#mans got a taste of his own medicine

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Katherine’s horny thought has been sent to you: 💌

Bucky Barnes is a feral man when it comes to his girl and seeing her being friendly with Steve…he cannot contain himself anymore. You gotta share something angsty and smutty babe. For all of us. 🤍

Here’s a promt:

“Are you trying to make me jealous doll? Cause it’s fucking working.”

You’re Mine » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky makes sure his best girl knows that she’s his and only his when he sees her getting a little to friendly with Steve.

Warnings: Angst, Smut (18+), language, mentions of alcohol, jealousy, kissing, hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, daddy kink, metal arm kink, praise kink, praise kink, choking, degrading, name calling (slut), use of pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @katherineswritingsblog 🩷

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Bucky watched from across the room as your hand rubbed Steve’s bicep, giving it a squeeze. His right hand was clutching the glass so tight that it could shatter any second. Bucky’s jaw clenched when you kissed Steve on his cheek. That was the last straw for him. Bucky downed the rest of his whiskey and slammed the glass on the table, not caring if he broke it or not.

“Hey doll, we better call it a night. We have that thing to do tomorrow.” Bucky says, grabbing your upper arm.

“What thing?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“You know what I’m talking about.” He says, tightening his grip on your arm, making you wince slightly.

“Oh yea!” You went along with it. “Goodnight, Stevie.” You say, kissing Steve’s cheek again.

Bucky practically drug you out of the room to the elevator and to yours and his shared bedroom. He closed and locked the door the second you two got in the bedroom. He then pinned you against the wall.

“Are you trying to make me jealous, doll? Cause it’s fucking working.” He practically growls.

“Now you know how I feel, James.” You say with sass in your tone.

Bucky chuckles and shook his head.

“So this is what that little stunt was about, huh?” He starts. “You decided to flirt with Steve cause I was talking to that girl at the coffee shop yesterday.” He says.

“More like flirting.” You say with an attitude.

Bucky grasped your jaw, making you look straight at him. His blue eyes were filled with jealousy, anger, and lust.

“How many god damn times do I have to tell you? I told her that I have a girlfriend and wanted nothing to do with her.” He says, almost gritting his teeth.

“That’s not what I saw!” You say.

“What did you think you seen, babydoll?” He asks.

“You were flirting with her! That’s what I seen and heard!” You say.

“And you think that it makes it right to flirt with my best friend?” He says.

“I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine.” You say.

Bucky scoffs and shakes his head.

“Let me tell you something, babydoll…” His face got closer to yours, his lips inches from yours. “You’re fucking mine. Not Steve’s. Mine.” Bucky growls.

The next thing you know, you hear the sound of fabric tearing. Bucky just ripped off your dress. You didn’t even have time to react to it cause he yanked your panties down your legs and picked you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. Bucky almost immediately latched his lips on your neck, his teeth biting down hard enough to mark you up. A moan left your lips when his metal fingers rubbed your clit. His fingers found their way to your wet entrance, circling it teasingly before unexpectedly sliding two metal fingers inside of you. His fingers fucked you fast while his metal thumb rubbed your clit. You threw your head back against the wall, moans of his name leaving your lips.

“Oh daddy!” You moaned.

His fingers found your sweet spot almost immediately. Your pussy clenched around his fingers every time his fingers hit it.

“You’re such a fucking slut for me.” Bucky almost whispers. “I bet I can get you to cum in seconds just with my metal fingers.” He says.

You couldn’t form any coherent words. Moans and whimpers left your lips the more he degraded you. Honestly, you fucking love it when he degrades you. Bucky knows it turns you on. That’s why he does it.

His fingers were hitting all of the right spots, massaging your wet and warm walls and hitting your sweet spot causing your cunt to squeeze around his fingers. Your orgasm was building up quickly.

“I bet you’re so close, aren’t you, doll?” Bucky taunts. “You want to cum, don’t you?” He says.

“Yes please, daddy!” You whimpered.

“That’s too bad.” He abruptly took his fingers out of your pussy and leaving you frustrated. “You’re not gonna cum for a while.” He says, making you whine in frustration.

Bucky walked you over to the bed, dropping you on it. You propped yourself up on your elbows and watched as Bucky stripped himself out of his clothes. You looked down at his hard cock and licked your lips.

“My eyes are up here, doll face.” Bucky says, snapping his fingers.

“Shut up and fuck me.” You sassed.

Bucky spread your legs and got in between them. A loud moan left your lips when Bucky thrusted his cock inside of you in one thrust. You decided to test him more.

“Is that all you got? I’m sure Steve can give me more.” You say tauntingly.

A growl left Bucky’s lips. His metal hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing a little bit. He put his hand on the headboard above your head and began pounding into you. Your nails left red scratch marks on his back. Loud moans left your lips.

“Say that again. I fucking dare you.” Bucky growls. “Steve doesn’t know your body like I do. He wouldn’t know how to touch you like I do.” He says.

Pleasure took over your body. Bucky’s cock was hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. His fingers on his right hand found their way to your clit and began rubbing to the point where you were sensitive. Your pussy squeezed around his cock.

“Daddy, please!” You whined. “Please let me cum!” You begged. “I’ll be a good girl!” You whined again.

“I don’t think so, babydoll. You’re not gonna cum until I do.” He says.

“But daddy!” You whined.

“Quit your fucking whining.” He says, applying light pressure on your throat.

You tried your best to not cum, but it was so hard. His cock kept hitting your sweet spot, making you want to cum. Bucky pulled you into a rough kiss, his tongue slid past your parted lips and explored every inch of your mouth.

“You want to cum so badly?” Bucky asks. “Prove to me that you deserve to cum.” He says.

“I won’t ever flirt with Steve again. I promise to be a good girl and listen to what daddy says.” You say, followed by a whimper.

“You better be a good girl and do what I say.” He starts. “Cum for daddy, doll.” He whispers.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a loud moan of his name left your lips as you came hard, soaking the sheets beneath you. Bucky’s thrusts became sloppy and he came inside of you. He thrusted a few more times before pulling out and laid down next to you. Both of you were sweaty and panting.

“Flirt with Steve again and I won’t hesitate to tie you to the bed and edge you.” Bucky says.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

#sergeant james buchanan barnes #sergeant james barnes #sergeant barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes #winter soldier #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #avengers #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine

[avatar-anna]

Moments caught between Harry and Y/n on camera at the Brits

just something fun because harry at the brits was a mess but we love him for it!

Young Dad! Harry Styles x Young Mom! Reader Masterlist

The red carpet is loud and raucous, bright lights flashing as people shout for the attention of celebrities. One couple in particular is the center of attention the second they step on the carpet.

Harry Styles and a woman walk arm-in-arm, a broad grin on his face and a shy smile on hers. Harry seems to be whispering something in the woman's ear, his nose pressed against the crown of her head. It makes her visibly relax, her grin widening and becoming more authentic as they take a couple more steps.

The woman is the recently revealed Y/n Styles, Harry Styles' long-time partner that he'd somehow kept from the rest of the world for over a decade. But she was here tonight, just as she had been at the Grammys a couple weeks ago, and the cameras now track their every move, intrigued by this new-ish couple.

"Harry! Harry! Harry, over here!"

"Y/n!"

"Harry, did you really marry Y/n when you were in One Direction?"

"Y/n, how does it feel to be with the most famous man in music?"

Y/n, who's hard to miss in a red dress that fits like a glove, shrinks almost imperceptibly against Harry's side. Harry looks down at her, and the husband and wife share a look as if they're having an unspoken conversation.

Then he mutters something to her, and Y/n laughs as Harry kisses her cheek, but not before nudging his nose against it. The shouts double, so used to Harry's stoic approach to being out in the public eye, but both of them move steadily down the carpet, not paying the paparazzi and reporters any mind.

*.*

During their walk down the red carpet, Harry and Y/n come across a barricaded section for fans of the artists in attendance. They all cheer as each celebrity walks by, shouting compliments and proclamations of love for their favorite.

Y/n once again hesitates on Harry's arm, wary eyes darting toward the boisterous fans. At the same time, Harry is called to by a reporter asking for an interview. Checking in with his wife, he departs with a kiss to her forehead, murmuring words the cameras can't quite pick up.

Y/n stands on her own, one arm crossed over her stomach as she tries to stay standing tall. Fans call out to her from the barricade in a way that's difficult to ignore. She waves at them with a small smile, but it's clear they want her to come closer.

With one glance at her husband, who's still speaking with the reporter, and another to a security guard close by, she nods to the latter and they step closer to the barricade, just close enough in proximity that she can actually make out distinct voices and words.

"Y/n we love you!"

"Where did you meet Harry?"

"How long have you been together?"

"Ugh, you are so mother in that dress!"

"What's your skincare routine?"

"What's Harry's?"

The tense set of her shoulders eases a bit, no longer apprehensive of the fans and their potential to be cruel.

"I feel like I met him a lifetime ago," she says. "And I just cleanse, moisturize, and use SPF."

"How come we've never seen you at shows?"

"What's your favorite Harry song?"

"Are you friends with One Direction?"

"Where were you last year when Harry got wasted?"

Y/n chuckles at the last question, her eyes lighting up as her hand covers her mouth. "I've always had a soft spot for 'Ever Since New York.'"

"Taste!" a fan yells, decibels louder above the rest, which garners laughter from everyone.

"Can you make Harry release 'Medicine?'" another asks.

Before Y/n answers, Harry appears by her side, an arm snaking around her waist. "There you are. Got sidetracked by your own interview, did you?"

"They were just asking if I'd help them in their quest for a studio version of 'Medicine.' I'm not sure if I can, though. They don't know how stubborn you are."

A chorus of boos went up at Y/n's answer, but not at her. Harry raised his eyebrows at his wife as if in challenge, but her responding gaze is quite mischievous.

Taking everyone, including Y/n, by surprise, he leans in to kiss her cheek, saying, "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, darling?"

A chorus of aww's ring through the small crowd of fans as Harry places his hand on Y/n's lower back, ushering her away from the barricade. Y/n raises an eyebrow at her husband, who is conveniently not meeting her eye. "Nice save."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You never call me darling."

Harry lets out a snort. "Lies. Lies on the red carpet tonight."

Y/n rolls her eyes but leans in close to her husband, carefully avoiding the fabric flower around his neck. "Mhmm. Let's go, darling."

*.*

An artist is being interviewed inside the O2, and Harry and Y/n are videotaped in the background.

In the very corner, the couple are leaning in close and talking, a drink in each one of their hands. Harry talks animatedly, gesturing with his drink to the point where it nearly spills on Y/n's dress. Y/n doesn't seem to mind and just throws back her head as she laughs. His eyes light up as he watches her, a word that could only be described as love encompassing his face.

*.*

During one of the performances, a camera pans to Harry's table. The house lights are dim, but he's still visible amongst the flashes of color from the stage. Harry sits in his chair, body slumped a little low so he can rest his head on Y/n's shoulder.

Both of their attention is on the performer onstage, not noticing as a few cameras are pointed in their direction as Y/n scratches the back of Harry's neck absentmindedly. He leans into her touch, looking up occasionally to say something to his wife.

*.*

"And the winner is...Harry Styles!"

Cheers erupted throughout the room, the table Harry is at standing up. Harry himself stays seated and curls in on himself, pumping his arms victoriously as he beams. His eyes are a little glassy, his hair unkempt, a sign that the night has progressed with lots of alcohol consumption.

He turns to his sister Gemma first as he stands up, high-fiving her before giving her a hug and fist-bumping someone else. Then he turns to Y/n, who hasn't stopped clapping since his name had been read for the third time from the envelope.

She opens her arms as if to accept a hug, but Harry has other plans. He leans forward and kisses her in a way that's merely pressing his smile against hers until they mold their mouths into a kiss. Then he kisses her cheek repeatedly, making her shoulders bunch as she smiles brightly.

When Harry finally pulls away, Y/n's cheeks are flushed as she tries to wipe at her husband's face with her thumb. With one last kiss, he heads up to the stage to accept his award.

*.*

Another performance, only this time, everyone is on their feet, including Harry and Y/n.

Harry's arms are wrapped around Y/n's shoulders from behind, his chin on her shoulder. Both of them sway from side to side to the rhythm of the song as Harry mouthed the words in Y/n's ear.

Her grin is wide as her eyes stay trained on the performance. Then, she looks back at Harry, who met her gaze as she says something.

Nodding, he kisses her once on the cheek before nodding back to the stage.

*.*

As Kid speaks into the microphone onstage saying his thank yous, Harry is having the time of his life behind his friend as he speaks to Stanley Tucci.

By now it's a little obvious he's had more than a couple drinks. His hair is nothing short of a mess, his dress shirt is a little more unbuttoned than it had been to begin with, and he throws his head back and laughs in a way that is fueled by drunken delight.

Briefly, the camera turns to Harry's wife, who stands beside Gemma. Y/n's hands hold her face as she watches her husband be ushered offstage by the people around him. She giggles a little before leaning over to Gemma and shaking her head. Gemma laughs along with her, covering her mouth as she says something to the woman beside her.

The camera flashes back to Harry, who turns around one last time so he can blow a kiss to the crowd, more specifically, Y/n, who the camera catches covering her face in her hands, cheeks as red as her dress.

*.*

Paparazzi shout at their latest persons of interest as they make the brief walk from the car to the entrance of a club where the after party for the Brits is being held.

Harry's arms are tightly wrapped around Y/n's waist, face set as he ignores the crowd of people shouting for his attention. Y/n, turned slightly inward towards Harry's chest, keeps pace beside him. Most of her body is covered by what can only be her husband's suit jacket, but with the open front, a hint of a sparkly pink dress can be seen, a drastic change from her award show attire.

The only time they separate is when Harry allows Y/n entrance into the club first before following close behind, his hand once again protectively hovering over the small of her back.

*.*

Photos are strictly forbidden inside of the club, so it isn't until the couple emerges from the doors once again that they're spotted.

Neither of them stumble, though paparazzi wouldn't have cared if they were. All eyes are on Harry's disheveled hair, the heels dangling from his fingers, the suit jacket draped over the arm not around his wife. They're on Y/n, whose dress is completely on display, the beading that covers its entirety flashing with every snap of the camera's shutter.

Then the collar of Harry's silk dress shirt shifted, revealing a harsh purple bruise that hadn't been there before. Neither Harry nor Y/n seem to notice, or understand why the cacophony of shouts became louder, they just continue on, Y/n's hand on the nape of her husband's neck idly scratching until he helps her into the car.

Following suit, Harry climbs inside. For a brief moment, Harry sticks his head out the open window of the car and winks and sticks his tongue out at all the photographers. Y/n appears from her side of the car, leaning across her husband to bring the window up. Not an ounce of care in the world, he leans forward to kiss his wife's exposed jaw. With an exasperated expression on her face and a delicate wave of her fingers, the window goes up, and though the windows are tinted, a hand is visible against the glass as the car peeled away from the curb.

#harry styles #young dad! harry #young mom! reader #young dadrry #young parent!harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

TW: Irrational jealousy

"Here. You left this at my apartment"

Stealing your gaze from the book, you look at your boyfriend who's holding a wine red lacy bra in his hands, stretching it toward you. Unlike his usual attitude, GOJO doesn't look much lively at the moment. In fact, he looks somewhat... meticulous, like he's operating a very dangerous experience and is about to witness the outcome of his efforts.

Having your eyebrows knotted together, you wordlessly take the bra in your hands, the base of your fingers gently but painfully rubbing against the soft fabric. Gojo tries his best not to let his smirk break out when you give him a quizzical look and squeeze the lingerie in your hands.

"This isn't mine"

There it is. Victory. The awaitened result of his brilliant plan to give you a taste of your medicine.

Gojo cups his mouth while expanding his fingers to give you a better look of his fake gasp through the gap between them, humming abruptly. He carefully takes a second look at the bra, then begins to mutter in a not so low voice.

"Ah— well, this is awkward" He looks at your bewildered expression from the corner of his eye and continues. "I didn't want you to find out. Not this way"

The logic behind this clever act was easy to understand. You chose to spend your day offs with your stupid, lame old friend from college instead of your incredible, handsome, mind blowingly gorgeous boyfriend, and this is your punishment. Your reasoning was too dumb and made up. Huh, how could you even look him in the eye and say you're doing this because he's just gotten back from Austria and needs you to show him around town and introduce him to your colleagues? You should've just shoved a dagger in his aching heart and told him that you dont love him anymore. So yes, you deserve this; and as they all say, revenge is a dish best served cold.

"But you see, I'm not the only one to blame in this. You are too. You were the one who left me in the dark hanging to go on a romantic getaway with that good for nothing punk"

"Satoru—"

"Let me finish. I know that it was just for three days and you did nothing but work together, but I'm a man y/n! A proud, strong grown man who has his own needs"

"Satoru—"

"I'm not an animal y/n, but how do you expect me to close my eyes and pretend like nothing's wrong? Because it is, and since I'm also an honest man, I couldn't bare with the feeling of getting abandoned by my own woman. You and I were supposed to rule the world, but you never wanted what we were—"

"Satoru!!"

Gojo grits his teeth and looks at you with slight irritation, wondering what's so important that has to interrupt his dramatic show; but his liveliness and acting power vanishes in a glance when his eyes land on the part of the bra you're pointing at while holding it up.

"There's a price tag on this"

Oh.

The small, round label is linked to the inside of the bra, which is probably why Gojo had forgotten to remove it. Yes, it was totally that; not because he was too focused on his dialogues that he forgot to even check the bra out.

Gojo stares at your jumped up eyebrows and annoyed expression, flashing you one of his most charming smiles; Only this time he can't make it as shameless as it usually is.

"Eh, I guess this shows how much I actually love you and care about you"

"You bought this two sizes bigger than mine you asshole"

"My bad, I kinda got carried away"

#jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo scenarios #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #saturo gojo x reader #ashthemadwriter

[notsunnyowo]

Iᖴ YOᑌ ᑕᗩᑎ'T ᗷEᗩT TᕼEᗰ - ᒍOIᑎ 'Eᗰ

Part 2

Summary: Gojo Satoru is known for being a flirt, but what happens when he gets a taste of his own medicine?

Content: Fluff, Flirt! Gojo, Female! Reader (AFAB), Gojo getting flustered, Teen! Gojo x Teen! Reader (Reader is the same age as Gojo)

Word Count: 778

It was well known that the infamous head of the Gojo-clan was a huge flirt. And understandably so. He was a striking young man with good looks that could rival the ones of even the Greek gods. Not to mention the personality to match.

He was a cocky little bastard. Always using his good-looks to his advantage. Didn't feel like paying the regular price for a double scooping of ice cream? - He'd just charm the vendor into giving him a "customer discount". Wanted to get into the VIP lounge of some club? - No problem. One wink, paired with a flirty comment towards the security was all it took for him to waltz right in like he owned the place.

Everyone knew he liked having things his way. After all, no one had ever opposed the strongest. And gotten away with it at least-

You supposed that's what ultimately resulted in his unique personality. . .

His boyish charm worked on almost anyone.

Except you.

There were only a handful of people that could resist Satoru's charming attitude and you were one of them. And for some reason it only made you a target more than everyone else.

