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shuosen · 6 months

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gojo satoru x top! amab! reader

cw: slight degradation, hair pulling, blowjob (r), slight choking, slapping if you squint, overstim?, stomach bulge

there was a very, very thin line between lust and fear that many don’t realize they’ve traveled. they stand to wonder if the shivers that wrack their body are from desire, or terror. Gojo Satoru, is not afraid of anything. he is the strongest, he knows he is the strongest. his confidence and strength has gotten him to where he is today- where is he?

he wants to say he’s currently wooing a woman, that he’s in a fight, and of course winning, but he cant. he cant say he’s out doing badass shit- hell, he can’t say anything at all. not with your cock stuffed down his throat, pulsing veins pressing against his flat tongue that struggles to maneuver across the girth of your member.

his large, strong hands shake helplessly in the air before he lays them on his thighs, gripping the familiar texture of his uniform. his eyes twitch before shutting tight, attempting to keep the tears in his eyes from falling, because gojo satoru does not cry.

he’s struggling to keep it together and you chuckle with as much amusement as one can manage, watching him flinch when the tight hand in his hair tugs harder. he wonders if this is what fear feels like, because surely this powerful feeling dwelling in his stomach and producing full body reactions is not lust. surely he is not lusting this hard for his colleague, and his friend.

your predatory eyes glaze over as he chokes on your cock, and you grip his hair at his scalp, thrusting into his throat and you’re sure you’ve successfully made any and all thoughts flee from his mind.

“you liking this, baby? hm? does my cock in your throat feel good?”

the only response you get are gurgles and useless whines as your cock and his spit clog his mouth, and you just have to grin at your hard work, finding pride in reducing ‘the strongest’ to a whore and a hole.

“thas’ right.. hu- fuck.” you mumble, rolling your hips into his mouth, listening as he chokes and gags each time your head presses into the back of his throat. It’s sloppy, he doesn’t know how to use his mouth for this kind of thing, but his throat closes around you with every gag and every sob he lets out, and he’s making you feel good even with no experience. you just think he is so pretty like this, face all red and messy, but you’re also sure he’ll be even prettier once you stretch him out and fill him up, and you know his noises will be music to your ears when you’re finally able to fuck him, so you pull out, taking advantage of his dazed state, listening to him sputter as you slap your cockhead on his lips.

“get up.” you order, grabbing his arm and aiding him to his feet, before shoving his face into the bed you were previously sitting on, listening as he gasps a deep breath. you waste no time grabbing both of his wrists with one hand while the other yanks his pants and underwear down to his thighs. the sudden movement makes him twitch in surprise, his fingers curling into his palms, a noise between a gasp and a groan leaving his lips as you manhandle his hips, moving him to your liking freely.

“shit, wait!” gojo stumbles over his words, trying to push his hips down and away from your hands, the snap sound of the lube cap somewhat ominous to his muddled brain.

“what?” you ask, bending yourself over his back, resting your chin against his shoulder and letting go of his wrists in favor of pulling his chin up from the bedsheets. “you want me to stop?”

he freezes at the question, something akin to a sob falling from his lips, because he didnt expect you to ask that and he sure as hell doesnt have an answer. if he says no, would that be stripping him of his pride? he’s a man with much dignity and little femininity. if he say’s no, he’s allowing himself to be fucked, which means he can no longer deny the lust and the longing for you, for your cock, but if he says yes, you’ll leave him here- his own member dripping and lonely, your burning touch fading from his body- and with a broken whine, he comes to the conclusion that the former is the better choice, letting himself go slack in your hold.

“no..”

“good boy.” you grin, and he flinches at the cold temperature of the lube pouring onto his hole.

it’s been hours- gojo thinks. hours since you first began prepping him, fingers sinking into his tight hole, stretching it beyond what he thought it could be, hours since you first sank into him, hours since your cock first grazed his prostate, and hours since his descent into becoming a brain dead cock whore began.

“A-auhhg! f-fuck! fuck!” He cries, his noises so loud that they almost drown out the slap of your hips against his ass and thighs, the reddening of them just one aspect of proof of how long you’ve been rutting into him. you wanted to be slow with him, treat him nicely and slowly unfold him beneath you, but these noises, seeing your cock disappear everytime you sink in, and the way his back arches was too good to resist.

you fucked into him harshly and deeply, your red, burning cock bruising his sweet spot with every sharp piston of your hips into his sloppy hole. he’s completely given up trying to save his image, the way he cries and moans and kicks as you take him is clear of that. he no longer cares about anything but you ruining his pretty, puffy hole.

the pace of your hips is so fast, and so rough that he cant register the difference between your thrusts in and your slides out, and he cant do anything but scream, his noises a mix of words, letters, and maybe your name.

through your own groans and puffs of air, you chuckle, something that sounds demeaning to his ears and he shrivels, a loud “n-no!” echoing through the small room, but neither of you know what he’s addressing.

“what’s wrong?” you huff, adjusting your grip on his waist, and leaning forward for a new angle. “HCK- Sh- Ughk!” he chokes, stuffing his face forward into the sheets and you click your tongue, moving your hand around, and pulling him up along with you by his neck, your fingertips squeezing the sides.

“i asked you a question, toru. you too fucked out to answer me properly?”

his breathing is heavy and labored and you laugh at his pathetic state once again. “whatever,” you mumble, letting go of his neck, allowing his upper body to fall onto the bed. “jus’ means im doin’ a good job.”

you grin, pressing a hand down on his back harshly, forcing an arch as you continue to rut into his sloppy hole. gojo yelps under you, his milky thighs shaking with the effort of holding his hips up, his hands gripping onto the sheets beside his head as if they’ll run away. you’re sure he’s cum multiple times untouched now, but every man wants pleasure on his dick, and maybe it was an act of mercy, or maybe it was just your evil mind, but you reached under him, squeezing his cock in your hold, beginning to jerk him off.

at the first feathery touch of your hand, gojo screamed, jolting forward, his legs kicking upwards, desperate hands trying to push yours away from his sensitive, leaking dick as you pound into his hole and jerk him off at the same time. “s-no! shit! cant!”

“you can.” your sentence is punctuated by a slap on his ass and his whole body jumps, his shoulders shaking as he curls into himself, and he looks small.

your thumb rubs over his tip continuously, and his hips buck so harshly your forced to let go, and your hand brushes over his stomach, feeling something that makes your hips stutter, almost pausing in their ministrations.

“fuh-fuck.. ‘toru, no way.” you laugh, bringing him up so his back is flush with your chest and you peer over his shoulder, delivering one deep, harsh thrust into him, confirming the cock bulge in his defined stomach.

a groan erupts from your throat, and theres no time wasted before your pressing him into the bed with your back and your hips, fucking his hole again, but this time- your sly hands rub his stomach, before pressing down with force, right where your cock is, and gojo squeals, his voice high pitched, desperate and messy like a common street whores.

the sound tips you over, your pace slowing, and gojo, as spent as he is, breathes a sigh of relief, taking deep breathes in, before pressing his hand against your abdomen, trying to push your cock out.

“oh? we aren’t done so soon..”

please like and reblog to show your support! this is my first piece of writing, and english is my second language, so i’m a little worried about how its come out. thank you! <3

#gojo satoru #gojo x male reader #sub gojo #sub jjk #sub jujutsu kaisen #sub gojo satoru #top male reader #top amab reader #top gn reader #gojo x top reader #gojo x top male reader #gojo x top gn reader #dom reader #dom male reader #dom gn reader #☆ - shuowrites

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honey-on-your-tongue · 9 months

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Nsfw/smut

Part 1 here!!

You don't know how to work with Miguel. You can't meet his gaze, can't talk to him. How are you supposed to just keep going on with your life when you heard everything? When you took a peek and saw what he was doing while calling your name?

He was jerking off to you! How are you supposed to just keep going as if nothing were wrong?!

You can't stop thinking about it, the way he'd groaned, the thick breathing, the look on his gorgeous, gorgeous face...

You shake yourself out of it. You've got work to do. The spiderverse won't protect itself...

...Maybe just for a minute?

As the memories of Miguel rush through your mind, you can feel your body grow hot. You can't stop thinking about how he'd bitten his lower lip, or how big he is. Granted, Miguel is huge in every aspect, you were just curious about that last one. And now you know.

An uncomfortable little bubble of arousal grows between your thighs, your pussy pulsating with desire.

You glance around your small corner office. No security cameras, no one else around, door closed...

Miguel did it. Why can't you?

You slide your hands down your body, between your legs, tracing your middle finger against your clothed cunt. You add pressure on your clit, shuddering at the slight relief and pleasure that flows at the touch.

You spread your legs some, adding more strength, more need to each movement. Soon, you're sweating, panting, images of Miguel invading your brain.

You can hear his breathing, see his eyes shut tight, his fist around his enormous cock...

You touch yourself until you're close. So close. Your orgasm is right there, just a few seconds away—

A knock sounds on the door before it unexpectedly swings open.

You manage to pull your hand away at the last second. And there stands the man himself.

“Miguel!” you just about squeak, trying to keep your breathing regular.

He eyes you suspiciously. “You okay?” he asks. When you don't answer immediately, he glances around your office, searching for something.

You look flustered, nervous. You're sweating and he could hear you panting across the goddamn hall.

And then he smells it. The scent of your sweet, thick arousal.

He turns back to you, not a doubt in his mind about what you were doing. His eyes sharpen, grow dark. The tips of his fangs peek between his lips.

You find yourself pressing your thighs together involuntarily.

“What's going on?” he demands, voice thick and rough.

You swallow thickly. “N-nothing. Nothing's going on.”

His eyes grow impossibly darker. “No me mientas.” Don't lie to me.

“I'm not!” you insist.

He doesn't buy it. After a long, tense pause, he pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “Don't make this harder on yourself. I know what you were doing.” The firmness and unwavering belief in his voice lets you know he really does know.

“Well I-I know what you were doing,” you blurt. Your eyes widen and your cheeks blush when you realize what you've said.

He frowns, putting his hands on his hips. “What are you talking about?”

There's no taking it back now. “I saw you,” you say. “Yesterday afternoon. In your office. I saw you and I heard you.”

By the expression on his face, you know he's aware of what, exactly, you're talking about.

“Mierda,” he curses. You just kind of sit there, eyes on his. “Mierda.”

For some reason, you can't shut yourself up. “I...I heard you say my name,” you admit, blushing as if you had any reason to be embarrassed. Well, maybe you shouldn't have stayed and watched but...still, it's not your fault he's jerking off to you.

“La puta madre,” he hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Fuck. I...I'm sorry—”

“It's okay—”

“I didn't mean—I didn't know you were listening, obviously—”

“Miguel, don't worry about it—”

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”

You keep fucking talking. “If it makes you feel any better, I was thinking about you while I did it too.”

That shuts him up. He stares at you, blinking. “What?”

You feel the need to explain. You keep fucking it up. “I-I was thinking about you while I touched myself,” you tell him. “I...don't know if that makes you feel any better, but I thought you should know.”

He takes a few steps until he's standing in front of you. “Tienes idea de lo que te va a pasar?” Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you right now?

You shake your head, terror spreading through your veins. Are you...fired? Is he going to send you back to your universe? Is he going to ban you from the spider society?

“Bend over the desk,” he instructs, his voice low and quiet, sending a shudder up your spine.

That takes you by surprise. “W-what?” you stutter.

He picks you up and roughly bends you over the desk, pushing your chest against the wood and kicking your feet apart. “I only say things once. I don't like repeating myself. You won't get warnings with me.” His hand grips your hip roughly, squeezing it hard. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you whine.

He grins; you can hear his smirk. “Atta girl.”

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@yagirlheree @sukioyakio @obi-mom-kenobi @celestia80s @manlikemilesmyguy @zaunsin @naniiiii12 @everlastlady @avatar-lover @siidmm @dhollandhs @spikedhe4rt @missing2socks @itzraven101 @miguelspookiebear @mochikomochisoft @sunset-euphoria @kishibeswh0re @m4dyy @icreatedthisat317am @keiva1000 @jakescumdump @ravisinghs-wife @tengens4th--wife @oceancerulean @pookiesmookie69 @juwandiko @aisyakirmann @ninebluehearts @vampireluvvr @saturnstringz @4imhry @iheartlinds

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Blog masterlist

#miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara smut

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murdrdocs · 2 months

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girlll i’ve been listening to cowboy carter and imagine like cowboy!luke who wants to get into your levii jeans (pun intended, one of my faves on the album) in the barn or underneath a tree after going horse riding whilst the sun was setting. idk if this makes sense but anyways levii jeans is so like coded

inspiration from @enviedear 's farmhand billy mentions of moonshine/liquor; southern!luke & southern!reader; outdoor fucking; fingering; luke is taller than r; MDNI 18+ w/ LUKE CASTELLAN

“don’t you have something better to do?”

luke is leaning against the entrance to your grandfathers stables, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded over his chest. there’s still a light sheen of sweat over his forehead, and his biceps have a pump from the work he’d been put through today. you don’t know if he just looks really hot in general, or if his looks have improved because of the time you two spent together last time you were here like this.

you shrug, pretending to be casual when you tell him, “no. not really.”

luke raises his eyebrows. "no friends to hangout with? what is it you city girls get up to? shop and club?"

he clearly senses that you have something better to do other than stand outside across from him and let the mosquitos take tiny bites out of your exposed skin, but you’re almost desperate to be close to him (despite his attitude) so you make up an excuse.

“it's tuesday, i finished my book, granddad 's watching jeopardy for the next hour, and the service out here is frustratingly bad.”

luke takes a step closer to you, not removing his arms over his chest even though you want him to in order to create more room. he stares down at you over the straight slope of his nose and squints his eyes.

“it sounds an awful lot like you just wanna be with me.”

while it’s true, you do want to be with him, he has no room to talk. now when luke wants you even more.

as soon as you’ve let your facade slip, he has his hands on your hips, roughly pulling you against him until the flys of both of your denim jeans are bumping together. your noses replicate the movement, the tips knocking together until luke smooshes his into the apple of your cheek while his hands cup your face. his boots give him an extra inch or two, which does nothing but make him even more taller than you. consequently, his shoulders are hunched over as his frame curls into yours, as if he's trying his best to engulf you.

you use your hands to get busy. at least, you attempt to. your fingers are over his belt buckle and you're starting to feed the leather through the metal whenever luke stops you. he pulls away from your lips with a deep breath, his eyes a little wilder than they were before you started as he shakes his head at you.

he doesn't say anything. nor does he need to. just the one movement is enough to get you to take your hands off his belt, and let him do what he pleases.

which is just as you expected. once, when luke was a little drunk off of your grandfather's moonshine and you were close behind him, he confessed to really liking your levi's jeans.

