look at what once was. he could feel the ache in his chest, the feeling of familiarity starting to seep into gaps between his fingers, and the the lump starting to form in his throat.

he knew this place, the stones that surrounded him and the mountain that leered over him. he knew of this, was all too familiar with it—the sunken ground and disturbed dirt from when his sister knelt before him with tears in her eyes as she uttered her promise of reunion before she bid him her farewell (he’ll always carry her last words as if it was part of his existence). the memory plays in his mind all over again, the voice of his sister echoing:

“this is where we go our own way, kakavasha…”

“...this is a gift from gaiathra, and you are kakavasha, whose good fortune will bless your sister with success.”

“as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry. so run, kakavasha, do not be afraid, and do not look back…”

he could feel the rain starting to pour down on his form but he doesn’t run, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seek for something that will shelter him from the cold. instead, he stands under the pouring rain with heavy shoulders and thoughts that seem to claw and scratch at him. no matter how much he tries to cover up and escape from his past, to run and run until his feet hurt, until he falls and crumbles to nothing, it will still haunt him. it chases after him; it hides in the corners of his room, behind the wallpapers, and amidst the settling dust and cobwebs, and it creeps up on tuesday mornings as he tries to revere the sun that once never shined on him. he’s always painfully reminded of the things that he has to carry—the weight of his sister who carries her parents, and who carries their parents.

“...the rain will accompany you, and the rain will bless you.”

the distant cries, screams, and roars all ring inside his ears but the sound of the rain breaking into smaller pieces as it falls to the ground that he walks on masks it all.

he feels so pathetic. the hatred that he has for himself continues to gather and manifest into his likeness to sing choruses of condemnation in the guise of shattered and broken praises that are shaped like knives, stabbing his guts and making blood spill from his lips (he doesn’t know what his mother looked like anymore yet he could remember the distinct smell and taste of iron as blood stains his skin).

“why are you all doing this…” he remembers what he answers to her sister before she walks off to her death. he remembers asking her as he covers his ears with his small hands—too weak and frail to even carry stones, much less move boulders. he remembers the pain, the confusion, the guilt of it all. he was just a small child who had too much to hold.

what even is the worth of his life? it was just merely 60 tanbas. even if he dresses himself in luxurious and expensive clothing his past self could never dream of having, it doesn’t rid of the grasp the ipc has over him; his shackles. the cold and harsh metal is not there anymore but he could still feel it tugging on his neck, he could still feel the letters burn as it engraves itself—death would have been a more merciful fate for him than being held by such cruel and dirty hands.

“kakavasha.”

aventurine opens his eyes to the sight of his ceiling. there was no empty land that is of semblance of his planet before him but instead there were the patterns, the walls, and the chandelier that hangs in the middle of it. he was in his room; the silence accompanied with the ticking sound of the clock strikes a balance between quietude and noise.

1:56, he looks at the time. it was still deep into the night—the stars cast its light into his room as it poured itself on the cold floor. there was a rustle by his side and he turned his head to look at you, peacefully sleeping in the comfort of his blankets and you mumbled something underneath your breath though he couldn’t hear it. your face scrunches for a moment before it relaxes into a soft one and he watches all of it happen; he wonders what you’re dreaming of.

unable to sleep—a heavy feeling resides in his chest ever since he woke up—, he slides himself out of the bed. slowly and silently, dare he might disturb your sleep. he slips into his slippers before walking off to the direction of his kitchen. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do there; he’s not even thirsty nor hungry, he just follows where his feet brings him (that’s how it usually was for him, often aimless and wandering with no direction in mind, he just doesn’t where to go, where he belongs).

he’s not an alcoholic but sometimes he just seeks for the bitterness of the liquid—to replace the taste of blood on his tongue and momentarily feel what it’s like to have nothing on your shoulders; his hands are empty yet it holds so much. he pours himself a small glass, honey-coloured liquid spills into it and a few drops gets into the surface counter. he picks the glass up, swirls the liquid for a few moments and watches its motion, before he brings it to his lips and drinks it all.

the scent is harsh against his nose and the liquid burns at his throat. the taste was too bitter and he felt like spitting it all out but he didn't, he continued to swallow it until there was nothing left in his fill. he tried to think of something else, to avoid those thoughts from entering his mind: the plant there needs to be watered, that reminds me of the light bulb has to be changed, do i even have a future ahead of me?, the painting there is slightly out of place, am i even supposed to survive?, are you still in his room?

he wonders if you’re still tucked in his sheets, if you’re still sleeping in his bed, he wonders what you were dreaming of that got you mumbling and knitting your eyebrows, he wonders when you’ll walk away from him after you realize how ugly and utterly worthless he actually is.

“‘rine?” a voice calls out to him along with the light sound of approaching footsteps. as soon as you enter the kitchen, you are greeted by the sight of him: an empty glass in his hand with a newly-opened bottle of alcohol in front of him. it was currently 2 in the morning, your lover was missing from your side when you woke up but you found him drinking alone in the kitchen.

“what’s wrong, my love? are you okay?” you ask, worry following your tone as you spoke. but aventurine remains silent. he can’t tell you his thoughts, of the overwhelming despair that drags him back down to his misery, and it’s not because he doesn't want to but he can’t—it would break your heart.

(and you know his silence too well. you didn’t carve yourself inside his heart just for nothing, you didn’t consume his flesh to not know the humming of his thoughts inside his chest.)

“you know you can tell me anything, right?” you didn’t care that he’ll break your heart. you wanted all of him and that includes his hatred and anger. if it makes him feel better, break it, shatter it into pieces and you’ll keep on picking yourself up for him. even if you don’t have the ability to stop the downpour, you’ll walk with him through the rain.

after what seems to be moments of hesitation coming from him, he shuffles from his seat and approaches where you stood. and he lets himself fall and crumble for you to catch him in your embrace—he feels safe, he feels okay but the grief, misery, and guilt still tugs at his heart ever so often as it beats.

(“where do i put all of this grief?” he asked you once while you admired the stars with him. “you hold them until it turns to love.”)

you caress his back softly, a small act of comfort as you cradled him in your arms. he doesn’t put all of his weight on you but he pulls you close and buries his face on the crook of your neck, heaving out a sigh as he did; you let him, let him whisper his worries and write his thoughts on your skin.

“did you have a nightmare again?”

“…not really.” the faint smell of alcohol wafts to your nose as he speaks. “i just…”

“it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“i’m sorry.” he says and you didn’t fail to notice the crack in his voice and the feeling of something warm and wet on your skin. you hold him closer, tighter, and you brush your hand against his hair, tangling your fingers in his soft locks.

“you have nothing to apologize for. it’s not your fault, kakavasha. nothing is ever going to be your fault.”

“it feels like it does.”

“no, no, my love… you were just a child. you did all that you can to survive and fulfill your promise.”

you start to gently sway him into the melody of your hum and he follows your form like the wind would on your hair. this continues for long until he’ll let go—you’ll hold him for as long as he wants to if it would lessen his burdens.

“i wouldn’t love you any less nor will i think of you as worthless.”

he has days likes this, days where he contemplates and thinks of everything, days where he doesn’t know what to do or what to say, days where he feels like he never changed and he’s still the same weak child who walked away from his sister instead of begging and asking her to go with him (the survivor’s guilt goes hard), days where it feels like everything is falling apart and he’s left on his own again, days where all he wants to do is to just cry in your shoulder—

“are you feeling better?” you ask him as he lifts his head from your shoulder; dry tears are left like trails of stars on his features. you cup both of his cheeks and wipe away the remnants of his misery and ache.

“mhm, a little bit.” he nods and you beckon him closer to your lips just so you could kiss his forehead before peppering his whole face.

—but there are days of warmth and sunlight. days where it all feels a little bit bearable and he can breath, days where every step he takes isn’t heavy, days where he could taste the kindness of the sun on his lips, days where he wakes up with you by his side and thinks he could have this forever, days where he could hear his mother’s lullaby that would comfort him, days where he could hear his sister’s voice telling him that she’s proud of how far he have come, days where everything feels okay and worth it.

years of these little bits of happiness—in silence, in chaos, in tranquility, in destruction—he wants a lifetime of it with you. and though kakavasha was never a greedy man, the ache, the yearning, and craving for those moments with you fills the empty spaces of his thoughts; you looked like what peaceful dreams are made of.