But could you really blame Satoru for wanting to make the cute new girl wrapped around his fingers?

He just found you so interesting (not to mention adorable) whenever you rolled your eyes at his flirty pick-up line, brushing him off as if he wasn't the Satoru Gojo.

You were absolutely perfect.

One could only imagine the look on his face when you actually responded to his flirty comments.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" Satoru spoke in his usual charming tone as he leaned over your desk. "Don't you have someone else to bother Gojo?" Raising your head from the book you were reading, Satoru was met with your unamused expression. Letting out a dramatic sigh, Satoru answered. "No. Suguru's out on a mission and Yaga-sensei called Shoko to his office not too long ago. Said something about practicing for a medical exam, whatever that means." "Which means that you, sweet girl, get to spend the evening with yours truly." He added, flashing you his signature boyish grin. Rolling your eyes at his comment, you said sarcastically. "Gee. How lucky am I?" Grinning like the dork he was, Satoru completely dismissed your unenthusiastic tone and simply carried on with his 'speech'. "Don't get too excited now. I wouldn't want Suguru getting jealous." "But then again- Who wouldn't get jealous over the lovely little lady that gets to spend the evening with me?" He continued on with his 'speech'. Letting out a defeated sigh, you looked up at the white haired sorcerer. What was that old saying again? If you can't beat them - join 'em. "Y'know what.." You spoke up, capturing Satoru's attention. "You're absolutely right." "Oh?" The boy hummed, raising a brow at your response. Had he finally gotten to you? "Definitely." You chirped, shifting in your seat. "Heh, I knew you'd see it eventually." Gojo commented, his cocky grin resurfacing once more. "After all, it was only a matter of time till you fell for m-" His words were suddenly cut off by your hand tugging his shirt and getting him down to your level. Cerulean eyes meeting yours, Satoru could feel his heart picking up its pace at your close proximity. His breath hitched as he saw you lean in, till your noses were almost touching. "What's wrong, pretty boy?" You cooed, your grin matching the one on his face just a few moments ago. "Cat got your tongue?" There were no words to describe how fast Satoru's heart was beating in that very moment. Nor how lightheaded your words, and actions, made him feel. If his blood pressure didn't kill him you would. For once in his entire life. Satoru was left speechless. Chuckling at the flustered state you'd left him, you gently patted his rosy cheek with one hand, before pulling away. "Y'know Gojo.. You're not as bad when you shut up." You said, offering him a cheeky smile. "You should consider letting your face do all the talking next time." "Chao~" Once you were out of the room and Satoru couldn't sense your cursed energy any more, he let out an embarrassed groan as he raised a hand to cover his flushed features. He glanced back at the door you'd walked through a minute earlier as he muttered to himself, hand covering his mouth. "What a woman.~"

After that little fiasco, Satoru was never the same.

He had a new goal in his mind. Get the new girl to do that to him again.

Author Note:

OMG I did not expect my previous post to blow up this much-

THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!! <3

Also, I hope you enjoyed reading this lil' fanfic!

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk fluff #fluff #satoru x reader #fandom ships #female reader #gojo fluff #romance #gojo blushing #shy gojo #embarrased gojo #flustered gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jujustu kaisen #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru headcanons #satoru headcanons #satoru gojo headcanons #gojo oneshot #satoru oneshot #gojo satoru one shot #satoru gojo one shot #satoru gojo oneshot #gojo satoru oneshot #jjk oneshot

[mattslutt]

JUST A BET

c.sturniolo (with matt sturniolo)

includes: strong language, cursing, pet names, angst, smut (not a lot, sorry), oral!female

short summary: finding out that you were just a bet for chris so matt helps you make him jealous. later on matt wanted more because turns out he always liked you.

authors note: the reader in this story is kinda messy and a slut but who wouldn’t be a slut for chris and matt?? have fun reading

As I was walking around the huge gathering at the triplets house filled with people i haven’t seen in my entire life, I was searching for Chris. It’s been almost six months since we were dating. I saw him next to the table with a group of guys and they were laughing a lot, i was interested to hear what they were laughing about, i got through a few people so I would be closer to the table and my heart dropped when i heard Chris and some of his friends mention my name plenty of times.

“So she was just a bet?”.

“Yeah.”

“Man, you’re heartless”, his friend said while laughing.

I didn’t want them to see me so I walked away as fast as I could, i felt sick to my stomach and I felt my eyes being filled with tears. I actually bumped into Matt cuz I wasn’t looking where I was going.

“Sorry Matt”.

“It’s okay - wait. Why are you crying? Is everything okay?”.

“No.”

“Who do I need to punch?”, Matt said jokingly.

“Punching your brother would be good”.

Matt seemed confused, he looked to where Chris was and then back at me again.

“What happened if you don’t mind me asking?.”

“Oh you know, found out I was just a silly bet for your brother Chris.”

I saw that Matt was tempted, he clenched his jaw.

“I don’t wanna be here anyways so I’m gonna go.” I tried walking away.

“Hey, hold up”, he softly grabbed me by the arm bringing me closer to him.

“What if we make him jealous? Give him his own taste of medicine?”.

There was a moment of silence but our eyes spoke for the words so I nodded my head.

“Good, come here”, Matt grabbed my hand and lead me closer to the DJ booth, leaning me against the wall where Chris could see both of us perfectly. Our faces were close. very close. I could feel both of our hearts beating fast and I caught Matts breathing getting heavier.

“Nervous?”, I whispered.

“Yeah”, he replied.

I slowly grabbed his hand and placed it on my chest so he could feel my heart beating.

“Me too”, I whispered.

Matt softly smiled at me in reply, he moved his face closer to mine.

“I always thought why you’re with him.”, he lowly spoke, whispering in my ear as his hands were slowly moving around my body.

“What do you mean?”, I tried playing clueless while I was actually going insane. His touch drove me crazy and I didn’t know how was he having this effect on me.

“Matt… What are you doing?”.

“Something I should have done a long time ago”., and with those words he leaned in to kiss me, hungrily. I melted into the kiss immediately, kissing him back with the need that he needed. I didn’t care if people were watching us, I was too lost in this moment with Matt.

The kiss kept getting deeper every second, our tongues were swirling together in motion, I felt him groan into the kiss as he pulled me closer to him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”, a familiar voice echoed our ears. We pulled away from each other to see Chris standing in front of us.

“I don’t know. You might wanna explain yourself”, Matt replied.

“What the fuck are you doing? Making out with my girl in front of everyone.”.

“Your girl? I recall you calling her a bet in front of your friends and laughing it off”, Matt sounded pissed of, he walked closer to Chris. Both of their faces were filled with anger.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know anything”, Chris yelled.

He looked at my direction and came closer to me, grabbing my arms but I pushed them away.

“Baby, what are you doing? You know it’s not true”.

“Why are you lying to my face.”

“You seriously cannot tell me that you believe him?”, Chris sounded disgusted.

“I don’t need to believe him, because I overheard the entire conversation.”

Chris stood in disbelief, not wanting to loose me he tried to comfort me but I didn’t listen to him.

“Stop with this bullshit. We’re done”.

Chris froze in shock, everyone was laughing, gasping and some even filmed this entire chaos.

“No we’re not”, Chris grabbed my hand aggressively.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what can I do?”, I threw his arm off of mine.

Matt was still there, his eyes were on me the entire time. I walked up to him and grabbed his arm, walking him out of the living room, upstairs.

As we entered his room Matt closed the door behind us and locked it.

“Well that was… interesting ”, I whispered while giggling.

“Yeah. But you handled it well”, Matt teased.

“Thank you, Matt. For everything”.

He stood in silence but he kept staring at me. He gave me that up and down look which I definitely noticed.

“Matt. What’s racing through your mind?”, I whispered lowly. I knew the answer. I just wanted to tease him. Not even a minute later his lips were smashed on mine and this kiss was way more intense than the other one. It was more needy, more sloppy.

He slowly began to take off my shirt and I took off his. His eyes were starting down at my chest which formed a smirk on my lips, i needed this more than ever. He slowly pushed me onto the bed getting on top of me.

“Are you sure about this?”, Matt whispered.

“Mhm”, I whispered lowly.

Matt smirked as he leaned in to kiss my neck as his hands went down to unzip my pants. He slowly inserted his fingers under my panties as he looked up at me.

“You’re soaking wet”, he whispered.

I didn’t say anything, I just watched him go lower, spreading my legs and him burying his head between my legs. He slowly pulled the thong away, teasing me with his tongue on my soaking wet cunt.

“Matt”, I whined desperately.

“Shhh. Patience, sweetheart”.

With those words he gently licked my folds making me throw my head back as my nails digged into his hair, he let out a low groan fastening the peace with his tongue. I swear I could feel my climax build up already but I held it in on purpose.

“Why are you holding?”, Matt looked up at me.

“I wanna feel more”, I breathed out.

“Hmmm…. Like this?”, Matt spoke with the most innocent voice teasingly as he shoved his fingers inside me, making me moan loudly. He was enjoying the view too much. He watched me be an absolute fool for him, my back was arching, moans were getting louder as his fingers quickened the peace.

“You’re so good for me”, Matt teased me.

He continued to finger me roughly which made me start whining and throwing my head back, felt my eyes going all the way back to my skull. He leaned in to kiss me hungrily as his fingers were still inside me, I felt my climax as I couldn’t hold it in anymore longer, soon his fingers were covered in my juices. I breathed and sighed out loudly as he laid next to me, smirking and kissing my neck.

“You did so good sweetheart”.

After a few moments of silence Matt spoke:

“Just so you know, this was definitely not a bet”.

I laughed as I threw a pillow to Matt’s face as both of us started giggling and cuddling for the rest of the night.

____________________________________________

guess who’s alive???? so guys idk how long it’s been but im just so unmotivated to do anything and i lost my writing skills so bare with this please. i miss you all and love you all. thank you.

taglist: @plasticferal @hoesformatt @sturncrazy @sturnsblunt @55sturn @westwiing13 @freshloverr @gamermattsgf @mbbsgf @sturniolosstar

#chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #smutty smut smut #smut #sturniolo smut #mattslutt #matt sturniolo #matt x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #viralpost #fanfic #fanfiction #christopher sturniolo

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [7]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 6 | Fic Masterlist | Part 8

"Has anyone seen the mistress?" Seonghwa inquired, having lost sight of you since breakfast that morning.

He had combed through almost the entire estate, searching for you in the House of Lotus and with Eunsook, but to no avail. He had even gone as far as to check Yunho's temporary quarters, only to find the physician alone and engrossed in his work.

The general felt a twinge of embarrassment as he recalled asking the doctor, "Do you have any clue where my wife is?" only to have the taller man furrow his brows in confusion and reply, "Wha— not to be rude, but how would I know that, my lord?"

Your husband cleared his throat loudly, looking away and feigning nonchalance, "Don't get clever with me; I'm just asking. If you don't know, just say so."

Yunho lowered his head and suppressed a laugh, "You're right. My apologies, my lord. I hope you find Lady Park soon. Her next dose of medicine is almost ready. It would be best if she takes it while it's hot; the taste is slightly more bearable."

"Right, I'll find her soon. Don't worry."

The physician nodded, "I have no doubt that you will, my lord."

With that, Seonghwa hastily exited the room, questioning his decision to come there in the first place. He couldn't fathom why he assumed you would be with the handsome doctor. Even though he hadn't found you yet, there was a sense of relief in knowing that at least you weren't anywhere near Yunho, as he had feared.

And that's how he ended up back at your quarters, interrogating the servants responsible for maintaining your garden. A frown etched on his face as they shook their heads in response, "No, master. Mistress hasn't returned here since leaving for breakfast this morning."

Worry crept in as his mind conjured up wild scenarios. What if you had been taken away? What if you got hurt somewhere, unnoticed by anyone? What if—

His eyes landed on the pavilion in your garden, and it struck him. Remembering your determination to learn lady etiquette, he chastised himself for not thinking to check his own study. He had searched almost every corner of the estate except the very place he frequented the most.

Please, let her be there.

Fingers crossed, he hurried towards the study. If he didn't find you there, he might have to organise a search party.

"There you are."

His words escaped in a breathless whisper as he spotted you standing amidst his numerous shelves, completely engrossed in the book cradled in your hands. Instant relief washed over him, and he struggled to look away. Bathed in sunlight by the window, you appeared almost ethereal in that spot, your side profile captivating.

The marks on your skin had started to fade a little, with the help of Yunho's ointment, proving its effectiveness. For your comfort, the maids were instructed not to apply makeup if you weren't leaving the estate. Besides, no one here would dare consider you anything less than beautiful; you were adored by all. Your scars only strengthened everyone's determination to protect you, not just your husband.

He continued to quietly admire you from his corner, hesitant to disturb you. As you finished one book and reached for the next on a top shelf, he chuckled at your determination, especially when you went on your toes, biting your lip in concentration.

Eventually, he sighed and approached you, reaching effortlessly for the book you were attempting to get. You gasped as you felt his presence and saw his hand beside yours, "Y-you're here, Seonghwa."

Both your breaths hitched, and your eyes widened as you turned around to face him, realising the closeness. Surprised, you stumbled backwards, and his reflexes kicked in, his arm circling your back immediately, pulling you close. Frozen, your hands rested on his chest to steady yourself.

"Yes, I'm here." He murmured, his eyes shifting to see you biting your lips shyly again, the action reigniting his desire to kiss you. You stood still as a plank, heart pounding as he slowly closed the space between you. You held your breath when feeling his nose touch yours. Never having been kissed or wanted in your life, you didn't know how to react or what to do. Was this what married couples normally do?

Maybe now you'll find out.

A chill ran down your spine when you felt his lips brush lightly against yours, "Can I..." He muttered in his deep voice, gazing down at you with hooded eyes.

Before you could form a response, the door to the study slammed open, startling the two of you, and causing you to jump apart as if caught doing something scandalous.

Damn it, so close!

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't mean to interrupt; it's just that—" Jongho was a mess as he stumbled in, panting and sputtering his apology.

You quickly waved to the assistant to signal it was fine before bowing to the general, "No, please, don't worry! I was just leaving anyway. I'll see you at dinner, Seonghwa."

Smiling at you, your husband nodded, "Yes. See you, my dear," The smile disappeared as soon as you left the room, causing Jongho to gulp nervously, "This better be good."

The assistant quickly collected himself, "Oh, it will be good, sir. I can promise you that." He said, rushing to make sure the doors were shut tightly before going back to debrief his master on his latest findings.

Eunsook heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing you, her concern evident as she observed you pressing your palms against your red cheeks, "Mistress, are you feeling alright?" She inquired, checking your forehead for any signs of fever.

You nodded, "I-I'm fine," attempting to calm your rapid heartbeat. The almost-lost moment with your husband lingered continuously in your mind; your first kiss had come perilously close to happening just moments ago.

"Thank goodness, you're alright. We've been looking everywhere for you. Where were you?" She questioned, and you replied, "You were looking for me? I was just reading in Seonghwa's study."

The elderly woman continued, "Yes, your medicine is ready. Physician Jung suggested taking it while it's hot," With an obedient nod, you followed her into your room. As she fed you the herbal soup, she casually asked, "You were in the master's study, you say? Did he find you there? He was searching frantically for you."

Your blush returned as you recalled the sensation of his lips brushing against yours, "Y-yes, he knows I'm safe. Don't worry." You reassured her while the head maid beamed, unaware of the fluttering in your heart as you tried to compose yourself.

Unlike you, the general did not have the luxury to linger on thoughts of your intimate moment. He vowed to himself that once your family received the retribution they deserved, he would dedicate all his attention to you. He turned serious the moment Jongho began speaking, updating him on the latest intel gathered about your family.

"What? Do those fools actually believe I'd swap my wife for one of them? Not even in their wildest dreams will that ever happen." Seonghwa scoffed in disbelief. The mere thought of your stepsisters was enough to repulse him, and he couldn't wait to send them to an early grave.

He pulled out the Jang family records again, asking, "And as for this... are there any updates? We only have a few days left until I return to work."

Jongho nodded proudly, presenting a couple of documents obtained in a not-so-honest manner, "You were right, sir. Your suspicions were accurate. We found just the thing to prove it. With this, we can finalise the plans and finally set them into motion."

"Good job, Jongho. How about that private investigator of yours?" The general inquired, his mind already buzzing with excitement as he plotted your family's demise.

The assistant bowed in gratitude, "He's still maintaining his cover in the Jang estate. He expressed his desire to assist us with the plan. Apparently, he's a huge admirer of yours, sir. That seemed to be his primary motivation for readily accepting my offer."

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes, his mistrust evident, "Is he now? Have you done a background check on him?"

"I have, sir. He's in the clear; I can vouch for him. I'm confident he harbours no ulterior motives other than a genuine admiration for you; he wants nothing more than to be recognised by you."

The general nodded, picking up the newly retrieved documents, "If you say so, I guess it won't hurt to have an extra helping hand. Make sure to pay him handsomely. Now, go get some rest; we'll be getting busy soon." His heart was immediately eased by his aide's assurance. If Jongho trusted this person, there must be a good reason.

"Yes, sir."

In the days that followed, Seonghwa appeared awfully busy, often confined to his study with Jongho for endless meetings. The next morning, you found a collection of your lady etiquette books delivered to your doorstep, with a servant mentioning that the study was required for important discussions between your husband and his assistant.

Assuming he was loaded with work after taking several days off, you didn't dwell on it much. While the general focused on perfecting his plans, you spent your days refining your etiquette with the head maid's help, working on correcting your posture, walking, table manners, and way of speaking.

The two of you only had brief encounters twice a day, during breakfast and dinner. Seonghwa apologised repeatedly, promising to spend more time with you once he completed his current project, and you reassured him that you were fine.

Time passed quickly, and before you knew it, a new week had begun, marking your husband's return to work. After your customary breakfast together, you walked him to the entrance of the estate, where his carriage awaited to transport him to the palace for the morning assembly with His Majesty, the King.

"This is as far as you'll see me off. It's cold out here, so don't spend too much time outdoors, okay? Head back to my study if you want, and take your medicine on time." He reminded sweetly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You smiled appreciatively, assuring him, "I will, Seonghwa. Don't worry about me. Have a good day at work." His heart melted at your words, and the sense of being husband and wife settled in. Having someone waiting for him at home felt unexpectedly warm, and he realised he could get used to it.

That's right, just keep smiling like that.

Rubbing his thumbs over your hands, he pressed a kiss onto your knuckles, saying, "I'll see you later, my dear."

Eunsook and Jongho exchanged knowing grins as they guided their master and mistress in opposite directions—Seonghwa into his carriage and you back to your quarters.

Carrying you in his thoughts, the general commenced his journey to the royal palace. He had always harboured disdain for the Minister of Military Affairs, but it had never been potent enough to instigate his downfall. However, circumstances had taken a drastic turn with your arrival. Your father had gravely miscalculated if he believed this union between you was a wise decision; in reality, it paved the way for his own undoing.

Unfazed by the attention, he arrived at the assembly, becoming the centre of attention for all the ministers and officials. Their curiosity was stirred by the general who had adamantly refused marriage, yet now found himself wedded against his will. Speculation abounded about whether he would cause a scene, as all members had been notified of his special agenda.

