#not that there's anything wrong with most of these

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

the pro

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby. 

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored. 

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days. 

Art Donaldson. 

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage. 

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks. 

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine. 

“We’ll start with the basics.” 

-- 

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go. 

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.” 

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him. 

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you. 

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace. 

-- 

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.” 

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days. 

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches. 

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?” 

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something. 

“What do you wanna know?” 

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?” 

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit. 

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.” 

“Lily?” 

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.” 

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.  

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.” 

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?” 

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?” 

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.” 

“...He seems to be pretty busy.” 

“He is.” 

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?” 

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound. 

“It shows, you know,” He says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.” 

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm. 

“Just good?” He plies. 

“The best. A real pro.” 

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little. 

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat. 

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?” 

“She’s killing it.” 

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it. 

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.” 

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds. 

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.” 

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.” 

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.” 

--  

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him. 

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw. 

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap. 

-- 

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch. 

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies. 

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud. 

It spurs you to lunge a little too far. 

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side. 

“What hurts?” 

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left. 

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.” 

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. 

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand. 

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?” 

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort. 

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns. 

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.” 

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips. 

“Of course.” 

-- 

“How’s the ankle?” 

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again. 

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks. 

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Good enough to walk on?” 

Hardly. 

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again? 

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up. 

-- 

I invited Art. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all. 

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days. 

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely. 

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room. 

“Almost ready in here?” He asks. 

“All set!” 

-- 

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile. 

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds. 

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests. 

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself. 

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves. 

“Wanted to come say hi.” 

“Well. Hi.” 

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet. 

“Thanks for the invite.” 

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours. 

“He isn’t taking care of you.” 

“My ankle is fine.” 

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down. 

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—” 

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh. 

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip. 

“Condom?” He asks. 

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.” 

“Sssh.” 

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip. 

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—” 

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.” 

“Art—” 

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?” 

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm. 

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties. 

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from his still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room. 

--  

“Can I see you?” 

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him. 

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies. 

“Where?” 

“I’ll send an address.” 

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk. 

“...You regret it?” He asks. 

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do. 

--  

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck. 

“Is this Lily?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.” 

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.” 

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully. 

“Art?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why am I here?” 

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer. 

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.” 

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.” 

-- 

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up. 

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

--

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #the pro

[ham1lton]

MISS BAD MEDIA KARMA

pairings: (alleged) charles leclerc x reader. lando norris x reader. george russell x reader. (platonic) sebastian vettel x reader.

warnings: misogynistic media and comments.

summary: after a night out with your fellow drivers, the media is alight with rumours and speculation about your romantic life. most people would call a pr meeting, you go through the funniest rumours on instagram live and rate them out of ten.

author’s note: i’m still taking questions/asks/requests so please send some in! also as usual, there is a poll at the end so please vote!

— part of my maneater series ꕤ

START INSTAGRAM LIVE. (20K WATCHING)

Y/N: hi guys! hi! how is everyone? how are you doing?

user1: Y/N NOTICE ME!

user2: y/n girl u look hungover as hell 😭

Y/N: am i hungover? perhaps. that’s probably why i’m doing this. jo is going to kill me but whatever.

user3: what are you planning on doing? 😭

Y/N: after yesterday’s… events. there have been a lot of rumours about me and my fellow drivers that have been spread around social media. so let’s talk through them and rate them out of ten.

user7: ain’t this a pr disaster?

user8: you probably shouldn’t do this.

landonorris: LMFAOOOOOO DO IT

Y/N: lando? how are you not hungover from last night? i’ll start with you. apparently according to this thread by twitter user y/nando, the two of us are secretly engaged to be married. okay first of all, why? second of all, no. i’m sorry. that isn’t happening any time soon. also, my schedule is too packed to be thinking about marriage plans. this one is 2/10 because c’mon.

landonorris: i’m searching that thread right now.

landonorris: wait lol why is this kinda accurate… are you sure we’re not engaged?

user7: LMFAOOOOOO

Y/N: we’re supposed to be EXTINGUISHING the rumours, not adding to them??? we are not engaged. we’re just friends. barely that if anything.

user8: BOOOOOOOOO

y/nando: it’s okay :) you’ll see that you’re perfect for each other one day.

Y/N: will we? anyways. next rumour. according to some monaco newspaper, charles and i have a secret child. this is apparently backed up by some anonymous sources.

landonorris: BOOOOO we get some shitty engagement rumour and you and charles get a child. i want a redo!

charles_leclerc: don’t deny our child y/n 😔

user6: y’all are MESSY 😭

user9: CHARLESY/N SUPREMACY 😍

georgerussell63: end the live y/n 😁👍🏻

Y/N: what is this photo? this is supposed to be proof of my pregnancy? i was just bloated from an evening of indulging at this amazing italian restaurant. it was gorgeous. whoever used this photo is dead wrong for that. this one is 5/10 cause i feel self conscious.

user12: no deadass 😭 if i was famous i would have had a million pregnancy rumours by now.

user68: no charlesy/n baby? BOOO!

Y/N: another one. george and i were spotted buying baby clothes in london. apparently george is me and charles’ baby’s godfather. there is no baby! charles and i don’t have a kid. so george is not the godfather!

georgerussell63: wait… why not? i would be a great godfather actually. i am offended.

user9: george going from telling y/n to switch off the live to being offended he isn’t the godfather of her alleged baby is crazy 😭

Y/N: also why was i shopping with george and not my alleged baby daddy? charles you’re a deadbeat to our non-existent child and that’s why this newspaper is saying that george is raising my kid?

charles_leclerc: apologies to leclerc jr but no way i’m letting george raise him.

georgerussell63: i’m not ready to be a stepdad but c’mon i’d be a great one.

user4: george isn’t the stepdad, he’s the dad that stepped up!

logansargeant: i’m upset that i haven’t been included in these rumors.