“i love you.” he knows that you know that already, he just thought he’d say it again.

#aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai imagines #honkai x reader #honkai #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #hsr x reader #aventurine imagines #aventurine x you #aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #honkai x you #honkai star rail x you #azul.writes

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neckromantics · 3 months

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Spoiling Astarion?

Bringing him back little things that remind you of him whenever he stays back at camp just so he knows you're still thinking of him while you're apart.

Astarion being so used to receiving little gifts from your travels that when you arrive back at camp, he's standing by your tent with his palm outstretched just waiting to see what you've brought him this time. The giddy little grin that's plastered on his face when you fork over the shiniest object you could get your paws on. All varying in degrees of monetary value, for sure, but all with a unique story of their own.

A couple of old coins from an ancient crypt. The entrance of which you'd all stumbled upon when Karlach punched a wall of a cave in victory after a particularly tough battle, only to come back with a handful of bones and cobwebs. The look of shock on her face when the entire wall came crumbling down on the group was enough to have you in stitches, entirely too weak from laughter to stand. You laid beneath the rubble for so long that Gale had assumed you developed a concussion and needed rescuing.

The PRETTIEST, crystal goblet that you'd stolen right from under a rich lady's nose under the guise that you were testing her drink for poison. You'd downed her ale in two gulps the second you exited the building. Was in the middle of patting yourself on the back for being oh-so cunning when you nearly fell on your ass. It was a sick, twisted coincidence that her ale did, in fact, turn out to be poisoned. But, at least you had a spare antidote on you that you gulped down before Shadowheart could find you in such a state. (And make fun of you, no doubt.)

A set of handmade jewelry– not stolen this time, if you can believe it. Wyll had pointed out the small shop to you while the two of you were out shopping for supplies. Said something about how it might be a good idea to pick out a new pair of socks since you'd been complaining about how holey yours had become after so much running around. Which was a good idea, truly– but the second you'd set eyes on the shop window, you knew what you wanted. A matching necklace and earring set, lovingly crafted with silver chain, so very delicate. So very understated that one could almost miss it among the rest of the more garish examples that sat alongside. Three, very small, opalescent stones shone so pretty at you beneath the sunlight that you could hardly look away. You would have given the shopkeep your left kidney just to see Astarion wearing them, but thankfully, it wasn't necessary. (You became so feral in your excitement to hear the very reasonable price that you nearly threw your entire gold pouch at the clerk's head and then kissed him on the mouth.)

You're an eager one. Astarion never has to wait– always receives his gifts before you can so much as slip your travel pack off of your shoulders. He goes real quiet for a moment. Has this far away look while gazing down at whatever it is, turning it over in his palm a couple of times to really study it.

The two of you sit together while you go through the rest of the day's spoils, and he listens while you tell him all about how you found today's special little trinket. Insists you spare no details in how you acquired it. (Unless any of those details are boring, dear. Do spare him of those.)

You know that there have to be some things he enjoys more than others. You know that there has to be some things you've given him that he outright dislikes. There have been a few occasions where he'd poked fun at you for bringing back something silly. Like "The roundest pebble you'd ever seen, Astarion, look at it roll!" or "This drawing of the two of you that you'd doodled on a stray sheet of parchment when you couldn't find anything else no matter how hard you tried!". BUT he has never refused anything you've chosen to bring back for him.

He thinks it's rather sweet that you've dedicated yourself to proving you still think of him when he stays behind. Wonders why you are the way that you are. Sort of loves you to death for it. Definitely does NOT invest in a bag of holding for everything once it all begins to stack up.

Definitely doesn't insist on you taking one half of the jewelry set so you always have a little piece of one another on you at all times. That would be ridiculous. (Earrings or necklace, darling?)

Sequel?

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 tav #astarion headcanons #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #karlach cliffgate #shadowheart

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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Boots [joel miller]

Joel doesn't like the idea of someone else gettin' all your best.

pairing: joel miller x female!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: jealous joel giving you a lesson in who really likes you best, birthday sex, (over)protective joel, softie joel, dominant joel, oral sex (m and f receiving), face-sitting, riding, no plot just porn and some fluff because it's me, possessive sex, praise kink, squirting, established relationship

word count: ~ 4.5k

hello, all! i'm beginning to unload my fics onto tumblr for those who prefer reading in this format - and as a result, some of you lovely folks who follow me will likely see works you've already read before. i sincerely apologise for that, but many new projects are in the works as well because i love y'all and i live to please. that aside, if you're new here, welcome, and i hope you enjoy this one-shot!! <3

BOOTS

If there's anything you know about Joel, it's that he can get real angry.

It ain't like he's always mad. He lives a lot of his life in utter silence, but you like to watch him. Sometimes, in the dark, he sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers and bringing them to his chin. He’ll sit like that for hours without moving, barely shifting to take in air, and you know never to shake him from that trance. It’s how you’ve learned to read between the lines.

After fifteen years by his side, you can gauge his moods better than the weather. He’s got a restless spirit, but his voice is midnight water. It’s calm and dark and clear, and it rumbles: the ripples left behind by skipping stones. He never lashes out at you, never raises his voice.

Except for that one time in New Jersey.

“Are you goddamn fuckin’ stupid?”

This was a little while before you could patent your Joel-handling techniques, so you did what any woman would do when a man calls her stupid: you folded your arms over your chest and got just as mad. “Stupid?” you said incredulously. “I saved your ass in there. Multiple asses, actually.”

Above you, the canopy of brilliant red leaves felt like a bloody shawl, and they crackled underfoot. You sported a limp thanks to a sprained ankle and your lip was bloody, but you were fine. Truly. And yet, Joel’s anger was pulsating. You could see it: heat waves, distorting the air around him, his brows flattening over his eyes and his nostrils flaring. A bull ready to charge. He was brimming with the need to release this energy.

Behind you, a building burned. The fire was a monstrous, lively thing, and it scorched the hairs on the back of your neck. Inside lay the bodies of the men you’d stolen the medical kits from, along with two of your own crew. It was only you and Joel left. It was autumn, and the breeze was welcome in such relentless heat.

He’d been ambushed just as much as the rest of you, but rotten fuckin’ luck had pinned a man on top of him—armed with a knife, inches from Joel’s eye. Not trusting yourself to make a shot without hitting him, too, you had tackled the man without thinking much. It had worked well enough to send his knife clattering across the burning hut. He’d landed a punch to you before Joel had blown his head clean off. Brain matter still clung to your jeans, but you tried not to look. When you’d rolled the body off you, Joel shot him again. He was covered in blood from his greying hair to his boots.

“Your job is to look out for yourself out there,” he snapped, “not me. The fuck were you thinkin’?”

Your frown only deepened. What had you been thinking? Maybe leaving him to die would teach him a lesson or two about what it was like to fear for someone’s life. Even if it was his own. “We need to go. You can yell at me later.”

Joel didn’t say anything when he kneeled at your feet and lifted your ankle up onto his raised knee. You yelped when you almost toppled over, but he kept you steady and inspected the swollen flesh. He was achingly gentle when he prodded at you, his expression softening into something more like concern. “This hurt?” he asked.

“Of course it hurts, Miller.” You lifted a brow at him, but he wasn’t looking up. “Want me to try on a glass slipper, or can we go?”

“Still think that was stupid,” he grumbled.

You snorted. “Yeah, well, you’re the only one who can navigate for shit, and I don’t fancy getting lost without my own personal compass.”

When he stood, Joel surprised you some more by gently patting your leg. “Real nice,” he said under his breath, shrugging the strap of your pack farther up your shoulder. “Stay behind me.”

You grinned up at him. “Happily.”

He never gets angry for long. Not at you.

There’s a knock at his door in the rhythm only the two of you know. He still checks the peephole, but it’s you. You slip inside, practically bounding on the balls of your feet, that cute fuckin’ grin on your face as you hide something behind your back. “Guess what day it is,” you say.