Your husband, however, remained unaffected by the scrutiny. He anticipated the spotlight, fully aware that these old fools relished nothing more than witnessing his misery. Despite his recognised achievements, it didn't automatically translate into wholehearted acceptance from these higher-ups. Their displeasure was palpable, harbouring reservations about his young age and the potential threat he posed to their established ranks.

The revelation of his marriage to you only fueled their satisfaction, as they believed that being tied to the Minister of Military Affairs would ensure Seonghwa's perpetual subordination, always a step below his father-in-law in rank.

"Good morning, General Park. You seem to be in quite a good mood." Your husband felt his eye twitch, hearing the voice he wasn't looking forward to.

Speak of the devil.

Facing your father, he smirked, "Good morning, Minister Jang. I can't deny that I am feeling quite good." It satisfied him to see your father's grin falter slightly, knowing the old man probably didn't know what to expect, but it surely wasn't this. The last thing they all expected was for him to appear... pleased.

Before the minister could voice any questions, the King entered the hall. Along with everyone else, the general knelt and bowed deeply, performing the formal greeting. In unison, they chanted, "Your Majesty, may you live a long and prosperous life. We wish for you ten thousand years of life and reign."

"You may all rise," declared His Majesty before expressing joy at the presence of his favourite subject, "Seonghwa, my boy! You're finally back! Oh, I cannot wait to hear all about your week off."

The minister raised a smug brow, eyeing your husband and presuming that his week could not have been too pleasant with you around. While he was almost certain of that, it seemed the general was adept at keeping up the act. Your father eagerly anticipated hearing about this important agenda without delay.

"Tell me, my boy. Is your wife as beautiful as we all speculated? There must have been a good reason for the minister to keep her so well hidden all these years." The King inquired, his excitement evident as he leaned forward in his seat.

Seonghwa chuckled, "Your Majesty, perhaps it wouldn't be too appropriate for us to engage in idle chatter in this meeting. After all, I'm sure all the ministers and officials here have more pressing matters to discuss and probably care little for the details of my marriage." He was merely teasing at this point, knowing full well that everyone was eager to hear about his past week.

"Nonsense! What could possibly be more important than your recent wedding? If anyone here has no interest in what General Park has to share, you are welcome to leave the assembly."

While leaving the assembly might seem like a simple option, it practically equated to a death sentence. Without the King's explicit permission, no one would be allowed to exit on their own. This implied that whoever refused to listen to what your husband had to say might as well be choosing a path leading to their demise.

All the higher-ups immediately bowed their heads low with clenched fists as they voiced in unison, "Of course not! We wouldn't dare, Your Majesty!" They were well aware of Seonghwa's subtle assertion of power over the King. Regardless of their high positions or ranks, he would always be the favourite. While it might go unnoticed by the less perceptive, it was a clear demonstration of authority, a warning not to cross him.

"Very well, I suppose I'll divulge a bit about my wife since you're all so eager to hear about her," The general couldn't conceal his shit-eating grin, pleased to have put these elderly men in their rightful places. The King applauded enthusiastically, "Please do!"

Minister Jang's earlier arrogance evaporated with your husband's unmistakable show of power, and he could only suppress his irritation as he waited to hear what Seonghwa would say about you.

"To answer your question, Your Majesty, she is even more stunning than you all might imagine, perhaps the most beautiful woman in all of Joseon, both inside and out, at least in my eyes. And you were right, my King, she truly is perfect for me. For that, I'd like to express my gratitude for sending her to me."

The entire room stood at a standstill as everyone tried to process his words. It was almost surreal that the formidable General Park, who had always been so adamant about never marrying and was coerced into this union without a choice, openly expressed his admiration for his new wife. Apart from the King, who genuinely relished hearing it, the rest of the assembly remained sceptical, wondering what game Seonghwa was playing.

"And because of that, I regret my earlier decision of not having a proper wedding ceremony. I now know my wife deserves only the best, which brings me to the important matter I'd like to address today, Your Majesty. I was hoping you would grant me permission to fix that. I'd like to plan a grand wedding to make up to her."

Your father narrowed his eyes dangerously; this was the furthest thing from what he had expected. He would rather die than give you a grand wedding. He thought he was finally done with you, believing you could have perished for all he cared. Yet, here your husband was, requesting to host a grand wedding? And for you?

Over my dead body.

His Majesty couldn't contain his joy, letting out a surprised laugh, "Oh my, Seonghwa! I'm so proud of you; I was beginning to grow worried you'd never allow yourself to love again. And of course, you can have a grand wedding! We shall host one as grand as a royal wedding if need be! Heavens, I cannot wait to meet this new Lady Park of yours; she must be something for you to have changed this much!"

Minister Jang cleared his throat, "Your Majesty, if I may cut in."

The King nodded, "Why, of course. It's your daughter we're discussing; do you have any ideas for the ceremony?"

Your father shook his head, "N-no, my King. I was hoping to remind the general that my daughter prefers simplicity and that this would not be necessary—"

With a smirk, Seonghwa cut him off, "Well then, minister, it would seem you do not know your daughter well enough, or at all."

The Minister of Military Affairs stilled at that; obviously, the general knew more than he let on, "Wha— that's not true! My eldest has always been one for frugality and would never ask for much, let alone a grand wedding; she might find that burdensome."

"Has she really not asked for much, or has she not been permitted to have a voice at all?" Your husband pressed, watching expectantly as the minister sputtered lame excuses, caught off guard.

Not oblivious to the fact that Seonghwa was attempting to convey something, the King raised a brow at Minister Jang's defensive demeanour, "What is it that you wish to say, my boy?"

Panicked, your father gulped, afraid of what the general might reveal. Not once did he think the heartless General Park would ever care about what happened to you. He assumed that, just like all the members of his family and estate, your new husband would also cast you aside and not bat an eyelash if you died, as had happened with all his previous marriage candidates.

"Your Majesty, even though Minister Jang is now my father-in-law, I feel compelled to speak out against the injustice I perceive for my wife," The minister did not dare to look up as he felt cold sweat dripping down his back, listening anxiously to what Seonghwa was going to disclose, "No matter how much he thinks she prefers simplicity, it just wasn't right for him to have sent her to me all alone on our wedding day."

With a frown, His Majesty eyed your father judgementally, "All alone? Please elaborate, Seonghwa."

Suppressing his sly grin, your husband continued, "My assistant found her wandering all by herself by the entrance of my estate, without a chaperone, any servants or palanquin bearers. And what's worse, she barely had anything on her, only carrying an empty duffel bag. Tell me, Your Majesty, who would believe her to be a noblewoman from a powerful house? I simply cannot understand why the minister could do this to his precious daughter."

"Is that true, Minister Jang?" The King's emotionless voice rang across the hall, and the minister shivered from the chill running down his spine, "W-well, yes, but—"

Everyone jumped when His Majesty slammed his fist against the handle of his throne, "That is simply unacceptable! It doesn't matter how much you insist your daughter favours simplicity; what you've done is completely ridiculous. Can you even call yourself her father? Oh, the poor girl."

Your father bowed all the way down immediately, pressing his forehead against the floor as he begged for forgiveness, embarrassed to have his wrongdoings exposed at assembly for everyone to listen like this, "Please, Your Majesty! Forgive this old fool for taking my kind daughter for granted! I will do anything to make up to her as you wish, a grand wedding if you will."

As if seeking Seonghwa's approval, the King looked at the general, "Would that suffice?"

Shrugging, your husband pressed his lips into a line, "I suppose I do have one condition, though," His Majesty nodded, "Name it."

The general smiled, "I've troubled you enough with concerns regarding my marital matters, Your Majesty. For this wedding of mine, I'd like to personally make the arrangements with the minister and his family, preferably at his estate."

"At his estate and not here? Why is that, Seonghwa?" The King asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I just want to see where my beloved wife spent all her childhood; I'm curious about the environment that made her so precious."

As the King showered praise on your husband for his apparent sweetness and saw it merely as Seonghwa being hopelessly in love with you, Minister Jang knew better than that he had an ulterior motive, and it couldn't bode well. The general clearly has something up his sleeves, but in the presence of His Majesty, your father found himself with little choice but to comply.

What do you want from me, Park Seonghwa?

« Preview of Part 8 »

"What?! A grand wedding for that useless thing? Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Jinah screeched, her frustration evident as she pulled at her hair.

Jinhee, in disbelief, glared at your old prison cell of a room from a distance. Servants had been ordered to fill it up with things to make it seem like a storeroom in preparation for Seonghwa's visit, "Maybe we've underestimated her. It seems she actually got the general wrapped around her finger."

Minister Jang had nothing to say except to hold his head in his hands. He couldn't forget the King's disapproving looks directed at him all throughout the assembly after what your husband had revealed. Not just His Majesty; but even the other ministers and officials had been staring at him weirdly, not understanding him for what he did to his own daughter.

Jinjoo stomped around like a brat, "Father, you promised us that marrying her to him would bring us satisfaction! What the hell is this?! I refuse to accept this!"

Having had enough of their whining, the minister threw the wine glass beside him onto the floor, "Be quiet, all of you! Do you honestly think the wedding is what matters now? My position could very well be in danger, and you care about that? Fools! Get out of my sight!"

The three were taken aback by the minister's unexpected fit of anger, and their mother quickly gestured for them to leave the living hall at once. Once they were gone, Lady Jang sat down beside her husband, "What is it, dear? What's wrong?"

"Park Seonghwa knows something, I'm sure of it. He said some things today that could make me look suspicious, and if anyone starts digging around, I fear they might find out what we've been trying to hide..."

Woohoo, shit's about to go down! Are y'all excited? HAHAHA🤭

I'm also shook that I'm like 20 followers away from reaching 1k! Thank you all so much; I just want you to know that it's your encouraging messages and replies that have been motivating me to update as quick as I can, really appreciate it!

As always, hope you enjoyed and let me know all your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka

pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader

summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.

warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 6.1k

a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡

i. 

When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan. 

Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor. 

Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you. 

You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.

Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty. 

Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.

So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning. 

But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat. 

Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he��d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.

So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan. 

“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach. 

“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.” 

“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor. 

“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed. 

Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat. 

You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place. 

Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?” 

“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”

Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you. 

“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?” 

Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute. 

You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”

You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.

“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights. 

His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out. 

That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.

But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin. 

“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed. 

“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs. 

You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.” 

Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face. 

It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.

Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“

“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb. 

He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you. 

You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you. 

His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting. 

You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make. 

Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank. 

“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.

“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.

But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.

“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day. 

Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.

Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating. 

“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.

To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words. 

Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.

You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand. 

You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.” 

Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration. 

ii.

After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.

He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity. 

But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”

Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in. 

Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it. 

By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him. 

It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him. 

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form. 

Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.

Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag. 

It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.” 

Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“

You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”

“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands? 

“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”

Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.

“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”

With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”

Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something. 

But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome. 

At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished. 

He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties. 

There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments. 

But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”

At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.

He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy. 

Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one. 

You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff. 

“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss. 

It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill. 

But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him. 

You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”

And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily. 

Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments. 

Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.

But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed. 

He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend. 

The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his. 

It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft. 

One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor. 

Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met. 

It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass. 

With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now. 

But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side. 

After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear. 

He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it. 

He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.  

Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments. 

He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours. 

But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch. 

He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way. 

You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness. 

Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had. 

“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!” 

His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open. 

“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips. 

“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again. 

“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.

“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”

You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.” 

He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)

Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide. 

Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy. 

He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream. 

And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.

One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still. 

Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips. 

You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”

“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway. 

Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”

“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”

Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did. 

iii.

Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you. 

Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.

You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.

You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)

Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape. 

But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night. 

#wowee this has a lot of words and a lot of warnings #this is filthy i apologize #cillian murphy smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x reader smut #red eye #jackson rippner

[giuliettagaltieri]

Swarm of Bees

Pairing: Fiancé!Gojō x Fiancée!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warning: angst, arranged marriage, age gap, hints of dacryphilia, Gojō is a bully at heart.

Word Count: 1596

3 of 9

There are many things that Gojō Satoru hates.

One, the higher ups of the jujutsu society.

Two, when people say “No offense, but…” And proceed to insult him.

Three, people who get in his way.

And four, when he is not getting the attention he deserves.

In the past few years, Gojō has been working as a teacher in the Jujutsu High.  He still leaves for missions, it was only expected as he is the strongest sorcerer.  But he stays in the school quite often compared to when he was a field sorcerer.

And quite frankly, he expected more visits from a certain someone.

But he never got them anymore.

Shoko would often put out her cigarette to drop her face on her palms whenever Gojō talks about this.  And he cannot understand why she does that.

From time to time, he receives gifts from you.  But no more letters.  Nothing that adds a personal touch from you.  Just food.  As if you’re sending them so he won’t forget you existed.

But if he were to be asked, forgetting you was impossible as your time to be wedded comes closer and closer.

And now, you are celebrating your 20th naming day.

You turned into a beautiful young lady.  Truly worthy of him. 

But much to his aggravation, it seems like many took notice of your change too.

Men from different clans were hovering over you. 

Greeting you, complimenting you about the simplest of things.  It made something inside him itch and it bothered him to no end.

They only liked you now because you turned out to be a well-polished woman.  They did not see you with snot on your nose as you wailed after scraping your knee, which he absolutely had no involvement whatsoever or when your face bubbled like a squirrel when you did not get your way.

“You’re pouting.”  Shoko comments as she sips on her glass of champagne.

The celebration was at its peak.  The musical ensemble was playing a lively tune and gossips and giggles were filling the floral air of your estate house.

And you, the center of the event.

Almost every pair of eyes were on you.

Gone was the shy little lady of your house.  You are now a woman who is ready to take her first steps into society.  You were like a fresh fruit, ripe for the taking.  Had it not been for Gojō’s presence, many insolent men would have asked, no, begged for your hand right then.

Your hair glittered with every turn of your head.  Your painted lips curving up to a perfect smile whenever a gentleman compliments you.  Yet the innocent smile is always paired with the haughty spark in your eyes as you decline their offer to dance.

It was the fourth time that you declined an offer in the same hour.

And Gojō Satoru cannot stand to watch such blatant disrespect any longer.

Both Shoko and Nanami follow him with their watching eyes as he makes his way to you.  Their feet are ready to move as soon as the man makes a fool of himself or starts a fit in the middle of your perfect evening.  Or both.

They were at the edge of their seats when Gojō clears his throat to catch your attention.  The two of them watch very closely for any sudden movement from any of you.

But like fluid from the most graceful of waterfalls, you rise from your seat, standing on the tip of your toes to lean on Gojō’s chest.

All breaths halted at your action, including the man you were smiling up to.  His crystalline blue eyes watching you, almost calculating your every move.  But you smile slyly at him as your fingers trace his jaw and your lips find his cheek.

“I am delighted to see you.  But I am terribly sorry Gojō-sama, I would have to decline.”  Your thumb caresses his cold cheek.  “My dance card is full for the evening.”

Like a nymph, you slide away from him to accept the hand of a young man who was waiting for you.  And Gojō can only watch as you are being guided to the center of the floor.  

And you danced so beautifully.

The itch turned into a burn.  And Gojō had to sit the entire evening with such sensation nesting in his chest, almost clawing out into a form of aggression.

Whenever your dance partner spins you or their gloved hands wander closely to your bottom, Gojō has to quell the urge to pummel them to the ground.  He did not quite understand the urge to do so.  But after having the feeling for the rest of the night, he has come to terms with it.  Given up on trying to understand the impulse and just settled with the idea that every man who speaks with you is disrespecting him.

And you.

Oh, he is so cross with you.

How dare you fill in your dance card without reserving even a single dance for him.  Have you forgotten that you are betrothed to him?  Or do you just fancy the little game you are playing?  Acting as if he is not around.

The clock hand tells that the night was no longer young.  But you were still being twirled around in the middle of the dance hall.  It was your final dance for the evening.  And by the slight delay in your steps, he is well aware that you are exhausted from dancing for hours.

By the time the last note travels through the air, Gojō was already on his feet and marching towards you. 

You took no notice of course as you were smiling brightly at your dance partner as he bowed to place a kiss on your gloved hand.

But before his lips could touch you, Gojō Satoru unceremoniously grabs you by your midriff and carries you like a mannequin being set up for display.

Your startled squeal catches the attention of every person in the room and they watch as you wrap your arms around your fiancé’s neck in panic.

As the man carries you and disappears behind the doors to your garden, the chatter resumes but now, soft smiles are gracing the lips of every attendee.

They have been granted the front row seats to watch your game of push and pull with the strongest sorcerer.  Some of them have been watching ever since before you learned to walk.

It brought them great joy to see the man finally taking an action to claim you as his woman.

You, on the other hand, have your heart beating wildly on your chest.

Have you pushed too far?

Has your act of refusing his offer to dance been too much of a blow to his pride?

When Gojō places you down, you also pull your arms back to your sides.  You do not want to meet his eyes.  No, not at all.

“Sit.”

You still instinctively look up at him though.  “Huh?”

He gestures to the bench behind you.  “I said, sit.”

Immediately, you pull at your dress to smoothen the fabric as you sit down.  You did not appreciate how the act made you even smaller compared to his full height.

Your fingers twiddle with each other to release some of the budding nervousness in your chest.

“I-I am terribly sorry if I upset you, Gojō-sama.”  You stammer.

There you are.

A smirk finds itself on Gojō's lips.  You haven’t changed one bit.  You were only brave when there were other people around but you are the same shy little girl that he knew the moment you were alone.

He kneels before you to look you in the eye.  “Upset me? Whatever do you mean, my love?”  His tone was dark and dangerous despite him smiling playfully at you. 

You wanted to cry.

And his smile widens when your eyes turn glassy just as your lips wobble.

He just watched your suffering, willing yourself to hold back the tears.  Just as you thought you'd break, he clicks his tongue and digs through the poof of your gown to take off your sandals.

And as he expected, blisters covered your dainty feet.

“How were you dancing so beautifully with such discomfort.”  He says with his voice grim.

You can only watch him as his hands work on healing your wounds.

At times like this, you feel the safest.  As if nothing in the world could harm you.

And without much thinking, your hands cup his cheek.  And Gojō looks at you with still a tiny frown by his eyebrows.

“Are you upset with me?”  You ask with your voice barely above a whisper.

“That depends.  Are you done with your ruse?”  He cocks an eyebrow and you nod shyly.  “Then we’re good.”

“Will you dance with me now?” 

When you smile at him so softly, how can he say no?

But to your surprise, the man grabs you by your waist, lifts you up until your now healed feet are stepping on his shoes.

You hastily tried to get off but he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Stay.”

It was a simple command but you find yourself surrendering all that you are to him.

Your hands find themselves resting atop his shoulders and with the echoes of the music spilling to the dim garden, Gojō Satoru makes you feel as if you too were honored throughout heaven and earth, simply because he had you in his arms and he was swaying you to the faintest of melodies.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojō x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojō satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru angst #where the blue roses grow #arranged marriage

[buckyalpine]

Bucky vs Bucky

Bucky vs Bucky

Imagine time travel going wrong again and instead of 1 Bucky you have 2; one from the present and also one from the 40′s standing on the platform with him. 