Y/N: if i was gonna ask anyone to be my baby’s stepdad it would be oscar. this rumour is 3/10 because it’s so unbelievable.

oscarpiastri: NOOOOOOOO 😰

user9: HELP???

user67: i’m watching this while doing my makeup. y/n is my favourite influencer!

user78: i was watching your vlog when i saw the notification!

Y/N: did you enjoy this vlog? for people who haven’t seen it yet, it’s detailing my offseason with my friends and family! we travelled a little and i did some work with my sponsorships! so check it out. we have some very interesting camera people.

user65: can’t believe you had the usher do your camera work for your superbowl vlog.

user8: you met beyoncé, you never gonna fail!

user67: be honest, did you faint at the sight of all the big celebs?

lewishamilton: y/n, this is all very interesting but maybe you shouldn’t be doing this? - sebastian.

Y/N: seb?? what are you doing here? and why are you on lewis’ account? don’t you have your own?

lewishamilton: i lost my login information 😅 and i got a message from charles telling me to shut this down - sebastian.

Y/N: what a snitch…

user23: he mad y/n didn’t accept their child 😭

Y/N: speaking of sebastian, here is my favourite rumour. that sebastian is my father and i’m his secret lovechild.

youryoungersis: wait…. is that why we look so different? you have a different dad???

lewishamilton: i’m not that much older than you? how can i be your dad? i’m only 13 years older than you! do i look that old? - sebastian, NOT your father.

user7: HELPSOSJSSJ

user5: NOT HIM CLARIFYING 😭😭

Y/N: that one is funny but no. we don’t even look alike! i hear a lot that we have the same mannerisms but that’s probably because i practically grew up around the guy. i’m rating this one…. 7/10.

lewishamilton: grew up around not with! - sebastian, NOT her father.

user2: BRO WE GET IT 😭😭😭😭

Y/N: so basically, time for the last one. this one is definitely the most out of pocket one.

alex_albon: BOOOOO I MISSED MOST OF IT

danielricciardo: 🤣🤣🤣

user98: HELSPSOSJ i’m laughing so hard.

Y/N: oh hi jo! how did you get in? WAIT!-

INSTAGRAM LIVE ENDED. (98K WATCHING)

#jayde’s works ☆ #maneater ꕤ #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula one x reader #f1 texts #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #sebastian vettel x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #formula one smau #formula one #george russell x reader

[niningtori]

make you cry | part one

pairing: beomgyu x you

summary: beomgyu is your manwhore best friend who you've been secretly in love with for years. one night, he asks you to blur the lines between friendship and physical intimacy for his own convenience.

genre: ANGST, romance, smut (mdni), fwb

warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, dom!gyu, eventual sub!gyu, fingering (vaginal), dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 4.2k

notes: hi friends! i'm not completely satisfied with this, but i'd rather it be done than sitting in my drafts. pls don't be mean ;_;

being in love with your best friend is not for the faint of heart, you think. in some cases, it’s the easiest thing in the world, but beomgyu makes it difficult. he’s not a bad guy, at least not deep down, but as you watch him break the heart of another notch in his belt, you can’t help but shiver at the fact that he’d very easily do the same to you if you gave him that chance. not that you ever will, that is, but the thought still remains.

you met in grade school. for you, it was a classic case of love at first sight. you had just fallen off the swingset and the teacher had yet to notice you, so you were crying alone when he came up to you with a dinosaur bandaid in tow. he looked like an angel with the sun encircling him, and even as a child, you thought he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen as he held his little hand out for you to grasp. you had no chance to steel your heart when he asked you if you wanted to be friends, and after that, the rest is history. 

that was years ago, but the image of him holding out his hand is engraved in your bones. you think about it even now as you watch him make the poor, unfortunate girl in front of you bawl like a baby. she asks him why he's doing this, what she did wrong, how she can fix it to make him stay. but he's dead set on breaking her heart tonight. and you'll be the one who takes his tipsy ass home after he's done ruining this girl’s perception of love. you’re nothing more than a glorified lackey and enabler, but that's just how it is.

“god, i don’t know why they can never just let go. they always have to make it so hard,” he grumbles in the passenger’s seat of your care. he seems more annoyed than genuinely upset and you can’t help but to feel for the girl who he just unceremoniously dumped in the middle of a house party, so you speak up for once.

“it’s not her fault, beoms. she just really likes you,” you reason. not that it matters, anyway, but you feel better after speaking your mind.

“so it’s my fault? i just don’t get it. i told her no strings attached from the beginning. the fact that she took it seriously is her own problem.” well, nevermind about feeling better. you feel even worse for her now.

“it’s hard not to get attached to you,” you mumble.

“what?” he asks, not even really paying attention to what you’re saying, but still asking for the sake of being (what he thinks is) polite.

“no, it’s nothing,” you reply quickly.

“mmm,” he nods, completely preoccupied with his own issues to really give a fuck about what you have to say. then, as if by a stroke of genius, he says his next words without much thought.

“i just thought of something! you would never act like that with me, would you?” you can’t help but scowl. of course you’d act like that. you’re a normal human being with normal feelings. you’ve already fallen for beomgyu without the physical intimacy, so you can’t imagine how you’d act if you actually had sex with him. but you can’t tell him that, or else he’d start suspecting something.

“i guess not,” you sigh. 

“then why don’t we hook up instead?” he asks, genuinely earnest. 

“no,” you say simply.

“why not?” he frowns, somewhat offended.

“i’m not interested,” you shrug. you don’t realize that your indifference has the opposite effect on beomgyu. what he perceives as your disgust only interests him more.

“c’mon, i’d definitely show you a good time,” he argues.

“i’m fine, thanks.” 