Joel will never let it leave this room that he indulges in your stupid game. “Sunday,” he tries.

Your pout is extravagant, but he’ll be damned if it doesn’t make him want to bite it off your pretty mouth. “Rhymes with smirthday. Y’know… the only day I ever ask you for anything.”

He clicks his tongue. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

You roll your eyes and bring your hands around from behind your back. You’re holding a cupcake.

“Holy shit. Where the fuck did you get that?”

“The FEDRA guy who monitors my building likes me,” you tell him, honest as ever. Too honest for this world and too damned sweet to be anything but a liability. And yet, here he is, digging, indulging, sinking his claws in. “Enough to sneak this to me from the kitchen, apparently.”

That makes him feel real fuckin’ grumpy. Nobody with eyes would be enough of a fool to deny that you’re gorgeous, but it doesn’t make him sleep any better knowing other men are chasing that brilliant twinkle in your eyes. He wants to tuck it between his ribs and let it illuminate his insides. He doesn’t want anyone else to see it, not ever.

“He’s tryin’ to make a move on you,” says Joel. “That’s what that is.”

If there’s a second thing you know about Joel, it’s that he lives with his foot in his mouth. Unfailingly.

You have long since learned the tactics of Joel-handling. You'd be offended if it were anyone else, but you just pat his cheek affectionately. “Sit down.”

To his credit, he does, but not after some grumbling. You scrape the second chair along the floor until it's right next to him. You split the cupcake in two as best you can and pass him one of the halves. Joel eyes it suspiciously. “You sure this is edible?”

You just take a bite and groan. It's been a long time since you've tasted chocolate, let alone the decadence of over-sweet frosting. Joel watches you carefully. Your lashes flutter in your trancelike enjoyment, a small speck of white frosting on the top of your nose. He's overcome with the knowledge that people in this world would try and take you from him. That people have put guns to your head, that they have harmed you, that they'll do it again and again. This world does not leave a woman like you untouched.

It's a good thing you've got him to make sure the world goes nowhere near you.

“Got frosting on your nose,” he says gruffly, trying to suppress his smile as he swipes it away with his thumb. “Some killer you are.”

You kick your legs up onto his lap. His thumb idly circles your ankle bone. “I don’t pretend to be a killer. I get by just fine, Miller.”

“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And if I wasn’t here?”

You shrug. “Dead, probably.”

Joel takes a bite of the fucking cupcake and he's a little mad when it's not bad.

You sit at the window on his bed later, your knees drawn up to your chest and your cheek resting atop them. You like to watch the lights of the FEDRA vehicles and the occasional star that winks at you from high above the QZ. You're a pretty sight to look at all the time, but it feels somehow more delectable when you don't know he's looking.

It's nearing midnight, and you're getting up to leave. Curfew means you have to scurry back to your apartment across the street or you'll be stuck here all night. It also means you have to walk right past the same officer who snuck you that cupcake.

“You asked me once if I ever wanted to end it.”

Across the fire, he looked like a spectre: a thing you could not touch, sizzling tendrils of silvery air curling around crackling flame. You’d stopped for the night, and neither of you wanted to sleep. Even though you’d both seen enough fire for a lifetime, you still extended your palms toward it and let it warm you as you watched his dark brown eyes grapple for a way through the thistly wood of his past.

“I tried,” he told you. “After I lost her.”

Somehow, you felt undeserving. Like wrapping your fingers around a piece of Joel Miller’s steel-hard aorta and yanking out all the precious bits that came with it. Like licking the blood from the heart and shoving it back inside. Would he ever be the same knowing another soul in the world had this information? Would he come to regret telling you?

He watched you stand and shuffle up next to him on the piss-poor, blood-stained excuse for a sleeping bag. When your fingers lifted to the scar on his throat, he did not flinch away. Your hands were warmed by the fire. It filled the very soul of you, that flame. He did not meet your eye, but you looked into his nonetheless.

“I’m happy you missed.” A hand, warm and kissed by a tenderness he would never deserve, settled at the nape of his neck. Fingers gently combed through the grey strands, and he leaned into your touch, not quite understanding the pull but giving in nonetheless. For the first time in years, he thought he might be able to sleep if you just kept touching him like this.

Your next words were soft, but they were not afraid. “But I’m sad I never got to meet her.”

His head turned, and at last, his eyes met yours.

“Me, too.”

You smiled sadly. “Joel.”

“Don’t ever,” he said slowly, his hand squeezing your knee, “play fast and loose with your life again. Your life happens to fuckin’ matter to me.”

And that was that.

At some point, this began. Neither of you attempt to define how or when. Perhaps it has always been. It isn’t like time matters anymore.

When you pass Joel on your way to the door, he grabs your wrist.

“Does that FEDRA fucker know whose place you go to every night?”

You sigh, turning your head to meet his eyes: glimmering black beetles in the dim light. “Joel. Don’t be an asshole.”

But he’s long past trying not to be an asshole, especially when it comes to people honing in on his fucking territory. He tugs you by the waist so your back is pressed against his chest. His fingers are splayed over your belly. “You like him?” he says into your ear.

Your lashes flutter on your cheeks. “Joel.” His name sounds like the citrus of the oranges you like from the cafeteria. It’s sweet and tangy and somewhat discrete. “You know I need to meet with Robert about the battery tomorrow. You’ll keep me up all night.”

A grunt rumbles deep in his chest. “You’re not goin’ to see Robert alone.”

“That was part of his deal.” You gasp when he buries his face in your neck, sucking at the skin beneath your ear. He’ll make it show up angry and purple for the FEDRA officer and, fuck it, the entire QZ to see. He’ll litter your whole body with bruises and hickeys like he's a goddamn teenager if that's what it takes to keep you here.

“Shit fuckin’ luck.” His fingers dip to the waistband of your jeans. Your hips rock subtly and he smirks against your skin. “Robert doesn't get to decide how this goes.”

“Yeah, he does. He’s the one with the battery.”

The scratch of his beard is rough and deliberate against your neck. “If he doesn't wanna see me,” says Joel, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding the zipper down, “he can tell me himself.”

“He’s terrified of you.”

Joel turns you around and presses you right up against his chest. You feel his hardness at your belly, the sear of his gaze through yours. “Good,” he says. “Get on the bed.”

It’s already midnight, which means you’ll get chewed out if you try to leave now. Joel’s plan, you guess. “You jealous of a little FEDRA officer, Miller?” Backing toward the bed, you smile up at him, coy and teasing.

“You never answered my question.” He chases your body, stalking toward you as his hand juts out to squeeze your hip. Your legs hit the edge of the bed. “Do you like him?”

His lips are so close you could just surge toward him and end this suffering. But he's keeping you at arm’s length, keeping you pliant under his touch because he knows—the bastard—that he’s winning.

Still, getting a rise out of Joel Miller is your birthright. “Would you rather I fuck a Firefly?”

A faint sneer twists his mouth, and this is his anger. This is the simmering, thrilling thing that infests your very blood. He’s jealous, and you're surprised at how deliciously it thrums in your lower spine, knowing he’s furious at the thought that someone else could even come close to the way he knows you.

The kiss begins slowly. For the heat you can feel through the press of his chest against yours, his nose only gently nudges yours as he works his way up to claiming your mouth. When he does, it’s a bizarre and dizzying shift compared to the rage you know he feels. The desire to march out onto the street and beat that officer to near-death. He compensates with a unique tenderness, taking his time with you, his hand pressing down against the exact spot on your lower back that forces his hips to mould to yours. His other cups your face, his fingers winding into your hair and curling at the back of your neck. It forces you to look up at him.

His beauty loops like a knot through your nerves. If you prodded any spot on your skin, the blood beneath would sing with the topography of him. You know the lines of his face better than your own. There is a patch in his beard that resembles a heart. There is a twinkle in his eye that lingers when he frowns and smiles. It’s a rare thing in such a sullen person. But you like finding those eyes in the dark. Somehow, for you, he’s hope.

When his lips finally meet yours, they're soft, and he lets you reach up to tangle your fingers in his soft, messy hair even though he’s doing everything he can to keep you under his control. Not that you mind. He knows you're his.