At first, Bucky doesn’t really mind, curious to watch himself interact with others, giving him a glimpse of how he would have been had he not gone through years of torture from Hydra.  Everyone loved to see the happy, boyish soldier laughing and charming his way out of anything, giving Tony a run for his money when it came to making ladies swoon.

Bucky doesn’t mind until his finds himself flirting with you the most. 

Clearly any version of him is obsessed with you. 

At first, its amusing.

But its not anymore. 

“He’s a punk” Bucky huffed, narrowing his eyes at the way you giggled, biting you lip shyly when 40′s Bucky throws you a wink, the both of you mingling around the kitchen while everyone had gathered together for a movie night. 

“He’s you” Steve snorted, shaking his head at the way Bucky glared watching his past self pull all his signature moves, all working like a charm to make you warm and fuzzy. 

“Well she doesn’t have to like it” He pouted while you giggled again, playfully swatting his arm when he whispered something in your ear. 

Bucky nearly goes bonkers when he hears that punk call you doll and sugar, those sweet pet names he had reserved for you. 

“Hey sugar”

“She’s my sugar”

“Hey doll” 

“Only I can call her that”

“Wanna dance, pretty lady?”

“I’ll cut the other arm off, don’t touch her” 

Bucky rubbed his temples, almost hating himself for being such a ladies man, as you talked his ear off that night over how charming and handsome the soldier way. 

“I’m him, you know that doll” Bucky cocked an eyebrow while you kissed his grumpy face, loving how jealous he got over himself. Bucky never interfered in what happened in Tony’s lab but he started to visit regularly to check on the progress of the time machine, ready to send his ass back without a second thought. 

Sam had a field day, loving the sight of Bucky getting a taste of his own medicine of what it felt like when someone got all the pretty girls to themselves.

“Who is terminator mad at?”

“Himself”

“Who you so pissed at, tin man?”

“Me” 

With Bucky’s gentle threats, the time machine was fixed in no time, the bright eyed, cheeky soldier standing on the platform once again. 

“I’ll miss him” You pouted, giving a smile to Bucky from the 40′s as he blew you a kiss before a white light flashed, sending him back to the tight timeline. 

“Him? Really?” Bucky rolled his eyes while you grinned, throwing your arms around your boyfriends shoulders, playfully nipping at his bottom lip jutting out. 

“Yeah, him, you jealous baby?” You teased, yelping when he tossed you over his shoulder, giving you ass a swat. He took you straight to your shared bedroom, dropping you onto the mattress with a cocky smirk on his face, slowly crawling on top of you. As much as you loved the sweet innocent Bucky you had fun with for a few days, this Bucky made your mouth stop working and your heart beat faster, a dangerous little menace. 

“Let me remind you who you really belong to sweets” 

#40's bucky #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes x f reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #jealous bucky #jealous bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fluff #marvel fluff #avengers fluff #jjames buchanan bucky barnes #40's bucky barnes #40s bucky barnes #soldier bucky barnes #soft bucky #bucky barnes fan fic

[oncasette]

song lyric prompts : “it’s hard to steer when you’re breathing in my ear but i got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears.” + jake seresin!! (*kicking my feet and squealing*)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗦 𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗘

jake seresin x fem!reader

summary: 1k

You can feel the rumble of his voice before he asks, “Whatcha up to, Sugar?”

“Giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you whisper and you revel in the shudder that washes over his body as you bring one of your hands down to rest on his belt buckle. 

or the one where jake works you up enough that you feel the need to retaliate.

warnings: not beta’d, smut, road head (m! recieving), blue balls i guess

masterlist | taglist

You’re two hours into your road trip–a vacation you’d hands planned for months, at this point–when you crack. And it was all Jake’s fault, too. You were going to shoulder exactly zero percent of the blame even if you were the first one to break. 

You’d been huffy since the two of you had left your apartment, arms crossed over your chest and your teeth grinding all the while your boyfriend was showing off all his pearly whites in the biggest, toothiest smile he’d sported since you’d agreed to go out with him for the first time. 

He’d taken your suitcase from you with little more than a delicate pinch at your hip, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth after he got all of your luggage situated in the trunk of the car and moved around to open the passenger door for you. You’d thanked him, of course, but it’d been short and quiet and much less appreciative than it usually sounded when he did those kinds of small acts of kindness for you. 

But it wasn’t your fault, okay, not when he’d been denying you the only thing you’d been asking for all damn morning. He’d started by waking you up from one of your very indulgent dreams about him–a side effect of having a boyfriend that went on missions that sometimes lasted longer than just a couple days–after coming home at 3:30 in the morning. Then, he’d had the gall to work you up with his fingers dipping into the waistband of your sleep shorts moments after you’d been dragged from your sleep, only to leave you high and dry when he opted to take a quick shower instead. Alone. Then, to top it all off, he’d worn the tiniest, itty-bittiest t-shirt known to man. 

Now, here you were, knees and thighs clenched so tight together in the front seat of his truck that you think they were completely stuck together with his right hand pressing into the meat of your leg. 

You can’t take it anymore. Shifting your eyes around your periphery, you make sure the road is deserted enough before you lean onto the center console with the bulk of your weight. He glances over at you for a split second, one eyebrow quirked in question, before he refocuses on the interstate ahead of him. You push up just enough so that your lips are touching the shell of his ear. 

You can feel the rumble of his voice before he asks, “Whatcha up to, Sugar?”

“Giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you whisper and you revel in the shudder that washes over his body as you bring one of your hands down to rest on his belt buckle. 

A very gutteral groan escapes him as you begin to undo it. He brings the hand previously resting on your thigh to white knuckle the wheel. He’s tense. Good. 

Your hand slips in, completely bypassing his briefs, once you’ve got the belt undone enough and the zipper down. You can feel him growing under your touch. Hot and pulsing as you drag your palm over his sensitive skin. 

“Baby?” he asks. Offering him a hum in response, you grip him fully. “Are you sure about this?”

You watch his eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror. 

“Yep.”

He swallows. 

You’re content to stroke his length as he hardens in your grip, beads of his pre-cum pearling at the tip and aiding in your journey up and down his twitching cock. He bucks his hips once and you’re quick to pull your hand out of his pants completely. You swear to god you hear the man whine. 

Despite his previous apprehension, he lifts his hips when you begin tugging his pants and boxer briefs down. Just enough for his dick to spring out, red and angry at the head as it rests against his stomach. You test the waters as you lean down to lick the slit. 

“Eyes on the road, Handsome,” you say when his head falls back against the headrest. His speed had begun to fluctuate significantly, and you’re glad you’d only seen three or so other cars in the last half hour. 

“Fuck,” he grumbles when you take his tip between your lips. One of your hands wraps around his base, gathering the bit of drool already dripping down the sides of him as you begin to shallowly pump what wasn’t in your mouth. God, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get over just how big he was. You hollow out your cheeks as you begin to take him deeper, deep enough that you feel him pressing into the back of your throat. Your tongue lazily grazes against the thick vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Oh, shit,” he moans. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

The comment has you humming around him, an action that sharply shoots his hips up. Pulling off of him, you use your hand to collect the saliva that had pooled as you raggedly catch your breath. It’s only a few seconds, though, until you’re swirling your tongue around the head again. His hand comes down to rest at the back of your head. Not pushing, or guiding, just following your movements. 

You keep up with your ministrations, your other hand coming in to gently hold onto his thigh, until Jake says, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

It’s only then that you pull away completely, thumb coming up to swipe away the string of spit still connecting you to his dick and you watch with a newfound glint in your eye as his cock twitches helplessly against his stomach. 

“What- Fuck,” he heaves. 

“You started this,” you say, and it takes him a second in his haze, but you can see him recollect the puddle he’d left you in that morning. 

“You’re satan, you know that?” he asks as you tuck him back into his underwear. “Whatever you say, handsome.” You offer him a kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“Satan,” he says again. “And you are so in for it when we get to the hotel.” “I would hope so,” you say. 

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #jake seresin smut #hangman smut #glen powell #glen powell smut #glen powell x reader #top gun #top gun maverick

[n3ptoonz]

OMG OKAY SO I JUST READ YOUR RECENT HEADCANONS WITH EARTHREALM BOYS AND HOW THEY'D REACT TO READER RIDING THEM AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH AND IT GOT ME THINKING

How would they react to reader pegging them HEHEHE 👁️👁️🙏

mk1 hcs: how the earthrealm guys react to pegging

sorry i took so long to get to this anon! life is on my asssss and kept getting random spurts of writers block but WE HERE

warnings: explicit, smut elements, fluff elements, sub men obviously, sphinx might have favs idk tho😹

Scorpion

When you suggested pegging for the first time, it intrigued him. He'd always been down to try something new, especially if you bring it to him since he does it more

Y'all would be reeallll slow in the beginning. Luckily you knew all about preparation and making sure he was relaxed and okay the whole time. It didn't take long for him to get used to it, and even take a liking

He'd prefer for it to be a regular thing after his looonngggg days after work. There's nothing he needs more than to either be treated with tender, love, and care or just straight filthy coitus with him seeing stars and his hair tangled to all hell

The first few times he was a shy boy, cute lil whimpers here and there. Now? Doesn't give a damn, he will be as vocal as he feels like. You're gonna be the one who wakes up with claw marks and bite marks in the morning

Sub-Zero

Huh? You want to what? Were you inside of his head or something? How'd you know he wanted you to absolutely mix his guts whenever he gives you attitude? Something ain't right

He only acts reluctant because he didn't wanna look eager, but the man was waiting for this moment. The second you suggested it he was like "okay i'll say yes after like the third time i gotta look cool." when whole time he wanted to fall to his knees and hug your thighs in agreement

Don't try to go slow the first few times. His patience is shorter than his temper, this mf is the most power bottom individual in the bedroom. After he's gotten used to it he'll 'allow' you to go the romantic route (he's such a lil bitch for it we love it)

He barks orders at you like you won't grab his face and give him a taste of his own medicine. One good time where you're hovering over him, a thumb on the inside of his cheek while he drools and you fuck him like your life depended on it. Mission success!

Smoke

He's the one who brought it to you. Any objections? I think tf not. He isn't saying it aloud, but his eyes are silently begging you to treat him like the town's whore

He likes both the romance and the pure filth. It's entirely up to you; he will never say no to anything you suggest. Fuck him like you're mad at him or go slow and steady while you kiss his jaw and play with his hair and sing his praises

Any and all positions available. If you can somehow prone this big boy, DO IT. He'd totally ride you too if you really down for the count. We are troopers around this bitch!

Sometimes it would concern you how rarely he tapped out, especially when shit was getting intense and didn't calm down for a while. If you were absolutely demolishing his ass, you'd see a pool of drool escaping his lips, his eyes glossed over, his whines and moans gradually getting louder, and when you asked if he was okay, he would nod and give you a thumbs up like he didn't just bust 3 times in a row

Johnny Cage

Every time I do any sexual hcs of this mf, I will continue to say he's a brat. I do not care. He's a fucking diva and will dare to bark orders at you too like you're not the one who brought it up

Y'all know that Meg the stallion lyric where she's like "no don't fuck me like that fuck me like this"? THATS HIS ASS. He KNOWS it'll piss you off but go one of two ways: you indeed do fuck him like that but added aggression, OR! you stop completely and pretend like you're gonna leave the room. Works every time

He thoroughly enjoys straight up sex over romantic sex, but every once in a while he indulges in popping champagne, throwing down rose petals, and playing sexy music in the back to set the mood. Ol dramatic ass

Remember how I said in my riding hcs that he records everything? Yeah. Even as far as come to you and be like "okay so like what if we sold these? i could cut your face out if you want-" and you're like !1!2? HOWEVER ik some of yall are FREEKIE FUCKS. If you say "fuck that leave my face in it", prepare to never need a job ever again

Kenshi Takahashi

Surprisingly is down with it. That's what #love does to a mf. He's like Kuai, anything you want you shall receive. If you wanna play around in that ass, say no more!

97% of the time wants to go slow and steady. He just loves looking at your face with the power of Sento while making love. Tell him how much you love and appreciate him and how he's doing so good for you and he'll instantly become the butter to your bread (like melting- ok y'all get it cool)

That 3%?? He would be on his knees and begging you to fuck the stress out of him. He's had such a tough week, just shove his head into the pillow and get to work!

If it's missionary just grip his neck, get real close to his face so he can feel your breath, and welcome him to pound town. All aboard the slut-Kenshi-out train

Raiden

Secretly a whore. The first green light into pegging territory, you could see his pearly browns sparkle in excitement and eagerness. He's relatively chill and calm about it at first because he didn't want to scare you away, but that's gone in an instant when you actually do the deed

Walks up to microphone Raiden...enjoys the prepping damn near more than the actual pegging. This pretty boy sure loves to see you break out the lubricant and gloves just so you can get him ready. Bro is on the edge of the bed swinging his feet while you have the most devious look in your eye

He's 50/50 on sensual nights vs getting down and dirty. Literally has zero preference, just spread him!

Back to how I said he's secretly a whore, sometimes he does subtle things that get you riled up throughout the day so you can take it out on him later. It's kinda funny sometimes cause he can be vocal but he's more shy than ever, but he'll break soon, trust

Liu Kang

Out of everyone he'd probably enjoy it the most. Now hear me out, he's not used to something like this, so it may take some convincing, but it's very little. It's good that he was mortal before so this level of intimacy isn't completely out of bounds

Once you get the stamp of approval and you try it for the first time, he's in love. It's like all he wants to do. Like holy fuck, where has this been for all these eons? This is the ultimate relaxation and he gets to forget his worries for a few hours??

He's so fascinated that he'd be the one introducing YOU to different types of straps all the way down to the patterns. "A dragon one... have you heard of this one?" like damn bro we get it you fw dragons (literally 😹)

Given how calm he is he prefers slow and sensual. It's only when he's truly curious that he'd be like hmm...it certainly wouldn't hurt to try (prepare for his godly stamina to have you on the brink of death btw). also, there's no way he wouldn't request for his hair to be pulled 😮‍💨

Kung Lao

Kung Lao my beloved. Morphs into alpha with huge muscles and impeccable imagination. Kung Lao, the egotistical and prideful man he is would think he has the up on you simply because he brought it up before you did. This fine ass man can and will come prepared on his own, case full of toys and all

And if I said he likes to be tooted up with music in the back and you pulling his hair while being used like a barracks bunny, would you arrest me?? For speaking TRUTH? He's a whore your honor

He don't give a damn about slow and steady but he'll do it if you want to. Just know it will never end in slow and steady, the pace always seems to be picked up and all of a sudden he's strap-warming you as a punishment (he literally wanted this to happen)

Idek what more to say Kung Lao is a slut and I need him in a way that's concerning to women's suffrage. I will make that hat chucking dimple having sexy ass man a fucking mother, just you wait. [he is one of the first I will breed]

#n3ptoonz #mk1 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #smut #bi han #kung lao #kuai liang #tomas mk1 #bi han sub zero #liu kang #kenshi takashi x reader #kenshi takahashi #raiden mk1 #raiden x reader #liu kang x reader #kuai liang x reader #bi han x reader #kung lao x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk smut #tomas vrbada #fluff #mk1 kung lao #smoke mk #mk smoke #sub zero

[lilac-5ky]

i wanna tie the knot (Satoru xFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Forget me not

Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Plot: Your boyfriend takes you on a romantic getaway that will potentially change the rest of your lives.

Themes: MDNI, Established Relationship, Vacation, Teasing, Bickering, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Comedy, Onsen Smut, Sensory Deprivation (bondage and blindfolds), Breeding Kink, Oral (f. receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Yukatas, Snarky!Fem!Reader who is done with Gojo's Shenanigans but loves him regardless, Soft!Dom Gojo, Unsolicited Digimon References, and Bucketloads of Pet Names (baby, princess, bunny, honeypie, sugarplum, and every other food nickname you can think of)

Word Count: 13.3k (i was inspired, sue me. rest of it will be smaller. i think.)

check a/n at the bottom

“Last one up the hill is a loser!” Those were the parting words you left your boyfriend with before you shot in the direction of the fields, wind in your hair and pollen in the air, Satoru’s voice barely audible over the light chuckle you shed behind.

You sprint across a sea of flowers in every shape, hue, and kind—from exuberant red poppies to bashful pink asters—spanning as far as the eye can see. You want nothing more than to spare a moment and halt; breathe into the combined aroma of the autumn blossoms before winter hushes them for good, but you can’t. The faster you run, the smaller his head becomes, until it’s a mere blotch of white on the faraway horizon.

You rest assured in your victory, a breathless smile forming on your lips as you reach the top. You glance over your shoulder, confident that the man who minutes ago (literally) flew you to Ikoma on another of his spontaneous 2-day trips is still there, lamenting ever giving you a headstart. However, no matter how hard you squint, you cannot seem to find him.

“What are we looking at?” A low-pitched voice scares the wits out of you, hummed near the shell of your ear in a way that’s exclusive to the cheeky tone it carries.

“S-Satoru!” You yelp, almost throwing yourself down the stiff slope.

“Satoru?” The man in question repeats his own name, cocking his head to the side with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What are you—”

“I only know of a winner,” he points at his chest, successfully diverting your attention from the hand that rises to flick your forehead with such force that you stagger backward.

Both your fall and his punchline are postponed, one awaiting the other while you’re left floating mid-air, the infinity between your head and his boot serving as a safety net.

“And a loser.” Satoru concludes, his grin as bright as day, when he retracts his foot and lets you plummet into the fluffy flowerbed.

In the time it takes for you to blow a tuft of hair from your eyes and prop yourself onto your elbows, Satoru’s already taken his phone out and snapped as many pictures as humanely possible. You aren’t fazed. You’re used to his constant leg-pulling, as well as his 8895-picture collection of funny faces you’ve made over the course of your 7-year relationship.

Definitely in the 9000s now.

“Most guys would help their girlfriend up instead of calling her a loser.” You frown.

“Most guys wouldn’t date a slowpoke.” He gleefully chimes, zooming in on your face. “Come on. Smiiile.”

You poke your tongue out, and he snaps what is hopefully the last embarrassing frame of the day. Your frown resumes, downturned mouth and eyes narrowed at the wonderful azure sky.

“Good enough. Here, here.” He offers you his hand. “Don’t go crying on me.”

You accept only to give him a taste of his own medicine as you lock fingers and drag him down. He shouldn’t fall, but he does so anyway, collapsing beside you in a bundle of ridiculously long limbs he either sorts behind his head or splays on the grass surrounding him.

“Can’t believe you actually got me.” Satoru says in a pouty voice that goes against the complacent smile sitting on his lips. Idiot. “Woah, the view is much prettier from down here!” He marvels at the drifting clouds, pointing at one that resembles a duck. “Is this what it feels like to be you?”

You could do without his unnecessary comments spoiling the mood, but you’re willing to overlook them for the sake of your trip. With how hectic these past three weeks were—orchestrated curse attacks ping-ponging both him and his students across Tokyo—you doubted you’d have a moment to yourselves for the remainder of the year.

But keeping him on his toes is too much fun to pass up.

“You’d be more likeable if you weren’t such a showoff, Satoru.” You scoff, no malice whatsoever.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I thought you liked me sooo much when you were going all oh, Satoru! Love it so much, Satoru! You’re the best, Satoru! Deeper, Satoru! Y-yes, just like that, ‘Toru last night.”