"the pair," he told you when you asked for clarification. "the ones that look like they've been fuckin painted on or something."

and it was just evil enough for you to wear them around the land anytime you knew luke would be over, just waiting for him to snap. you'll admit that he was able to hold his own for a while, but every man only had so much patience. and luke was, truly and honestly, nothing but a man.

a man you foolishly wanted, but a man nonetheless.

that being said, he knows how to please you like a man. a good man, at that.

the wood of a bench kept just outside of the stables digs into your bottom, and the wood of the building scratches against the crown of your head. there might be a new mosquito bite or two on the outside of your thighs, and a fly has been buzzing around you ever since luke had instructed you to sit here, but both are nothing but tiny nuisances whenever you have luke like this. sitting next to you with his fingers between your thighs. they had found their home as soon as he has your jeans slipped down until your boots prevented the fabric from going any further. he has his lips on one side of your neck, the other held by his free hand. his fingers are sprawled around the area of the side of your jugular, his thumb rubbing against your jaw when it isn't being used to maneuver your head to twist and turn according to his will.

inside of you, two long fingers pump and pump, pulling arousal out of you only to slip it right back in. soon enough, his calloused deft digits will be pulling an orgasm out of you. you vocally warn him of such while wrapping a hand around his veiny forearm.

"go ahead and let go." he says it like it's the easiest solution in the world. which, it is. but you don't want to cum if it isn't on his cock.

you don't have much time. jeopardy only lasts for so long and your grandfather can only be distracted for a certain amount of time before he comes to see what's taking his young new worker so long to finish tasks he knows luke can do in his sleep. reasonably, there isn't time for you to cum on luke's cock.

but you still beg, void of any embarrassment as you just want this one thing.

luke, ever the voice of reason, continues to shake his head.

"there's no time. just let go for me. i'll make it up to you later, sweetheart. promise."

and when he says it like that, with the thick drawl that you only knew previously to come out when he was drunk or tired, spoken next to your ear, you don't see how you could even consider denying him.

#southern!luke #celeste writes pjo #lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut

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lomlhwa · 3 months

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portrait (y.jh)

pairing: bf!jeonghan x gf!reader

preview: your boyfriend is so pretty. so, how can you turn him down when he asks you to draw him while he eats you out?

tags/warnings: fem reader, oral (f.receiving), pussy drunk hannie, lots of dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pet names (pretty baby, mama, my love), drawing while fucking

trigger warnings: n/a

w/c: 724

song recs for this fic: touch tank by quinnie

a/n: listened to some asmr on this topic and jeonghan was the first person to come to mind (sorry this is so short)

“whatcha doing, pretty baby?” jeonghan asks as he walks into your shared bedroom. you look up at him and smile, shaking your pencil at him. “i’m trying to draw.”

your boyfriend stands at the end of your bed and runs his hands up your shins. “what are you drawing?” he asks, goosebumps appearing in the wake of his fingers. “nothing. I'm uninspired,” you sigh, putting down your pencil and paper.

“i have an idea,” jeonghan says, his voice pitch dropping low. you can tell by the tone of his voice, it's something sinister. your raise your eyebrow at him and cross your arms. jeonghan bends your legs at the knees and crawls between your legs. he rests his pretty face on your stomach and looks up at you.

“you could…” he trails off, dipping his fingers under the waistband of your pants. “draw me while eat your pretty little pussy.” your heartbeat picks up immediately and your face flushes red. “r-really?” you ask, almost unsure of whether or not you heard him right.

jeonghan nods, tugging on your pants. your hips lift on their own volition, allowing him to completely strip your bottom half. he presses soft kisses to the plush skin of your thighs. “what do you say, pretty baby?” you chew on the back of your pencil as you nod shyly. jeonghan’s tongue darts out out of habit, licking your inner thigh.

“make sure to draw me real prettily. i know how much you love how i look between your legs,” he gives you a playful wink before diving into your wetness. he slurps at your hole, drinking up the slick that has been seeping out of you since he came into your room. you bring a shaky hand down to your page and begin to sketch your boyfriend’s current position.

“fuck, you taste so fucking sweet. my favorite candy,” he mumbles into your pussy, sending delicious vibrations through your whole body. you trace the lines of your boyfriend’s perfect face and his perfect hair. you sketch the way his hair falls when he gets really focused on your wet heat.

his tongue abuses your clit and you can’t help but lose focus on your drawing and throw your head back. “fuck, hannie,” you moan out, biting your lip. “keep drawing, mama. i wanna see how i look in your eyes while i make you feel so good.” you force your eyes to refocus themselves and start drawing again.

you slowly start to shade in the shadows that are cast by the sun from your bedroom window. they make jeonghan look even more ethereal. “you’re so tasty, baby. the prettiest pussy. it’s all mine.” out of nowhere, he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you down to eat you like a mad man. his tongue in incessant and covers the surface area of your pussy with insatiable hunger. “oh fuck,” you choke out, your orgasm rising with every movement of jeonghan’s mouth.

“baby, baby, please i’m gonna cum,” you squirm and try to get away from his mouth, your core being so sensitive. “give me your cum, my love. let me drink you up,” jeonghan holds your thighs open with strong hands and does his best to get your orgasm out of you.

abruptly, you reach your high, your thighs clamping down on jeonghan’s head for dear life. but, he doesn’t stop his almost inhuman pace. you let out a strained laugh as another orgasm builds. “hannie, oh my god,” you push on his head, trying to get him to come up for air. his arms keep your bottom half locked against his face. “give me another one, mama. i know you can do it. give it to me. fucking give me it,” he orders.

another orgasm crashes over you, your entire body thrashing. your thighs tremble around jeonghan, your nerves taking over your body. you can barely feel your legs anymore.

your boyfriend gives some final kitten licks to your cunt before pulling away. he wipes your juices off his mouth before smiling oh so innocently at you.

“well, lemme see the drawing.” your shaky hands pick up your sketchbook and turn it to show jeonghan the beautiful drawing you made of him. “damn, that’s what i look like down there to you? maybe i should just live there.”

#lomlhwa #seventeen #svt #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #seventeen smut #svt smut #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut

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bunnylovesani · 6 months

Text

A Rough Ride

Summary: Getting fucked in Anakin’s car. That’s about it.

Content Warnings: MDNI, major daddy issues/kink, p in v sex, degradation, mean dom/sub dynamic, spanking, fingering, slapping, cum play, facial, aftercare

WC: 1.8k

Hearing critical comments about your controversial relationship with a man 20 years your senior was nothing you weren’t used to. After several months, you’d acclimated to the jokes about how you must have daddy issues and how he must be a creep; the bottom line was that you loved Anakin and he loved you, the rest was just noise and it didn’t bother you in the slightest.

It was a whirlwind romance- a glance shared across a late-night bar led to a steamy night in a dirty motel room which led to the following 6 months of sex-fuelled fun. Guys your age just didn’t know how to fuck the way you needed to be fucked- you needed a man of experience, a man of skill.

That’s how you ended up bent over the backseat of his Ferrari, face pressed firmly against the leather interior while he roughly pounded into your cunt. You couldn’t muster up anything besides the occasional cry of “Harder daddy, please!” and “Mm, ’s so good…” and he chuckled dryly at the way you fell apart on his cock.

“Harder baby? You sure? I don’t wanna ruin this pretty pussy.” He hardened his grip on your hips, self-control slipping.

“Yesyesyes- please daddy ruin me.” You babbled, drool leaking down the side of your face and ruining your makeup.

“Alright darling, you got it.” He muttered under his breath, sloppy thrusts getting rougher and faster. “You’re such a daddy’s girl, aren’t you baby?”

You nod and let out a little “mhmm!”, chewing your bottom lip raw.

“Daddy’s good girl…y’know what happens to good girls?” He asks you, smacking the palm of his hand against your ass cheek. “Good girls get to cum.”

You whine and claw at the upholstery, knot in your tummy growing.

“Stop whining or I’ll give you something to whine about.” He growls and you look back at him in confusion, pretty doe eyes staring pitifully up at him.

“Good girls also shut up and take it.” He lifts his hips and buries his cock to the hilt, abdomen firmly smacking against you. You scream at the extra inches he’s given you and his movements come to a standstill; he usually restrains himself because he knows you can’t take his whole cock but he must be in a brutal mood today.

“I’m gonna start moving now, and if you can take it- I’ll let you cum. If you can’t, you’re gonna get on your knees instead. Understood?”

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes. You wanted to cum so badly but you weren’t sure if you could take such a rough pounding with his full length.

Slowly, he moves his hips back before pressing into you, tip kissing your cervix. You bite your fist and bury your forehead into the seat, trying so hard to be a good girl and not make a sound but after almost an hour of relentless pummeling, you were at the end of your rope.

“Good, stay nice and quiet f’me.” He grumbles as he begins to go harder, near-silent squeaks escaping your wet lips. You begin to slide your way out of his grip, distancing yourself away just a little to ease the pressure.

“Come back here.” He grabs your hips and impales you right back onto his dick with a stubborn grunt. Teeth marks form on your clenched fist and a wet spot pools on the back seat, spit connected between the puddle and your parted mouth. The feeling of him so deep in your guts is deliciously agonising and you can’t help but to give in and let him fuck you like you’re his sex toy. Once you stop fighting the intrusion, pleasure comes over you in intense waves, beads of sweat trickling down your back as you tremble. Squeaks of discomfort are replaced with quietly guilty moans of pleasure and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Anakin.

“Listen to me, you little slut.” He rakes his hand up the back of your head, firmly gripping your hair and roughly bringing you up to him. “You better not cum yet.” Your brows upturn and eyes glisten in a pleading countenance. “If you do, there will be consequences.” He warns you with a mischievous smirk, almost hoping you disobey him so he can have fun making you regret it.

You want to listen to him with every fibre of your being but you have no control over your own body when he’s fucking you like this. With an aggressive push, you’re thrown back onto the seat and you grip the side of it so hard you leave scratches all over the leather. Scrunching your face up, you feel yourself failing- disobeying his order as you’re pushed over the edge to your release. You try to stay still hoping he won’t notice but the way you clench around his cock, making it glisten with your creamy arousal is a dead giveaway.

“Oh now you’ve done it.” He scowls and pulls out suddenly, making you tense up in anticipation of your punishment. “Get on your knees.”

You uncurl out of the ball you’ve scrunched yourself into and follow his command, positioning yourself between his legs.

“I’m gonna cum all over that pretty whore face of yours.” He grabs the base of his dick and strokes himself, maintaining eye contact as he jerks off to the image of your angelic face.

You stick your tongue out as he comes undone, hot cum squirting out and landing all over your mouth and cheeks. You giggle happily as he rubs his spent cock around, letting you lick up the creamy mess. He comes closer and grabs you by the cheeks with one hand, rubbing his cum all over them before smacking you suddenly with an open palm.

“You like getting slapped around by a man twice your age?” He hits you again, firmly enough to leave your cheeks reddened but not so hard that it stings. He saves that for when you’re really bad.

Nodding, you beam with glee as you raise yourself off your knees, wanting to cuddle up to him like you usually do once you’re done but he stops you.

“Oh no, sweetheart. That wasn’t your punishment. Bend over my lap.” He tucks himself into his trousers and zips them back up before leaning back to allow you to take your position. Somewhat confused, you follow his lead and prop yourself over his legs, ass perched up in the air. His warm calloused hand glides over your ass and you hum contentedly, relishing in his touch. Abruptly, a loud smack is heard and your cheeks jiggle with the tremor of his strike.

“A-am I getting spanked, Ani?” You choke out in shock.

“Yes, you are baby. This is what happens when you misbehave. Daddy has to discipline you.” He calmly explains as he slaps you again, a little harder this time. You feel his hand trailing down to your pussy, fingers rubbing against the slit before slipping down to your throbbing clit. You’re so sensitive that you start squirming in his lap- a move he quickly puts an end to when his big-knuckled hand presses harshly against your back- pinning you down like you were an unruly kitten.

He leans over until his face is hovering above your ass before spitting a thick glob of saliva over your pussy, the drool seeping down to your hole. He groans as he smears it around before pushing two fingers into your throbbing hole, already sore from being fucked raw.

“Aniii…” You moan, burying your face into your hands as a sudden wave of shyness comes over you.

“What’s the matter, baby? You don’t like daddy makin’ you feel good?” He coos as he fucks you with his fingers, lewd squelching sounds filling the steamy car. “What’s wrong, my angel?”

“N-nothin’ daddy, it’s just- mm- too much!” You pant, head swirling.

“You can take it baby, you’re my big strong girl, aren’t you?” He murmurs softly and you huff breathily. Another slap lands on your rosy cheeks as he curls his fingers deeper, “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, daddy, yes- I can take it!” You sniffle, trying to compose yourself but the way he’s stretching you out coupled with the salty taste of his cum on your tongue has your concentration in tatters.

“Aw, you just need someone to take care of you, don’t you baby?” You sob out “mhmm!” in response and feel another orgasm coming on- he’d made you cum so many times you’d lost count.

“Daddy’s gonna take care of his baby.” He rubs the small of your back comfortingly while his fingers plunge in and out of you, pushing you over the edge into your release. You whine and wail as your thighs shake and he shushes you soothingly until you calm down- limp body collapsed over his lap.

“C’mere baby.” He opens his arms and you jump into them, wrapping your arms urgently around his neck.

“Woah darling, you okay?” He places his broad hand on the back of your head, tucking you into his warm chest.

“Y-yeah. I’m just- ugh!” You choke out frustratedly, tears streaming down your face from how overwhelmed you felt.

“Shh baby, shh- I know.” He coddles you and you let yourself sob into him. He made you feel such strong emotions you didn’t know how to handle them- so you often curled up into his lap and unravelled after a particularly intense round.

“How does some hot chocolate, your favourite movie and a fort of blankies and plushies sound?” He lightly nudged his nose against yours and you perked up instantly.

“Sounds amazing, Ani.” Your heart warmed with how he cared for you, it was unlike anything you’d ever had before.

“We just need to get through this first.” He rubs any remnants of cum off your face with his sleeve, smoothing your frizzy hair down with his other hand. “We kinda chose an inopportune moment for this…”

You poke your head up and remember your surroundings- you’re parked in a dark alley around the corner from Anakin’s house. His friends and family had gathered for a Christmas dinner being hosted at his place and it was meant to be your first time meeting most of them. Glancing into the front view mirror, you gasped at the sight: your makeup was utterly ruined- mascara smudged, lipstick smeared and your hair looked like you’d been dragged through a bush.

“Ani! How ‘m I supposed to meet them like this?” You mewled, wanting desperately to make a good first impression considering the controversy and disapproval that surrounded your relationship.

“I don’t know baby, you should’ve thought about that before you started acting like a little brat.” He shrugs, opening the car door and stepping into the crisp winter air. “You coming?” He held his hand out with a self-satisfied smirk, eager to show off the mess he’d made of you.

Taglist:

@crazy4hotmen @erinkeifer @mortalheartache @arzua10 @mugwump327 @offthethirlwall @bby-imasociopath @slvttedoutmars @emmalandry

#anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #star wars fanfiction #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin fanfiction #star wars smut #hayden christensen fan fiction

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paranoiastudio · 27 days

Text

pairing: Art Donaldson х f!reader

summary: A moment of intimacy with the cutest guy in the world

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, sub!Art x dom!reader, masturbating

English is not my first language, sorry about mistakes

Cold and still slightly damp arms hug you from behind and you can’t help but snuggle closer to the man. Art is breathing heavily down your neck: he just finished his morning workout, took a shower and was next to you again. All this time you remained in a dark and cool room, wrapped in a large blanket.

- Mmm... Art, dear... - Words are difficult, yesterday you had too much wine and now you didn’t feel too good.