He deepens the kiss with a soft groan, curving his body over yours, tongue seeking the seam of your lips. You part them willingly, gasping when he lurches forward and slides his tongue along yours, biting and sucking at your lips. Joel growls softly at the faint noises you make, your fingers tightening in his hair, the pleasing sting in his scalp sending jolts down to his hard cock.

“MmmmmJoel.” You’re panting, desperate for air he won't give you. He likes this—making you gasp, making you weak, making you forget entirely that you’re supposed to be teasing him.

“Careful,” you gasp, barely able to form words around his mouth on yours. “Gonna hurt your back.”

That only seems to egg him on. He may not be young and agile anymore, but that’s never stopped him from giving you what you need. He turns you around and lies on his back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you down on top of him. Your jeans go quickly, sliding down your hips with your panties and dropping somewhere on the floor. Your shirt follows, his fingers enjoying their path along your shoulders as he slips your bra straps down: a rare moment of indulgence and appreciation in a world that does not allow either.

For a moment, he just looks at you, brushing the pad of his thumb across your chin. Your eyes glimmer from the light through the window. “You only like me,” he says. Matter-of-fact. He knows.

But you smile, because he decided to say it anyway. “I only like you, Joel Miller.”

A hand kneads your ass, giving it a smack. You jump in his grasp, but he just gives you that crooked smirk and whispers: “Come take a seat.”

You rear back, frowning at him. Is he—

“You waiting for a sweeter invitation, baby?” His voice is low and gruff, unused to compromise. You feel his fingers dig into your ass and pull you up onto his chest. Your cunt is slick with anticipation and the ichor of desire.

He wants you on his face.

“What if I—”

“Sit.” Every letter feels like a deliberate strike, bone-deep. “C’mon, now.”

Let me show you how much I like you.

Your bottom lip between your teeth, you shuffle gingerly up his chest until you can brace your hands on the wall, your cunt hovering over his mouth. Joel doesn't like that. He wraps his hands around your upper thighs and forces you down onto his face. You gasp his name, one hand flying to his hair and locking your fingers in his locks. “Fuck.”

He grunts, squeezing your thighs up to your hips as he pulls your clit into his mouth, lathering it with his spit and your wetness. It’s white-hot: the pressure on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, the insistent bump of his nose against your clit as he teases his tongue around your tight hole. “Joel, Joel, fuck,” is all you can manage, sweet little gasps that he drinks in, his hips bucking involuntarily with the delicious pain of your fingers pulling at his scalp. You're losing grip on the real world and slipping elsewhere, and he wants to get you there.

One of Joel’s hands slides between your legs, easing them open even more, and rests on your belly, shifting to your ribcage and helping you steady yourself atop him. His fingertips graze your breasts, reverent and gentle despite their roughness. Those hands have been split and bloodied, but they hold you like they’ve never known anything but kindness. His eyes closed, savouring the taste of you, his fingers trace a scar on your sternum from an incident at knifepoint six years ago. He cannot see it, but he knows it nonetheless.

Joel is greedy when he has his face buried in your pussy. He doesn’t get the opportunity to take his time like this often; the both of you have only ever been acquainted with impermanence. But now, tucked comfortably between your thighs, licking between your folds like a starving fuckin’ dog, taking what he wants from you.

The sounds are slick and obscene, mingled with your drunken sighs and words of encouragement as you curl your fingers against the wall uselessly. “Joel,” you whimper, your hips rolling against his face, moonlight bursting on your eyelids. “I… can’t… so good—”

He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly. He’ll imprint the feeling of him on your skin forever—if he hasn't already. He’ll make sure you never have another man like you have him.

It’s a selfish thing, love. He's mastered clutching it to his chest and keeping his palm closed right around it.

“I’m… oh, fuck, I’m gonna…” Your hips buck wildly, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you steadfast and firm to his face. He sucks your clit back into his mouth and fixes his tongue to you, wiggling slightly as he feels you stiffen above him. “Oh, my—gonna come!”

He knows. You're already coming. Your hand leaves his hair and braces next to your other one on the wall, ensuring you don’t fall over as your thighs shake uncontrollably and your mouth drops open in a keening whine. Joel keeps lapping at your clit long after your orgasm fades and you cry out from the overstimulation. Gently, you reach down to tug his hair, and he reluctantly pulls away. He’s so hard he can’t conjure much mental activity besides getting his dick wet.

Your chest is heaving as you try to pick your leg up and get off him, but your strength fails you. Instead, Joel grabs your hips and sits up, your cunt sliding down to sit on top of his erection. Experimentally, you grind down on him, watching a muscle in his jaw feather. “Are you going to let me take your pants off?” you ask him, teasing, your finger tracing the metal of his belt buckle.

He grits his teeth, letting you take control for a moment, sliding the belt achingly slow out of each loop. Your wicked little smile is so pretty in the darkness, illuminated briefly by passing patrol vehicles through the window. Unbuttoning his shirt, you dip your body low to his chest and press gentle kisses all the way down to his soft belly and the trail of hair disappearing under his waistband.

Joel moans brokenly when you shuck his jeans down his legs and squeeze his hard length before it can slap up against his stomach. There’s a tattoo on his inner thigh that you like to trace with your fingers, something he got with his brother when they were young. Your tongue darts out and licks up the precum pooling at his slit, making his cock twitch in your grasp. “Jesus,” he groans. “Baby, c’mon, let me—”

Your soft lips parting around the throbbing head of his cock destroy whatever end to the sentence he had planned. Squeezing his strong thighs to ground yourself, you swirl your tongue around the tip and take him deeper, your throat expanding to accommodate his thick, heavy weight in your mouth. He huffs, grumpy that he can't think straight for long enough to stop you and overcome with pleasure all the same. You squeeze his thigh again, your thumb rubbing circles over the little tattoo, and he meets your eyes. They're watery, blinking hard to expel the tears, his hand instinctively cradling the crown of your head to keep you on him, keep you choking around him.

When your nose meets the thatch of hair above his base, he’s the one who chokes, his head tipping back. “Jesus, fuck, goddamn—” His fingers curl in your hair and gently urge you off his cock; you pout, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. His dick jumps at the sight, lying hard on his stomach.

“Come up here,” he rasps. You do, crawling up his body until your hips are flush, his hardness slotted, thick and throbbing, between your folds. The hum that leaves your mouth is wanton, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hands move to your lower back, digging into the flesh just above your ass so you’re forced to roll your hips along his shaft.

Your mouth drops open at the jolt of pleasure to your cunt. “Oh…”

“That’s it, baby.”

He cannot come inside you, but he can come like this. And he will, probably faster than he likes; your pretty lips parted, your eyes lidded and boring into his even as you grind along his cock, unwavering. You look good like this. You look happy and soft and all his.

Joel’s hands clutch you a little harder, roll you a little faster, your hands supporting your weight on his firm chest. He’s so fucking close, your wet pussy soaking his length and his tip catching on your sensitive clit with each roll of your hips, but he needs you to come again. You come first.

“Joel,” you sigh, your thighs locking tight around his hips, nectar and frosting and citrus.

“I know,” he says, “I know. Keep goin’, baby. C’mon. Doin’ so good. Jesus, so good.”

The first orgasm was a meticulous build-up. This one crashes down with the ceremony and courtesy of an ambush: it seizes your whole body and leaves you helpless. You moan his name—maybe you whisper it; everything is loud in your ears—and double over, your cheek pressed into the hollow of his throat. He keeps you moving, seeking his own high, bucking up against your cunt.

“That’s it.” His praises gently puff out across the top of your head, tucking your head under his chin, admiring the curve of your back and the supple taste of your skin under his fingers. His balls draw up and his core goes tight with imminent release. “Fuck, baby. Fuck—”

There’s a hot, wet splash against your belly, then another, and another. When you peel yourself away to watch his cum spurt onto his stomach, your cunt tightens with the pulsating rhythm of his shaft under you and another brief, but devastating, rush of pleasure surges through your whole body. It almost fucking knocks you over. You lift yourself off his cock in time to see a burst of wetness soak him, dribbling out around your bodies onto the mattress. Joel groans, his brows lifting, another spurt of cum landing on his belly.