“Shut up!”

You plug his mouth with both hands, though that doesn’t discourage him from blabbing his version of last night’s events, perfectly replicating the breathy tone of your voice and the soft little moans you let out in between his frantic thrusts.

Your palms relocate to cover your ears, the bright color of your cheeks soon becoming a focal point for his mockery. Satoru plucks a crimson cosmos flower and holds it to your face, twirling it around until you rip it from his grasp. Regret washes over you as soon as you unfold your fingers and see the now-crumpled petals, a little piece of the universe laying lifeless in your palm.

“I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing.” You point at the dark fabric that conceals his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You wave your hand in his face, constantly alternating between the number of fingers you flex.

Satoru catches your wrist and decisively intertwines your fingers. “I see enough to know you look the cutest when you’re annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed.” You declare.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deliberately sultry as he inches closer.

Flakes of color adorn his icy strands like confetti, a stark contrast to the murky blue of his two-piece uniform. You can feel his eyes—those lovely crystal orbs of his—burning holes through the blindfold to meet yours, and in this instant, when his minty breath ghosts over your lips and promises a kiss, you’re absolutely enamored by him.

That is, until he begins poking into your cheeks like a woodpecker, and your desire to strangle the life out of him overtakes the urge to give in.

“Okay! You did it! I’m—”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips crash into yours, a stolen peck that lasts no longer than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, a soft fumble that leaves you craving for more. “Definitely annoyed.” Satoru flashes a boyish smile as he ruffles your hair and pulls you to your feet with him, his hand carrying you through a path of marigolds.

“Can you… just… slow… down?” You pant out, struggling to follow after his long strides.

But he doesn’t falter.

“Better get moving before you evolve into a Slowbro.” He sing-songs.

“Knock it off! I’m at least Jigglypuff tier.”

“Hmm,” he considers out loud. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you useless, but—”

“Satoru!” You protest. “And I thought you liked Digimon.”

“Doesn’t hurt to know about the cheaper rip-off.”

“Pretty sure that’d be Digimon.”

“And I’m pretty sure even a regular Greymon beats your mascot into a pulp.” He beams.

Sigh.

You roll your eyes, letting him argue with himself about Digimon’s supremacy, until you reach a pool of flowers—myriad befallen fragments of the sky reflecting the vibrant blue of his eyes. You break free from his grasp and kneel among the blossoms, your fingertips skimming across the pointed petals with great care.

“Oh my God, Satoru! You know what this is?”

“Flowers…?” He changes his answer to pretty flowers upon your glaring.

“It’s forget-me-nots!”

The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell. He looks at you with the stupefied expression of a cattle who only knows how to moo and eat grass, invisible question marks spawning around his head.

“Their blooming period ends in May,” you explain. “Can’t believe we’d find some in October, and these—” You chop one of the stems and extend it to him. “These are so beautiful.”

Satoru glances between the flowers and your impressionable eyes, in which tiny stars seem to twinkle, his tone serious as he points out, “You must really love me.”

Your mouth hangs while you mull over your own words. Nope. Nothing you said remotely hints at the conclusion he alone reached.

“About time you showed me some respect.” Satoru huffs. “Don’t know about the royalty part, but—ah, it really can’t be helped. I’ll accept them if you insist.”

“Hold on a second.” His fingers close around a fistful of nothing as you retract your hand. “What respect, what royalty are you talking about?”

“Hm? You really don’t know?” You shake your head, and he brings out his phone, trading it for the flowers. “Says it all riiiight here.” He taps at the wall of text that lights up his screen.

Forget-me-not, also known as Myosotis flower, represents true love and respect and is an indisputable symbol of royalty. To King Henry IV—

“Tsk, these don’t even smell.” Satoru exclaims once he presses them to his nose.

“Not all flowers smell.” You turn off the screen and hand his phone back to him. “Your ability to google stuff and sell it as common trivia never ceases to amaze me.”

He lowers the stem to his lap and looks at you. Or so you think. You really can’t tell when he’s wearing that thing. “And? What do you make of it?”

“You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?” Your hands slide across his shoulders, fingers knitting behind his neck. “I love you, you silly, goofy, pervert specimen of a man.” You smile softly. “And I do respect you—sometimes—but best case scenario, you become prime minister. Better get that royalty idea out of your brain.”

“Not even if a mysterious big-scale accident takes all royalty on this planet out?” Satoru quips.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

The sharp edges of his grin dissolve as he tilts his head enough for your lips to meet, tentative flicks of his tongue granting him access to your mouth. You feel the hard press of his chest once his arm wraps around your waist, nullifying the barriers that stand between you and the resounding beating of his heart.

There’s no innate technique in the way he touches; no immense amount of cursed energy in the way he kisses. None of the things that make him Gojo Satoru, the sorcerer who is hailed by all—and even himself—as the strongest are there. Only the raw vulnerability of a boy who’s used to carrying the order of the world on his shoulders and on a whim lets it crush him, because when he holds you, none of it seems to matter; because when he’s with you, he’s free to be Gojo Satoru and no more than that.

You watch through heavy eyelashes as he breaks a small stalk and brings it to your hair, securely tucking the flowers behind your ear. Warmth spreads from his slender fingers to your already feverish complexion. His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping along your jawline with a soft expression perched on his lips, and you find yourself falling in love with him all over again.

“You deserve some love too, my…” Satoru ponders for a second, eventually snapping his fingers, “little MegaDarknessBagramon.”

A chuckle gets caught in your nostrils. “Your what now?”

“MegaDarknessBagramon.” He repeats without stuttering. “Way better than your fairy balloon cat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you made this one up?”

“Did not! MegaDarknessBagramon is—hmph.”

You cut him off with a fond kiss on his agape lips. That’s the only way to truly shut him up. At least in public.

“We should get going. I wanna go sightseeing before nightfall.”

You wander through the city for hours upon hours, losing yourselves among the countless maple-strewn paths and quaint religious sites of the countryside. Ikoma is a quiet place. No matter how many pebbles you lift or castle ruins you peek under, you won’t find a speck of evil lurking beneath. It’s as if the land is at peace with itself, and the people who tend to it do so without any curse tainting their souls. For once, Satoru’s presence feels redundant.

His hand stays on you the entire time you stroll through the temples and marketplaces, be it as fingers that childishly swing your palm up and down—left and right—or as an arm draped over both your shoulders, stirring you in a different direction whenever his phone rings. And it does ring. A lot. So much that you actively consider flinging it at the bottom of the Sunoura River.

The conversations are rather one-sided. Satoru mhms and uh-uhs his way out of everything the voices on the other line suggest, his expression contorting all the while he mocks Nanami’s grave tone, Yaga’s dismay, and Ijichi’s apprehension. He tries his best to keep you involved—putting Megumi on speaker while the boy informs him of how Nobara gave Yuji a concussion when she mistook him for a pickpocket—and presses playful kisses on your cheek when you unwittingly pout at his neglect.

This is the one drawback of dating such a sought-after man. You have to share him with the rest of the world, and even though you know exactly how many livelihoods depend on him, you selfishly want your boyfriend to yourself.

After his sixth answered call, something inside you snaps. You shake his hand off—he barely pays mind—and fish your phone out of your jacket, dialing the first number in your contact list. My Noodle Man. With a heart emoticon, he, himself, input. Still better than the long array of toothachingly sweet nicknames he’s come up with for you over the years.

Drawing the device away from his ear, Satoru glances at the incoming caller ID and shoots you what ought to be a perplexed look.

“Pick it up!” You mouth the words without voicing them.

The world comes to a standstill while you (presumably) stare into each other’s eyes. Star-shaped leaves rain down from the trees, a minor contribution to the red and gold garb that dresses the once pebbled pathway. It’s all too scenic—if one ignores the busy tone from his phone’s speaker, which echoes wide across the hollow forest, gracelessly interrupting Utahime’s incoherent squeaks.

Are you even listening? Gojo?

“Mhm!” He breaks into an awkward chuckle. “Sounds good to me.”

What? What are you on about, you white-haired swine?

“Hey, how ‘bout you hold onto that, and we talk about it when I return?”

You seriously doubt he knows what that and it are.

Satoru doesn’t leave Utahime the chance to reply, rushing through his words at the speed of light. “Okay, great! Gotta go now. Laterrr, bye, ciao, adieu!”

Don’t you dare hang—

“Too late for that.” He comments, an afterthought that doesn’t reach its target audience before fading into his next received call.

“Baby! How are you?” The grin on his lips is so blinding, you swear it accompanies a halo.

You draw a deep breath, fingernails digging sharply at the tender flesh on the inside of your palm. “Satoru.”

“What is it, baby?” He dares ask as if you haven’t been shooting daggers at him the entire time, arms folded over your chest and eyebrow trembling above your narrowed eye.

“Satoru, the fact that I can only speak to you through the phone is insane!” Your voice climbs up a whole octave over the final word, annoyance interlaced within your tone.

“Huh?” He smiles sheepishly, head drooping to his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’m standing right in front of you, begging you for an ounce of attention, and you haven’t put the phone down for ten goddamn seconds since we left the shrine, which, by the way, happened two hours ago!”

His smile dwindles, and you worry you might’ve been too harsh. It’s not like he has a choice. Regular people get to dictate their own fate, filling up their plates with however many or few obligations and freedoms they can stomach. Not Satoru. His share of responsibility was assigned to him at birth, and as aloof as he can be, he’s not the type to let all hell break loose just yet.

“Hey, um—look. If you were busy, we could’ve just taken a rain check and stayed in town. You know I wouldn’t mind holing up at my place, ordering some Chinese, and frying our retinas with another movie marathon. No need to string each other along for—what are you doing?”

Without evidence of anyone or anything approaching, Satoru twists his neck in every direction possible, searching far and wide among the tree foliage and the water streaming on the sides of the walkway, going as far as to check the gap between his own legs. Instinctively, you repeat his routine, glancing over your shoulder when you realize he’s got his eyes on you—not on you, but through you.

“Are you sure you are here? Can’t see you.” Satoru brings the phone to his lips, executing an amateur’s set of jumping jacks while waving his hands around and shouting your name at the top of his lungs, doing his absolute best to appear clueless when he passes you by and uses your head like an armrest. “Don’t tell me you got out-heighted by the trees.”

Are you sure you want to permanently delete the contact My Noodle Man <;3?

Cancel

“I’m leaving.”

You manage exactly two steps before you are halted by two arms whose length smothers you—a proper vice that closes around your shoulders and immobilizes you against what feels like a colossal tree trunk but is your (occasionally) loving boyfriend’s chest.

“Let go, Satoru!” You try to shake him off, but your conviction is about as strong as the frail set of bones he aspires to crush.

“C’mon, you just got here!” Satoru begs, his mouth so close to your ear that you feel his voice shooting straight into your heart, goosebumps erupting down your spine. “Don’t leave, mm? Mm? Pleaaase?”

You groan, dragging your feet forward, but it’s impossible to progress when a well-over-six-foot boulder weighs you down. He’s viciously clinging onto you, nuzzling to your cheeks one at a time, and humming at every kiss he prints on your grimace. His frosty spikes tickle, softer than silk and fluffier than the clouds above.

Couldn’t he have been like this five minutes ago?

“Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” Bitterness pools in your mouth from where your teeth bite into your gums. Your voice faint. “You’ll be on your stupid phone, anyway.”

“Is that why you’re acting all upset? You want my attention?” The lack of answer prompts him to continue, a low chuckle setting the mood for what comes next.

“If you want my attention, then… all you have to do is ask for it.”

It’s at this point that you realize more than your upper bodies are touching, his knees slightly bent for his hips to press against your ass—and with them, you feel something else pressing too. Something that oughtn’t be there when all you’ve been doing is bickering and fooling around with each other.

You gulp hard, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. His head rests fully upon the elbow on your shoulder, covered eyes definitely taking in the blush that’s become somewhat of a second nature since you got together. He’s effortlessly seductive, and you’re thankful for both his typically childish demeanor and the blindfold around his forehead, or else you’d be in big trouble denying him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” Satoru coos in a condescending tone.

You try to look away, but he won’t let you, jaw tilting atop his other arm. There’s no hiding from him, and the stupidly smug smile that begs you to erase it.

“…yes.”

“Yes what? Cheating won’t do. You need to say it.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who won by teleporting to the finish line,” you mumble.

He doesn’t yield, and you know you’re going to be stuck there for a long time unless you stroke his ego. “Fine. Please gimme your undivided attention, oh grand sorcerer, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He croons contentedly. “Now, how much do you want it?”

“I changed my mind. I want a divorce.”

“We need to first be married in order to divorce.” He points out, rubbing salt in your wound like your next reply won’t be “You’re the one who refuses to settle down,” but it’s not. Just this once, you bite back your tongue.

Your restraints loosen as Satoru shakes his phone into your face, demonstrating how the device turns off with a click of his thumb. An airy laughter rings in your ears, and just like that, he reverts to the kind of man who giggles at knock-knock jokes and thinks it’s peak comedy when he mixes gummy worms in your cereal.

“No more calls!” He declares. “For a limited time only, strongest sorcerer Gojo Satoru is at your service.”

You snort, fighting back a smile that ends up crinkling around your eyes. “You make it sound like you’re a genie.”

“Hmm, you could always try rubbing me and see what happens. Might grant you a wish or two.”

You laugh at his attempt to flirt, trying and mostly failing to distract yourself from what was previously pushing against your body. It should embarrass you that two of your two wishes are sexual in nature, but that’s entirely on him, his innuendos, and the raw lust you’ve missed seeing transform his eyes from the sparkling color of the sea to one found a thousand meters under the surface.

Maybe three.

“Where’s the catch?”

“What catch?” He chirps.

“I know you, ‘Toru. With you, there’s always a catch.”

One moment you feel his breath on your skin, and the other you see him standing before you, his arms flexing behind his torso while he tips forward—a toothy grin stretching on his lips.

“Well, a fee is always due where there are services involved.” He takes a page from Mei’s book.

“The Gojo family vault running out of cash, so you lookin’ to extort your girlfriend?” You quip. “Go on. Name your price.”

“Oh, y’know.” His shoe traces a circle on the ground. “Just you saying what an amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome boyfriend you have for the world to hear.”

You browse the acres of trees surrounding you; there is not a soul to be seen or heard within a close radius. What world?

“You said handsome twice.”

“Intentionally.” He deadpans.

You return his playfulness by saying he forgot to add infuriating to the list, even though you’ve already decided to humor him. Cute is more like it.

“My boyfriend is the most—”

“Does your boyfriend have no name? Take it from the top.”

You sigh, “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, wonderful—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Satoru intervenes, raising his forefinger in objection. “Forgot charming!”

Your teeth clatter, gritting a growl.

“Only one life left. Better get it right this time or,” he draws an imaginary line across his neck, faking a choking sound as he’s supposedly decapitated.

With both hands around your mouth, you shape a cone and shout so loudly that countless birds betray their hiding spots between the tree branches as they pour out into the sky. “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome again, boyfriend in existence who totally didn’t put me up to this!” In a quiet voice, “Happy now?”

“Full marks!” He gleefully shoves a thumbs up in your face. “Now I’m all yours and will be for the rest of the night. Feel free to make the best of me while you can.”

“Then, can I get my first wish granted now, Mr. Genie?”

“What is it?”

He stands still as you bring your hands to his face and cup his cheeks, fingers teasing the seams of his blindfold. “Lemme see your eyes.”

“Hmm? You wanna see them? Why—you missed them?”

A nod. “Don’t put me through that same speech again. They are pretty, and yes, I miss them. We haven’t been seeing each other as often, so. C’mon. Lemme see them.”

You try to lower the fabric, but the harder you pull, the more it seems to resist. “Satoru���?”

“Mm?” He licks his lips. “What is it, sugarplum?”

Your eyes roll so far back into your skull that you’re afraid they’ll slip down your esophagus. “I said, I wanna see your eyes. May I?”

He cocks his head in consideration, entertaining an affectionate smile before he denies you with a cheeky little nope!

“Why not?”

This is the first time he denies you.

“For a multitude of reasons.” He states wryly. Uncharacteristically for him.

You wait for an explanation—a slight opening between his lips. His tongue lays flat against his teeth, darting upward as if he’ll finally say something, but he doesn’t. This happens about four times before he sternly announces, “The sun.”

“The sun…?” You glance at the sky, a veil of darkness slowly descending upon the peachy gradients of the melting clouds. “You mean the one that just set?”

“I wasn’t done talking. My other reason is…” He motions for you to get closer. You lean in as instructed, patiently hanging on his lips as if he is about to open the envelope and reveal the name of a talent show winner, yet his answer isn’t any more satisfying than the previous one is. “The people.”

“Satoru, we haven’t seen a live human in over an hour. What are you talking about? And since when were others an issue?”

“You don’t know what it feels like to be me!” Satoru exclaims in an exaggerated tone as he shakes your hands off and turns in the opposite direction. “Having everyone stare at you wherever you go, people asking, Sensei, please! We need to see your wonderful eyes! and getting called Six Eyes like you’re a piece of meat. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be any better than them, Y/N.”

You blink a number of times, “stunned” being too little of a word to describe your surprise at his sudden burst. He always had a knack for the dramatic, but with the way the back of his palm is pressed against his forehead, he’s closer to an Academy Award than ever.

“Satoru.” Your hand moves to his shoulder without ever closing the distance. Damn infinity. “What is up with you today?” You ask half-jokingly, half-concerned. “Acting insecure; you are the one who doesn’t miss the chance to show your eyes off to everyone, and when I ask you to show them, you pull this—why?”

“It’s because I only have eyes for you.” He smirks full of confidence, roughing up your hair and then bringing his thumb below your chin, holding it up for a kiss. You don’t even stop him. Hell, you don’t even close your eyes. You are too baffled to.

You regain agency over your words only after he starts parading away from you, his feet spending more time in the air than they do on land. “Hey, wait! What was that? What does you having eyes only for me have to do with anything?”

His chuckle precedes his answer. “You’ll see when we reach the inn. Last down the foothills is a double loser!”

“Ahhh, that was soooo good! I feel—ugh, reborn!”

Satoru’s joints click as he stretches both arms behind his back and over his head, the striped sleeves of his gray-colored yukata rolling down his elbows. He doesn’t mind that he’s blocking the doorway or that the long face you’ve been sporting since you parted at the lobby threatens to hit the floor at his theatrics.

Your onsen experiences differed by miles. While he was off soaking and splashing by himself at the vacant men’s baths, you were forced to endure 45 excruciating minutes in the company of a group of bachelorettes who wouldn’t shut up about the “dreamy masked man” who booked the single most expensive suite in the compound, rewriting his life story with lewd fantasies that—for as long as you could help it—would remain as such. Unrealized.

“The temperature was just perfect, the right amount of hot without scorching, and the minerals already circulate through my bloodstr—ouch!”

You shove past him and his impromptu review of the hot springs, temporarily giving up on the blockbuster that your mind crafts—Blood Bath: Revenge of the Hot Spring Killer 2—in favor of a spot where you can drop off your toiletries.