“no, you’re not fine. you haven’t slept with anybody in months. not since what’s-his-name, right? it’s the perfect deal. i’ll give you the time of your life and i’ll get to fuck without any feelings involved.” you try your hardest not to say it’s too late for that. those words will never leave your mouth, though. or else he’d drop you like a hot potato.

“i said no and i mean no. besides, i kind of like somebody right now.” you’re not lying, really. you truly do like, even love, somebody right now, and he’s sitting right next to you.

“who is he?” he asks. “actually, your taste in men is so shit, i don't even wanna know.” usually, that would hurt your feelings, but this whole situation is so fucked up you can’t even find it in you to stifle your laugh. 

“true.” he cocks an eyebrow at your answer. you should, in theory, vehemently deny this. just how shitty is this guy for you to not even put up a fight? 

“okay, i lied. now i really wanna know. who is he? yeonjun?” he asks. you giggle even more.

“no. yeonjun is sweet, but no. and i’m not telling you, so you should give up.” 

“you think yeonjun is sweet in comparison? damn, this guy must be fucking scum,” he laughs. you can’t help but shake your head with an airy laugh of your own. yeah, he’s so awful he even makes yeonjun look sweet. at least it seems like yeonjun has a conscience when he fucks somebody over. beomgyu, for the most part, has none.

“he’s not all bad,” you say softly, still smiling and resting your head on the headrest of your car. 

“but still bad,” he argues. 

“mhmm,” you hum. “still bad.”

-

beomgyu doesn’t mention hooking up again after that, and for that you are thankful, you think. is there a part of you that regrets not saying yes? in a way, you do. who wouldn’t want to be even closer to the one they love? but you know the closeness would be a lie. even if you were in closer proximity physically, he’d still be far away emotionally. too far to ever catch him. and so you sit at the counter of this shitty bar and watch him try to woo one of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen, and by the looks of it, it’s working. you smile bitterly and down another shot, making your stomach feel hotter and hotter. you know that by the end of the night, you’ll feel sick, but you’d rather be physically sick and drunk rather than emotionally sick and sober. 

“you okay?” kai asks, sliding into the seat next to yours and cutting into your daze with ease. 

“aren’t i always?” you answer with a wry smile.

“it’s that bad, huh?” he asks. beomgyu is your best friend, sure, but kai is the only person in the world who knows about your feelings for him. he also feels like the only person in the world who would understand them. 

“yeah, it is,” you mumble, downing yet another drink as you watch beomgyu grinding on the girl salaciously. 

“wanna get out of here?” he asks sympathetically. you should say no. beomgyu will be angry that you left  him, even if he’d ditch you in a heartbeat to get laid. but now, as you watch him shoving his tongue in the red-lipped mouth of the girl who will now be the impossible standard you’ll hold yourself to from hereon out, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“i do,” you smile, for real this time, and his grin matches yours.

you’re so drunk, you barely remember how you got home, but you’re here and so is hyuka. you don’t cry, even if he kind of wishes you would just so you could let it all out. you laugh, even, as he tells his dorky jokes and beats your ass in mario kart. things are going so well, you don’t even hear the pounding on your door until kai says something about it.

“i’ll get it,” he says soothingly when you unsteadily try to stand up.

“thanks, hyuka,” you smile. and that smile stays planted on your face until you see who’s at the door. beomgyu. and by the looks of it, he’s pissed.

“what the fuck is your problem?! how could you just leave me there alone?” he asks as soon as he’s let in. your face sinks and all prior happiness is washed away in an instant.

“you weren’t alone,” kai cuts in defensively. “she was alone until i came and got her.” beomgyu is actually a little embarrassed by this blatant callout, but he’d sooner die than admit it.

“well, she should’ve said something, at least,” he counters, face still hot and voice still as loud as ever.

“i thought you were going home with that girl,” you reply meekly. 

“and you couldn’t just ask?!” he snaps. 

“you’re being an asshole,” kai argues. “nobody wants to watch you tonguing down some random girl, and she’s not your babysitter.” the room is deathly quiet after this. beomgyu is fishing for words, but he’s too drunk to quite think of any at the moment. he wishes he were sober so he could put kai in his place, but the words never come. all he knows is he’s pissed beyond anything he can properly articulate and it’s driving him crazy. 

“you’re drunk,” kai adds sternly. “go home.” 

“hyuka, it's okay,” you say gently. “he's too drunk for that. he can crash on the couch.” beomgyu doesn't know why, but he scowls at the nickname.

“but —”

“it's okay,” you repeat. kai’s face looks torn. 

“alright, then i'll head out,” he relents after a few seconds. “the both of you just need some sleep,” he says with a sharp glance towards beomgyu, who is still fuming, by the way.

“thank you,” you say with a terse smile. he returns it with a smile of his own and shuts the door behind him. beomgyu watches the entire interaction and somehow feels even worse.

“what the fuck was that? is he the guy you’re hung up on or something?” 

“no!” you exclaim incredulously. “hyuka is a nice guy, and he’s just… helping me with some things right now.” you’re not the most eloquent person on a good day, much less while drunk, so that’s all you can really say at the moment.

“what ‘things’ could he possibly be helping you with?” he snaps before realization dawns on him. “you told him about that guy, didn’t you?! you can tell him but you can’t tell me?” 

“he… he just understands,” you say. you knew beomgyu wouldn’t just let this shit go and be done with it. he’s like a child finding out his dog likes somebody better than he likes him, and it’s exhausting.

“are you sleeping with him?” 

“what, no!”  you say firmly. 

“you are, aren’t you?” he sneers. “you won’t let me touch you, but you’re letting him?” 

“is it so hard to believe that a man just wants to be my friend without wanting to fuck me?” truthfully, yes. you’re good looking and his experience tells him that men always harbor those intentions. well, he does, at least. and for some reason, as he looks at you in your big t-shirt and sweatpants, those intentions are brewing even more. 