- It's time to get up, it's almost ten. - Art kisses the back of your head, you hear his hoarse laugh in response to your displeased whimper.

You stretch and Art intertwines your arms and legs, pressing you closer. Leaning against his strong chest, you give Art access to your neck and gasp when he immediately finds your pulse with his lips.

- Did we miss breakfast?

- You missed breakfast, my love. - The man smiles, covering your breasts, hidden by the fabric of his T-shirt, with a large calloused palm. - But I brought you something...

- And what is it? - You turn your head and immediately find yourself pulled into a kiss, neat and barely perceptible. It was as if Art was simply touching your lips with his own, standing on the thin line between tenderness and passion. - I didn't brush my teeth.

- I don't care. - Art reaches out for a kiss again, but you roll over and you find yourself face to face.

- I still feel bad... - Flying has always been difficult for you, and next to Art you fly much more often than usual.

- Did you take aspirin? - Concern immediately appears in his beautiful eyes. - Shall I bring you something?

- No, just stay here... - You squeeze Art’s hand and you silently lie together, sharing such a rare moment of peace and quiet.

- I love you. - You knew this, Art had already said this once, you saw his feelings for you, but so far you had never said it in response, deciding that you would only say it when you were absolutely sure of it.

Now, lying in a hotel room on the other side of the world from home, still drunk and swollen, you, listening to yourself, are silent again. You do so much for him. Does it really mean nothing that you dropped everything and went with him?

You kiss Art and move a little closer. Your sweet little boy never pressed you for an answer and you were grateful for that.

- I... - The man stutters as your warm hand touches him through his shorts.

- Hush, just let me take care of you. - You pull back the elastic, lower your shorts, then your panties, and stroke Art’s abs through the T-shirt; his body delighted you every time and you never missed an opportunity to touch him.

Grasping his half-erect member, you gently move your hand and squeeze his balls between two fingers. Art groans and you run your tongue along his long neck, catching a small bead of sweat between his collarbones.

- You shouldn’t strain yourself, there’s such an important match ahead. - You whisper, continuing to move your hand. - The situation is so nervous, I see how tense you are....

Art rests his forehead against yours and thrusts his hips forward, catching your touch. You spit on your palm, making your movements easier and speeding up.

-You can touch me, remember? - You smile at how quickly Art grabs your chest, as if he was waiting for permission. - Do not rush...

The man whines softly and tries to pull your shorts off, you willingly help him, never stopping teasing his dripping cock. It’s already wet between your legs and Art feels it, slowly spreading you apart with his fingers.

- I don't think you should be so overworked. - You take his hand away. - Just let me...

You find yourself close to him and push his penis, red with excitement, between your thighs. The warm friction causes a loud moan from your lover and he immediately begins to move, being squeezed by your legs.

You stroke Art’s head, he kisses your neck and chest, they are right in front of his face and the man continues to fuck himself between your soft and warm thighs.

- Oh God... - Art presses his face to your neck and hugs you much tighter. - I'll cum...

- Come on, baby, please... - Your hoarse voice spurred him on and you felt that he was on the edge.

Pulling back slightly, you take the throbbing member in your hand and insert it into yourself in one smooth motion. Art screams like a wounded bird and you feel him cum copiously inside you.

You move your hips a few more times, taking everything he gives you. The man kisses your sweaty skin, breathes heavily and continues to thrust into you until you calm down completely.

- Thank you... - He always accepted your caresses with such gratitude that it could not help but excite your ego.

You feel him go limp inside you, cum mixed with your secretions running down your inner thigh and dripping onto the bed.

Without opening the hug, you close your eyes and purr blissfully, feeling pleasantly full. All he has to do is cum inside you and you will be glad of it. Isn't this love?

Art doesn’t slip out of you, continuing to bask inside your velvety, warm walls. He clung to you like a child, leaving wet trails of kisses on your skin.

- You need to eat... - He speaks first. - And maybe we’ll go to the doctor?

- No need. I feel better now. - He inhales the aroma of shampoo from Art’s still wet hair and kisses his forehead. - It's always better next to you...

#art donaldson #challengers #art donaldson smut #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem!reader #smut #imagine #art donaldson imagine #challenges imagine

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

Note

Congratulations in 5K, wow that's amazing and I'm so happy for you!

Could you please write a Graves drabble (he doesn't get enough love) where he's just so absolutely in love with his SO? Like standing back, leaning against a door frame, and watching his partner do something as mundane as the dishes or drawing? Him softly smiling as his SO hums or does something subconsciously??

I love your writing. Thank you for being my comfort writer.

—Love Echoes In Silence

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You can feel him watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a small smile. Humming to yourself, you listen to the birds outside the window.] ❞

You dip your soapy hands back into the water, grabbing another plate before moving it over to the side to rinse its white porcelain face—finally setting it down in the plastic dish rack. Shifting back over, you hum under your breath and grab another, snatching up the washing rag as well to get rid of any residual germs.

You’d only been at this for about ten minutes; the dishes from last night were left for this morning on account of Phillip coming home early. You’d both had a soft supper with a few glasses of red wine before retiring to bed, where the man was still asleep in the ruffled sheets as his bare skin lay in the rising sunlight; his stomach to the mattress and his hair sticking this way and that. It had been a chore to sneak out from under his arm, but you’d done it nonetheless even if it had taken a few minutes. One delicate kiss to Phillip’s forehead later, you’d slipped into his large t-shirt and padded to the kitchen.

So, here you are, cleaning up with a smile on your lips and sleepy heat under Phillip’s shirt. A slow hum echoing through the air.

Another dish is added to the clean pile, and as you grasp one of the dirty wine glasses, you miss the small creak of the floor leading to the kitchen as you listen to the birds outside.

Phillip rubs at his face with the palm of his hand, yawning slowly before he pushes back his hair and watches. He’s only in his sweatpants—the gray color bunched as the un-tied waistband hangs at his hips. Blinking at you, a slow twitch goes across the man’s lips as he leans to the side, his shoulder to the door frame.

He doesn’t speak—doesn’t utter anything as his arms cross over his chest and you continue your shapeless tune. Phillip isn’t a good man; he isn’t worthy of care or compassion. He’s done things that will follow him to his grave, the one he’d been digging himself since long before he met you. But there were moments like these where the light hit your body just right; where the house was silent and the floors were soft underfoot.

Tiny moments that echoed like a call to home.

You place the wine glass upside down to let the water drip out, wringing out the wash rag and unplugging the sink. You’d only begun washing your hands when your ears twitch to movement. A smile peels your lips.

“Mornin’,” Phillip mutters into your hair, hands sneaking around you until you’re held back to a bare chest.

“Good morning,” you whisper, flicking off the water on your fingers. Your heart is light. “Sleep well?”

He hums, squeezing you gently.

“Come back t’bed.” Your chuckle makes him smile, eyes crinkling.

“Phillip, I just got up.”

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” he pleads but doesn’t give you time to respond, arms bending to capture your legs and the span of your shoulders. You laugh as he hikes you into his hold—carrying you before your arms snap around his neck; curling into him. “Up ya get.”

“Really?” Your amused voice makes him look at you, raising one of his pale blows as he smirks softly. He brings you back to bed, tendrils of hair bouncing along the way.

“Up and disappeared. You always leave the men with cold sheets and a yearnin’ in their hearts?” You roll your eyes, giggling into his neck. “You’ll be stickin’ right beside me today, Doll. That’s an order.”

All you do is kiss the corner of his mouth before he drops you both back onto the mattress.

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ioveartfilm · 3 months

Text

ONE | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

MASTERLIST ⋮ CHAPTER Ⅱ

The echo of his body colliding with hers resonated as the sole sound in the room, his surroundings closing in. Intense shockwaves of pleasure ran throughout his being, his hands resting beside her buried head upon the sheets beneath them admiring the view before him. He may be exaggerating his thoughts, but he��s afraid his mistress might soon need a new mattress due to their impassioned encounter. Yet, a fervent determination seized him, compelling him to persist further in his actions like a starved man. His sentiments surged uncontrollably, a torrent of desire coursing through him. Though can you blame him? Her pleading gaze along with her provocative attire were imploring for his touches, caresses from a man like himself. It is only fair to give in to his carnal impulses, while he does so, he pleases the unattended yearnings of a lonely woman. He, after all, is a gentleman, and the feminine counterpart has been his most enduring confidante. And lately, he yearns for female companionship more than ever. He digs his nails into her skin, grasping her hips and pulling him even closer to his form leaving her no place to shift. It was quite a sight observing how much she struggled under his thrusts. So ironic for a woman who seemed at first she could handle him with her sweet talking, was practically at the edge begging him to slow down his movements. He’s a merciful man, he can be gentle if the other party asks him to, however, he does not wish to listen this time. He let himself be selfish, aiming for his own pleasure, by building up his thrusts in a risky rhythm. The woman’s cries grew louder clutching the sheets for dear life spouting out nonsense. His restless pounding abruptly ended once he felt her tighten around him, sending him into an excruciating climax probably the best he ever had in a while. His vision clouded losing his sense of vision for a bare second, he began to lift himself off the woman’s bare back laying with heavy panting beside her. He stays there attempting to regain his breath glancing back at the woman who yet hasn’t lifted up her head to meet his gaze too tired to do so. He extends out a hand grabbing her sweaty chin, finally meeting her gorgeous orbs and glancing back at him.

“Indubitably flawless.” He praises with a captivating grin. “Resplendent body, a gaze carrying a thousand emotions at once, enchanting hair with a unique and appealing tone, and of course, your alluring smile that even myself got trapped in it.” His words seem to perk her interest letting herself be moved by his arms the palms of his hands caressing the sides of her face pulling her down into a heated kiss. After a few seconds feeling like hours of tasting each other’s essence, they finally disengage from the kiss gazing at each other’s eyes.

“Dearest, I must say the past few weeks were the most engaging I ever had.” He began. “Though I’m afraid this is the last time we see each other.”

That sentence is enough to make the woman abruptly sit up straight gazing back at him with pure disbelief. “What?”

Sighing deeply he sits as well, as he speaks again with a tone bordering on gentleness but to her it sounded like mockery. “We can’t engage with each other any longer, I extend my sincerest apologies for not being clear about my intentions from the beginning.” Once she sees his naked form getting off her mattress, alarmed he grasps his hand before he can walk off.

“How can you say that? I thought what we had meant something!” She cries for him not wanting to let him go without further explanation. He turns around twisting his hand enough to be released by her firm grip.

Narrowing his eyes, he can’t help but let a small chuckle through his parting lips his gaze full of amusement. “You seem to forget, you’re engaged. What future awaits me with a compromised woman? I can only say, that your future husband clearly is a lucky man. I was lucky to spend a delightful time with her before him.”

“You—!” She gasped her face adorned with incredulity.

“Your father is a very intimidating man. I do not wish for an early death and you certainly do not wish to be sent away with a stained title at a very young age. So, let’s keep this between us. It is what’s best.” He says at last stealing one last kiss from her, gathering his garments leaving behind a pitying girl who thought he was the love of her life.

“Gojo Satoru!!”

Gojo Satoru. The name who belongs to a man envied and desired by many.

“Miss (Y/N). Do you wish for me to assist you with anything else?”

“That’s quite alright. I'm self-sufficient from this point onward, thank you very much for your aid.” You said with an affable smile dismissing the servant from her duties. As you turn around to fully glance at your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but sigh at the sight before you. It wasn't a matter of wearing an ill-suited dress or mismatched hairstyle. Rather what troubles your mind, full of overwhelming thoughts. Before any unwanted thought could come across your mind, a knock interrupted your state of mind. Swiftly you fixed your troubled form into a more relaxed composure, letting the individual in at once. The recognizable masculine figure brought a congenial smile to your lips brightening up your features.

“Suguru.” You uttered with an air of tranquility. “To what end do you require my attention?”

“I only wished to see how you were doing. I couldn’t help but let myself be worried. Will you say you feel fine? Do you wish to stay back?” Suguru expresses with profound concern noticing the details of distress on your face.

“I’m certain. I wish to accompany you to the ball. Moreover, your beloved parents have shown me nothing but solicitude since the moment I stepped foot into their home. They demonstrated remarkable forbearance even when I didn’t remember my origins due to my amnesic state. They possess astute judgment in guiding me to engage in every social gathering to find prospective suitors. It is my time to establish my standing within society.”

With a sympathetic nod and understanding gaze listening upon your words, he lays a hand on your shoulder applying a reassuring pressure. “Only you know what’s best for yourself. I shall repose trust in your judgment.”

“I appreciate it.” You reply the oppressive weight on your shoulders dissipated.

Releasing his hold, his usual charismatic smile took place. “I have a dear friend I haven’t encountered with for so long. You can say, years. I will like to present you both so we three can be acquaintances.”

“A friend of yours? Isn’t it too soon to be acquaintances with a friend with such closeness? I believe it is enough I’m being presented publicly that I’ve been living with the Geto’s family all this time as a confidant. It is my first ball, I do not want to accelerate matters.” You conveyed a profound sense of uneasiness at Suguru’s proposal.

Suguru laughs at your evident distress. “Please do not think too much about it. I deeply appreciate his friendship just like I appreciate yours. I’m sure both of you will have a pleasing time. Please rest assured.”

You eventually gave in with a small sigh. “Alright.”

“Furthermore.“ He cuts the brief silence with an unexpected modulation in his tone of voice “Notify me of any undesirable conduct. Unfortunately, I’m aware of my friend’s foolishness. Given your gorgeous demeanor, I must shield you from his bad influence.”

Blinking with a perplexed gaze, you were caught off guard by his words. “Can you elaborate, Suguru? Suguru!“ You called out for him striving to extract an explanation for his odd statement.

“Satoru Gojo. Where on earth have you been?” One thing Satoru finds increasingly wearisome is punctuality. In the lexicon of his esteemed mother, “punctuality” is being the very first one to attend the event practically inaugurating the event by opening its doors. Though he isn’t a servant whatsoever to execute such a role.

“Why must you behave yourself in this manner? I merely implore you to be punctual. Satoru, honestly, grant your mother a modicum of tranquility, even if it is intermittent. Is that much to ask?”

“Mother,” Satoru interjected. “Take a look around, a small portion of the attendees graced us with their presence, and I am poised to extend a gracious welcome to the remaining guests now. There is no need for us to be unduly perturbed over this matter.”

His mother maintained a dignified silence, as she took some steps closer towards her son. “What’s the fragrance? Satoru.” She didn’t leave him time to properly explain himself.

“What’s the matter with you? Arriving here drenching with another woman’s fragrance! Are you seeking to induce a cardiac episode in me?” Her mother scolded discreetly at her son from the public’s eye. “Please retire upstairs and change clothes, I cannot indulge myself in Imbecilic matters like these.” He had no option but to obey his mother’s orders feeling himself 12 years back in time.

As she fans herself, she murmurs with a hint of agitation, "This son of mine will be my demise."