“Jesus Christ.”

You list to the side, unable to hold yourself up in any capacity. You land next to him, your arm belted across his chest, fondly nudging a pec with your nose. “Me, too,” you mumble. Your voice is hollow.

Joel turns his head to face you, and you swipe some cum off his belly with your index and middle fingers, looking him in the eyes as you lick it up and swallow. He grabs you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard. “No fuckin’ FEDRA asshole,” he grumbles into your mouth, “is gettin’ anywhere near you. And neither is Robert.”

You forgot that was what this was about. “Joel,” you whisper, lips migrating from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, his scratchy beard, “you can’t keep me safe forever.”

He reaches around to grab your ass and then hitches your thigh up onto his hip. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can. Stay here.”

“We aren’t related, or married.” You pin him with a stare. “They would never let us.”

Joel lifts his brows. You roll your eyes. “We aren’t married.”

He’ll pick a fight in the morning. But you already know you won’t be going to see Robert about the battery with your big guard dog standing just behind you. Robert can suck it the fuck up, for all Joel cares.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “It was a shitty cupcake, though.”

You laugh, kissing him on the nose. “No, it wasn’t. For all you know, you may never have one again.”

“For the fuckin’ best,” he grumbles, chasing your mouth again. You let him kiss you, and neither of you get much sleep.

He really didn't mind the cupcake.

#kiwisbell's fics #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

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angelltheninth · 3 months

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Gargoyle Boyfriend Gets Rough As the Sun Comes Up

Pairing: Male!Gargoyle x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, size difference, desperation, kissing, mating press, wings, claws

A/N: I mentioned Gargoyles once in a conversation and now... now we're here. It doesn't take much with me.

"There's not a lot of time, my love." He grunted above you, claws tearing into your bed, hard cock hammering at your insides and a thick flow of cum dripping down your ass. "I need you to come for me." The bed shook with the force of his thrusts, and so did you, his tail being the only thing keeping you still.

If your legs weren't pushed up over his shoulders you could have wrapped them around his hips like you normally did. But he wasn't letting you bring them down. At this angle he could get his cock all the way in your wet pussy. He's looking at your face, twisted in pleasure, almost drowning in it. Well you weren't far off.

"You already came. Ah-! Shouldn't you... get going. The Sun is almost up." He snarled, eyes flashing at your words. His fat tip rammed itself deep against your cervix, making your eyes roll back into your skull, nails scratching into his hard skin.

"And leave you unsatisfied? You think I would treat my mate this way?" It was insulting to him. "I would never." Wings fanned out behind him, the sharp edges leaving marks on your celling, the scratching noises mixing with growls, moans and soft flesh meeting hard stone. "No. You will come for me. You will show me that face again, you will- fucking come!" His growly voice shook you to your core, "Yes. That's my good mate. Can you feel my cock splitting you open? Can you feel me deep in your human cunt?"

You wrapped your arms around his thick neck, feeling his sharp fangs dig into your bottom lip before you kissed properly. Pleasure rocked through you, his hips slowing down, not wanting to pull out yet, wanting to spare every second he could with his cock in you, your pussy walls warm and twitching around his girth.

"I wish you could stay all day." You felt him pulling away when the tension in your body ebbed away.

"Hard stone wouldn't feel as good." That almost sounded like a challenge and you grinned up at him. "I don't know what you're thinking but I advise against it."

Wiggling your hips you heard him take a sharp breath, cock stirring, "You don't even know what I wanted to do. You need to let me have fun too." You could just imagine his face if he woke up and saw you already on his cock, how quickly he would slam you against the cold tiles and take you right then and there.

"Stop this. At this rate I'll go hard in more ways then one." That would surely a noticeable change. "You'll have to wait until tonight." His hand cupped the entire side of your face, his skin cold on yours but still comforting. His touch lingered as he pulled away, as did the now empty feeling in your pussy.

You watched as he stretched his wings and his arms, pulling his on the little clothes he wore to cover his cock. The bulge was noticeable from this angle but once he was in his siting position it wouldn't be. Unless... you ran two fingers over your pussy, gathering the thick, white, creamy seed and bringing it to your lips.

"Fuck." His teeth clenched tight, cock bulge twitching, growing in size. "I... I need to take my post!" He was nearly always the one teasing you. These were small victories. But hey, as a human woman dating a big, strong gargoyle of the night, you needed these small victories.

#monster x reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monsterfucking #monster lover #gargoyle x reader #monster imagine #monster x human #monster x girl #monster smut #gargoyle smut #monster fic #terato

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orchidyoonkook · 6 months

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The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word.

Intimate. That would be a better choice.

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering.

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony.

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy.

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts.

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go.

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between.

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company.

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight.

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off.

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges.

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter.

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot.

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are.

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back.

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses.

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up.

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.”

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is.

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck.

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself.

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.”

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night.

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung!

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing.

You just lost all your tips for the night.

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it.

Fuck.

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet.

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know.

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it.

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass.

No one serves him but you.

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you.

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year.

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath.

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,” he responded.

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased.

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you.

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it.

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink.

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself.

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.”

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.”

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’”

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.”

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation.

No one calls the Devil by his first name.

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to.

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives.

No one except you.

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is.

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that.

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in.

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night.

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker…

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up.

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath.

The King of Hell.

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end.

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon.

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging.

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully.

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity.

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive.

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again.

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well.

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while.

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was.

And maybe he is.

But not to you.

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow.

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him.

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world.

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you.

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find.

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos.

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside.

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor.

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding.

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system.

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth.

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing.

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer.

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.”

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target.

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own.

Yoongi.

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself.

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real.

And he looks like sin incarnate.

Fitting.

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you.

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on.

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved.

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you.

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises.

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night.

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse.

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him.

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body.

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.”

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now.

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening.

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you.

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant.

Beautiful.

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says.

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you.

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers.

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you.

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring.

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear.

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait—

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse.

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’.

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him.

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides.

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it.

You’ve decided.

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power.

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years.

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back.

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club.

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait.

And apparently neither does Yoongi.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate.

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil.

You trust Yoongi.

“That's a good girl.”

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft.

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people?

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on.

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get.

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight.

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent.

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea.

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh.

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off.

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?”

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs.

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you.

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.”

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him.

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge.

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look.

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded.

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter.

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip.

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue.

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.”

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get.

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it.

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt.

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines.

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before.

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip.

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him.

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it.

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it.

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.”

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures.

You’re the most powerful person here.

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible.

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know.

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact.

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets.

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace.

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them.

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you.

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else.

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal.

Perfect in every single way.

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too.

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back.

Not yet.

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling.

Ever.

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more.

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence.

There was only you.

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows.

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming.

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance.

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white.

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need.

It’s yours.

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze.

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented.

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?”

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?”

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before.

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking.

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say.

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.”

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.”

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him.

You just know it.

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless.

You never expected anything like that.

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years.

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better.

Because of you.

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that.

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly.

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell.

He was yours now.

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

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love-toxin · 6 months

Text

bonus night - mike schmidt

plot: jk it's just por-//SHOT

(cws: fem!reader, FNAF movie spoilers!!!, rough sex, riding, begging, a teeny tiny taste of dom mike, tit sucking, bruising, protected sex w/ a twist, post-fnaf canon, established relationship)

wc: 2k

There's absolutely no question that it's been a long fucking day. One of many, in fact, both behind him and yet to come.

Aside from his sleep schedule still being tremendously fucked from that five night ordeal, Mike's also had the stress of landing a new job and keeping it this time. He's lucky–god, he's lucky that an old friend of his just happened to have a connection–but that just puts more pressure on his ability to keep a level head and not lose this one. Plus, with his meds cut out as well as a whole host of new traumas to keep him up at night it's almost more stressful than fighting for his own life. With today being the end of orientation and the first real shift on the job, it's finally sinking in that a new chapter of life has started but his problems are still an uphill battle.