“beomgyu?” you ask tentatively. his eyes are so intense it seems like he’s even more pissed off,  somehow. your innocent look stokes the flames of what’s already been burning for you.

as if he’s possessed, he stalks his way over to you, grabs your face before you can even react, and plants a bruising kiss on your soft lips. you gasp when he meanly takes your bottom lip between his teeth and he can’t help but chuckle. the kiss is cruel for so many reasons, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t knock you off of your feet. you’re usually so restrained around him for reasons only you and kai know, but you feel your inhibitions melt as his tongue enters your mouth. he tastes like alcohol, but then, so do you, and he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, if his hungry kiss in any indication, he seems to love it. 

one of his hands travel under your big hoodie and he tweaks your already hardened nipple between his fingers. 

“does that feel good, baby?” he asks lowly, and you feel yourself becoming even more wet. you're too embarrassed to respond, but judging from his tone, he already knows your answer. 

his kisses are unrelenting and fierce, no gentleness or care to be seen, but you’re so sweet he can’t control himself. he’s been wanting to do this ever since he hit puberty, but you’ve never seemed interested in him for reasons he can’t understand. but now, you seem more than interested as you let him lead you to your bedroom. he lays you down on your bed and takes off your sweatpants. when he sees you, naked and glistening just from a few touches, he licks his lips in anticipation.

“all this from a few kisses?” he teases, rubbing his fingers up and down your slit. you can do nothing but gasp in response as he pushes one of his long, calloused fingers into your heat.

“s-so tight, it’s sucking me in,” he moans. “i can’t wait to see how you feel around my cock.” he adds a second finger and curls, hitting your sweet spot. all you can do is moan as he takes his thumb and rolls your clit. he watches your body rise and fall with the pleasure and it fascinates him like nothing he’s ever seen. your eyes are screwed shut, but he can’t help but prod and tease to see the different facial expressions you show him. before long, he’s pounding into you. the sound of squelches mixed with your moans only goads him further and further until you’re clenching down mercilessly on his fingers.

“aww, does that feel good, baby?” he coos. “wanna feel even better?” post-release clarity should hit you right about now, but you’re only more eager when he removes his clothes. his lengthy cock, angry and reddened, springs up and slaps his stomach. you whimper at the sight and he smirks at how needy you are.

he hovers over you and slowly, agonizingly slowly, he begins to rub his stiffened length up and down your slit. 

“gyu, you need a condom —” you begin to protest.

“why? i’m clean. and i don’t fuck just anyone raw,” he argues as the head of his cock comes dangerously close to hooking on your entrance. you’ve never been able to say no to him for any meaningful amount of time, so relenting isn’t out of the ordinary for you. but more than that, his words, though unromantic, spark a bit of hope in your heart. you’re special, you think. 

“do you trust me?” he asks. 

no. not at all.

“of course.” and he pushes in. his arrogance falters as you take him in, inch by throbbing inch. it’s a tight fit, and the way you clench around the tip of his cock only drives him further and further into madness. how can you feel so good? how can this feel so perfect? 

your poor pussy is equal parts trying to suck him in and trying to resist so the intrusion is forced out. to him, it feels like heaven. 

“t-tight!” he hisses. “relax, baby, or you’re gonna break me.” for some reason, his words comfort you, allowing him smooth entry until he’s completely sheathed in you. you both moan when he completely bottoms out, balls hitting your ass in the most lewd way. his precum mixed with the result of your release seep into the bedsheets. he stays there for just a moment, pushing your hair out of your face, and his next words are uncommonly tender.

“you look so pretty like this,” he muses, and you don’t even have time to blush before he’s unsteadily pulling out, pussy pulling him back in like it never wants him to leave, then thrusting back in again. 

“oh m-my god,” he says as he begins to ram into you. “so good, baby. you’re taking me so well.” 

“b-big!” is all you can manage to say as he continues to fuck you open.

“oh baby, are you going dumb on my cock? can’t even manage to get the words out, can you? it’s okay, don’t think. i’ll take care. of. you,” he says, punctuating each word with his mean thrusts. 

you’re crying now, the pleasure too great to stifle your tears. beomgyu thinks you look absolutely lovely like this, lovelier than anyone he’s ever seen, especially when he looks at where you two are joined and watches himself enter and exit your puffy pussy. each gasp, each breathy whine you emit makes him feel crazier and crazier. he aches so much, he has no choice but to continue pounding into you until he's relieved. so he does. he’s gripping the plush of your thighs like he might die if he doesn’t have something to hold onto. 

he leans over to give you a nasty kiss, all tongue and teeth. when he parts from you, a lewd string of saliva falls from your mouths and he can’t control the chuckle that escapes him when he sees your pupils are blown out as you flounder for his lips again. 

“look, baby. look at how good i’m fucking you.” you look down and see how his cock protrudes from your tummy as he rams in and out of you. “nobody else has fucked you right, but don’t worry, i’ll make sure to fix that.” your pussy involuntarily clenches at his filthy words and it’s enough to make you come.

“c-coming!” you manage to choke out as you spasm around him, back arching deliciously. he follows soon after, thrusts becoming uneven before you feel his cum shooting inside of you.

-

fucking beomgyu comes naturally, and often. he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you. hooking up becomes almost a daily affair, but you’re so hungry for him you can’t bring yourself to protest. you fuck in his car, on his couch, over the fucking kitchen counter, even. all plans to go out with anyone else are immediately dashed in favor of being with him, instead. you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with him, and even if you know, know, know it’s fruitless, you can’t help but relent when he looks at you like a man starved. 

“this can’t be good for you,” kai tells you one evening in the comfort of your apartment. it’s a rare occurrence to have a free night from beomgyu’s clutches. kai hasn’t seen you in weeks because you’ve been too “busy” with beomgyu. 

“well, i know,” you sigh, too tired to argue with him. 

“if you know, then why do you do it?” he asks tentatively. you can’t help but give him a look. 