The Gojo family, a paragon of its ilk. An unparalleled entity of nobility that commands respect prestige and reverence. One can say, they wield an ominous amount of power over their people. The prestige family was helmed by the patriarch, Ferdinand Gojo recognized as the rightful successor to the throne. Though its position initially belonged to his older brother, Thaddeus Gojo. Regrettably, it has been claimed that his elder brother has fallen prey to a grievous illness, deteriorating his well-being. Considering his brother’s alarmed condition, Ferdinand assumed both his brother's responsibilities and his own. His father, Everard Gojo can’t bear to witness his oldest son battle between life and death at such a young age. The king’s stress may inevitably lead to his demise. With noble intentions, Ferdinand proposed to his father to temporarily possess his brother’s position for the time being. However, during the time of his oldest son’s affliction, Everard discerned a certain assertiveness in his youngest son’s demeanor. Everard addresses this, expressing his dissatisfaction with his son’s domineering disposition. Ferdinand immediately dismisses his father’s concerns, attributing his behavior as a result of time of distress affecting their estimated family. On a melancholic afternoon, Prince Thaddeus Gojo tragically gave his last breath on the 27th of March at the age of 42, in his slumber. Subsequently, a mere two months later, King Everard Gojo left his kingdom at the age of 60, his departure disturbed by a cardiac arrest. Both deaths, brought sorrow upon their subjects mourning their losses. Fourteen days following his father’s death, Ferdinand stands poised to inherit his father’s legacy as the next king. At present hosting a sumptuous ball an event that stands the final occasion as a Prince.

Satoru understood that his days of libertine dalliances were destined for closure, his father on the cusp of ascending to the throne, he must prepare to assume a mantle of heightened responsibilities. For what reason did the demise of his grandfather and uncle have to be this soon. This entails neverending meetings with various ladies across multiple states. Satoru isn't a man destined to embrace domesticity and harbors no aspiration to share bonds of matrimony. Thus, the inevitable requirement lies. He must enter into matrimony and bequeath an heir to sustain the familial lineage. That was the role he must fulfill. Gazing upon his own visage, while putting on a white blouse, the midriff exposed. He emits a profound sigh, he readies himself to reenter the ballroom with a poised composure.

Anxiety holds you hostage with an unprecedented intensity as you navigate through the sea of thoughts inside your mind. While you began to embark upon your inaugural experience of a regal event. Hosted by the prospective ruler Ferdinand and his estimated queen escort, Genevieve Gojo. The sensation of potential embarrassment looms large in your mind, aware that you will be drawing attention once you step inside. The status of the Geto family, known for its profound respectability, amplifies the scrutiny of your every move making you cautious at all times. You find yourself now, voices surrounding your form emanating from diverse directions, you are seen as a defenseless prey encircled by predators eagerly waiting for an opportunity to scrutinize any detail for future gossip.

“My dear, you truly possess a resplendent beauty!”

“From whence do you hail?”

“Might I inquire how long have you been residing in the household of the Geto Family?”

It was chaotic!

“Ladies,” Suguru's voice pulled you out of your trance. “I am aware of your collective inquisitiveness. However, kindly afford the distressed woman a moment to breathe. Give in, it is her first ball. I will deeply appreciate it if all of you extend the utmost kindness and patience in your interactions with her.”

“Of course! We extend our sincerest apologies for overwhelming, Miss (Y/N).” A voice replied.

Suguru clasped your upper arm pulling you along as the two of you departed from the scene. As you do you overheard a voice pondering behind you. “Do you think she holds a significance beyond mere companionship? Lord Suguru is so tender to her, I am envious!”

Of course not! How can you possibly have a more profound connection with Suguru? It was absurd. You didn't even notice the moment Suguru hooked your arm with his as both of you walked around. Raising your eyes, you discern his gaze has already wandered elsewhere nonetheless before you can ask what has occupied his thoughts he liberates his arm from yours.

“(Y/N).” Suguru speaks once again his attention back to you. “I believe I have seen the friend I mentioned you before. In that case, I must attend him. I will be right back.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

“Do you think you will be alright being alone for a moment?” He asks with a hint of concern lingering in his voice.

“Absolutely.” You replied with an understanding smile. “I think I can manage myself for a couple of minutes.” Suguru nods and leaves you alone shortly.

You find yourself in solitude, positioned at the center of everything. In this contemplative state your observations unfold with a careful approach. Anyone that passes by can admire your breathtaking features, along with the ethereal fabric with white and pale blue hues you possess. Embraced with an lustrous corset hugging your waist tight showing off your feminine silhouette. The way your eyes brighten in pure interest while observing around. The room was exceptionally beautiful in the soft luminescence of crystal chandeliers, casting a cascade of ethereal brilliance upon the dance floor below. The dancing figures danced similar to blooming flowers in the colorful spring leaving you in awe. Everything were just mesmerizing.

“Miss.” An eloquent voice course through your hearing, prompting a swift lift of your gaze to meet assuredly the most captivating gentleman ever to grace your eyes. You were in complete astonishment incapacitate to elaborate words at that very moment. Was the individual standing before you a real person or someone that has escaped out of a portrait? His eyes were like twin sapphires shining under the sea of lights that enveloped the room. You are certain you can resemble the waters in his eyes with his cerulean brilliance reflecting the waves of the deep ocean. No, more like the clear sky above them. You can’t be certain, all you knew was that his eyes possess the most ethereal blue you have ever encountered as the brilliance within them reflects profound clarity. The gentleman’s coiffure reminiscent of freshly fallen snow, his silver threads falling against his pale skin. His attire is composed together with the timeless hues of dark blue and pristine white adorned with opulent gold trailing down his clothes, framing his form perfectly.

“Miss.” Once more, his sonorous voice beckon, yanking you back to the present.

In sheepish response, your eyelids flutter back to awareness, acknowledging your momentarily dazed state. Regaining your posture, you discreetly clear your throat an effort to dismiss the uncomfortable moment you both were in.

“Pardon me. I was too deep in thought.” You replied swiftly. He gently shakes his head, a soft smile gracing his countenance gazing down at you.

“That’s quite alright. I noticed from afar your presence wondered if I can make acquaintances.” Even his vocal cadence resonates like notes of honeyed sweetness. Could this gentleman possible attain any greater perfection? You thought with a helplessly stare.

“I…Yes. Of course, I will be delighted.” You acknowledged taking hold of your dress, executing a courteous bow. “Miss (Y/N), ecstatic to make acquaintances with you.”

He replies the same gesture, bowing with a palm resting on his chest. “Please call me, Satoru. Pardon me for my intrusion but, no last name?”

You incline your head with a tender smile. “I’m afraid not. I do not possess a last name. I hope this matter doesn’t stop us from being acquaintances.”

“No, No. Of course not. Names holds no weight that could stop us from doing so.” With a nod you descend into a calm silence.

“Do you dance, miss?” His inquiry arrest your moves where you were standing. Of course you knew you how to dance! What ails you today? Suguru’s mother made sure you knew everything you have to know to behave like a refined and proper lady.

Satoru inclined his head to the side, his gaze penetrating into your form reading your expression surprisingly reading your thoughts too like a open book. “Do I make you nervous, Miss (Y/N)?”

“Yes! I…yes, I do know how to dance, sir.”

“Satoru. Call me Satoru. We are now acquaintances or have you forgotten so soon?” He chuckles at your nervousness.

You shut your eyes for a brief second accompanied with a subtle shake of your head offering him a sincere smile. “Pardon me once again, I do not know what has gotten into me today. Of course, I will love to share a piece.”

“Good. I’m pleased to hear that.” He presents his hand toward you in a silent request for the privilege of holding yours. You find yourself accepting his request situating your hand on top of his palm. United, both walked to the dance floor to embark on the dance with seamless synchronicity. You find it odd when those around you willingly made room for both of you. The unexpected gesture made you unease. Facing each other, Satoru took your other hand gently drawing you closer to him making you stare up at him.

“Look at me. Don’t look at them.” He tells you, finding yourself compelled to his words gazing upward into his vivid blue eyes. Upon his shoulder your hand finds a resting place, while his right hand settles upon your waist. Your left hand intertwined with his, feeling a burn running down your body at the connection. The background orchestra unfurled while you immersed yourself in the intricate choreography, mentally counting your steps with profound concentration. The music being your compass guiding your dance. Suddenly, Satoru’s grip on you tightened, a light squeeze to gain your attention on him. With a warm smile direct towards you, he instantly let go of your waist to guide you into a twirl. The sudden move made you laugh carefree which Satoru responded with a laugh too. At that precise moment, everything felt serenely perfect feeling like rare and cherished jewel cradle in his arms. What have you done to earn such a privilege? With smiles exchanged like a secret language made by both of you, the two of you moved in a perfect synchronization, hands intricately linked. The dance unfolded like an intimate conversation meant solely for both of you. Oblivious to the gaze of the outsiders. Dismissing their collective stares, lost in the rhythm and the instant connection. The orchestra ended though it took time for both of you to be aware the song ended not wanting to be apart from each other just yet. The applause from the attendees breaks the enchantment of the moment pulling back to the present. Following the mesmerizing piece, both bow to the guests gathered grateful for witnessing such a memorable scene. Satoru hasn’t yet let go of your hand until both of you rejoin the others stepping out of the dance floor.

“You’re quite talented, Miss (Y/N). Your skills are to admire.”

Smiling brightly at his comment you said. “Call me, (Y/N). We are acquaintances and dance partners apparently.” You definitely caught Satoru off guard with your sincere comment, his lips breaking into a smile.

“I suppose you’re right, (Y/N).” Your name coming from his lips sounded even better when formalities are out of the picture. As you were about to reply, Suguru made his presence known standing beside Satoru.

“Apologies for my tardiness, I was unavoidably detained.” He explains. Satoru lift his attentions from you now greeting Suguru back.

“Suguru, my old friend! It’s so good to see you.” Both men saluted each other with a friendly shake of hands along with a embrace. “It’s been a long time since I have seen your face. How’s things going so far for you?”

“You can say, all alright.” Suguru responded. “I’m genuinely delighted to be reunited with you today. I’m deeply sorry for your losses, my condolences.”

“Your condolences are sincerely appreciated and I thank you for your kind words.”

Suguru nods sliding his gaze now towards you. “I see you have met my dearest friend, (Y/N). Previously I was on my way to reach you before I got held up. The dance was quite a spectacle. I must praise you, Satoru. You managed to bring the best of (Y/N) as it is her first dance.�� Satoru taken back, expressed surprise upon learning that both of you knew each other.

“Suguru, you’re exaggerating your words.” A subtle embarrassment colors your demeanor at Suguru’s words. Satoru need not be aware of those facts.

“Let me start again.” Suguru said staring back and forth between his friends. “Satoru, this is (Y/N). A close friend of mine, we took under our care.” Satoru’s eyes widened lightly upon hearing this.

“The girl you previously mentioned in your letters?” Satoru may be seen rude at that moment as he take a step back to whispers those words to Suguru beside him. Which he respond with a simple nod.

“(Y/N), this Satoru Gojo. Prince Satoru Gojo, son of King Ferdinand and Queen Genevieve.” As soon those words left Suguru’s lips, instantly you lower your head with a bow.

“How imprudent of me. I was not aware I was addressing the Prince. I apologized.” The combined laughter of both men upon seeing your form evade your hearing.

“Please, lift up your head dear. Even if you were aware of my status, I’m afraid you wouldn’t have left me approach you in the first place.” You lift your head as he says reposition your previous stand.

“Rest assured. I have told you, we are acquaintances there’s no need for formalities at this point.” You only gave him a silent nod in response.

Suguru noticed your internally turmoil as he says. “Do you wish to go back? I can make time to escort you. Today must have felt so overwhelming for you, I’m certain you’re exhausted.”

You denied his proposal. “I can be escort back by one of the servants. Please do not trouble yourself.”

“You’re no trouble, (Y/N). However I will respect your decision.” Shifting your gaze to Satoru, a smile grace your lips. “Thank you for the dance. I’ve truly enjoyed the evening. May our paths cross again soon.”

“I’m sure of it.” Satoru breathes, his gaze penetrated into yours, wanting to remember your features until you were pinned in his mind. Who knows how long will it take for him to see you again. You began to leave the palace escorted back to the Geto’s mansion. Satoru wasn’t aware of Suguru’s words his eyes glued into your form as you leave his sight completely.

Author’s Note: This is a small prologue introducing Gojo’s personality in my story. I hope you all enjoyed it!

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scribbledghost · 5 months

Text

Something Old

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (F!Reader, no Y/N)

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 4,013

Warnings: smut, collaring, d/s dynamics, PiV sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), praise, subspace, cockwarming

Note: this is a direct sequel to my other fic "Something New", which can be found on my masterlist. This can be read as a standalone, but I do recommend reading that one first. Tagging @trampondemand cause I think you asked me to tag you if I ever gave Something New a part two??

It takes several months for the collar to develop into a more prominent feature of yours and Simon's relationship. At first, it is seldom used, limited strictly to your bedroom and only brought out when Simon verbally requested it.

It takes time for you to pick up on the subtle tells that Simon has. The ones that indicate that he wants you to collar him, but that he doesn’t want to (or simply feels like he can’t) ask for it aloud yet.

And tonight, he has all of them going.

You can tell he's had a rough day at work the moment he walks through the door. You remember his brief sense of optimism earlier in the morning, because today was simply meant to be standard on-base work; training recruits, perhaps some meetings or briefings to attend to, but not much more had been on Simon's schedule.

But from the way he walks in, shoulders heavy and movements sluggish as he toes his boots off and tugs off his balaclava, something tells you that the optimism had been unfortunately misplaced.

He holds you close, head dipping to your shoulder to bury his face there. You feel him drag in several deep breaths and a soft groan rumbles through him as you reach up and scratch his scalp. It's like he's trying to bury himself in you, like he's trying to get so close to you that he can't tell where you end and he begins.

"Rough day?" you ask gently.

He gives you a muffled "mhm" from where his face is still pressed to your shoulder.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Another sound, this time in the negative, accompanied by a slight shake of his head where it rests.

He pulls away from you, but only far enough for him to nudge his forehead against yours and sigh.

"Jus' glad to be home."

You give him a soft smile, bringing one hand down to trace across a couple of the scars on his face. Your hand finds his jawline as you pull him in for a kiss, listening as he exhales through his nose and leans into you.

Simon pulls you close by your hips, a low groan leaving him as you slip your tongue into his mouth. As you deepen the kiss, you slide a hand back to the nape of his neck. You grip the short hair there and tug, and as you do so, Simon whines; a sound so soft you almost miss it.

Almost.

That whine is the only confirmation you need. It is the last vestiges of a too-proud man, pushed through his throat and out into the open air.

"Why don't you let me take care of you, Simon?" you breathe into the space between you. "Help you forget the day."

He eyes you for a moment, as if contemplating his answer. After some time, he nods.

“Why don’t you go get ready then? I’ll be right behind you,” you say, and he kisses you again before walking away from you and towards your shared bedroom.

He grabs one of the kitchen chairs as he goes.

By the time you enter the bedroom and close the door behind you, Simon is on his knees in front of the empty chair with his hands on his thighs, waiting for you. You walk towards the bedside table, gently petting his hair as you pass him. He leans into your touch, though he does not turn to look at you as you grab what you’re after.

The collar is well-worn by now, the black leather more pliable and comfortable than when you'd first fastened it around Simon's neck. The silver o-ring still shines, however.

As does the little metal plate off to the side that has your initials engraved on it.

"This what you want, Simon?" you ask as you sit in front of him, collar in hand.