Bills, backpay, rent, Abby's therapy, pacifying their aunt who was quite aghast at waking up disheveled on their living room floor…it's been a process to say the least. His one saving grace has been you. You. His beautiful, gentle angel, with a voice like sugar and honey and skin as soft as velvet, warm like a shallow pool on a summer's day that he'd want to float in for hours. You're so precious he can't think of a single thing he's done in life that tops being your lover, or even comes close.

Well…maybe there's one thing.

“Mike,” The squeaking of the bed beneath you just barely drowns out the high, sweet whimper that your voice has melted into. “Please baby, slow down-”

A squeaky “ah!” flies from your mouth regardless of that insistent plea, your lover's hips like stone pistons as he bucks up and topples you over to land back against his chest. He loves you there; the feeling of your tits squished against his chest as he holds your ass in an iron grip. Thumbs dig into each cheek, palms splayed out to keep you spread but still in your place–stretched enough to take him but tight enough not to let him slip out. Not even now, an hour after he carried you through the door over his shoulder, when his spit and cum and sweat have coalesced into a damp sheen spilling over his lap. Fuck the mess. He'll clean it up later, if he doesn't just throw his whole bundle of sheets into the wash to scrub away the evidence.

Each thump, thump, thump of your body thrown down rings more in your ears than his, but both of you feel it equally. Your womb kissed with hard, stinging passion on every thrust, and Mike's stomach twisting and flexing as his cockhead beats that spot raw, instincts begging him to drain all he has left inside. He's got lots of pent-up energy to spare, and on the one night that his sister's gone to a sleepover you can bet he took the chance to let some of it out. He'd barely had time to grab a condom–as eager as he was, it pales in comparison to the heat between your thighs when you see him get all riled up. If he'd let you put it on for him, you'd probably have it off in a second. Now he's just at the mercy of your needy and downright addictive pussy.

“Fuck!” Your mewls shift into a spitting, hissing curse when he bites down on one of those beautiful breasts of yours. Unlike what a weaker man would do, Mike isn't averse to leaving bruises–what else could be expected? He tries to be a gentleman in public and you always tell him he is, but the desire to put hands all over those pretty tits and mark his claim on them is second nature now. And no matter how much you'll complain about them being sore afterwards, you'll still push them in his face with that devilish look that's daring him to do it all over again.

Besides, he can't resist those things swinging right in front of him. And you'll forget the sting so quickly, his tongue will make short work of those shallow wounds you feel as he latches his lips and starts to suck. Greedily.

“Mike!”

Your hands in his hair won't stop him. But they don't really want to–as always you love to tug but you never push him back, you don't try to get any more space between you because what's already there is still not close enough.

God your whiny voice is so cute. He couldn't feel more lucky to have picked you up when he did. How would he know that the girl he helped out once for an ice cream would end up being his girlfriend? He just thought you were cute, and he felt bad seeing your face fall as you counted out your change in line, so he hadn't thought twice about the dollar he put down on the counter in your stead. Such an adorable little ditz, and now he's got you riding his lap and kissing him awake nearly every morning. If he wanted to catch a break, this is it.

“M-Mike, m'gonna cum,” Your whimpers dig into his ear and tug at the strings of his heart, his head already turned to soothe you with a low, soft shush brushed by your cheek. There there. With a stroke of your hair, you're melting again.

“Mhm,” He hums again, his warmth a lull following the furious heat that's been sparked by the friction of his hips pumping at a violent pace. “Shh, sh sh. We’ll go slow, I promise.” His murmuring muddies your head, his fingers descending quickly towards their destination. Once they reach it at the crest of your soft, pudgy mound that's been brutalized by his cock, he's glad to see you finally let that tension go as you slump forward into his chest. You just need to cling to him for awhile, and he certainly won't be complaining.

The smell of your sweat, your heat, your sleek, soft tongue wetting the bruises your teeth leave in his throat, all that whining and groaning and high, girlish squealing as your hips hump his lap–these and more are all reasons he has to absolutely worship you. Your starry-eyed gaze as you look upon him in ecstasy etches itself into his very soul. He won't ever forget this…he won't ever forget you. Not the warmth of you both being cheek-to-cheek, your hand coaxing out his end as it trails reverently from his jaw down his heaving chest.

“Pleeeeease,” You whisper, so achingly sweet he could cry as easily as cum. “Please, baby?”

Please. Such a pretty word. Prettier from your mouth most of all, so pretty it hurts–nearly stings as he digs his nails in and leaves marks on each cheek, though it will moreso for you when you wince at sitting down at your desk tomorrow morning. You're shaking, trembling more like, and even if he made you wait for it you wouldn't be able to obey. The spasms wracking through you can't be controlled, nor can the grind of your hips down as you let those strong hands drag you all the way to the base. So far that it causes a twinge in your expression as the orgasm passes, your ecstasy blotting out the stretch that you're gonna feel all the way up to your hips in the morning.

But he's got to get in deep, has to make it ache, so he's got a grip so firm it's trembling up his arms and you're shaking even harder on top of him as he digs in and lets loose. There's no question he's hit your womb, it's more curious to whether he's broken through it or not…by the way you bite down on his shoulder and bear the pressure, though, he must be nearly there. Nearly squeezing through that tight, tight wall so he's draining his seed right where it's meant to be. And you paw at him all the while, lower lip quivering, tears threatening to spill, yet you won't let up on rubbing yourself back on his thighs–it just isn't enough until you've taken all he has to give, and even then he can spot that gleam in your eyes that begs for even more. The fact that the condom's split isn't even in his mind, it's floated so far away he won't think of it until it's too late to stop.

Yet all that heat hits the same end after the climax. The friction subsides, the breathing slows, and the two of you are left in content silence as you quietly come back to your senses. There's something even more intimate about losing oneself as a collective; being so hedonistic in pursuing an indulgence, yet facing the fear of baring your own heart to one you love in the process, and reaching an even more satisfying end as it all comes to a close. It's glorious. He wouldn't trade it for anything. He wouldn't trade sex for his own life now that he's had it with you. But, again, he's still coming down from the high–he’ll most certainly feel the embarrassment of losing himself so indulgently as the cool air from the AC starts setting in.

“Was that good, baby?” Your tone just drips with deliciously sinful innocence, god. You've got such a proud expression on your face as he finds the words through his post-coital haze, hands inching back down your ass to grab handfuls of it yet again. Once he's got a grip he tugs, and draws you closer to meet you in a kiss–and as wet as it still is from the exercise, the way you lean into it and giggle is just enough to send his heart burning into passionate flames yet again.

“Very. Always is.” Panting, sweaty, he'd have no trouble convincing the neighbors he was just having it out on a treadmill for the last hour. If he could afford one.

“The best you've ever had?”

“Best. Best and only. Can I get up now?”

“Mmm…” You make a show of thinking up your answer only to tap him on the nose as you lean forward over him. “...No. I like this.”

Mike claps you on the ass suddenly, the smack echoing loudly in his modest little bedroom and eliciting a squeal from you that's just as punctual. Your squirming only draws a heat up inside him again though, and he knows better than anyone that that's exactly what you want. You'd be happy if he never got out of bed again, and if he spent all day with his cock nestled nice and warm inside you.

“Up. I gotta piss. Don't make me count.”

“Fiiiiiiine.” Huffy and puffy as always, you soon relent and slip off with a bit of manoeuvring to flop into bed beside him. “Can I at least hold it?” Rather than say something equally as shameful, he just pushes his pillow over your face with reddened cheeks and ducks with laughter as you launch it back at him, already up and on his way to the bathroom to wash off–and to soon find the evidence of that broken contraception that's definitely gonna plant a seed of worry in him when he realizes. Or…maybe not. God knows how many jokes you've made about wasting his cumshots in your mouth, and how often you've jumped him with no inkling of whether he's got a rubber in reach or not.

Maybe this is just another chapter of life, one more stage he's been readying himself for unconsciously. Whatever it comes with, he's gonna be beside you either way–so in a sense, he's more prepared than he's ever been to face what lies ahead.