“you know why,” you say. 

“he's just messing with your head. you know this can't end well.” you flinch at the word “end”. you know it, he knows it, beomgyu surely fucking knows it, but you can’t help but give in every time. “what are you gonna do when he inevitably fucks you over? and he will, just like always.”

“i… i’ll deal with it when the time comes,” you protest. he sees your defeated expression and lightly tilts your head so it’s resting on his shoulder. your retribution for your actions was always well on its way, but you didn’t know it would come so soon. 

you hear a key turning in the door. there’s only one person in the world you’ve given a spare to, so you aren’t surprised in the slightest when beomgyu walks in with that signature smirk on his face. he scowls a bit when he’s greeted with the scene of you and kai sitting so intimately.

“am i interrupting something?” he scoffs as you raise your head from kai’s shoulder.

“no,” kai replies before you can even fix your lips to respond. to your mild surprise, he doesn't push any further.

“whatever,” he shrugs, plopping down next to the two of you and pulling out his phone.

“wanna see this girl whose number i got today?” he asks casually, swiping through his phone eagerly. so that's why he didn't wanna meet up. your heart feels like a hole’s been blown straight through it. you and kai share a deep look, which beomgyu completely misses as he pulls up a picture of a beautiful looking girl. 

“this is her,” he says with a triumphant smirk. you don’t — can’t — respond. you just have a blank look on your face.

“what?” he asks petulantly. “she’s really pretty, look!” he insists, pulling up another picture. “she’s one of the hottest girls i’ve seen in a minute.”

any last shred of hope or dignity you have is strangled in its crib at his careless words. your eyes are hot and your stomach hurts so much you feel like you’re going to vomit. kai notices your discomfort and decides to put a stop to this once and for all.

“alright, that’s enough,” kai snaps. “nobody wants to see that shit.”

“what’s your fucking problem?” beomgyu retorts.

“my problem is that you’re a fucking moron. grow up.” beomgyu’s not one to get physical, at least not in a violent sense, but he’s on the precipice of breaking that streak at kai’s harsh words.

“stop, hyuka. it’s okay,” you say softly. beomgyu is so furious, he almost forgot you’re here, but he's genuinely confused by kai’s words.

“what's okay? what is it that you're not telling me?” beomgyu asks. 

“it's not okay, actually. he’s fucking you but he comes around and pulls this shit right in front of you?! she won’t say it, but i will.” 

“kai, don’t —” 

“she doesn’t care! no strings attached, that’s always been the deal.”

“you may be stupid as fuck, but surely you’re not that stupid,” kai sneers. “so if you say you don’t already know, you’re just a fucking liar.” beomgyu pauses at this. is he saying what he thinks he’s saying? surely you didn’t catch feelings, right? but one look at your face, and he knows kai is telling the truth. 

but why? and when?

“since when did you…”

“since always,” you say quietly. 

“oh, fuck. look, i —”

“it’s okay. i already know,” you cut in. and you do already know, but you can’t bear to hear him say it. beomgyu, in all his glory, processes this and instead of regret, all he feels is anger.

“i’m the piece of shit guy you can’t get over? are you fucking serious?”

“hyuka, you should go,” you say instead of letting him watch the melodrama unfolding before him. kai looks uncertainly between the both of you before relenting. 

“call me later, okay?” he says, wiping tears from your eyes that you didn’t realize had fallen.

“okay,” you reply with a sad smile. he sends beomgyu one last scathing look before gathering his shit and slamming the door behind him. 

“you tricked me!” beomgyu exclaims as soon as the door shuts. “i would’ve never fucked you if i knew you’d be like this.” just like everyone else. he doesn’t need to voice the last part, but you already know he wants to say it, which just hurts you even more.

“did you really not know, or were you just pretending not to know ‘cause it’d be inconvenient for you?” that shuts him up. kai was right, he’d be stupid not to know. maybe not at first, but surely along the way. surely when you’d look at him so longingly after sleeping with him, or the way you’d look so sad when he didn't stay after sex.

“listen, i’m so sorry that you’re scared, or angry, or whatever it is you’re feeling. i really am. but are you so selfish that you really think nobody else is afraid to have their heart broken? and do you think that means you’re allowed to hurt everyone else instead?” you ask quietly. every new word pierces his heart like nothing he's ever felt before. he wants to say something, but for the life of him, he can’t think of anything quite fitting. 

“i think you should leave,” you say after what feels like an eternity of silence. he looks at you with watery eyes and you almost feel guilty, but you’re through with feeling things for him that he’d never have the courtesy to feel for you. “go,” you repeat defeatedly, striding to the door and holding it open for him and he feels more and more like a rat you want to chase out of your home.

he looks like he wants to say something, but one look at you tells him you’re done listening. with heavy feet and an even heavier heart, he heads through the doorway, pausing only before he’s about to cross the threshold. he has a sinking feeling in his gut that tells him this is probably the last time he’ll be here. 

“are we still friends after this?” he asks lowly, eyes wide and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them. 

“no,” you say simply, and shut the door.

notes: not a ton of smut in this part, but i think the next part will have more i fear.

taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @everythingvirgoes @beomnoullitheorem @sunny4cast

#niningtori #make you cry #beomgyu smut #beomgyu angst #beomgyu hard thoughts #txt hard hours #beomgyu hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt angst #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #mdni

[lyingindecay]

Trust

[The Ghoul x Fem!Chubby!Reader]

Summary: Cooper finds out you're a virgin and helps you out. Warnings: NS//FW, MINORS DNI, Vaginal Fingering, Oral (f! receiving), pet names (sweetheart, darling), Soft!Cooper (because i said so), slightly insecure!reader, plus size reader, p in v, first time sex, potentially established relationship (you can read it however you want), no protection, creampie (don't worry, you have radaway), not proofread (im friendless) Word Count: 2.6k A/N: I just jumped into this, it wasn't even supposed to be this long... also please go easy on me, I'm still watching the show since I've been busy. And haven't written actual smut in months... SIDENOTE, i'm plus size/chubby so that's what I always envision when writing, but this is explicitly written with that in mind! Thanks, hope you enjoy!!