"Yes," he says with a nod as he looks up at you. His eyelids droop as he tilts his head further upwards, presenting his neck to you in a practiced, familiar action.

"Please."

The quiet request from him brings a smile to your face, and you take your time fastening the collar around his neck in the way he likes best - not tight enough to constrict, but not loose enough to sag against his clavicle. After a quick check by slipping two of your fingers between the leather and his skin, you hook the same two fingers into the ring. You don't pull - not yet - but rather you let them lay there, acting as a slight weight against the collar.

Simon's head tilts back down as he looks at you through his eyelashes, a deep breath emanating from him.

"Can I touch you, love?" he asks softly.

You give him another smile.

"Yes, you can."

His hands find your knees and slide up your thighs, his body slotting between your spread legs as he settles his grip on your sides. His warm touch is just beneath your shirt, and you gently guide him by his collar until he's close enough for you to kiss.

"How far do you want to take this, Simon?" you ask softly. It's not unusual for the two of you to use the collar in a purely non-sexual manner when he's had a rough day; as a way to help you bring him down from the stress and adrenaline before building him back up.

Then again, it's not unusual for its use to take a turn for the erotic, either.

"As far as you'll go."

You hum thoughtfully, running your free hand through his hair.

"Want me to call the shots, huh?" you ask. "Want me to empty that pretty head of yours until all you can think about is doing what I tell you?"

"Yes," he breathes, his eyes rolling upward.

"You want to be good for me, don't you, Simon?"

A shudder wracks his frame, and you know he's settling into the proper frame of mind for what you've got planned. Just how easy it was to get him to this point is a clear testament to how sour his day must have been.

"I know you do, my love," you breathe to him as you kiss him again. "Always so good for me. Why don't you start by helping me out of these pants, hm?"

Simon nods, unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans slowly. Once you lift your hips, he slides them off of you gently, all while keeping his gaze on you.

Not that he could look anywhere else even if he wanted to, given the hold you had on his collar.

He starts to move his hands to the waistband of your underwear, but you stop him.

"Ah," you tease, "tell me what you want first, Simon."

"Wanna taste you."

The certainty in his tone sends a shock of warmth to your core. At first, you have half a mind to simply give him the go-ahead. Tell him to remove your underwear and make you cum on his tongue.

But what's the use of having a hulking, brick wall of a man on his knees for you if you can't have a little fun?

"Patience, love," you say with a sly smile. You let go of his collar and lean back in the chair, another spark of arousal flaring inside of you as you notice Simon subconsciously following your hand. You spread your legs wider, giving him full view of your clothed center.

"Taste me like this first," you tell him. "Then, if you do a good enough job, I'll let you take them off. Think you can do that for me, Simon?"

He nods, the silver ring on his collar jingling against the plate it's attached to. You hum in approval, placing a hand on his cheek as you rub your thumb along his skin.

"Good boy," you murmur. "Go ahead then."

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, then his arms are sliding beneath your thighs as his hands find your hips. After that, he wastes no more time before he dives towards you, pressing the flat of his tongue against the growing wet spot on your underwear.

If there is one thing you've come to know about Simon, it's that he does not do half measures. Not in the field, not at home, and certainly not in the bedroom. Even now, with only the passing taste of you on his tongue through the fabric, he's delving into you with all the vigor he holds. His breath comes hot and heavy through his mouth and nose against you, and his groans vibrate against your core.

It's not enough for you to come. You know this, and so does he, but the sight of Simon Riley mouthing at you as if there's no barrier between his tongue and your cunt at all is too addicting for you to put a stop to it just yet.

You reach for his hair with one hand, pulling him further into you.

"That's it," you breathe, "doing so well for me, Simon. So, so good for me."

His grip on you tightens and his eyelids twitch as his eyes roll upwards beneath them.

You remember how long it took for Simon to be comfortable with the overt praise you gave him. How he wanted it - craved it, even - but the line between not enough praise and too much had been an easy one to cross. He hadn't been used to it; not in such an open, vulnerable sense.

But now? Now that you have both explored and tested and eased into the dynamic slowly? He chases it. As soon as the piece of leather baring your initials is fastened against his throat, he allows himself to let go and accept any soft words you give him. It's still a fine line at times, but now it's one you've learned to walk without issue. A give and take between the two of you; a dance you both know the steps of by memory.

You sigh as Simon continues his ministrations, massaging his scalp as you close your eyes. You allow yourself to enjoy the sensations for a few more moments before you decide to show him mercy.

"Okay, love," you say, reaching down and hooking two fingers into the collar as you pull him away from you. He is slow to retract his tongue into his mouth, his gaze glossy and dazed. Fully drunk on just the slightest taste of you.

"You've done so well for me, Simon," you soothe as you take one of his hands and place it at the waistband of your underwear. "Go ahead and take them off. You've earned it."

He slowly does as you instruct, eyes never leaving yours as he removes the garment and helps you toss it aside. Simon's arms once again loop beneath your thighs, though he pauses before he dives into you.

"Wanna make you cum, love," he says lowly.

You hum, giving him a grin as you tug him closer by the o-ring on his collar.

"Then make me cum."

Simon has always been very good at following instructions.

The way his tongue moves is practiced and familiar; flattening against you in broad strokes before circling your clit. Wanton moans rumble through his chest as he helps you cage your thighs around his head.

If you pay close enough attention, you can catch small thrusts of his hips, struggling to give himself any amount of friction he can get against his clothes.

During previous trysts, he has paused to ask if he can use his fingers on you in addition to his tongue. There is none of that on this day, however. Another testament to how lost he is, to how much he needs to let go and focus only on your touch, your taste, your words.

Once again, you thread a hand through his hair as you talk him through it.

"Feels so good, Simon," you breathe, "keep going. Just like that, focus on my clit. There you go, good boy."

A full-body shudder coupled with a shameless groan rips through him, the extra stimulation causing your hips to buck as you grip tighter on his hair.

As if he's once again chasing your praise, he all but doubles his efforts, pressing his face impossibly closer to you and swiping your clit with a skilled touch. It isn't long after this that you feel the knot in your stomach begin to tighten, and you dig your heels into his back as a silent warning.

The coil in you snaps, and in your far-off, hazy state, you register Simon moaning with you as you climax. You're sure you're babbling praise at him as he works you through it, though you can't tell exactly what you're saying.

Once your body releases its tension, Simon slows his movements as well. You reach down between your legs to find his collar as you gently pull him away from you, and it takes a moment for him to lazily open his eyes as he gazes up at you. He gives you a lopsided grin, one you've come to know well. He's fully in his subspace at this point, pliant and ready for whatever you have planned next.

You pull him to sit up straighter on his knees, and he lets go of your legs as you lean forward to kiss him. As you do so, you let a finger run along the section of collar that bears your initials.

"All mine, aren't you, Simon?" you purr.

"Yours," he affirms. "All yours, love."

"Ready to keep going?" you ask. "Or do you need a minute?"

"More," is all he gives you in response.

You nod, then move to stand from your chair. His gaze follows you, though he obediently keeps his hands to himself. He watches as you remove your shirt and bra, and you feel his stare as you walk over and lie down on the bed.

"Stand up," you command.

Simon is quick to oblige, the joints in his knees popping as he does so. You can see the tent in his pants from where you lay.

"Now, I want you to take your clothes off - slowly," you say, your last word interrupting him as you notice his hands move too quickly for your liking.

He pauses for a moment, then begins to follow your directions.

He starts with his shirt, slowly tugging it up his body and over his head before discarding it on the floor. Next are his boots and socks, followed by his belt, which he dutifully unthreads through each loop in his pants. After that, he rests his hands near the button, looking at you with hooded eyes for permission to continue.

"Go on," you say with a nod.

His pants are removed slowly, leaving him only in his underwear. The bulge in the fabric is now markedly more visible, as is the wet patch forming where the head of his cock strains against its confines.

Once again, he pauses. Another step in the dance between the two of you.

Except this time, instead of giving him permission to disrobe himself, you sit up at the edge of the bed and beckon him closer.

"Would you like some help with these, Simon?" you ask playfully, hooking your index finger into the waistband as you look up at him.

At first, he only nods. Then, when you raise your eyebrows expectantly, he elaborates.

"Yes," he breathes. "Please."

You lean in to press a kiss to his abdomen, noting how the muscles beneath his skin jump at the contact. You help divest him of the last piece of clothing he has on, keeping your eyes locked on his as you do so.

Once he is as bare as you are (save for the piece of leather around his neck), you move further onto the bed.

At first, you only lie back and watch him. He keeps clenching and unclenching his fists, a clear sign that he's eager to put his hands on you. But, ever the good boy in times like these, he waits for your permission.

Finally, you decide to give it to him - but not in the way he expects.

Normally, when Simon is collared and at your mercy, he likes to see your face. Whether you're on top or he is is irrelevant, but he likes being able to watch your expressions. Likes being able to watch your mouth move as you praise him. Likes being able to kiss you.

But today, you decide a change of form is in order.

You turn over, lifting yourself onto your knees and elbows. You hear Simon swallow loudly as a breath is punched from his lungs.

"Come on, love," you purr as you turn to look at him. "Get behind me. You can lean over me and put your hands on the bed."

He is slow as he moves, as if he's searing the experience into his memory. Simon gets into position as instructed, draping himself over you as you feel his cock slide against your folds. His hips stutter, and you know he's struggling to keep them as still as he can despite his instinctual need to chase the friction your body provides.

You reach between your legs, guiding him to your entrance.

"Alright, Simon," you breathe. "Go ahead. But don't move once you're in."

Again, he's slow, a long, quiet groan leaving him as he buries himself inside of you. You feel him inch by inch until his hips meet your skin, and once he's fully seated, he releases a shuddering breath.

He obeys you fully, not moving a muscle as you adjust to him. It takes little time, your previous orgasm being more than enough for you to take him. His breaths are heavy and strained, and you know he is close to his limit of waiting.

It is a calm before the storm - one you know is coming, because you're the one about to create it.

You know Simon is pulled taught, a bowstring ready to release as soon as its handler commands it. All it will take is one simple command.

You give it without hesitation.

"Now," you start, reaching up behind you to hook two fingers into the o-ring dangling from Simon's neck. You yank him down closer to you, and he releases a moan that shifts into a growl as you do.

"Fuck me like you mean it, Simon."

You don't need to elaborate on the order. Nor do you need to tell him twice.

He takes you hard and fast, hips snapping into you with abandon. You still have a grip on his collar, rendering him unable to straighten his back; keeping him close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of him.

After a particularly hard thrust, the strength in your arms gives way, sending your head down onto the mattress below. Still, you don't release Simon, causing him to lurch forward with you.

It's difficult for you to tell which guttural sounds are coming from you and which ones are coming from him - his voice tends to pitch upwards when he's this lost in his headspace. It's a rare sound, but it's one you chase after anyway.

"That's it," you mumble, hoping he can hear. "That's it, just - fuck - just like that, Simon. Feels so good, feels so fucking good."

Another harsh thrust coupled with a pinched groan is enough to confirm he heard the message.

You shift your hips only slightly, just enough for him to nudge something deep inside of you over and over and over again. A haze descends over your mind, all thoughts leaving you except for how good it feels and how you don't want it to stop.

"God, Simon, you're so fucking good," you say without thinking. "Good boy. Good fucking boy."

Suddenly, you feel him still, his cock pressed as far into you as possible while he comes. With it comes a new sound out of Simon's mouth:

He fucking whines.

Not like the gentle, soft whine he gave you earlier, the one to indicate he was willing to be pliable and eager for you. No, this one is louder. Brazen.

Desperate.

It's a sound you have never heard out of your lover before, and you immediately make a mental note to do whatever it takes to hear it again.

The heat in the room is stifling as you both catch your breath. Simon further drapes himself over your body, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to the skin he can reach.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "didn't wait for you to tell me I could come. Got lost. Didn't... didn't realize-"

You shush him softly.

"You don't need to apologize, love," you murmur. His orgasm had caught him by surprise, just as it had you.

"You can go ahead and pull out," you tell him, releasing the hold on his collar. "Lie back and rest, I'll get something to clean us up with."

However, Simon does not follow your suggestion.

"Can we stay like this?"

You smile to yourself.

"Yeah, you can stay inside for a little while. But let's get a bit more comfortable first, okay?"

He huffs slightly when you move and pull his cock from you.

"Easy, Simon," you say, "it's just for a second."

You guide him to lie on his side next to you, and shift yourself onto your side facing him. You hook one of your legs over his hip and bring yourself closer, helping him to sheath his softening cock back into your heat.

"There," you croon as you extend an arm beneath his head to pull him closer, "good boy."

Simon's eyes flutter as his body shudders.

Normally, this would be the point in the evening when you would clean up, bring him some water, and make sure he's fed and comfortable. You would remove his collar and set it aside, and perhaps massage his neck if things had gotten particularly rough.

Not this time, however. The scene isn't over yet.

He hasn't returned from his subspace.

"Come on back whenever you're ready, Simon," you murmur to him. "I've got you. I'm here."

He curls into you, draping an arm over your middle and pulling you closer. His eyes close, and for a moment you think he's fallen asleep. It wouldn't necessarily be a negative thing - he once said he tends to sleep more soundly when he's down like this - but you know waking up later will be somewhat disorienting for him in exchange.

However, he's still awake.

And, if the way he gently cups your cheek to pull you in for a kiss is any indication, he's starting to slowly come back up from his subspace.

"Thank you, lovey," he rumbles.

"Don't need to thank me, Simon. Are you feeling better?"

"Mhm."

"Hungry?"

He pauses.

"...Yeah."

"Alright," you say, "I'll get us cleaned up in a few, then order some takeout. Sound good?"

Simon makes a soft noise in the affirmative. After a few moments of silence, you reach up and touch his collar.

"Want me to take it off?"

"No," he says. "Not yet. Like the way it feels."

He knows when he's finished wearing it, all he has to do is ask you to remove it. He always has free permission to remove it on his own, but he's told you before that he'd rather your hands be the ones to do so.

"You back up with me, love?" you ask. "It's okay if you're not. Just trying to gage where you are."

"'M back up," he says. "Jus' enjoyin' the moment. That's all."

He always does tend to get a bit sentimental when he's fresh off of a scene.

You bring him in for another kiss, sharing the oxygen in the small space between the two of you.

"Love you, Simon."

Simon's actions speak in ways his words can’t as he pulls you impossibly closer and kisses you again.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #ghost scribbles

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bidisastersanji · 7 months

Text

Just published chapter 3 for the "Zoro learns french" story on AO3 if anyone's interested! Or you can read it right here (part 1, part 2, part 4) and under the cut:

“Sanjiiiiii,” the little doctor wails as he goes through the familiar motions of treating Sanji’s blood loss. “Who did this to you??” He sniffles loudly. “There are no mermaids here! I thought you were over this!”

Next to him, Luffy absentmindedly picks his nose- seemingly amused by the situation- as the handful of straw hats gathered in the med bay whisper conspiratorially amongst themselves. What could have possibly caused the cook to pass out from a nosebleed?