#mutuals if u look at me im legally required to gag u #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #spicy writing #fnaf movie #fnaf mike #ellie writes #2k

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37-drc89 · 6 months

Text

the way things go; lee minho

❁ nothing warms your heart more than his presence.

trope: roommates to lovers.

genre: comfort, slight angst, work exhaustion, happy ending.

summary: finally understanding that your failure doesn't scare him away.

warnings: blood, mention of overprotective parent, family problems, let me know if i should put anything more in here.

word count: 3,7k.

masterlist

note: this is very much my first fic here, like, ever. i'm still green in tumblr, any links and mostly making posts look good, but i'll eventually master it. i look forward to seeing your opinions and things i can change or make better, i'll appreciate every comment. and, please remember that english is not my first language! if you see any typo or something doesn't make sense, please inform me! thank you:)

Coming back home on Friday after whole week of working your ass off really feels like a walk of shame. You feel like everyone passing by can tell how awfully you did at your workplace today. And they wouldn't be wrong, the amount of scolds your boss threw in your direction through past few days is worryingly numerous.

Whether it was missing out on paper work your boss asked you to do for him, because you were so sure the deadline was set on the day after, or accidentially knocking off of your desk whole cup of hot, sweetened tea that later on you had to scrap off of the covering, under the strict eye of the middle aged man that scared you so much. Especially with the amount of misfortune that chased after you lately, like it was glued to you.

Cringe makes its way to your face. You're shuffling your way to your apartment, not really in a hurry, feet lazily dragged after you as you didn't even have any strenght to properly lift them off the ground. You most likely look like you've been partying for at least three nights in a row, but you can't find it in yourself to care about it. Not now.

Seeing the building in which your apartment is placed have never felt so relieving and you can feel your legs giving up under your weight just at the thought of splashing on the bed and dozing off. Vision of passing out on the sidewalk doesn't seem appealing to you, so you rush yourself to the door, typing entrance code and walking into the elevator, stairs not even crossing your mind. Your tired body slumps itself against the wall as you patiently wait to get to the 6th floor, finding relief in having something to support yourself on. Finally getting to the door you can't help but feel excited, tapping your feet happily just at the thought of making up every hour of sleep you've missed this week because of your busy schedule. You slide the door open and the very first thing reaching your ears is eager meowing, three fur balls appearing at the entrance immediately. You can't help but smile, kneeling to give each of them gentle head pat before taking off the coat and shoes. This truly felt like a bliss, like you've just slid off a bag of stones off your back. Sigh leaves your mouth, heading to the kitchen you turn on the kettle as your tea craving grows with every second. Soonie appears next to you, sitting at the table just across from you. You've grown so friendly with your roommate's Minho's cats that neither you nor him have any problem with kitties occupying places people normally wouldn't let them sit on.

Then you freeze for a second.

You look at Soonie.

Soonie looks at you.

Your brows furrow and the cat goes back to whatever he was doing previously.

Fuck.

Minho is coming home today. He's been away for past five days due to his business trip, that was probably exhaustion fogging your mind enough to forget about this. He's coming back today. And your apartment looks like a bomb has been detonated right in the middle of it all. You can't risk him seeing how messy you got, Minho is always the one to put stuff at the right place, making his bed no matter in how much of a hurry he's in, always the one to do the dishes and basically make everything look perfect. You can't see him disappointed in you for such an easy thing, he'll think you don't even gather your life together. Not like you do, but it's nothing in his business, you shouldn't become another one of his problems. He's just your roommate and the only thing you share and should take care of is apartment that is now in complete mess. You can blame it on your lack of time, barely spending any time at your place recently, but that won't help in current situation.

Quick glance at the time, 4:23 pm, you reach out for your phone to scroll up the conversation with your friend to make sure how fast you have to act.

He's back in town at 5 pm. Could this possibly get any worse?

You scold yourself internally for letting this whole situation happen. But you don't have time to think about this now, and as you turn off the kettle you speedrun to the livingroom, gathering scattered clothes from all around the place. You blame it on Monday when you got up so late you didn't even have time for brushing your hair and of course, the shirt you were looking for was nowhere to be found. Out of all things, it was the one you needed that day.

Then you pick up empty cans of soda, bottles of water and cups of coffee from the table and quickly throw them into the dishwasher. You blame it on Tuesday, the night you realised you have to write that fucking paperwork you got scolded for missing on Monday. So you sat there for hours, head empty, taking breaks only when your tired tears started wetting your pages, scared that all your miserable efforts will be ruined.

Rushing to Minho's room you pick up blanket and pillows from his floor. You blame it on Wednesday, the day you were already on the edge of breaking down and giving up on your job. Even though the boy is only a roommate for you, you've grown so used to his presence you started finding peace in it. Even after the worst day you knew that someone will always be there waiting at your apartment to serve you cup of hot chocolate and bowl of ramen, to take your turn of folding laundry or just listen to how appaling your day was. But he wasn't home and it left you all to yourself which was never the best idea. So, seeking for at least tiny bit of comfort, you slept on his floor. That sounds so fucking stupid and weird when you think about it now, but just the aura Minho left in his room made you feel a bit closer to him. Reminds you of every time he invited you over to play some online games for 12 year olds or spill any tea that happened at his work. Though, you never wanted to interfere his private space, so sleeping in his bed didn't even cross your mind. Floor was just sufficient for you, and you let your tears flow that night, just as much as you needed it. You know he would understand. He might seem cold to others, but you know he would. He already unwrapped his side of him to you letting you see that truly, inside, he's softer than anyone you know; It's all for Soonie, Doongie and Dori. They really do get the best of Minho.

Going back to the kitchen, you gather empty boxes of instant ramen, snacks and every ready shop food that you could possibly find at the convenience store. You blame it on the whole week of rushing, not even having time to eat a proper meal. You can feel it down your stomach, body demanding anything that could properly feed it and give it any strenght to function as it should be functioning. Honestly, you can't recall the last time you didn't feel sick. Lump in your throat was your loyal companion since a week ago, constant urge to throw up not leaving your body even when you were falling asleep and you know you'll have to appreciate normal, nutritions food more.

You run around the apartment holding a wet towel, wiping quickly every mirror hung on the walls as you know nothing pisses Minho more than fogged glass. So you try your best to do it carefully, just like he does it. Reaching the last mirror placed in the front hall you eagerly wipe it, aware of your lack of time. Then it all happens at once.

Shitty food, lack of sleep, liters of coffee and ungodly amount of stress feel like kicking in all at once, like it's been gathering in your exhausted body for the whole week just for this one moment that you needed to be fucking careful.

Vision blurry, feet suddently tripping over itself, mind going blank just for a second, but second is enough for you to try holding yourself onto the small table placed right under the mirror and shaking it so hard when sudden thump reach your ears, followed by loud sound of shattered glass. You don't want to look. Because you're fully aware of what just happened. You don't want to look but you do. Eyes landing on the remains of now broken vase, water all over the floor, flowers that were resting inside it now cut in half and completely soaked.

And it was Minho's favourite vase. The first and the last thing he always glanced at when leaving or coming back home, admiring its beauty, pretty patterns, unique shape and the prettiest flowers inside. Flowers that he got for his 25th birthday that passed not so long ago from his dearest best friend Jisung. Flowers that he was so happy to receive, first thing he did after coming home that day was showing them to you, proudly, ranting about how they perfectly suit the room. And you ruined it all.

Your body slides slowly on the wet floor, water soaking your pants on your knees and you support yourself on the palms of your hands not to completely fall into the mess. You feel small pieces of glass ripping open your delicate skin of your hands, small streams of blood making their way to the floor, mixing with spilled water but you couldn't care less. Elbows start to shake under the weight of your body, shoulders tensing and your head falls, your own quiet sobs reaching your ears. It quickly turns into uncotrollable groans and whines, tears now flowing down your face with no end, nose already full, loose hair stick to your now completely soaked cheeks.

And you blame it on yourself. You could seek for anything to put his all on, like your boss, for making you feel useless for not even managing to do your fucking job properly and assigning you more work than anyone else in your department. Or your mother for not teaching you how to manage your time and how to function on your own, her overprotectiveness during your childhood and teenage years showing so often that you never even got any time to learn adult life before stepping into it. But you know it isn't their fault, no matter how hard you try to think that it is. You let yourself into this situation. You let yourself be in the state you're currently in. You didn't try hard enough to make yourself a decent person. There's no one you can blame but you.