“C’mon, darlin’,” Cooper drawls out. His gloved hands roam up your arms, his lips are pressed to your neck. “I can feel your heartbeat…” His lips stop on your pulse. You can feel your heart pounding into your rib cage.

“Cooper?” You’re breathless, really. In a good way. But, fear comes creeping in. Cooper hums, telling you he’s listening. “I’m a virgin.” You are tense.

Cooper’s brow ridges knit together. He smiles against your skin. You feel it. He pulls away and his head drops to the side, his eyes watching you closely. You feel so… Small compared to him at the moment. Your anxiety is spiking. You breath hitches and Cooper’s smile fades.

“Sweetheart,” Cooper lets go of you, but he doesn’t back up. “We can wait, if ya aren’t ready.”

“I trust you.” You try to calm yourself. You do trust him, deeply and sincerely. You trust him more than anything. More than anyone else.

“But?” Cooper gives you a playful grin.

“What do you mean?” You cock your head.

“There’s always a but, doll. You trust me, but something else is wrong.” He states it like it’s obvious.

“Oh.” You bite the inside of your lip, nearly drawing blood. You suck in air, harshly, and fidget in your spot. “Uh, I don’t like how I look…”

Cooper’s eyes widen as you speak. He is shocked. Completely and utterly shocked. “Darlin’… You are one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Cooper’s hands stay at his side, but you can tell he wants to touch you, guide you… Ruin you. “We don’ have t’ do this right now,” He reassures, “or ever- But, if ya want-” Cooper leans in closer, his face inches from yours. “-I can show ya how beautiful I think you are.”

You swallow hard. “Oh?” You sound surprised. You nod. “I would like that.” You whisper, not breaking eye contact.

Cooper smirks, “Name the time and place, sweetheart-”

“Here and now.” You spit it out without thinking.

“You sure?” He hesitates to touch you again. “A hundred percent?” You nod. Cooper smiles and pulls you into a kiss. Your lips press to his eagerly and you grab onto his duster, holding onto it like a lifeline. Cooper’s lips trail down your neck and rest on your pulse again. “You really want this? I don’ need ya doin’ this just because-”

“Shut up and kiss me again.” You whine. “Please.”

Cooper does not hesitate. His lips hit yours and you kiss back eagerly. Cooper’s gloved hands roam down your sides and they rest on your hips. Your arms wrap around his neck and settle there. You are still slightly stiff, anxiety not completely subsided. Cooper makes it his goal to help relax you.

“Y’know,” he hums against your jawline, “I didn' know you could be… bratty.” You hum in return, in confusion. “You told me to shut up, darlin’.”

“I needed you to kiss me…” your eyes are shut, head lolled back.

“Oh, you needed it?” He teases. “That bad, huh?”

You whine again, from embarrassment and pleasure. “Yeah, I need you.” You state it, no questioning and somehow very confidently.

“And I need ya to look at me with demands like that.” He smirks at you. You look at him and pout. “It ain't hard, sweetie. Promise.”

You groan. Your eyes lock with his, and your face heats up, exponentially so. “I need you, Cooper. I need you to touch me, kiss me… fuck me.” You immediately cover your face. Cooper laughs. His hand reaches for yours and pulls it down, showing your face to him again.

“Darlin’, I ain't gonna hurt ya. No need to be all shy.” He kisses your jawline, up to your ear. “Now,” he whispers in your ear, “how do you need me, exactly?”

“I already stated that!”

“No, no,” Cooper nibbles your earlobe. “In detail. And look at me this time.” He pulls away from your ear and looks at you again, closer to you this time. “How do you need me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I need you to touch me- I don't care where, or how. Please, I wanna feel your hands on my skin.”

“Atta girl,” Cooper begins to take his gloves off. “Wasn't so hard, was it?” You roll your eyes. Cooper freezes. “Did you jus-” he squints at you, before smiling. “You are a brat.”

You want to rip your hair out. “Please, Cooper. I wanna feel good…”

He removes his gloves completely. His hands touch your clothed stomach, moving to your waist. Your heart is racing again. His hands scoot down to the hem of your shirt and you don't break eye contact with him. “It's okay,” your voice is so soft, “I still trust you.”

Cooper nods. You help him get you out of your shirt. You're standing there now, just in your pants, wondering what led you to this situation. You're thankful; thankful or whatever force brought you to Cooper. His bare hands grab for your soft stomach, tracing over the stretch marks. You suck in air through your nose and look away from Cooper.

“I need you to keep your eyes on me,” Cooper moves a hand to your chin and redirects your eyes back to him. “Need to know I'm makin’ ya feel good.” You nod. “Good girl.” Cooper begins to lead you towards the bed and sits you down on the edge of it. “Now, mind if I take these off?” Cooper motions towards your pants. You shake your head and when he grabs your waistband you begin to shimmy out of them.

The cool air hits your bare legs and Cooper crouches in front of you. You instinctively shut your legs together and gasp when Cooper's hands grab at your thick thighs. He doesn't pull your legs apart, not immediately. He watches you, examining your current expression, before continuing.

“Still okay?” He questions you. As soon as you nod, he gently pulls at your legs and you relax. He positions himself between your thighs and begins kissing your skin. One of his hands moves towards your panties. He rubs a stripe up your clothes pussy and you bite back a moan. Cooper pulls away from your thigh and looks at you. “Already so wet…”

“All for you. Only for you.” You mumble. Cooper gives you a hungry look. Your stomach flips. He's grabbing at the waistband of your panties and pulling them down your legs in no time. The look in his eyes is something you're sure you've never seen before. Your skin is on fire and you do not want him to stop touching you. Or staring at you that way.