Arms crossed under his chest, Zoro’s eye flits nervously to Robin’s and is unsurprisingly met with her ever impassive and mysterious smile, which he notes reach her eyes. She most likely heard everything, Zoro figures. Probably even popped one of her ears near them to hear better. Fuck, this was such a mess. He swallows hard, his mind still racing with the explicit thoughts Sanji had drunkenly admitted to. Not to mention the long-awaited confirmation that he has indeed been sleeping with men at various ports. So maybe learning French had come in handy. He’d never tell Mihawk though.

“Et puis si tu savais ce que je te laisserais me faire- ” Sanji’s sultry words echo in his mind and Zoro’s ears feel dangerously warm at the memory. He really shouldn’t let himself imagine just what the cook would ‘let him do to him’. Fighting the unconscious impulse to screw his eye shut and shake this off, he follows Chopper’s movements in an attempt to distract himself from the lewd images he’s conjuring. He’s honestly surprised at the self-control he displayed earlier. He was so close to just yanking him by his stupid necktie, kissing him silly, locking his sinfully strong thighs around his hips and carrying him back to bed right then and there, the others be damned.

He can still feel a tightness in his shoulder muscles from the restraint it took to just sit there and listen to the man’s rant. Before he can dwell any more on his struggle, he’s thankfully interrupted by the sound of Chopper speaking up cheerfully, seemingly satisfied with his work.

“Sanji will be ok- he actually didn’t lose that much blood. Relatively. I think his training-” a snort from Usopp is quickly silenced by the doctor’s stern look. “must’ve kicked in. He should be fine by tomorrow morning; I've treated him with something that should help with his blood production.”

The crew, happy to learn their cook will recover just fine, file out of the room to rejoin the festivities, and Zoro does his best to linger just a little longer to peek at the blonde’s soft curls and endearing sleeping face. And if a little bit of pride swells in his chest from knowing he’s the cause of this nosebleed, well...no one will know.

He’s barely out of the room when he finds himself cornered by Nami. Damnit.

“I know Sanji was with you when this happened.” the redhead gives him a serious, pointed look.

Zoro scowls. ‘Yeah, and?”

“And???” her hands fly, up, exasperated. “What happened?”

“None of your business, witch.”

“Oh? And I suppose your debt is none of my business too, you big brute? You wouldn’t mind me adding to it for insubordination, would you?”

At the mention of his ever-growing debt to the navigator, Zoro’s left gaping down at her, mouth silently forming words in anger.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get me back for this, I’m the worst, blah blah blah.” Her eyes roll and her hands gesture him to move along. “Now tell me what happened. What could’ve possibly triggered Sanji’s nosebleed?” her eyes momentarily flit down to his chest and her lips curl to the side in a little smirk.

“Unless... no, your tits are always out. Just tell me what happened, and I’ll take 0.5% off your debt.”

Zoro sighs and relents. “I didn’t do much, he’s the one who came up to me and started screaming at me in French.”

Nami stares him down with an unimpressed look. “And then...?”

“And then I just answered him, and he passed out.” he grumbles out petulantly.

“That’s so weird- wait. What do you mean you ‘answered him’?” brown eyes narrow at him. “In French?”

“...yeah.”

“...you speak French?”

“Oui.”

Pain flares on his head from the navigator’s swift punch. She has no sense of humour, damn.

“Stop fucking around. Why would you of all people know how to speak French?”

“You don’t believe me?!” he tries to keep his indignant scream as low as he can.

“No- I’m saying that you wouldn’t go through the trouble of learning a language unless there was something in it for you- so there’s gotta be someth-” Nami comes to a realisation, and her eyebrows raise in shock, giving Zoro an appraising look.

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up.”

“You-”

“Shut up.”

By some stroke of luck, Nami leaves the elephant in the room alone, and returns to the matter at hand. “Ok, ok, so you speak French. I can only imagine what you must’ve said to get that kind of reaction from him, though.” She runs her hand across her face, tired.

---

Sanji wakes up and is immediately blinded by the sun shining through the window. Ugh. He groans at the dull, pounding feeling behind his eyes and turns to his side to hide from the offending light. He’d definitely had too much to drink last night.

He snorts into the pillow. He’d drunk so much he’d either dreamed or hallucinated that Zoro could speak French. Wow. His unfiltered imagination really went wild, didn’t it. He can almost hear the seductive words dripping like sex from dream Zoro’s lips, the rough timber of his voice causing a shiver to shoot up his spine and-

A distinctive, sterile smell cuts through his train of thought.

Wait.

Is this the infirmary?

He cracks open an eye, confirming his theory. This is the med bay all right. He groggily sits up, blanket falling from his torso, and catches a stain on his usually pristine white shirt from the corner of his eye. His chin drops to get a better look. Is that... blood?

His blood. He’s had this happen enough times to recognise the results of a nosebleed. Grumbling, he throws his legs over the bed to stand up, annoyed at the prospect of having to scrub the stain out of his good shirt, when it finally hits him. The moment his feet touch the floor, the evening and his current predicament suddenly click together and bring his thoughts of hydrogen peroxide and baking powder to a screeching halt.

A beat passes.

Like a rubber band stretched tight, a myriad of thoughts is catapulted to the forefront of his mind, jumbling together in a mess of realisations. Zoro speaks French. Zoro sounds unfairly sexy when he does. How long has he spoken French. Where did he even learn it. Zoro probably overheard his conversation with Robin. Zoro understood the filthy things he told him. To his face. Zoro flirted with him.

His face burns even brighter at the memory of that last one. Oh god. He even called his dick “big” right to his face.

Well-versed in burying his feelings deep deep down (years of practice), Sanji staggers through his usual morning routine. Once back in the comfort of his kitchen, his hands go into autopilot mode as he preps for a big healthy brunch to revive his nakama from a long night of festivities.

It takes him a second longer than usual to notice the creak of the door as someone walks into the kitchen, and he doesn’t bother turning around to see who it is, too busy trying to catch up on his cooking schedule from his late rise. Luffy will be up soon, and he needs to satiate the black hole that is his captain’s stomach.

“Oi. Tu cuisines quoi.”

(Oi, what’re you cooking.)

“J’prépare un brunch bien gras. Je suis sûr que ça soulagera la gueule de bois collective.” Sanji absentmindedly answers the annoying swordsman. Tch. Always up in his business.

(I'm cooking a greasy brunch. I'm sure it will help relieve the collective hangover.)

“Ça sent bon. Je peux goûter?” (It smells good. Can I taste?)

The mosshead’s gorilla arm comes into view from over his shoulder as he reaches to dip his hand into the batter Sanji’s whipping up, and the cook slaps his hand away and heavily crushes his foot without even breaking his rhythm.

“Non. Bas les pattes.”

(No. Paws off.)

Zoro makes a disgruntled noise and properly steps up next to him, leaning his back against the counter. From his peripheral vision, Sanji notes him standing there, head turned towards him, looking at him cooking. Just looking. Odd behaviour for a marimo.

Minutes pass before the swordsman’s voice interrupts the rhythmic sound of Sanji’s cooking, saving him from the panicked screaming in his mind: They’re speaking French. Zoro’s clumsy pronunciation is the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Why are they acting like this is normal. Why is he standing so close. And are they ever going to address what happened last night? All this stops at the sound of:

“Et toi, je peux te goûter?” (And you, can I taste you?)

Sanji’s breath hitches and he feels a warmth creep up his spine, to his neck, his ears, and all the way to the top of his head. He’s going to implode.

Where did he learn to say that. He hears himself squeak out that very question, eyes looking down at the bowl of batter, pointedly ignoring the other man’s heated gaze.

Zoro's deep voice rumbles in a low chuckle. “Ça ne répond pas à ma question. Ni à celle de hier soir.”

(That doesn’t answer my question. Nor last night’s question.)

Callused fingers suddenly grip his chin, and now he’s face to face with Zoro, who to Sanji’s surprise is sporting a dangerously tender expression, his hand moving up to cup his cheek. His voice is softer, this time.

“Dis moi.” (Tell me)

His chest aches. “Tell you what?”

Sanji doesn’t like the vulnerability voicing his feelings in French makes him feel. It’s so much easier to revert to his usual abrasiveness. Safer. “I already told you how you drive me up the wall. What, do you want me to embarrass myself further by telling you how badly I’ve wanted you?”

An expectant eye stares back at him. Patient. Silent.

The blonde huffs and raises his flour-dusted hand to the one Zoro is gently cupping his face with. “You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Do you have any idea the self-control it takes to not just -“ he feels a tightness in his throat - he didn’t think it would be so hard to actually say it- “de ne pas te dire tous les jours combien je t’aime?”

(-to not tell you every day how much I love you?)

He blinks and Zoro’s lips are on his, soft and delicately pressing against his own like he could break at any moment. And boy does he feel like he could. He immediately starts pushing back, angling his head just so to deepen the kiss, melting from the sheer tenderness, his fingers still gripping Zoro’s hand where it lays, rough calluses against his soft skin.

They briefly part for air but Zoro immediately dives back in like a man starved, tugging the cook by his hips to stand between his legs, and the blonde has to bite back a moan at the manhandling. Sanji’s arms loop around his neck and find purchase in his ridiculous green hair.

Zoro will never get enough of kissing this man. It’s simply too intoxicating, and perfect, and everything he’s ever wanted. Which is why it’s with great reluctance that he retreats from this slice of heaven, if only to make sure his own intentions are clear. He can’t believe the bastard beat him to it. He’d walked in here with a plan to test the waters and flirt back- get a little revenge on the blonde from the way he made his brain short circuit the previous night. Maybe test out a few phrases he’d learned in those Harlequin books the pervy cook loves so much. What happened instead was so much better.

He’s glad to be propped up against the counter because his knees feel weak at the raw, exposed emotion on Sanji’s face when he tells him–

“Je t’aime.”

A radiant smile. A wet laugh through misty eyes.

“Imbécile.” (Idiot)

The man buries his face in his neck and presses him close in an intimate embrace, holding tight at the back of his shirt. Zoro’s chest swells with love and he holds him back just at tightly, rubbing soothing circles on his lower back.

“Ton imbécile.” (Your idiot.)

#zoro x sanji #zosan fic #zoro learns french story #zoro learns french #one piece zosan #zosan #hope you guys like emotions #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #with a dash of my favourite thing #nosebleed sanji

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xappetites · 11 months

Text

Cpt. John Price and the accidental cockwarming incident

a little angst, fluff, sexual references

it hits John, in the dark and non threatening noise of being home for once, how fucking nice it is to be held. He knows you have to be up in a couple hours for work but he’s been gone for too long and you’re kind enough to indulge him.

You’re soft and warm and he’s here far more sparsely than he’d like, so the time he spends in bed with you, he likes to spend inside you. It’s an impulse from the heart, not the gut. An ache to be as close as possible, enough that he can’t tell his skin from yours in the sacred centimeters between you.

Your sigh brushes sweet against his collarbone and something rises in him like a stream, dragging up the flotsam of his subconscious.

The thoughts he does his best not to have space for when he’s halfway across the globe. When he’s aching for your arms around him and your fiercely independent soul, your sharp eyes softening at the sight of him. He can’t help but wonder how he measures up against the new experiences, the people that are here everyday to share them with you.

How much can an absent husband really weigh in the full life you have?

John Price is not a man of prayer, he has no time or use for appeals to the universe or divinity or whatever might be listening. But he begs here, with your fingers drawing circles over the close crop at the back of his head and your hips rocking a barely there rhythm into his.

Please let her remember this, let her feel me when I can’t be here for her.

“What’s wrong?”

You whisper, so close he could taste it, tapping a thumb on his jaw to get his attention. And it isn’t until the drop slides across the bridge of his nose that he even realizes he’s been tearing up.

“Just missed you, love.”

John’s voice cracks against his will, that and the way he follows your face —stubbornly trying to keep your noses touching— tell you it’s not as simple as missing you, he’s aware.

“I missed you too.”

You just smile at him, hiking your leg higher over his flank and tightening your sweet cunt around him, a quick reassuring grasp like you’d do on his hand. It pulls a chuckle out of him that vibrates through your chest and comes as an echo out of your own mouth.

“I left the Champions on the other day, just to have the commentator chatter in the house.”

He tries not to stare. You, who don’t give a damn about football. Neither does he, being completely frank, he’s just come to associate it with not having to be on edge around the clock, with being home. And now you have, too.

You let him hide his face in the crook of your neck, tuck you tight into his body until any movement other than the good natured tensing of your inner muscles is virtually impossible.

I love you, he wants to say. But he can’t trust it not to break him, so he limits himself to rubbing his beard on your skin to make you laugh. Groaning out your name in bursts of stimulation.

And when you fall asleep like that, with no other pleasure than being joined, neither of you could find it in you to complain.

#m: cod #r: smut #r: fluff #john price x reader #personal #i keep wanting to toss tenderness into the price tag don’t you mind me

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chiidori-i · 1 year

Text

Astral Express Crew NSFW headcanons!

pairings: Welt Yang x gn! reader, Himeko x gn! reader, Dan Heng x gn! reader, March 7th x gn! reader, Stelle x gn! reader, Caelus x gn! reader

Authors note: welcome back to the ravings of a mad man :> my whore friends really loved the last one so here we go again! :D

!Welt!

* listen he might not be as young as the others but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what he’s doing! * is the sweetest dom i swear he’s so gentle (unless you ask him not to be) * refuses to degrade you he just loves you too much * will tie you up if you ask nicely * so good with his hands like CRAZY good with his hands will make you cum at least twice or more with his fingers alone * usually fucks pretty slow but it’s d e e p, if you beg him enough he might oblige your request and fuck you so hard you see stars * usually fucks you in your shared bed but will sometimes bend you over his desk if he’s feeling frisky or you start teasing him while he’s working * he loves praise! welt will literally shower you in praises about how good you’re being for him! * you called him sir once in a completely non sexual scenario and he lost his mind, literally grabbed you and dragged you off to his office to ahem “help with paperwork”

* has a big thing for thigh highs, he can’t explain just something about how your thighs look in them, it makes him wanna shove his head between them,

*TALENTED TONGUE! will stay between your thighs for HOURS does not care at all

* a GOD at aftercare, like i said he’s the sweetest! Voice any want or need and he’s already on it, will hold you until you feel coherent again or if you wanna nap, he’ll grab a book and settle in!

“you’re being so good for me love, just a little more” Welt cooed, he’s currently got you underneath him whining and moaning in ecstasy. “w-welt need more! please harder!” welt looks at you with a small grin “oh you need more huh? well how do you ask me baby?” he pauses his movements for a quick second while looking at you, “please sir fuck me harder!” welt chuckles and starts moving again “there we good job baby” he leans down and kisses you “i hope you know what you’ve asked for because now

i’m not going to be gentle

”

(i need him in a biblical way, a way thats concerning to feminism)

!Himeko!

* Can i say mommy any louder?