Your endless cries must've muffled the sound of door cracking open, eyes reaching only feet of your roommate that was now standing at the entrance. You couldn't look up, even if you wanted to, you couldn't look Minho in the eyes. Not when he's witnessing your failure and the mess you made out of something so dear to him.

Meanwhile Minho stood there, body frozen, gazing at your tiny figure splashed on the floor, shoulders shaking. He doesn't even notice the crashed vase at first, your current state drawing all his attention immediately to you.

He doesn't give himself any time to think much longer about what's happening in his front hall right now, dropping bags he's been holding in his right hand and suitcase on his left and appearing at your side the second after, kneeling by your vulnerable body on the floor.

"Hey, hey.." Minho lightly lays his hand on your shaky back, carefully caressing it to soothe you. "Easy now, I'm here."

The only respond he gets is your dramatic, loud sob ripping out of your heavy chest. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Minho... Is the only thing you could get out of yourself, followed by another set of pretty disgusting, wet cries.

"Are you hurt? Let me see your hand, please," your roommate asked quietly not to scare you after noticing red coloured drops beside your knees. Gently, he took your harmed hands into his and studied small pieces of glass stuck in your skin. "Let's get it cleaned, okay?"

His hand makes its way to your waist and he stands up slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves that could put you in pain. He shuffles you to the bathroom and helps you sit on the toilet seat and starts preparing alcohol and wet towels.

You feel pathetic.

Not only you ruined his special item, something so important and beautiful, but now he has to take care of someone that caused all the damage. You feel helpless once again, like you couldn't do anything fucking right for once. Once.

Your caring roommate starts removing glass shatters from your wound, his tongue sticking out a bit from the corner of his mouth, fully concentrated in his task. He knows that if his hands twitch even a little bit, he might hurt you even more, and let me tell you, his hands are trembling. He can't recall a situation when he saw you in such state.

You always seem tough, tough against any misfortune that meets you. You surely talk to him when you need some shoulder to lay on, about your worse days and he's cautious enough to notice when you're exhausted. But he's never seen you at your breaking point, starting to believe you don't have any. Yet you're here, in front of him, not even being able to speak properly. He can't help but feel kind of relieved at the whole situation knowing that your hard, protective shell cracked a little bit, letting him see something he's never seen in you before. Weakness.

"This might sting a bit," Minho informs you as he presses alcohol soaked paper to your wound. Whimper leaves your mouth at the unpleasant feeling and you hang your head down. He quickly wraps bandage around your hand and clasps it between his warm palms.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about that the hall. I'll take care of it, okay?" He tries to lower himself, kneeling in front of you, so he can get a better glimpse of your puffed face. You shake your head and straighten your back, looking at him with serious expression.

"No." You sniff, "No, I broke it, I broke something so important to you and it's my fault. I'll clean it. I'll buy you a new one, the same one, I promise Minho."

His hands make their way to your back, slowly, eyes remaining on you for any sign of discomfort. When you sneakily lean into the touch, Minho pulls your body entirely towards his, clasping your weak figure into his arms and sways you left and right, wanting to feel your muscles relax in his embrace.

"What's wrong, hm? My roommate senses are tingling," his voice muffles itself by pressing his mouth against your shoulder, "Talk to me, y/n, please?"

"I had the worst week ever here, without you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You just shake your head no, holding onto his waist tighter than ever. You feel him nod. His calm aura pulls you in completely, feeling like walking into hot building during snowy, cold winter. Your cheeks warm up, pressing right below his neck, his body warmth transferring itself to you.

"It's lowkey weird." You choke out, coughing right after because of how stuffed your poor throat felt.

"What is?"

"You comforting me while I'm sitting on a toilet seat."

You manage to let out throaty chuckle to light the atmosphere up, however, you can't help the warm stream of tears flowing right after.

"Want to move it to the livingroom?" Minho pulls out of the hug slightly, setting his gaze at your red face again and your eyes make their way to the floor. You still haven't looked him in the eyes, not even once, as you're scared of the wave of guilt that will follow. As if the one you're feeling right now isn't enough. You feel like a child scared to get shouted at by their parents.

Minho crouches down in front of you and you hum in question, brows furrowed. He only gestures with his hand for you to hop onto his back, already positioning your legs on his hips. You groan but don't protest, you know how Minho is and you know fighting him is hopeless. Wrapping your arms around his next securely and glueing your chest onto his back, you melt into the warmth of his body. He stands up, feeling your breath tickling the skin behind his ear and smiling to himself, noticing how it got much steadier than it was before. He leads both of you out the bathroom and again, the sad view of Minho's favourite vase on the floor, not really looking any similar to vase anymore, hits you, shoving another wave of guilt through your nerves. You close your eyes and rest your forehead on your roommate's shoulder.

"I'm truly, so, so sorry Minho. I never meant to do this, I was just trying to make the place look presentable for you and it ended like it always does." the words left your mouth as quiet squeak, taking another deep breath before speaking again; "Yet you still have to clean the mess I did, like you always do. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you. I failed being your perfect roommate."

"Who said I wanted a perfect roommate?" he asks as you reach your shared couch, carefully laying you on it then sitting by your side, facing you. "You think I'm mad at you, but I'm not. I've broken like five vases in my life and none of this was anything I planned, just like you."

You finally find some strenght in yourself to raise your gaze and lock it at his round, dark eyes. And he's right, no matter how intensively you look into them, you can't find even a tiny bit of anger in them, they sparked with understanding and you find yourself feeling bad at even thinking someone this precious could get so mad at you. They were so pure you could see your ugly, messed up reflection in them. Before you could start thinking about this again, his eyes squinted a little bit as corners of Minho's lips curled upwards in the most beautiful, sincere, affectionate smile you've ever seen. You only realised that his hand was placed on your trembling knee when you felt his fingers caressing it softly, sending warm shiver through your whole body.

"What about the flowers? You loved them..." You turned around to take a glimpse of the mess once again but Minho quickly grabbed your chin with only pads of his fingers and made you look back at him. "I'll take over from here, you get rest now."

Just as he was about to stand up from the couch you grabbed him by his sleeve and almost agressively pulled him right into your arms, crashing in the tightest, breath taking hug as you truly couldn't believe you had him by your side. Just when you thought you crossed his boundaries by that sudden action and started to loose your grip on him, he dragged you right back to him like he was waiting for this moment to happen. His heart pressed to yours, he definitely could tell how fast and heavy its beating right now. Both of yours eyes closed, you just enjoyed this such intimate moment, very first one since you've moved in together. Neither you or him dare to make a move in fear of ruining this beautiful scene.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck, so quietly you're not even sure he heard it. "only you can endure me as your roommate. How are you not tired of this?" Chuckle leaves your mouth but you quickly tone it out in case he responds, Well, I am actually tired.

"Because you're the only one that can endure me, too." He pulls out of the hug, though he doesn't move too far away, being so close to your face you could feel his minty breath on your nose. "I guess it's just the way things go."

Next thing your brain processes is his perfect lips landing on yours in swift motion. Suprisingly they're not rough, not even a little bit, they're so soft you barely feel them at first. Your heart goes up your throat for a mere second, dropping back down the moment he caress your cheek gently with his warm hand, now covered in the tiniest layer of sweat caused by the adrenaline. When your body finally understands what's going on, you lean into him completely, hand going up on the back of his head, tangling into his soft, dark hair and Minho takes is as a sign to continue, now pressing his lips onto yours with more force, making sure you feel them properly. A sigh of relief leaves both of your mouths and you smile into the kiss. When you eventually just slightly pull away from each other, faces still close, you notice new emotion making its way into his eyes, overtaking the rest as he studies every part of your face carefully. It's love. His eyes are full of love. Its so intense like it just have been freed from his chest after months of hiding in the deepest corners of his heart.

There's still so much you don't know about him and there's so much he doesn't know about you, but the gate has opened now and there's no turning back. You don't know what any of this means yet, but you can think of it tomorrow. Or in a month. Or in a year.

For now it's just you and him. And that's what matters the most in the world.

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