Cool air hits your newly exposed skin and you shiver. Cooper's fingers dance across your thighs. “You positive this is what ya want?” You nod again, giving an enthusiastic yes. “If you need me to stop at any time, tell me.”

“Of course.” You nod and lean back slightly, getting more comfortable on the bed. Your fists automatically ball the sheets up, and Cooper lets out a low laugh. “What?”

“This is gonna be fun.” He says it like you're supposed to know what he means. You cock a brow at him. “You're so soft an’ sweet. I can assure you,” He smiles against your thigh, one of his fingers pushing inside of you, “after this, you won't want any other man or ghoul.”

And, God, do you know he’s right. His finger curls inside of you and your hips buck slightly. Cooper smiles against your thigh. Your eyes are stuck on him. Your chest is heaving already. Cooper’s thumb hits your clit and you gasp.

“Ever touch yourself, sweetheart?” Cooper asks against your thigh. When you give a shy nod, Cooper chuckles. “Bet it never felt this good, did it?” You shake your head. Cooper pulls his hand away from you and you tense at the warmth leaving you. “I’m assumin’ ya’ve never never been tasted, hm?” You want to hide, you shake your head again. “Gonna make ya feel so good,” Cooper promises. You know it’s a promise.

Cooper dives in, his tongue pushes into you and licks up your pussy. He groans as he tastes you. His hands grip your hips tighter and you wince. Cooper mumbles something into you about how good you taste and your hips roll. He holds you still. You let out a whine and beg for me. And who is Cooper to deny you of that?

His tongue swirls around your clit and, this time, two fingers push into you. Your palms dig into the bed sheets in your fists and you let out a soft cry from pleasure. Cooper hums against you and fire is building in your core. You go to roll your hips again and Cooper holds you down, hips pinned to the bed. His finger curls up and pumps in and out of you. You are immediately sent over the edge.

“Ah!” You moan, your voice breaking, “Cooper- I’m-”

Cooper pulls away, his fingers staying inside of you. “I know,” His voice is gruff as he places a kiss on your thigh. “I got ya,” His fingers pull from you and they circle your swollen bud, and your entire body is taught, every muscle tense. Your orgasm hits hard.

Your body relaxes onto the sheets and your entire world is still spinning. You are seeing stars. “Cooper-” You whimper. “Fuck-” Your fingers uncurl from your palm and drop the sheets. Cooper is smiling at you. He’s smug.

“I know, darlin’, it’s a lot.” He crawls on top of you.

“S’not fair,” You mumble, you look up at him. He cocks a brow ridge. “You’re completely dressed, an’ I'm not.” You huff.

“We can change that.” Cooper places a rough kiss against your lips, before sitting up and standing. You watch as he undresses, quickly. He’s ready to get this show on the road. Your stomach flips when he’s fully naked. Your eyes widen and Cooper notices.

“Hey,” He reassures you, “I gotcha. I know this is a lot, all of this; but I’m gonna make sure you feel good.” You nod, swallowing hard. “Do you need to stop?” Cooper asks.

“No, no,” you put a hand up, “I want this, I need you.”

That seems to trigger something in Cooper. He stalks towards you and you’re frozen on the motel bed. You’re watching him closely as he positions himself over you. He holds himself steady above you, one hand on your hip and the other right beside your head. He leans down and kisses you, not as rough as he has been, but still not very gentle. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him close to you. His dick is resting against your stomach in that position. Your skin burns and you ache for him.

He pulls back and begins to kiss down to your collarbone. “Cooper,” You sound as breathless as you had earlier, maybe even more so. His free hand dips from your waist and to your dripping cunt once again. He pushes two fingers in you and smirks against your collarbone, nipping at the sensitive skin there.

“I think you’re ready, darlin’.” Cooper places his forehead to yours and his eyes lock with yours. “Are you ready?”

You nod enthusiastically, smiling up at him. Cooper grabs your leg and brings it up to his hip. He angles himself at your entrance and you prepare yourself. You pull him closer to you and Cooper gently pushes into you. His hips roll slightly as he settles for a second and you adjust to the new found sensation. Cooper lets out a low groan, but keeps himself still for you. Until you are ready for more.

“Please,” You whine. Your hips ever so slightly buck upwards. “Please move.”

Cooper does as you ask. How could he not? “Let me know if it’s all too much.” He speaks through gritted teeth, seemingly holding himself back from absolutely wrecking you. You quickly nod, quietly mumbling and begging for more. Cooper slightly picks up his pace, but not too much. You look so breakable beneath him. He does not want to hurt you.

Cooper lets out low huffs and groans as his hips roll into yours. You grab at his scarred back and cry out in pleasure. Your half lidded eyes hit Cooper’s and you moan, loudly. The sound of skin hitting skin echoing throughout the motel room.

“You think-” You moan again, “You think Lucy can hear us?” You are embarrassed at the thought of someone hearing the both of you. Especially your wasteland companion.

“Fuck-” Cooper slams into you a little more harsh than you had expected, causing you to cry out again. “I don’t care.”

Your head rolls back before you can argue with him, your eyes screwing shut. You feel tears brimming your eyes. You’re a moaning mess under Cooper. “Harder-” You almost choke on the word. “Fuck me harder.” Your voice is sharp, and a little louder than before.

“O’ course sweetheart,” Cooper grips the sheet beside your head and your leg wraps around his waist a little tighter. Cooper looks wild as his hips slam into yours. Everytime he pulls back your hips chase his.

“I’m gonna- I’m close-” You’re almost crying.

Cooper’s grip moves from your thigh and to your ass, grabbing it hard. You gasp. The same heat from earlier is coming back. Your body is tensing and your toes curl up. You are saying nothing but a string of ‘Cooper’, ‘shit’, and ‘fuck’. Thoughts aren’t forming. You are okay with that if it means feeling this good.