The room, or rather, the rooms, are vast in space and rich in furnishing. Opaque sliding doors separate the main area from the wardrobe and the bathroom, drawn to provide a direct view of the ryokan’s rock garden. Tatami mat flooring is indiscriminately strewn, replaced by granite tiles around the indoor hot tub. Raised alcoves host colorful ikebana vases; a couple of ukiyo-e scrolls depicting Mount Yoshino hang from opposing sides on the walls. Lastly, futons are neatly spread in the far back, with a short-legged table spanning at the center of the sitting space.

Bingo.

You settle beside it, laying your belongings on the floor while scrutinizing the couple’s gift box on top, regional specialties packed beside a ceremonial tea set that bears the inn’s logo. You flip the box on its back and attempt to decipher the cursive letters just as Satoru steals it from your hands, wasting no time ripping through the luxurious wrapping paper and tossing a block of brown-colored kuzumochi in his mouth.

“Gotta mmph hring Hahami ‘n’ Meghumi ‘ere.” He refuses to keep his remarks (or food) in his mouth, flour dusting the corners of his lips. “That oughta brighten ‘em up.” He says once he swallows, bringing his cup of welcoming tea to his teeth and cringing away at the sheer bitterness of the matcha. “Bleugh, this tastes like poison!”

You break into a quiet chuckle as you scrub his chin, sleeve curled over your fist, and thumb running stray along his frown. Cute. No, beyond cute. Adorable.

“Don’t blame the tea when your blood type is caster sugar, Satoru.”

“But that’s the secret to my sweetness.” He quips, returning to his previous floured-lip state as he flings a second kuzumochi into his mouth, supposedly to wash the bitterness away. “Think they sell more of these in the gift shop?”

You roll your eyes, humoring him with a teasing sure.

Making it back to your spot, you down your share of matcha in one go, savoring the delightful tartness the beverage leaves on your tongue. “‘Tis not even that bad.” You comment, pouring yourself a refill.

A certain form of silence prevails over the space, during which words aren’t spoken but expressed through various hums of content, with Satoru loudly nibbling on his loot and you quietly sipping on your tea. Moonlight filters the atmosphere through the semi-transparent shoji doors, casting playful shadows that dance along the subtle movements of his fingers.

He’s the puppeteer, and you his devoted audience, easily convinced that there’s genuine mastery in the way he handles his instruments and earnestly keen on trying them out before their numbers are further decimated. A pinch is at the ready, your thumb and forefinger making strategic advances towards the box of delicacies when a counter-offering presents itself to your lips.

“Say ahhhh!” Satoru waves the kuzumochi in your face, your teeth losing to the speed of his fingers as he retracts his hand at the last minute. “C’mon, c’mon!” He giggles, again dangling the bait. “Open wider. Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Your nose scrunches up. You don’t trust his intentions, and you have every right not to, considering he makes you chase after the confectionery with an open mouth, utilizing his infinity to keep you at bay whenever you get remotely close to succeeding.

“Satoru!” You yelp unamused.

“Sorry, sorry!” His apology sounds the opposite of truthful. “Promise, that was the last time. One big ahhh f’me! Ahhh—c’mon, it’s really good! You won’t regret it.”

And it’s no surprise you come to immediately regret it, your tongue hanging loose from your mouth, barely connecting with the dessert before your aghast eyes witness it being devoured by him, so quickly that you lose the opportunity to protest.

There’s no one to blame but yourself, though that doesn’t stop you from pouncing and tackling him to the floor. Two fists grab at the lapels of his yukata, fingers curling around the fabric, while you violently shake him like an unresponsive vending machine, urging him to spit out your eaten cash.

Satoru snorts, and he chuckles, and he laughs, a boisterous symphony of sounds pitted against one another as he, himself, refuses to fight back, merely showcasing the empty contents of his mouth and baring his teeth into a haughty grin that agitates you even more.

“You need to step up your game, munchkin. Or else you’ll never get your prize.”

“And you need to stop tricking me every chance you get!” You hiss, a sigh casting your head backward as you swipe the hair from your forehead. “If you played a fair game, then maybe—just maybe—I would actually win!”

“Aww, baby.” A lofty purr makes you awfully aware of the fact that you’re still straddling him, knees planted on both sides of his hips and thighs squeezing tightly around his crotch. “That’s so cute! Thinking you could ever stand a chance against me.”

“I could!”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Satoru’s palms glide along your curves, taking full advantage of the position to rub circles that spread over your ass and close around your thighs; slender fingers tantalizing as they ghost over your exposed skin. “I’m quite strong, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He makes you a living example of his words, giddily watching your self-control crumble when he forces you down against his body. A complacent smirk rises on his lips, countering the soft gasp that evades yours.

“See?” He chuckles. “Unmatched.”

“You’re quite annoying too.” You huff, biting your lips into a straight line while you deviate from staring at his face—a grave mistake.

All the wrestling has caused the lapels of his yukata to recede, the fabric so loose it barely counts as hiding a thing. Delicate collarbones pave the path toward his toned chest, rosy claw marks littering his creamy complexion (and it swells you with pride to know you’re the only one to have ever blemished his spotless body) down to the few unruly frosty hairs that span over his sculpted abdomen, and lead lower—much lower than your eyes can currently follow.

Goddamn it, Satoru.

“Is that why you’re grinding against me? Because I’m annoying you?”

His accusation makes your heart sink inside your chest as you are found guilty of a crime you unwittingly committed. Your hips were swaying back and forth against his hardened cock, guided by a firm grasp that failed to emulate the typically lazy manner with which he’d keep you anchored whenever you rode him.

(Aww, bunny. Keep bouncing like that, and you’ll hit your head. Me? Help? Don’t be silly. How you gonna grow stronger if I put in all the work, mm? Better be satisfied with what you have throbbing in ya already. Now, where were we? Right—Ijichi and his…)

Except you were in the middle of a fight, and you’re supposed to be holding a grudge that seems to matter less by the minute.

“Hey, baby?” His thumb harbors softness when he cups your cheek, candied voice flowing from pretty, pink lips that glisten under the pale moonlight. “Think you can be annoyed with your clothes off?”

You almost succumb to his will, the lines between vexation and lust becoming increasingly blurred as you try to get your point across a final time.

“Y’know, I too like sweets!” Your declaration practically melts into his touch. “Just because I let you do the honors doesn’t mean I don’t want to try some. It means I’m a better girlfriend than you.”

“No arguing here.” Satoru beams. “Don’t think I could be a better girlfriend if I tried.”

“Satoru!” You exclaim for the millionth time that day.

“Too early to be screaming my name.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I’m not?” He gasps, hand moving to his chest as if your words actually damaged his impenetrable ego. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. My girlie is such a meanie.”

Your eyes perform a semi-circle, knowing better than to venture beyond his neck. His face is cute, in that boyish way everyone swoons over, but his body is another story. The kind you read with the blinds lowered and the lights dim, colored cheeks, and giddy chuckles muffled by your bedding.

Sigh.

“How can I take you seriously when you say such things?”

“Never said you have to do it seriously. Just takin’ me is good enough.”

“Stop that!”

Swatting his hand from your face, you feel it join its twin behind your ass. You don’t want him to catch on to how affected you are simply by mounting him, but as your hips are forcibly rocked into his crotch, the wet patch your slick paints on his yukata reveals all that your tongue struggled to keep hidden.

“Jerk!”

Satoru grins, holding you tight against his lap as he sits the both of you up. Your noses are suddenly found brushing, and his lips expel a heavy breath your lips eagerly inhale, the proximity dizzying. “Maybe if I gave my girl some sugar, she’d turn sweeter.”

“Ugh, this is exactly what I meant!” You growl in frustration. “Satoru, I swear, if you use one more lame line on me, I’ll—”

Whatever was supposed to come next is drowned out by his tongue as it presses against your mouth, enticing your lips into an all-consuming kiss that threatens to eat you alive. Warm palms hook below your legs, turning scorching as they roll your yukata above your thighs and help secure your knees around his torso, caressing every inch of supple flesh they unveil.

You’re overcome by need in an instant, and judging from how ardently your boyfriend’s cupping your cheeks, as if he’s either trying to breathe life into you or suck it out of your lungs, it’s safe to say it goes both ways.

His cock rubs against your clit through his clothes. He’s so hard, and you are so wet that one thrust would be enough to sheathe him fully into your cunt and meld you into one. But that won’t do. If there’s one thing Satoru doesn’t rush, that’s the way he fucks. He wants to savor everything—every kiss, every touch, every whimper, every moan, every last drop of your essence that dribbles onto his fingers and drenches his tongue like the finest, most delectable nectar meant solely for him—before indulging the twitching sensation in his balls.

There’s no reason for today to be any different.

A string of saliva is cut in the middle as Satoru pulls away, your half drooling down your jaw and his collected by his tongue.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, baby! You were saying?” He coos in an awfully smug tone that barely registers over your incessant panting.

“Hm? Nothing? Thought so.” He deduces after turning his ear to your mouth, and for a second, you’re tempted to bite his earlobe right off.

But somehow you don’t, and in his book, that counts as obedience, which in turn qualifies for a reward.

He plants a kiss on your nose, tender enough to distract you from the no-good smirk plastered on his lips. “How about I do that other thing you asked for?”

Your mind traverses a foggy terrain. You’ve asked him for a lot of things in the recent past. Not overloading Aiko’s bowl with cat food the minute he sees it empty. Not surprise-hugging you when you’re walking alone at night and are unaware of his presence. Not rapping your morning routine to the tune of the hemorrhoid cream commercial. Not calling you munchkin or dwarf when it’s him who’s the long-lost descendant of the legendary tree people.

The list goes on and on with plenty of whimsical examples, and you realize, there are more things you’ve explicitly asked him not to do than do, with your one recurrent request being that he get you a ring made from neither fried dough nor grass blades.

“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told, thinking you’re oh-so-clever when you try to peer at him through downcast eyelashes, only to be shot down by his technique. “Uh-uh! No peeking!” The last thing your eyes see before they’re covered by his left palm are two fingers that hook under his blindfold and tug it upward.

“Why the secrecy?” You ask impatiently. “Afraid I’ll be blinded by your beauty? Must I remind you I’ve seen you sleeping with your mouth open? The magic is gone.”

“Is it?” His chuckle louder than the elusive sound of his blindfold coming undone. “And here my eyes were thinking you’ve turned even more beautiful than the last time they saw you. How unfortunate.”

There’s a certain humility that comes with someone as ethereal as Gojo Satoru calling you beautiful to your face, but right now, your mind remains fixated on one word and one word only. Eyes. My eyes. His eyes.

“You took it off?” Excitement colors your tone. “Lemme see!”

“Baby, baby, baby.” Satoru playfully chides. “When will you learn to be patient, mm? Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

Seven years is an awful long time to be waiting around.

Eventually, you feel his hand be drawn away, but before light can enter your eyelids, darkness engulfs them again. Cold satin now covers your brow, the kind of silky material you’ve previously only been able to experience via your fingertips as they yanked and hurled it across your bedroom walls.

“Tada!” The unmistakable sound of palms clasping. “You can open them now.”

“Satoru, what—what is this?” You mutter, tight-lipped, as if your ability to speak was also impaired. “I asked to see your eyes, not play suikawari.”

“Aw, shoot. Should I go ask for a watermelon?”

You sigh, fingers withdrawing into fists atop your thighs. You wonder how many years of jail time killing your boyfriend warrants, but then again, you doubt you’d possibly achieve what countless others have failed at.

“You wanted a rematch, didn’t you?” His hands move against your own, soft thumbs rolling reassuring circles around your wrists. He brings them to his lips, printing a kiss on each knuckle set. “Better strike while the iron’s hot. Besides, this game’s so easy, even you got a chance at winning,” he scoffs a laugh at how quick you’re to escape, pulling your hands back as if you were struck by an electric current. “All you hafta do is sit back and answer a few questions. Pretty easy, right?”

His voice rings close to your ear. You realize he’s in fact closer when he takes his affections to your cheeks, shamelessly bribing you with the sweetest kisses he can muster.

It’s working.

“I didn’t agree to this.” You state as his jaw perches on your shoulder, strong biceps caging your body while he reaches around your waist to undo the bow of your yukata.

“Really?” His breath travels south, hot steam depriving you of the opportunity to feel any real cold as you’re slowly stripped of your garments—and yet you still shudder when his lips close below your throat and suck onto your sweet spot. “‘Cause you seemed pretty agreeable when you were all ready to jump my bones a minute ago.”

“Th-that’s because—”

The fabric slides down your shoulders like butter, melting into the soft curves and pebbled peaks of your tits before it pools around your hips. His thighs tense up, blood rushing straight to his swollen cock head while he cradles you, eating you up with the eyes you so fondly reminisce.

“Aw, pumpkin! Won’t you look at that!” Your cheek is captured between his fingers, lightly pinched. “You’re blushing through the blindfold.”

You feel so vulnerable, and you aren’t sure whether that’s because you’re straddling your fully clothed boyfriend while being fully naked yourself or because everything around you is amplified, from the way his finger pads dance around your nipples, to the fruity shampoo remnants lingering in his tousled hair.

“‘Toru, I—”

You cut yourself off. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who has to beg her own boyfriend for dick.

“Will you still be blushing as I fuck your cute face?”

But you’re about to be.

“Hey, I was just joking!” Your hands are seized without accomplishing their goal of removing the blindfold. “Don’t want you losing before the game begins, do we?”

“‘Toru, just—I don’t care about any stupid games, okay?” You whine, voice purposely pathetic in case he feels generous enough to cave in. “I just want you. I need you. Please?”

“And you will have me, baby.” Satoru soothes, shifting both your hands to a single grip while he digs into the pile of clothes at your side. “A promise is a promise. I’ll pamper my precious girl to her heart’s content if that’s what she wants.” A string too thin to be a rope wraps around your wrists, piecing them together. “Love her all night long; teach her all the things she misses when her eyes are wide open. My sweet honeypie, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d also like it if you quit it with all those corny nicknames.” You answer, having absolutely no idea as to how the floor is replaced with the futon when you haven’t budged an inch. At least you think you haven’t.

“You love them.” The grin strong in his voice as he lays you down and climbs on top of you, pinning your bound wrists above your head. “Like you love me, my little sugarboo.”

“I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Wow, this early? Have barely touched you.”

“I’m rolling my eyes again!” You repeat at a higher volume.

“Of course you are. This isn’t too tight, is it?” A finger curls between your binds. You shake your head, and he pecks it, gently caressing your hair while situating his knee between your thighs, bouncing it against your pussy. “You’ll see, you’re gonna love every minute of this,” Satoru continues, his hand playful as his fingers toy with yours.

You have little to no agency over your body when Satoru lifts your leg and folds it onto your stomach, his lips held against yours and his tongue slotted in between. He kisses you slowly, like he has all the time to unravel you, and in a way, he does. He could stretch this moment to infinity, savoring your lips until they’re all swollen and coated with spit, his name replacing every word in your vocabulary while he wanders lower, dragging his warm mouth against your skin and smearing wet kisses down your tits.

“The mochi weren’t half as sweet as you,” he murmurs, soft lips clamping over your nipple, the suspicion of sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud. “I’ll buy you some in the morning.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you huff, your chest heaving with one heavy breath after another as he takes hold of your other nipple, alternating between pinching and rolling it around with his thumb, repeating the same ritual of licking and sucking as the nipple in his mouth changes.

“Mm, but I want to.” He insists. “I want to spoil my baby and give her everything she wants. I’d give her the world if I could.”

And yet, you won’t marry her.

His smile ghosts over your flesh, gradually fading as he approaches your navel. “But first, I need to fuck her pretty pussy, mm? That’s what my princess wants, doesn’t she?”

Reluctantly, you nod, a lump forming in your throat when his fingers find purchase beneath your thighs and spread them apart. His biceps curl around your calves as he mounts your knees on his shoulders, peppering your inner thighs with more featherlight kisses that continuously inch closer to your entrance.

He is so attentive when he wants to be, but in his core, Satoru is a selfish lover. He gives, and he gives, and he gives more than you can take, his satisfaction lying in your cute little moans and the tiny arch of your back whenever he pushes you to your limits.

“Thank you for the food!” He croons, and you swear to hate yourself for almost chuckling at his distasteful joke.

He was always like that, to the point where suggesting he bewitched you into falling for him isn’t an exaggeration so much as an undeniable reality. Him, who with his cheeky smiles, exaggerated gestures, and mirthful snickering, conquered your thoughts and claimed the mushy land of your brain as if it were the moon. Him, whose dimples crease around his lips every time you kiss and whose bright blue irises bloom behind your shut eyelids. Him, who’d remain the most extraordinarily beautiful person, even if your eyes never opened again.

Him, whose plump lips round around your clit as he finally takes it in his mouth, suckling on the small bundle of nerves as if he expects it to dissolve into liquid sugar.

“F-fuck!”

Your hips buck into his face, lifting from the covers while your hands maintain their position. If it weren’t for his stupid infinity, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him as far into you as humanely possible, but for now, you can only chant his name, feeling his shoulders tense up while his hungry tongue runs laps between your slick folds.

“I’m so lucky you aren’t bound to a region. I’d have to stockpile on you every single day.” Satoru hums against your clit, the vibrations from his mellifluous tone translating into pleasurable tingles up your spine. “My favorite specialty,” he chuckles, sounding so lovable that you can’t hold it against him.

He doesn’t kid about you being like a dessert to him, his tongue greedily soaking up all the juices that gush from your hole right down his chin. He moans in pure delight, perhaps more than you do, the uninterrupted flow of compliments making you feel at least worthy of a Michelin star. So pretty. So sweet. So perfect. The same combination of words he’s been repeating since you first got together, as if his fascination never truly ran out.

The sounds get more salacious while he fucks his tongue into your entrance, and you throw your head back, feeling so unbelievably light that if it weren’t for his hold on your thighs, you would be floating straight to the ceiling. His thumbs stretch out your lips for him to reach deeper, pointy nose rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit while he persistently works your body to its high, making out with your nether lips like he’s kissing your actual mouth.

“Feels s-so good, ‘Toru,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs from closing around his head.

“Yeah? Like that?” Satoru chuckles, and it would’ve pushed you over the edge if his tempo wasn’t disrupted. “I like it too. Love eating your little pussy. I can tell she loves me too, doesn’t she?”

You can’t believe that the man who’s making all the stars of the night sky appear in the confinement of your tied eyes is the very same man who’s addressing your pussy as a she.

“Hm? You’re hurting my feelings here.” He sounds pouty, though you can picture the sadistic glint in his eyes as his teeth sink into your clit, softly enough to not induce any pain, but hard enough to bring your hips to a stutter.

“Y-yes, she does—fuck, my pussy loves you, S-satoru!” You cry out.

“Hah, that’s more like it.”

Your voice shatters into a million broken sobs which only motivate Satoru to keep going. He nibbles on the sensitive nub, darted tongue inflicting short and rapid flicks that cut right through the coiling tension in your guts with precision that’s exclusive to him and the countless times he’s had you fall apart with his mouth alone.

Your fingers clench while your toes curl, thighs trembling as succulent juices spurt all over him, and, God—how you wish you could see his pretty face ruined like that.

“Mm, baby, you always cum so much for me.”