* Himeko is the best woman to probably ever have sex with, she will do almost anything to make you feel good! * she loves being in control so do expect to be tied up and teased

* she’s a pretty strict top, you will address her as mommy or ma’am when responding to her or you won’t get anything * has fingered you on the couch in the living area before giving you a knowing teasing look when the others walk in totally oblivious to what’s going on * TONGUE GO CRAZYYYYYY, she lives for giving you head and who are you to stop her? * loves it when you sit on her face she adores it actually * when she’s feeling particularly frisky she’ll bust out the strap (oh buddy its big) she’ll start off fucking you slow and calculated until she finds a pace you both enjoy then she just goes wild on you * loves body worship! she’ll spend hours worshiping your body telling you how you’re all hers and how beautiful/handsome you are! *doesn’t really care for degrading she’s more playful than anything! *loves aftercare she just adores holding you and telling you how good you are and how much you mean to her!

how did you find yourself in this position? well you’re not 100% sure honestly, Himeko currently has you blindfolded and restrained to her bed and is gently running her finger up your thighs so close to touching where you really need her but never making contact. When her nail slightly scratches down your hip you shiver and whine “Awh is someone getting desperate for their mistress to touch them?” Himeko chuckled a little at the end of her sentence, “well if my little pet is getting desperate i guess i should indulge them right?” your ears perk up hearing this, “y-yes ma’aam! please touch me i’ve been so good!” you whine in response, suddenly you feel her grab onto your thighs and lift them up, “ill indulge you darling but you better be ready.. i’m not in the mood to be very kind”

!Dan Heng!

* oh he’s so baby

* he can be both bottom or top but he 100% prefers to be at your mercy begging for your touch

* he loves it when you pull his hair or are rough with him in any way really!

* isn’t bratty whatsoever he’s so obedient you almost feel bad for being rough with him :(

* VERY easily flustered you once walked into the room and brushed past him barely touching his waist and he got so red he looked like he was on fire

*whisper obscene things in his ear when he’s in front of the rest of the crew and he will melt and look at you like he’s about to pass out if you don’t fuck him

*WHIMPERS! I CANNOT EXPRESS THE FOUL WHIMPERS THIS MAN LETS OUT WHEN YOU FUCK HIM

*riding him is always an experience especially if you tie him down and force him to look at you

*he’s surprisingly loud, like so loud himeko has heard you two and has knocked on the door asking if he’s alright (dinner was awkward after that but really she found it hilarious)

* gets pussy drunk/cock drunk SO fast he cannot process how good it feels so he kinda just shuts down (poor baby)

* Please give him lots of cuddles after! he’s pretty much blissed out after you two fuck so he really just needs to be told he’s a good boy and snuggled until he comes back to earth :)

you’re not sure how one of the bookshelves Dan Heng is holding onto for dear life while you’re riding him hasn’t snapped yet with how hard he’s gripping it, “please ah- please i- i can’t take anymore..” there are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes from overstimulation this is his 3rd orgasm now and he feels like he’s about to combust. “oh cmon baby i know you can give me one more, be a good boy for me give me one more” you purr as you quicken your pace, at this point he’s pretty much gasping for air and holding onto your hand and the bookshelf for dear life,

“i’ll give you whatever you want.. just please don’t stop”

!March 7th!

*the sweetest purest soul ever

* you were pretty much her first everything so she’s pretty adventurous with you

* a bit of a pillow princess but will reciprocate whatever you want if you ask her!

* her moans are the cutest they’re kind of like little squeaks if she feels particularly good though she can be a screamer

* you gave her a hickey once and she thought she’d combust especially when welt noticed and asked if she injured herself to which she totally played into (welt for sure knew but he’s like himeko he thinks it’s funny tbh)* she’ll put on lingerie she knows you love and prance around in it until you give her the attention she wants if you don’t notice her right away she’ll pout like “how dare you ignore me im the light of your life!! >:((”

* really really likes when you go down on her, its her favorite thing ever she will scream praises to you until she cums

*himeko once had to give her a talk about screaming because it was keeping dan heng awake at night (poor dan heng man LET HIM SLEEP)

* she bites! whenever she can reach your neck or shoulders she’ll bite you, pretty hard too! (will also immediately apologize after)

*needs reassurance that she did good after! please get her some water and play with her hair she’s an anxious baby and needs lots of kisses to calm her down!

“oh! oh gods!” march was currently on her back with you on top of her your fingers were deep inside her and she was screaming until something responded“march sweetie you have to be quieter before someone wakes up” you chuckle, “c-can’t! feels so good!” you smirk a little and then put two fingers into her mouth and start fucking her harder, she moans around your fingers and her eyes roll back a little “you’re such a good girl march, you’re so beautiful..

too bad i’m about to ruin you”

!Stelle!

*oh someone help this poor baby*stelle might be one of the most clueless women ever

*when you bought a strap she was completely confused as to why you bought she just looked at you then back at it and was like huh?

*stelle is so obedient though she’s almost like a dog

*call her puppy and she’ll melt a little but be confused as to why you called her a dog (HELP HER SOMEONE)

* she’s such a cutie when you first expressed you wanted to have sex with her she got super flustered and nodded her head in agreement

* would prefer to just lay back and play minecraft with you tbh

*but when you do get her going oh boy she’s ready to go*one time you got her lingerie and she kinda looked at it like you want me to wear this shit?

*doesn’t really need aftercare she’s pretty resilient so she’s up and at em right after y’all fuck she just goes back to playing minecraft :/

“oh stelleeee, don’t hide your face from me puppy” stelle currently has her face hidden your neck moaning as you fuck her slowly, she groans a little hearing your teasing “w-what?” you “there’s my pretty girl, my pretty pretty stelle” she tries to hide her face again but you grab her chin and make her look at you, “oh stelle did you wanna cum?” stelle nods in response, panting a little as you smile at her “okay puppy lay back and let me make you cum” as you slowly lay her on her back and move between her thighs

“pretty girl”

!Caelus!

* caelus is just the chillest partner known to mankind i swear

* doesn’t really have that high of a sex drive honestly but when he is turned on you better watch out

*will pin you to a wall and fuck you if he’s feeling realll frisky and there’s no bed around

* he’s very serious in bed tbh doesn’t really joke around

*he’s a switch so if you sweet talk him enough and praise him he’ll fold and be at your mercy but if he gets you flustered its game over you’re all his

* really loves hair pulling whether you’re pulling his hair or he’s pulling yours he just loves it so much doesn’t really know why honestly

* also loves when you wear your hair up, or have your neck exposed in any way possible

* loves to leave hickies, he just thinks they make you look prettier will 100% get flustered if you leave one on him though* LOVES SKIRTS PLEASE WEAR A SKIRT FOR HIM DOESNT MATTER WHERE JUST PLEASE WEAR ONE

*kind of like stelle in the aftercare doesn’t really need it but does enjoy it! he’ll give you forehead kisses and cuddles while you two watch anime together

“come on baby let go for me, there you go just like that cutie” you’re currently riding caelus on the living area couch while everyone else is out, what started as a innocent cuddle session while watching sailor moon has now turned into you riding him into oblivion “c-caelus! s’too much!” you stop moving for a second to try and adjust but caelus told you this had to be quick before everyone came back from their missions. Caelus roughly grabs your hips and starts fucking up in to you. “s-sorry angel, g-gotta make it quick,

i’m gonna make you feel so good i promise”

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #caelus x you #welt yang x you #himeko x you #march 7th x you #stelle x you #dan heng x you

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atozfic · 7 months

Text

a twist of the knife.

pairing. ghostface!wooyoung x fem!reader. synopsis. halloween night and you're all alone, boyfriend far from home. you've got plans- big plans- with a fully charged vibrator and a phone. what a shame you forget to check the number before picking up. warnings. slasher fic! pwp, daddy kink, noncon cheating, noncon (don't like it? don't bite it!), masturbation (f&m), sex-toys, degradation, name-calling, dirty talk, knife kink?, mask kink!, implied stalking, mentions of murder word count. 4.6k hyde’s input. listen, kids, sometimes mother (me) can't serve a three coursed meal, ok? sometimes, all mother (me) can serve are dino-nuggies and overcooked chips. just eat your meal and flush your shit when you're done (aka, this is lazy writing and i'm not 100% satisfied with this fic but i'm also too tired to try harder i'm sorry <3)

truth be told, you’ve started without him.

you’d waited, a whole twenty minutes longer than you were supposed to.

twenty two minutes and you sent a text.

babe?

the message was delivered.

no reply came your way.

another text, from you.

i should be naked by now :(

and then another.

come make me cum, u loser.

and a final message, once more from you.

or i’ll get someone else to do it <3

minutes passed, no reply came, and you stayed true to your word.

technically.

because, technically, nowhere does it say you can’t be that someone else who makes you cum.

spread on your bed, body draped in pretty black lace, only the light of a single lamp- a cheesy plastic jack-o-lantern bought by your dearest boyfriend- to shadow your movements.

the shadow dances in time with the fingers that brush down your soft skin, the drag of your sharpened nails bringing a thrilling chill down your spine.

your fingers settle, at last, on your heaving chest. they slide over the delicate fabric, scratch at the skin beneath. graze over one of your nipples, and pause.

you try to mimic his movements, memorise the perfectly choreographed routine he uses to drive you wild.

it’s hard to achieve, no matter how much you pinch and roll the hardening bud between your fingers, when your hands are not his.

too soft, too textured.

too small, too big.

too everything.

you miss the brush of his hardened fingertips, and the callous ways in which he teases you. and his gravel-deep, chocolate-smooth voice, echoing soliloquies of filth. and his thinly-dipped hips, flowing with yours in a demonstration of true poetry in motion.

suddenly, your ire grows tenfold.

because damn him for being miles away, partying in a city you’ve never been.

and damn his friends for suggesting the “boys” trip.

and damn him even more for agreeing to go and leaving you all alone.

it works in your favour, this ire, stealing away a pinch of the guilt from not waiting on him and replacing it with a heavy dose of vengeful craving.

you’d asked him to spend halloween with you house-sitting your childhood home, he made plans with his friends instead.

he’d asked you to let him see the first time you cum tonight, you’re making plans with your mirror instead.

opening your bedside drawer, you blindly reach in and find what you’re looking for: a pretty, soft, purple rabbit. it’s fully charged, in preparation for the night your boyfriend had promised you.

a night he’s now thirty six minutes and four texts late to.

you shimmy yourself further down the bed, till your feet dangle off the edge and the reflected version of you is positioned at just the right angle to witness the gathering wetness between your thighs, dampening the overpriced panties.

spreading your legs a little wider, you press the bunny to life.

in pulsing rhythms, it vibrates in your grasp, teasing the pleasure it aims to deliver as soon as you place it against your core.

instead, you switch it off.

decide you’re not ready yet.

he wouldn’t be ready yet.

a teaser, he’s a man who takes pleasure in watching you squirm, plead, beg for something, anything.

the mere memory of your boyfriend is enough to have your hips rolling up against the air, nothing but the squeeze of the fabric against your cunt to soothe the burn. a finger, middle- always the middle-, slips past your lips.

welcoming it, you feel it growing wetter at your touch, swirling your tongue around it.

your eyes fall shut. you try to picture him and his pretty-boy grin, remember just the way he likes it.

get daddy’s fingers nice and wet, pretty girl.

that’s what he’d say, because that’s what you are.

his pretty girl.

the prettiest girl.

pathetic and for your ears only, a whimper falls as you pluck your hand from your mouth. skipping over the part where he tortures you with feather-like brushes of his hands down your body, blunt ends of his nails scratching up goosebumps and leaving behind thing trails of red markings, you instead shoot directly for your core.

in the mirror, your legs inch a little wider and your teeth latch onto your bottom lip as the contrasting chill of your hand cups over the burning heat of your cunt. the scratch of red lace between your skin grows your arousal by tenfold, the cooling wet of your saliva slickened finger pressing the soaked fabric against your dripping seam.

you push a little more, hooking the tip of your finger at your entrance and squirm as the lace pinches tighter at your hips, digging marks into your skin that you’ll later compare to the one’s he so often leaves.

in the orange hue of your room, you let your mind trail off once more as you shift to sit up, knees pressing into the mattress, legs bent backwards and both feet tucked under the swell of your ass.

the image in the mirror is pure pornography: your hair still damp from an earlier shower, red lace covering pretty skin, nipples poking out against the fabric of your bra, your manicured nails resting at the apex of your thighs, teasing their way over soaked panties.

you look hot.

fuckable.

eyes slipping shut briefly, the image of him conjures behind you. his broad chest pressed against your back, his large hands roaming over your waist, his soft lips pressing indecencies into your neck.

as quickly as it appears, it disapeears, and your eyes reopen to the reality of your lonely bedroom and your lonely bed, no one upon it but you.

and the purple toy.

it’s in your grasp in a count of three seconds- no less- and buzzing to life with the delicate press of a button.

in the mirror, your thighs clench.

loneliness leads to anger leads to action, readjusting your legs a little wider and guiding the pulsating toy over your lower stomach and inching it’s way down, down, down under the hem of the expensive thong.

a fire stroked to life, the heat that comes along in the initial seconds of pleasure has your spine shooting up straight, knees digging further into the springs of the mattress as your clit welcomes the new feeling pulsing against it.

watching as your reflection cants her hips up, chasing after the waves delivered by the toy, you set to find a rhythm in all your blues.

you push aside the fact this should be your boyfriend’s mouth on your cunt, tongue lapping at your clit and fingers burrowing in between your clenching walls, and not some rubber toy.

you ignore the inherent shyness and discomfort that comes with watching yourself in this position, making eye-contact in the mirror as you fantasise about another pair of hands.

you lay to rest the stress that no contact from your boyfriend brings you, a sting of tears threatning you if you let your mind wander too far into the attrocities of life, the attrocities riddling your college campus over the past few months.

a senior, stabbed to death in his dorm.

a freshman, found discarded at the side of the road.

your friend, wide-eyed and lifeless, slumped against your bed in your dormroom-

no.

you press at the toy again, it’s pulses grow more intense, more rapid, full throttle on your pleasure till it clouds you in that heady scent of sex and drowns you in the need for release.

just as you grow closer by the minute, the sweetest little whines making their way past your bitten lips, your ringtones blairs.

loud, and clear.

it’s murder on the dancefloor, familiar lyrics echo in the small room, screen lighting up behind you. you’d better not kill the groove, dj gonna burn this goddamn house-

you don’t look, just grab blindly at where you’d left it, tossed aside and forgotten in your frustration.

hit accept, press the phone to your ear and wait.

to hear his apology, his excuses, his ways to make it up to you.

but there’s only breathing.

heavy breathing.

it reminds you of your own, thighs still shaking and the toy still faintly brushing over your slick coated clit.

“took you long enough,” you’re the first to break the ice, praying you don’t sound as shaky as you feel.

a huh rings down the line, grainy. poor signal.

he must still be out, you figure.

“i thought you’d never call,” you’re pouty, purposeful in you approach to teasing him before you deliver a killing-blow to his ego: you’ve started without him. “and i was getting so lonely.”

for effect, you press on the button again, listen as the toy gets louder as it vibrates more intensely, waves rippling your skin even as you pry it back from your clit, enjoying it’s pleasure only in the way it moves against your panties.

you wonder if he hears it too.

you want him to hear.

there’s a sharp inhale, spanning a handful of seconds and leaving you with the imagery of his head falling back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

it says nothing, yet everything.

he’s frustrated.

he’s chastising.

he’s turned on.

“why’d you make me wait, daddy?” you say it and hope it hits a nerve. hope he’s squirming in his seat, surrounded by his friends and praying not a single one notices the tent being pitched in his pants. “that wasn’t very nice of you.”

you give an experimental roll of your hips, feeling the buzzing toy nudge against you once more, coaxing back to life the orgasm you’d let down.

a dramatised gasp leaves your mouth, aiming for him to take notice of it and just think about what you’re doing to yourself.