Without letting a drop go to waste, Satoru licks a luscious stripe between your slit, rolling your essence in his mouth to relish the taste.

“Y’know, I could just make time freeze and eat you out for hours. Days,” he lays a kiss on top of your mound. “Weeks,” one for every thigh. “Months,” his lips on your clit making you wince from pleasure. “Years.” He snickers, marveling at how easily you respond to his touch. “You’d want that, sweets? All that pleasure, just for you. Think you could take it?”

Not knowing better, you nod, and he laughs. You aren’t familiar enough with Jujutsu to be horrified by the prospect of reliving the same moment over and over again, literally getting fucked dumb in a way his technique has never achieved on another.

“Alright, time to turn off the cheats.” He announces after you manage to regain your breath, and it isn’t until his question that you’re reminded of the whole “game” ordeal.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What?” Your voice scratches its way out of your throat, coarse and laden with desire.

“You asked me the same question earlier, remember?” His fingertips tickle as they drum against your stomach. “At the plateau?”

I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing. How many fingers am I holding up?

“The one you didn’t answer?”

“Four, five, two, four, one.” The number of fingers he presses on your skin changes depending on the number he calls. You’d be impressed if you’d actually kept track of the digits you’d shown him, and they weren’t picked at random.

“So, how many?”

You try to pull yourself together, calmly considering your options. He wouldn’t start with five or four. The first three numbers are more likely, and taking a leap of faith—

“One.” You lock in your answer, with an excitable cheer following suit.

“Wow, my girl is so smart!” Satoru praises. “Got it on her first try!”

“Quit treating me like I’m one of your students.”

“Oh, trust me.” He runs his middle finger down your abdomen, emphasizing his point with a tap on your clit. “I’d never treat any of my students the way I treat you. Or anyone else for that matter,” he trails off, gathering some of the slick that’s trickled out of your slit, and brings it into his mouth, finger coated with spit the next time he touches you.

“All of my special treatment is reserved for my special girl.”

His finger prods lazily into your cunt, thick enough for every ridge to be lusciously dragged against your velvety walls, and long enough to delve straight into your pulsing core.

To his disappointment, there isn’t much of a reaction—save for the occasional hitched breath. You can take it. For seven years now, you’ve been trained on his deft fingers and the many tricks they play, but when his thumb begins circling your clit in tandem with his thrusts, your facade cracks.

“Aw, you didn’t think it’d be this easy, did you, bunny?” Satoru coos in fake sympathy, as his thumb zigzags feverishly about your clit, the finger in your cunt curving in a repetitive come-hither motion.

“‘T-toru, please—ngh!” You whine, your lower half squirming on its own accord. “You said you’d let me win!”

“Let you?” A complacent smile takes shape on his face, and although you cannot see it, you can hear it chiming in his tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Y-you evil man!”

He giggles at your supposed insult, one moment asking if that’s the best you can do, and the next cheering you on by saying he’s rooting for you.

Asshole.

Heat runs rampant between the lowest pit in your stomach and the apex of your flushed cheeks, the blindfold soaking sweat off your forehead like a headband. You are close; pressure steadily building only to wither away once Satoru retracts his hand.

Asshole!

“Sorry, pretty. Got a little carried away, but no hard feelings, hm?” Your tormentor asks, rubbing your clit at a pace far too slow to be soothing. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“T-two.” You answer, your sanity chipping the longer your hole remains puckering around nothing.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”

You kiss your teeth as Satoru angles his wrist with your pussy and shoves two of his fingers in, curling them against the spongy spot that swells with each pump, and when that isn’t enough to muffle your cries, you bite down onto your lip, choking on every sob you’ve been withholding. Last thing you want is to give your next-room neighbors another reason to fantasize about your boyfriend.

“It’s fine. You can let it all out.” Satoru reads your mind. “Room’s soundproof, though there isn’t much you can say, right?”

Your walls flutter around his fingers in utter bliss. You hate (love) how his words get to your body before your brain can process them; every remark you’d typically deflect, seeping under your skin and igniting as fire in your loins.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, maintaining a steady rhythm even with his thumb swiping at your clit. “I’ll be the one doing all the talking from now on.”

“Sh-shut up!” You manage to say before returning to your three-word prayer of little oh-my-god’s and ah-ah-ah’s.

“But you love my mouth.” Satoru argues back. “And now you love my fingers. How long they feel stretching you out, how deep they can go.”

He’s buried to his knuckles, slowing down for the sake of plunging his digits further into your wet cunt, the lewd squelching bouncing across the walls along with the obscene sounds you let out.

“You’re practically fucking yourself on them.”

Your boyfriend’s words cloud your brain, your body acting purely on instinct as you begin to hump his hand. Satoru doesn’t stand in the way; rather, he assists with a sturdy hold that has your hips slamming against his fingers, repeating the motion until your creamy essence comes pouring down warmly over his palm.

You aren’t sure whether the white speckles in your vision stem from the gates of heaven welcoming you to the other side or the light fixtures on the ceiling, becoming certain only after the outline of a halo brushes against your forehead. It’s hard to call the man slumped above you an angel when his one hand is cupping your cunt, the fingers of the other tasked with undoing the knot around your wrists.

You are free to move—or about as free as one can be when every joint in their body begs to drag them down, your limbs strewn over the sheets like those of a tattered rag doll. The blindfold is still on, albeit slightly lowered over your nose. A little more wriggling and you can take it off, yet that too requires effort you lack.

Satoru says something that fails to register in your trance. He’s mocking you. He’s praising you. He’s mocking you while praising you, and praising you while mocking you, because those two go hand in hand in his brain—a proper carrot and stick. You think you should be thanking him or cursing him, but your words turn out a jumbled mess—nothing worth writing home about.

“Ready for the final round?” His voice finally conquers the ambient—heavy, almost as though his own ministrations have worn him out, and distorted by every prolonged inhale and sharp exhale he takes.

“Do I have a choice?” You provoke.

“Sure you do. Just—hah, not when it comes to this.”

A low fuck evades him, and you are oblivious to the way he’s been fisting his cock this entire time, smearing your slick over his length and squeezing the reddened tip in the ring shaped by his thumb and index, biting onto his tongue whenever your name comes remotely close to spilling from his lips. Only he knows the endurance he’s shown keeping himself from busting in his hand at the sight of your fucked-out form, trembling thighs calling to him in a carnal manner your lips could never muster.

You look ravishing, and ravishing you is all he aches to do.

“How many—” Satoru begins, only to be cut off with a croaked three that jumps an octave the moment his fat tip prods into your folds. “Three?” His fingers burrow into the supple flesh of your thighs as he splays your legs over his bare chest. “Could’ve sworn it was at least eight. Guess I need to make it go a bit deeper, huh?”

His lips lay soft against your ankle, trailing honeyed kisses down the expanse of skin that lose finesse once they near the crevice of your knee. An idea blinks in his brain as he grabs your thigh and presses it down against your stomach, repeating the same pattern of tenderness on the other until you are folded in half.

He stares down at you, and for a moment, that’s all he does. His eyes—the prized six eyes that are the very synonym for quintessence—well with adoration over the point where your bodies connect, the tight fit of your cunt prompting him to lose control and fuck an entire generation of sorcerers into you.

All in good time.

A quiet whisper reminds Satoru of his promise, hips drawing back before they snap right into you, the crude sound of his balls slapping against your ass reverberating across the room. You moan in unison, your fists thudding against the floor as his thrusts send you flying past the covers.

It’s too much. It’s too little. You want less. You want more. Your desires bend and twist around one another like indecisive vines, settling on a direction only after he leans forward and fixes the cushions behind your head.

“Congratulations.” The gentle action of his hand combing through your hair contradicts the cock throbbing inside your pussy. “To think my baby would make me eat my own words—well; I can get behind dating a winner. Especially when they’re as beautiful as you.”

“S-satoru!”

You look away—if resting your flushed cheek on the significantly colder pillow and fixing your gaze at whatever lies beyond the blindfold counts as looking—the sincerity in his words moving you more than it should.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are embarrassed.” Satoru chuckles, punctuating his own question with a sensual roll of his hips that drags against your clit, coaxing the tiniest of moans to slip from your pursed lips.

“Hmm, is it because I called you beautiful?” He leans onto his elbow, relying on the weight of his chest to keep you pinned down. “Nah, can’t be it. I call you beautiful on a daily basis, don’t I? Then—hmm—is it ‘cause I’m so nice to you? Because I’m the best boyfriend you could ask for?”

“Q-quit it with all that self affirm—oh my god!”

Tears prickle your eyelash line at the familiar way his cock glides between your walls. He’s in so deep, relaxed thrusts pushing against your abdomen from the inside, with your cervix serving as the last line of defense for your merge, gallantly bearing every kiss his tip prints on your core.

“C’mooon, you gotta help me out. I’m all outta guesses here.” Satoru whines in your ear, his voice a pitch too high. “Is it because you can’t see me? Because this feels so good? Or because,” his hand sneaks between your bodies to work languid circles around your clit, “you just love me that much?”

“Aw, so that’s what it was?” He interprets the clenching of your pussy as he wills. For once he isn’t off the mark. “Okay, look at me.”

Even when you weren’t embarrassed before, you are about to be as heat pools in your stomach anew, threatening to make your score three to zero. You feel yourself turning liquid, dissolving between ripples of pleasure, drowning in you and drowning in him, and he’s both the riptide pulling you in as he’s the lifeline washing you ashore, the salty tang of the sea clinging to the fingers fumbling about your chin.

“I said, look at me.” His tone serious this time.

Every sense of yours is held captive as Satoru’s lips finally smash into yours, the taste of your essence refusing to die out no matter how many times your tongues swirl around each other. Your breathy moans are traded for his needy grunts, compiling into a broken record that plays sinfully in your ears, the whiff of sex lingering potent in the thick air between you.

He doesn’t fuck into you so much as he grinds against you, allowing you to grab at his biceps when your legs start to shake, the white clouds in your peripheral dispersing behind the sky blue of his eyes, placid orbs electrified by lust.

“Hi,” Satoru greets with an amiable smile, the blindfold dangling from around his forefinger.

“H-hi,” you return, your palms creeping up his face as if to appraise it, soft thumbs pushing the dampened strands away from his forehead, a thirst within you at last quenched.

“It’s-a me.” He says stupidly, basking in the affectionate way you cradle him.

“If you crack a Mario joke I’ll kick you in the nuts.” You warn.

“Oh no! How dare you genocide my children?” He gasps, and you can’t help but chuckle, eliciting a moan from him as your walls tighten around his cock. “M-minus one Gojo junior.”

Another laugh. Another moan. Another kiss.

“Would you put a baby into me if I didn’t?” You trace against his lips, uncertain of the answer you want to hear.

There’s no reason to be discussing having kids when you haven’t even tied the knot, let alone when more qualified candidates exist to continue his clan’s lineage. Maybe Shoko—she and Satoru have always been close, and a healing technique sounds like a valuable inheritance. Utahime—you aren’t sure what her abilities are, but they too go back. Even Mei, her family have a sizable fortune, and their genes combined would—

Mischief sparks in his eyes, tugging at the corners of his mouth and spreading to your lips as he kisses you—not his close friend, not his self-declared nemesis, and certainly not his senior. Just plain old you.

“If that’s what the future Mrs. Gojo wants, then—”

“What do you—”

Before your questions can manifest, Satoru picks up a tempo that knocks the air out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your mind. Big palms wrap your knees around his torso, sculpted pecs smothering your plushy tits while he vigorously drills his cock into your sopping cunt, having the nerve to laugh at your whimpers in between strangled noises of his own.

“You feel so good f’me, baby. S-so fucking good, aren’t you? My good—nah, my perfect girl. Our kids will be perfect too. G-gonna have lots of ‘em, mm? Gonna-fuck, gimme a whole class to teach, right?” He blabs deliriously, broad shoulders flexing as your nails rake them.

You want that. Everything he’s willing to offer, a future where his last name precedes your first, and chubby babies that bear his disposition, his ideals, and his smiles follow on your trail like little disoriented ducklings; one where he’s your husband, and you’re his wife, and you’re tied to each other for life.

Satoru’s lips drift toward your neck, biting sloppy marks that have you writhing below him. And when his cock hits that one spot inside of you, the one he’s been abusing all night long like a kid with a brand new toy on Christmas Eve, “Oh my God—G-god, p-please j-just like that, shit shit f-fuck!”

“Why bring religion into this?” He mumbles, voice inadvertently sultry and cumbered with every bit of self-restraint he showed before entering this frenzy where his climax is the only thing that matters. “Just—hah, say my name. Let the heavens know who helped you ascend them.”

The next time your eyes meet, he’s grinning, pink lips bitten cherry red, and he’s pretty; so pretty; too pretty.

“C-can’t say th-things like that!” You struggle to maintain control over your bobbing head.

“Why not? Your little heart can’t handle it?”

“Sh-shut up, dumbass!”

His eyebrows unite amid his forehead, even his frown attractive.

“That’s not my name.”

“S-stupid!” You yelp, mainly addressing the myriad stupid butterflies that chose to swarm your stupid stomach at his stupid commentary.

“Mmm, I think you’re the one getting fucked stupid here, sugarplum.”

Satoru zooms on into your lips, playfully swiping his tongue in between. You can’t cum any more; it’s physically impossible. You think. But “impossible” isn’t a word in his vocabulary; every snap of his hips causes you to ride on a rollercoaster with no end-destination, only a consistent state of newer highs.

“S-satoru.” His name rolling off your tongue works like a charm, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down as he presses your foreheads together.

“Again?” He pleads. Quietly. A pin capable of overshadowing his tone.

“‘Toru.” Two smiles turn into one. “My ‘Toru.”

“More.”

There’s not a single gap between your bodies; every piece of him fits into every piece of you like a puzzle, but somehow he seems to get closer, squeezing into your hips a little tighter and kissing your lips a little rougher.

His heart beats wildly against his chest, red leaking onto his cheeks and blue spilling from the ocean in his eyes. He looks at you with love—so much love that it’s seared into your very being and becomes your own identity as the only woman Gojo Satoru ever truly, madly, deeply loved.

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

It’s the combination of those four little words that pushes Satoru over the edge, his hips jerking violently while his cock pumps ropes upon ropes of creamy cum inside your spent pussy, filling you up until you can’t be filled any more.

He collapses on top of you, head reduced into a fluffy snowball that takes refuge in the crook of your neck, and that’s your cue to hold him close, pampering him with all the affection you’re otherwise so frugal about. He’s touch-starved to the point of shaking in your embrace, nearly purring as your arms loop behind his back and your lips touch his shoulders, peppering incomplete kisses across his hot skin.

Your hands relocate to his cheeks as he regains enough composure to face you, an idiotically bright smile stretching from one ear to the other. He nuzzles your palms, pressing kisses at the center of each and then rubbing his nose against them like a content kitten who just received the world’s greatest belly rub.

Aiko should learn from him.

“I love you more, hunny bunny.” Satoru beams, soft rays of sunshine pouring from the cracks in his dimples. “Non-negotiable.”

You bask in the afterglow together, locking toes as if you’re trying to hold hands and making out like two teenagers in heat. Correction: two idiots in love.

Your so-called honeymoon period never ended, probably because you never ran out of things to love about each other. Right now, you’re loving how Satoru’s dick remains plugged inside your pussy despite its painful twitching, for the simple reason you asked him to stay like that a little longer.

You love how Satoru tries to keep his eyes open when you kiss just so you can appreciate them a while longer, and you love the light giggle that tickles your lips as you remind him that only sociopaths kiss with their eyes open.

You love the way Satoru buries his head between your tits and squeezes them against his cheeks, apologizing to his “girls” for not giving them the proper attention and promising expensive lingerie and whipped cream treatments when you get back to Tokyo.

You also love how when Satoru pulls out and sees the mess he made out of your hole, his seed rolling between your thighs in an endless stream, his first reaction is to grin, and his second is to teleport across the room, cleaning you up before you can realize he ever left. You love that the answer to the question “how?” is a cocky “because I’m Gojo Satoru,” which seems to be the answer to most things concerning him.

The list of things you love about your boyfriend grows exponentially after Satoru puts the two of you in bed and pulls you into his arms. You love his hugs. How you drown in them, how he engulfs you better than any dress, shirt, or skirt can. You love the comforting scent his pores exude and the temperature of his naked skin on yours.

You love the narrow hugs that date back to lazy mornings in your student one-bedroom apartment, splayed in a bed that could barely fit his enormous legs, and the wide, almost too comfortable ones you share in his king-sized bed. You love the silly, whiny tone that typically begs you to miss work and try to outlast eternity with him, now declaring it’s “sleepy time.”

You love the Satoru that chased after you until you loved him back, and the Satoru who patiently waits until your eyelids close first so you don’t go a minute without him.

“‘Toru?” You mumble into his chest, seconds before the last semblance of conscience fades away. “Did you turn it off? Your technique, I mean.”

“Did I?” Snowy lashes flutter slowly above his tired eyes. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to see in nine months.” Satoru kisses your forehead. “Goodnight, my little cuddle muffin.”

On second thought, there is one thing you hate about him.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

“G-Gojo?! Hey, what happened to ‘Toru? Baby? I know you’re not sleeping—hey, wake up, I was just joking! Come on!”

43 Missed Calls—Principal Nanimon

You have 9 new voicemails.

Press play.

“Satoru!” The phone rattles in his grasp, nearly falling into the wooden plate splayed on his lap. “I think I told you to keep your phone on at all times! You are a sorcerer; show some responsib—”

“What is he going on about?” Satoru yawns, scratching the back of his head, and then scrolls to the next voicemail in line.

“Satoru! This is your final chance to answer before I—”

“Final my ass, there’s like—what, seven more of ‘ese?” He comments with a mouth full of fruit that the room service so kindly delivered a few minutes ago. Delicious. Another reason for him to drop a five-star review.

It’s no surprise when the third voicemail starts with the exact same enraged pronunciation of his name and continues with empty threats that want him scrubbing the entire school grounds. Yaga seems to have forgotten their teacher-student relationship ended a decade ago.

Neeeeeext.

“Satoru, I saw what Nanimon is, and I am not happy.”

“Oh? So he outgrew Windows XP?” He chuckles inaudibly.

Licking the sticky nectar off his fingers, Satoru pads toward the window, standing guard between the vicious sun rays and your sleeping form. You appear immune to Yaga’s ear-shattering voice, eyelids shut, and sheets kicked off your nude body, with your hair coiled around your head like a hornet’s nest.

Muffling the speaker with one hand, Satoru leans to untangle the hair from your open mouth. He thinks he might be partial to your charms, because even when he’s holding onto your spit-laced locks, he can only smile at how cute you are drooling in your sleep.

“Satoru? Satoru!” A voice far too guttural to be yours calls out to him, until he realizes Yaga’s voice has broken out of the voicemails.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru greets once he puts some distance between himself and the bedding. “Good morn—”

“Satoru! What do you think you are doing not answering my calls?” The man fumes.

“Eating persimmons while watching my adorable girlfriend sleep,” he answers earnestly, switching apps and snapping a quick picture of your face. “She’s so pretty—ahhhh, I feel so lucky! Want me to show you? Do you even remember what a real woman looks like?” He taunts.