“no,” he finally talks and you hate how quickly your anger is to melt away, one foul swoop of his smooth voice and you melt into a puddle, waiting to be splashed around by him. “wasn’t nice of me at all, was it?”

the toy between your legs continues to hum away, coaxing you to try another roll, dip your hips down onto it.

a moan- admitedly, a bit exagerated- fills the room.

there’s no doubt he heard it.

“you sound a bit weird, baby,” in the mirror, you watch yourself tilt your head to the side, pressing the phone between your ear and your shoulder. it frees up your other hand to roam freely over your breasts, rolling one of your nipples through the lace. “is the connection bad?”

he doesn’t answer.

down the line, you pick up on more heavy breathing.

it makes you long harder for him, visualising him there, pressed up against you, heavy breathing in your ear as the tension builds between you, culminating in the buckling of your knees and the grabbing of your ass, propping you up at his desired height to pile-drive his cock into you.

in a desperate appeal for his attention, you dip the vibrator lower, pressing it’s nub against your opening, squealing at the foreign intrusion.

“d’you hear that, daddy? my pussy’s all wet,” a filthy squelch rings true as you replace the toy with your finger, squeezing it’s way into your hole. “she’s all tight with no one to stretch her out.”

the possibility that you’re setting feminism back by several centuries crosses your mind, but it’s quickly pushed aside for images of your boyfriend forcing you onto all-fours and taking you from behind, pulling at your hair to force you to stare straight ahead at the very same mirror that used to display you playing dress-up as a little girl, now displaying the way you’re sweaty and defiled.

“now, that’s just not true, pumpkin,” his voice tuts down the phone, and the disapproving tone is enough to have you slipping a second finger into your cunt. “and no one likes a liar.”

if you weren’t knuckles deep in yourself, fingers scissoring you open as you give the occasional brush of the buzzing toy over your clit, maybe you’d know what he was talking about.

instead, all you can muster is a breathless what.

“c’mon, pretty, i’ve seen that video of you taking it like a champ. stretched that slutty pussy out on all ten of those bright pink inches.”

oh.

truth be told, you wondered if he’d even seen that video you’d sent him, all shy and bashful, wanting to show off the new toy you’d gotten yourself. he’d merely reacted with a heart- and then never once brought it up, ever again.

“are you going to keep me waiting?”

you should say yes.

tell him it’s his punishment, for ignoring your texts, and partying too late, and not being beside you on the bed.

but you’re a sucker for him, caving in at his rougher than usual tone.

scurrying off your mattress, you press the phone closer to your ear and listen to the rustling of fabric on his end.

a zipper is undone.

it’s followed by a sigh of relief, one that has you picturing him freeing his cock from the confines of his too-tight jeans.

“chop, chop, pretty! i’m losing my patie-”

“i found it!” you exclaim, louder than you should.

but who cares, when you’ve got your hand wrapped around the bright pink dildo, pride flushing over your face.

“so you can fetch,” he mutters it. it’s hard to hear him, really, but you don’t want to complain. don’t want to risk him hanging up and leaving you high and dry- well, high and wet. “good to know you’re good for something.”

it’s addictive, his passiveness, coaxing you to squeeze your thighs together.

your panties are sticky with your own residue, your nipples are hard within their circumferential coffins, your fingers are soaked as they grip the pulsing toy.

you’ve still not turned it off.

“now, sit yourself down in front of that mirror and show daddy how you ride it.”

you’re across the room in a matter of seconds, slipping down so easily onto your knees, right in front of the floor-length mirror. pressing the dildo down on the ground, you listen as the suction cup sticks it in place, standing bright, and pink, and tall.

“i’m-” the call drops before you can finish your sentence.

you’re left in silence, once more, humming down the line.

it doesn’t last, phone screen lighting up once more.

only, this time, it’s a face-time call.

you waste no time on patience, blindly hitting accept and admiring the way you come in to view, back camera on and pointed directly at the your reflection.

you’re on display, down on your knees and awaiting his next command.

tearing your ego away from the small square you occupy on the screen you audibly whine at the view from his camera.

lowlights, casting shadows around him.

his head is out of frame, camera angled down onto his body.

his clothing is all black- his jeans, his t-shirt, the ring that sits round his index finger-, the only splash of colour coming from his tanned hand, curled around the base of his cock.

tugged out of his jeans, it’s red at the tip and leaking precum.

this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him this way, obviously, yet something is different.

something you like.

something that has your mouth watering and your tastebuds begging to taste the tangy, salty drip of his seed smeared all over them.

“well? get on with it, pretty girl,” tonight, he’s arrogant. demanding. “don’t quit while you’re ahead.”

staring forward, you make eye contact with yourself as you gather up the saliva in your mouth and let it drip down on to the plastic tip sitting in front of you. your free hand’s quick to wrap itself around the toy, soaking itself in your spit and working it’s way down the toy’s shaft, slickening the silicone.

on the screen, his own hand imitates yours, giving himself a slow stroke. it’s accompanied with a pleased hum.

“fucking look at you, a goddamn natural at touching cock,” his praise warms your heart and speeds up your hand, another glob of spit falling down onto the dildo, getting it prepped to nestle it between your thighs. “it’s what slut’s like you live for, ain’t it? taking it from anyone who’ll give it.”

god, you want to say no. you really do.

but you’re hardly in a position to argue your case, soaked panties and heaving chest, willing to do just about anything he asks of you.

“don’t be shy, c’mon, let me see how good that little pussy of yours is.”

inching yourself closer, knees dragging on the floor below, you grind against the pink toy, eyes rolling back as it brushes between your panty-clad folds, nudging at your clit.

“move them to the side,” miles away, and resigned to merely your cellphone, he puppets you, invisible strings tethered between his voice and your hands, willing and ready to move anyway he commands them too. “wanna watch you take it.”

you do as he says. hook your fingers into the red lace, slide it to one side and ignore the way it digs and scratches into your skin, bunched up tight against it.

first, you make sure you're in view, hand as steady as it can be and pointed straight ahead at the mirror.

then, you let yourself sink down.

take just the tip, feel it prod at your entrance and stretch you open, a greedy cunny willing to fit anything and everything to get the sweet release of friction.

you suck a breath in through your teeth, let it out through your nose.

in earnest, you’d forgotten the sheer girth of the toy and, eyeing your reflection and witnessing the offensively pink silicone cock beneath you fills you with a trickle of regret.

the plan this evening was just to use your vibrator and trusty fingers, not stretch yourself open beyond sense.

then again, the plan this evening had been for him to call you nearly three quarters of an hour earlier, blushy cheeked and wide-eyed, smiling down at you through his camera.

“pft, that’s pathetic,” he scoffs from within your phone screen, hand no longer working over his length. it rests, instead, beneath his balls, toying with the skin and rolling the heft of them over his veined hands. “you’re pathetic. ‘s that all you’re gonna take, huh?”

you take it like a challenge, just like he knew you would.

smoothing your free hand over your thigh, you feel the rigid muscles beneath and will them to relax, let go, give in to need to be full. moments later, you watch in the mirror as you sink further down on the toy.

it’s hard to recognise yourself this way and it sparks questions of if this is how he sees you, all dressed up and messed up, lips swollen at the hands of your own teeth, lashes damp with your own tears.

you really are the prettiest girl.

“tick-tock, time’s moving. keep going.”

as you sink down on the rest of the toy, heart in your throat as all your nerves spark ablaze, your eyes are on him, watching in grainy picture as he delicately runs his finger up the underside of his cock. he traces a vein and it has him jolting, a whimpered laugh quietly playing through your speakers.

“that’s it, knew you could do it for me,” it really is all for him, his praise merely a consequence of your compliance. “good to know you’re not a complete brain-dead idiot.”

the heat of your childhood bedroom is stiffling, choking you on it’s syrupy air, the heady stench of lust dancing up to your nostrils.

you wonder if his surroundings are the same: clammy, sex-smelling, erotic.

"tell me how it feels," he demands.

"full," is all you manage, head slumping forward and granting you the view from above of your puffy lips, squeezing around the toy’s base.

“for a slut like you? that’s nothing.”

he’s tempting you, cock on full display on your phone-screen.

it has you salivating, walls clenching around the pink silicone.

you’ve never wanted him so bad, needed him so bad.

in your hand, in your mouth, in you.

cock-hungry and touchstarved, you whine his name and beg for something you’ve yet to even understand.

all that you know is you need him, all of him, and you need him to feel the same.

“what’re you waiting for, an invitation?” oh, he growls, voice scratching on his ire and desperation. it’s spine-tingling. “start fucking the toy, princess.”

the first thrust is the deepest.

lifting yourself right off the toy, feeling the over-exaggerated tip of it resting between your folds, you sink back down with a single slam of your hips, hand jutting forward to grab at the mirror.

fingerprints on the glass, you try not to think about how you’ll have to clean it later.

“‘s that all you got?” he’s mean tonight, you think, his praise far more scarce than you’re used to. usually, you take an inch and he’s ready to throw you a parade. you like this side, though, like the fight for approval. “i’ve seen nuns take it faster than that.”

it’s hypochondria.

it’s a simile.

it’s symbolism.

it’s a lie.

but you let it get to you, let it fester down into your loins and build itself a nest within, infecting your bloodstream with it’s elusive possibilities.

you come down on the toy again, and follow it up with another quick lift of your hips, your own slick leaving it’s shiny residue on the dildo as you watch it slide out of you.

when you glance at the screen, you can see he’s started stroking his cock, shameless and unfiltered moans and whimpers coming from somewhere off screen.

usually, he’s a groaner, a grunter, snuffing out his little noises with presses of his lips to your skin, and teeth piercing into flesh.

this is another welcomed change.

matching the rhythm of his wrist, you begin to ride the plastic cock in earnest, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies of him beneath you, hands pawing at your waist and fingernails indenting your delicate skin.

his filth riddled rambles continue on, lyrics to the symphony of music created as you play yourselves like instruments, plucking the right string and stroking the right chord to make your music play.

“that’s it, pretty, fill that greedy pussy up.”

his hand speeds up.

your wrists chase to catch up.

“dirty slut, answering calls while she’s touching herself.”

up, and down.

and up, and down.

you’re fighting the muscle cramp in your thigh, and willing yourself to get rid of that hyper-aware conscious of yours, surrender yourself to ebb and flow of electric currents taking hold of your senses.

“just desperate for anyone to see you like this, aren’t you?”

you’re not even aware of your own head nodding, or the chants of yes, yes, yes that you’re giving.

you’re just living for the drag of the toy, in and out, filling you to the brim.

the reflection paints a portrait, an artwork for any eyes who dare witness. messy hair, running mascara, smeared lipstick. panties pushed aside, cunt on display, tits bouncing in lace confines each time your hips fall back down.

you watch as this sex-goddess version of you reaches out her hand, grasping fingers at the rabbit and bringing a burst of purple to the space between your thighs.

there’s no care to fix the setting, just a squeeze of a button and away you go, vibrator pressed to your clit as you fuck yourself on the toy again, and again, and again.

he hums in approval, calls you his smart slut, and you keen at his words, eyes glazing over with tears.

it’s all becoming too much.

too overwhelming.

you’re ready to crash and burn, open the floodgates to hell and throw yourself into the lakes of pleasure.

“hmm, pretty girl, y’know red really is your colour,” he’s embarrassingly more composed than you are. not a shake in his breath, not a stutter to his words. just the occasional moan, and the visible tightening of his fingers around his cock. “i’d love to see you dripping in it.”

everything comes crashing inwards. the length of the toy, ramming into you each time your hips crash down on it; the buzz of the vibrator, rippling your skin and stealing your sense; the erotic display of him, legs spread wide as he fucks up into his hand, tiny flecks of precum staining his skin. it’s all too much stimuli, sending you full throttle of the edge of reality.

you cum with a gasp, a cry, a shiver down your spine and a bust of warmth between your legs. like raging waters, the feeling flows, and crashes, and stains everything in it’s soaking madness.

it’s on your thighs, on the floor, even on the mirror, visual evidence of a climax you never knew was possible for yourself.

“fuck, fuck!” he’s still going, more desperate than ever, the repeated schlick-schlick of his hand taking over the beating of your heart. “d’you just squirt, huh? filthy, filthy pussy, got herself and all her belongings wet. go on, don’t be shy, lick your mirror clean-”

your phone buzzes.

it’s a fight through the orgasmic haze to read the screen.

yunho <3 - sorry babe, the guys keep buying rounds

yunho <3 - promise i’ll phone you as soon as i can

it takes reading it twice more to really read it.

process it.

understand it.

your heart drops to your stomach.

your lungs swell till they threaten to burst out your ribs.

your legs scramble off the toy, head shaking frantically.

no, no, no.

“what’s wrong, pumpkin?” god, you feel sick.

that’s not your boyfriend’s voice.

you watch the phone, paralysed in your own fear.

there he appears, in all his masked glory, haunting you straight out of your nightmares.

that very same mask, months ago, stood in your room watching over you, a blood soaked knife in his hand and your dead roommate at his feet.

“c’mon, silly girl, don’t tell me you didn’t know,” his words fill your throat with bile. because he’s right, how did you not know? “no, mister ghostface, i just thought my boyfriend’s cock got fatter! pathetic.”

oh god, oh god. yunho, you picture him now, sat among his seven friends, joking over alcohol infused delusions and awaiting his return to his hotel room, to call you and give you the night he’d promised you.

meanwhile, you’re naked, and afraid, and still reeling from the orgasm you’d let this crazed murderer prey witness to.

to make matters worse, you hate the way you’re not as scared as you should be.

or, really, that you’re as turned on as you are put off by the idea of this cruel torturer.

visions of riding that hollow-cheeked mask are fleeting, but vivid enough to have your eyes welling in shameful tears and your legs jumping in remorseful delight.

“you still want it, don’t you?” you should be looking away, hanging up, calling the police. not staring, wide-eyed and unblinking, as the man- the monster on your screen slaps the head of his hard cock against a toned stomach. and you definitely shouldn’t imagine him slapping the head of his cock against your asshole, teasing you with the fear of being defiled only to plunge deep into your cunt in one foul swoop. “yeah, you do. can see you rubbing your thighs together just at the sight of it. bet you’d like to know how’d it feel to be fucked nice and full of me while my knife’s pressed to your throat. just edging you between your orgasm and your deat-”

you hang up.

sit back.

count to ten.

ten.

nine.

eight.

seven.

your ringtone blares again.

unknown caller.

you hit ignore.

restart counting.

make it to four this time.

it calls again.

ignore.

you phone buzzes.

the notification reads unknown - 1 message.

messenger opens.

a picture.

of your house, taken from across the street. it’s dark, only the light of your bedroom and, within it, the blurred image of you. earlier, fresh out the shower wrapped in a fluffy white towel.

you phone buzzes, once more, and a text appears just beneath the image.

unknown- close ur courtains, u never know who’s watching.

you take a deep breath, stare out your window.

type out a reply.

curtains*

and block the number.

#ateez smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez x reader #jung wooyoung x reader

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