“She’s still your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” The phone changes ears. “Man, your memory is really failing you. How about I pay for you and Principal Gakuganji to go on a little vacation? I know this amazing resort for senior citizens; their cognitive enhancement therapy did wonders for my great-great-great uncle. Just say my name; they’ll treat you—”

“Satoru, this is important!” Yaga cuts him off. “You’ve been off the map an entire day,” fourteen hours, he corrects, “and haven’t popped the question? What are you waiting for?”

His gaze rakes over your exposed body, trailing the necklace of mauve lovebites around your neck. Smiling, “We’ve been busy.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget the ring.”

“Nah, it’s right here.”

Satoru reaches inside his yukata’s sleeve and examines the small jewelry box, tempted to ruin the surprise by grabbing the blue diamond ring and placing it around your finger—right here, right now. It will look so much prettier on you than it does gathering dust in its confinement.

“What about you?” He stores it away and resumes his call. “Did you do what I asked you to?”

A sigh. “It’s all ready on our side. Are you sure she’ll say yes? You sound confident, but a woman’s heart isn’t the same as jujutsu, Satoru. When it comes to love, the mouth is the source of disaster, and when it comes to you, it’s better to just give her the damn ring and say nothing.”

“And Sugiyama Kiyotaka says it’s fine as long as we understand each other. I get your point. Don’t need love advice from an old man with a doll fetish. I know what I’m doing. Besides, she’s the only one for me. She will say yes.”

A low roar reverberates from the speaker like a faulty engine that’s about to combust, and when it does combust, the entire room shakes. “Satoru! You’re gonna be a married man soon. Better shape up or—”

“Blah blah blah,” Satoru mocks. “Don’t you have anyone else to nag? I think Ijichi forgot to file that—”

“‘Toru?”

The sweet sound of your voice gives him all the reason he needs to hang up the phone after a hasty, “Don’t call me if you don’t need me, and if you do, then don’t.”

“Babyyyyyyyyyy!” He drags out the syllable as much as possible, an invisible cloud of dust appearing around his body when he falls on the empty space beside you, open arms wrapping your shoulders in an excruciatingly tight embrace. Kisses—lots of kisses slobbered all over your face while you are too drowsy to repel him.

“‘T-Toru! S-stop!” You chuckle hoarsely, reciprocating the sentiment however you can. “Who was that on the phone?”

“No one important,” Satoru grins, balancing his chin against your chest. “Ready for today? I got a very fun day planned ahead of us.”

A/N: If you made it this far, then congratulations! You finished reading my first Gojo fic (that made me fall in love with him jsjsjs)

As I mentioned above, chapter 1 is a flashforward to the main storyline that will start kicking chapter 2 onward. Expect laughable misunderstandings, questionable comedic moments, cat rescuings, college tutorings, and the angst behind Gojo's refusal to get married.

Hope you'll stick with! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments, are always appreciated 💙

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #i wanna tie the knot #satoru <3 #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic

[nathaslosthershit]

Team USA (AA23)

(Part of the Blind Items Series [can be read on its own])

Summary: Blind items is back with a new victim, Alex Albon and his American Mclaren race engineer of a girlfriend. With the news comes a very interesting Team Torque episode.

Logan laughed when he saw the tweet. He had been making fun of Alex for his newfound patriotism. Since Alex had started having feelings for this girl, he had been asking Logan for help trying to ‘woo’ her, as if Logan hasn’t actually lived in the US since he was twelve. But his teammate helped him, happy that Alex was not teasing him about America anymore. 

Team Torque:

“Hello everyone, this is Team Torque with Alex and Logan. We are here with our very own special guest! She is a race engineer for McLaren”

“And you girlfriend.” Logan quickly adds.

“And my girlfriend. Thanks for the help Logan.” Alex says, sarcastically. “As usual, this podcast is a mess and will probably not be getting better so apologies for that.”

“We aren’t the best hosts.” Logan adds.

“No we are not. Moving on, would you like to introduce yourself?” Alex asks.

“Yes! Thank you boys. As they said, I am a race engineer for Mclaren.”

“And my girlfriend.” Alex interrupts, copying Logan's previous remark.

“And Alex’s girlfriend.”

“And a fellow American.” Logan adds. 

“Would you boys like to introduce me instead? You seem to be so enthusiastic about it.” She jokes.

Alex had been begging for a while to have her on Team Torque. The team had said if they wanted a race engineer they should have one of their own but both him and Logan were insistent that she join them. After the rumors came out, Williams decided it was best if they brought her to gain control of the narrative again. It helped that she was already well loved by the Williams crew. While she would never help them, as that would be traitorous to her beloved team, she had made friends with a few of the other engineers and had jokingly been offered a job by James Vowles a few times. 

“Sorry honey, we are just excited.” Alex said.

“Yeah! Team America back together.” Logan enthusiastically added. The two had become close since they met, giving Alex a taste of his own medicine by making fun of his ‘Britishness’. He wasn’t too happy at their joint effort to make fun of him but he supposed that it was a good thing they got along so well. 

“Anyway, go on, say a bit about yourself.”

“Okay, as mentioned I am from the US. I was born and raised in New York.”

“Yuck” Logan teased.

“Don’t even start Florida man. I worked for Arrow McLaren’s IndyCar team in the same position, shoutout to my IndyCar family, I love you all lots. Then eventually Zak Brown asked me to come to F1 and I happily joined. Through working for them I met Lando who introduced me to Alex and a few years later we now both live in Monaco together.”

“How was the switch to F1 from IndyCar?” Logan asked.

“Rough at first. IndyCar has a much different sort of atmosphere than Formula 1 as well as fanbase. Plus moving out of the US for the first time was difficult. But it has also been such an amazing opportunity that I can’t complain too much. I am so happy where I am now.” Alex hadn’t known her when she had first gotten to Formula 1 but he had heard stories about how difficult it was. She had shared a lot with him but he also knew it was hard as he hadn't had to do the same. His experiences being a Thai and British driver had helped him understand some, but women were still such a rarity in F1, even if they preached gender equality in the sport, they didn't actually do as much as they could to make it a safe space for women to work. He also realized why she and Logan got along so well. Even if they hadn’t grown up close to each other, their shared identity of being an American in a primarily European sport had brought them together. 

The interviewing portion stopped after there, as Alex and Logan were terrible interviewers, but the conversations were still entertaining and it had become viral once it was uploaded. Viewers were excited to see Alex and his girlfriend, as well as Team USA.

mclaren

mclaren  williamsracing we will keep her if you don’t mind 

alex_albon Idk you might want to keep an eye on her

williamsracing may the best team win ;)

logansargeant Team USA can't be stopped

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #alex albon x reader #logan sargeant x reader

[theemporium]

Eddie Munson could be a real fucking brat sometimes.

A brat who liked to wind you up and tease you and get you all worked up to the point you are practically soaking through your panties all day. A brat who found so much pleasure in making you squirm and whine and beg, only to not give you what you want. A brat who loved making you watch him stroke his cock and make himself come whilst you’re forced to watch.

And you loved Eddie. You truly did. No man had ever made you feel as loved or secure or comforted as Eddie had. He was the perfect boyfriend: he made you laugh, he made you smile, he made you come (which was a feat with past boyfriends). But sometimes he just liked to tease you a little too much, and it was starting to wind you up how unfair it was.

So, you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

There had been countless conversations between the two of you about Steve. He was the mutual friend you met through, close to both of you in his own respect. And it was a known fact around Hawkins that Steve Harrington was hot. He was hot, and both you and your boyfriend acknowledged more than once. 

Eddie had joked one night about inviting Steve into your bedroom. But after seeing your serious response, it got the gears in his head turning and his mind had played out countless fantasies about the other boy joining you between the sheets. There was just a doubt in Eddie’s mind that Steve would want to join, that he wouldn’t scare off one of his closest friends over something he might find weird. 

However, you had decided to take the step. You took the step and you told the boy the plan, and you wanted to give your teasing brat boyfriend a taste of his own medicine, show him what it’s like to be left squirming and whining and begging.

“Fuck! Yes! Just like that!”

You pressed your face into the pillow, the fabric soaked with your tears and drool as your body jerked with each thrust. You turned your head to the side, pushing strands of your hair out of your face as you watched your boyfriend a few feet away.

Eddie didn’t know what he was expecting when you made him strip down before tying his hands behind his back after he settled down in the chair in the corner of his room. The last thing he expected was to see you crawl onto his bed, face down and ass up before Steve walked through the door and headed straight towards you. 

Maybe he should be angry. Or jealous. Or pissed off. Maybe if he was normal, he would feel all those emotions at once and more. But in all honesty, watching his pretty girl be fucked dumb by his best friend was making him harder than anything ever had in his life. 

“Fuck, Stevie,” you moaned, your lips pouted and swollen and he just wanted to bite them. “Feel so good, so fucking deep.”

“Yeah?” Steve groaned as he pulled your hips flush back against his. “‘m I fucking you better than your lil’ boyfriend, honey?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, pressing your face further into the pillow as his thrusts got faster, rougher, harder.

“Hear that, Munson,” Steve cooed mockingly. “Your girl loves my cock. Such a greedy lil’ thing, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

“A cock-hungry whore,” Eddie remarked, a little breathless as he squirmed in his seat. He tried tugging on his hands once again, but the restraints remained tight and secure.

“All for me tonight,” Steve mused, his cheeks flushed and his lips turned upwards in a smirk. “Gonna have her screaming my name while you watch, Munson. Gonna have your girl squirting on my cock.”

“Please,” you begged, wiggling your hips back into Steve who only laughed and playfully slapped your ass.

“Patience, sweetheart, don’t wanna ruin the show for your boyfriend too soon,” Steve hummed, squeezing your ass before tapping your thigh. “Turn around, baby. Wanna give you a pretty, lil’ facial before I fuck you dumb. Give Eddie something pretty to look at when you’re screaming f’me.”

.

#cece's smutober #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #stranger things smut

[astraystayyh]

SKZ as oddly specific love languages

fluff, pre-established relationship!! mention of vomiting in lee know's part

i have an 80 pages thesis to write but this is what i do instead........

Chan : reminding you to take your medicine

whenever you are sick this man would turn his dad mode ON

he would put alarms in his phone for your medicine and reminds you to take them each day. without fault.

lowkey takes better care of you than he takes care of himself

if it's a nasty medicine, he will send you something along the lines of 'i know it tastes like shit but you can do it baby!!'

will congratulate you as if you've achieved a big milestone when you just took your medicine, but it's so endearing????

bonus : would search up what vitamins you might need and buys them for you because he needs you to be healthy, always

Minho : holding your hair while you vomit

being sick is never fun but minho is extra gentle with you during those days

if you get dizzy and need to vomit multiple times, he'd sit down with you on the bathroom floor, your head on his lap while he plays with your hair gently

and whenever you get the urge to puke, he'll hold your hair for you and rub soothing circles on your back

"you are doing so good baby"

will make sure you are hydrated afterwards!!

brushes your teeth and washes your face for you

he won't ever make you feel bad he'd just be like "what do you need? whatever it is i got you"

bonus : will so make you soup and feed it to you like a baby

Changbin : walking on the right side of the road

he doesn't even realize he's doing it

but whenever you are walking together he would make sure he's on the side near cars

will be talking to you and smoothly switch sides

his arm will always be on your shoulders or on your lower back HE JUST HAS TO TOUCH YOU!!!

he just needs you to be safe at all times

if you are bad at crossing roads (like me) he will hold your hand and do it

not in a patronizing way, more in 'please don't get yourself killed i need you alive'

bonus : he will tie your shoelaces for you in the middle of the road :(

Hyunjin : Writing you love letters

this man will definitely write love letters

for every anniversary you will get a handwritten one that's a given

but you'll also get ones on random days

i feel like he has so much love for you and he will feel it at random times and he'll be like i need to write this down!!!!

will also write you loving sticky notes and put them everywhere

on the fridge, on the bathroom mirror, on your bookshelf EVERYWHERE

they will be compliments like 'you look so pretty today', or just 'i'm so proud of you', or 'dont forget to drink water!!'

bonus : will text you every love poem that reminds him of you

Han : Letting you choose a movie to watch

this man loves his movies but he loves you more!!!!

will host movie nights with you religiously

makes a pillow fort and buys all the snacks you want

then he'd let you pick the movie

he may not even like the genre but will watch it just for you

also he watches you more than he watches the movie

he just loves seeing your face light up when it's a scene/actors you love

he's the embodiment of 'your happiness is my happiness'

bonus : if you ever cry during a movie i feel he will cry too LMAO literally feels your emotions as his own

Felix : Saving you the last sweet treat

ok we know felix will bake for you BUT he loves sweets too right

but he will always save you the last treat

last brownie ? yours, last cookie ? yours, last piece of cake? YOURS

he won't outwardly say it, and he might even be craving it but if you ask him if he wants it he'll say 'no go ahead baby it's yours!'

he loves making you happy and if it's through simple things as this then he's all in

also wants to make sure you are eating well

will literally fight you if you try to feed it to him "NO YOU EAT IT BABY"

bonus : when you get any cravings this man will go out at the crack of dawn to get it for you, he's just so in love

Seungmin : Making a fool out of himself to make you laugh

this man is pro at roasting

you will match his energy of course and he loves your bantering

loves to make it look as if YOU are obsessed with him (which you are but he is too so it's okay)

but when you are feeling sad he will literally go :((

needs to cheer you up AT ALL COSTS

so he will start making fun of himself or making stupid comments that make him look like a dork JUST FOR YOU TO SMILE

if you are crying and he makes you giggle he'll be like BINGO

will literally make you laugh so hard you forget why you were sad in the first place

bonus : definitely will tickle you until you can no longer breathe and then he will pepper your face with kisses :,)

Jeongin : creating curated playlists for you

my man jeongin loves his music and he loves you

he will of course have the lovey dovey playlist of soft songs that reminds him of you

BUT he will go above and beyond

will make you a playlist for your each mood because he knows you so well

like a playlist named 'when you feel like crying also why aren't you texting me rn'

or 'for when you want to feel like a bad bitch (which you are)'

or even music he thinks you'll like while getting ready or doing chores

he's not always there but he feels that if you listen to the playlists he made you he will be there with you

bonus : will definitely share his earphones with you and thinks it's so cute when you lay your head on his shoulder:(

#kpop imagines #skz au #skz headcanons #skz scenarios #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids headcanons #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #bang chan fluff #lee know fluff #felix fluff #han fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids recs #stray kids au #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz soft hours #skz soft thoughts #bang chan x you #felix x you #stray kids x you #lee know x reader #lee know x you

[thesassypadawan]

Distracted (Master Anakin x PadawanFemReader)

Summary: During a sparring match with your master, you get just a little distracted.

Warnings: 18+, because all the lovely smut. Size difference, age gap (about 20 years), and Ani’s magic fingers. Padawan reader is of age.

Anakin ignited his lightsaber. “All right, padawan of mine, why don’t you show me what you got,” he said with a sly smirk.

“With pleasure, master,” you practically purred, igniting your own.

It was hours ago that Ani and you had started your friendly sparring match. You were both panting and sweating, you more so than him. And, despite the feeling of exhaustion setting in, you continued to dodge his attacks. Striking at every possible opportunity, even though your arms were growing heavy.

Pausing for a moment, you stared intensely into each other’s eyes. Sensing his own fatigue, you boldly go in for a feint attack. Thinking you would be able to finally finish him off and end this. “It’s over, old man!”

But Anakin being Anakin… With a powerful pull from the force, your saber was torn from your hand and sent sailing across the empty training room. Effectively catching you off guard and allowing him to easily pin you to the mat.

“Care to say that again?” He playfully scolded, a look of satisfaction on his handsome face. One of his big hands wrapped around your wrists, the other with a firm grip on your hip.

“Get off me,” you whined, wriggling beneath him. “You’re too heavy, you’re squishing me.”

Leaning down, he teasingly brushed his lips against yours. “Only when you address me properly, little one.”

You wanted to kiss him back so badly, but the chance to give him a taste of his own medicine was too great. And Ani always said that you should use every opening to your full advantage. “Fine,” you pouted. “Get off me…daddy.”

That certain spark flashed in his eyes. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” he chuckled, beginning to shift his weight off you. “Now, let’s go-”

With the combination of a swift movement of your limbs and a quick summoning of the force, you turned the tide. “Losing your touch?” You asked coyly, enjoying the sight of his large form sprawled out under you.

“You think so?” Anakin muttered, running his hands up and down your thighs. “Guess, I’ll just have to show you how wrong you are.” He emphasized his point by cupping and squeezing your breast tenderly.

A soft whimper escaped you as you felt the warmth build between your legs. Craving more, you began to slowly grind yourself against his very hard and very prominent bulge. “Daddy…”

“Naughty girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips upwards. “I should punish you for such behavior, but I think I’ll reward you instead.”

In an instant, you found yourself pinned once more. His organic hand resting on your needy pussy. Rubbing it gently, making you squirm and mewl desperately. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He skillfully slipped his hand under your skirt and past your lacey underwear, fingers brushing against your clit. “I’m going to take real good care of you.”

Shivering at his touch, you let out a loud moan. That was quickly silenced with a searing kiss. “Sshhh, got to be quiet…don’t want the whole temple to hear you scream like that.”

Part of you really could care less. In fact, the very thought of someone discovering the two of you like this excited you even more. But you were daddy’s little girl, and you didn’t dare to disappoint. “Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my sweet baby,” Ani cooed, sliding a finger into your sopping cunt. “Unless…” He slowly began to pump in and out. “You do want everyone to know that you belong to me…”

Another thick digit and you were practically a writhing, hot mess. Gripping tightly to his broad shoulders, clawing at him frantically as you bit down on your lip.

“And only me,” he growled, the sound deep and husky. All the while curling his fingers teasingly against that wonderful spot deep inside of you. Trying to make you cry out as his pace quickened.

It was all so blissfully overwhelming and yet you still hungered for… “More,” you whispered, gazing up into his blue eyes pleadingly. “I need more.”

“More, huh?” He added a third finger, his thumb pressing down and rubbing small circles on your neglected nub. “All right, whatever my little girl wants…she gets.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you were so deliciously stretched. The burning ache made you clench around his digits, your release so painfully close. “Da-Daddy, m-may I…”

“Cum?” Anakin sped up more; his gloved hand covering your mouth, anticipating what would happen next. “Yes, you may…cum.”

Pounding hard into you one last time, he drove his fingers even deeper. Your back arched off the ground and your vison filled with stars. Your cries muffled as wave after wave of raw pleasure crashed over you.

Once your breathing returned to normal, he removed his hand from your mouth and his fingers from your warm pussy. Groaning as he licked them clean of your slick. “Come on, angel baby,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s go finish this match in our quarters.”

“But, Skydaddy,” you huffed. “I want you right here…right now.”

Scooping you up off the ground, he effortlessly tucked you under one arm. While using the force to bring both sabers to his free hand. “Hey, now,” he swatted your butt with them. “None of that sassiness or else you’ll get a good spanking.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he really was. “Promise?” You giggled, smiling up at him.

A wide grin crossed Ani’s face and he gave you another swat. “Yeah…I promise.”

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