Cooper focuses on you. Each thrust seems to go deeper and your mind is blank. Your breathing is fast and ragged. Your chest is heaving up and down. You clench around Cooper and come undone. Cooper slows down, but does not stop.

“Where?” Cooper growls against your neck.

“Inside.” It’s the first thing you think of, forgetting he’s a ghoul.

Cooper doesn’t seem to think much about it either as his thrusts become sloppy. A low groan escapes Cooper, his thrusts speeding up before he orgasms himself. You feel him cum inside of you. You lie on the bed under him, catching your breath, as he falls on top of you. He’s still inside.

“Cooper?” Your voice is almost hoarse. Cooper doesn’t move, but he gives a soft ‘hm’. “I might need my RadAway.” You laugh a little bit. Cooper sits up and hurries towards your bag. He pulls out the RadAway and brings it back to you. You lazily take it and lay back on the bed. You pat beside you and Cooper narrows his eyes. “What now?” You huff.

“How much of that you got?” He points to the RadAway.

You shrug. “Why?” You ask, really having no clue.

“Well, the night’s young, sweetheart. And I ain’t done if you ain’t.” You light up. “I have a lot I could show ya.”

You are excited all over again. “Relax with me a minute,” you bat your eyelashes at him, “and then, I promise, I’m all yours til the break of dawn.” That’s all Cooper needs to hear. He lied down beside you and begins to kiss your neck. “What are you doing?”

“Helpin’ you relax.” He states, as if it’s so obvious. “And gettin’ you ready for round two.”

You laugh. “Okay, whatever,” You playfully roll your eyes.

“We’re gonna have to handle that.” Cooper grips your hip. “You bein’ a brat and all.” Cooper nips at your neck, you let out a gasp. “I think I know just how to do that, too.” He smiles against you. “And we have all night to find out.”

#fallout #fallout smut #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout imagine #fallout tv series #x reader

[imbored1201]

Hi writer, may i request barca x teen reader, where reader is very bullied in school but does not tell anyone and the bullying results in her missing out school and classwork . The school contacts the Barcelona team and the team tries to find her. The reader finally tells the truth .Thanks

Dropping Out

Barcelona Femeni x Teen Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

You always hated school; practically everyone did. But probably the top reason for your hatred towards school was because you usually had to miss out on training over tests.

With the agreement Barcelona had made with your school, you entered after training, and during away games, you did most of your work online or your teacher sent you off with a bunch of packets.

If Alexia knew you were currently skipping them and eating ice cream at the place she always took you to, you would be grounded for life. You were certain the school wouldn’t call her; there was really no point to it.

In your mind, you still had your straight A’s, not actually aware that your grades had dropped, and now you were just a straight C student. You had a bunch of tests you needed to make up.

Well, a part of you knew about how much you dropped; you just chose to ignore it.

————

Alexia, on the other hand, was finally getting the peace she had been craving. She loved you, but you were a handful half the time. Especially when Olga wasn’t around, you quickly went from semi-behaved to terrible right when Olga was dropped off at the airport.

“Hello?” Alexia answered, “Yes, I’m her guardian." Mapi frowned, trying to get closer to Alexia to hear. The school never called; they had no reason to. You were a straight-A student who always kept up with all the work given.

“What do you mean she hasn't gone all week? I drop her off every day." Mapi grabbed Alexia’s phone, putting it on speaker.

“Ms. Putellas. We should make a meeting regarding Y/N; her teachers have been reporting that she’s been off; has there been anything going on at home?” Alexia looked around, where all the other girls were now crowding around her.

“No, she’s been acting the same." “Let’s just have that meeting and discuss it with her. Y/N is an amazing student; this isn’t like her at all.”

Alexia sighed. “Of course, I’m available any time.” She hung up quickly, making her way to her car and calling you.

"Ale,” Mapi called out for her, "what, Mapi? I need to go find her.” She was frustrated, not at you but at herself. She sighed when the call went straight to voicemail, only making her more nervous.

“Que paso con bebita?” “I don’t know, Mapi, there’s something wrong.” She looked at your little friend group, who were in the corner, looking worried.

“Ninas, do you have any idea where she’s at?” Salma shrugged, nudging Cata. “She said that she was craving ice cream last night,” which helped a lot. Alexia rushed to her car, knowing you were probably at the ice cream place you both loved.

She was always taken there when she was a little kid after a game, and now she makes sure to continue the tradition with you.

————

She sighed when she parked and saw you sitting on the curb, eating your ice cream. She quickly sent a text to the team, telling them she had found you.

She didn’t know whether to be strict or soft with you, considering she knew you wouldn’t just ignore school all of a sudden. But she also knew you were a teenager, and teenagers randomly love to rebel.

"Shit,” you cursed as you watched Alexia walk up to you. As much as you wanted to make a run for it, you knew you would be in deeper shit for that, but Alexia’s glare was enough to make you freeze.

“Ale, I’m sor-“ You were thrown off guard when she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Don’t ever disappear like that. At least tell Salma where you're going to be,” you muttered a sorry, sinking into the hug.

“Your school called me today; why haven’t you been going?” You looked down, not wanting to see Alexia's soft look that always got information out of you. “Ale, can’t I just drop out? I don’t need school.” You were close to tears, wanting to tell Alexia the truth but also scared.

“You do need school. Cariño, whats really going on?” You looked back at the ground, pushing away Alexia’s hands.

“They're very mean,” you sniffled, rubbing your eyes. Alexia quickly pulled you into a hug. “Who bebita?” “The kids always make fun of me, and the teachers never believe me when I try telling them about it.”

“Oh bebe,” she cursed herself for not noticing how sad you were, hated the teachers for ignoring you, and hated those kids for doing this to you. You could do no wrong in her eyes. Yes, you were a little asshole at times, but she still loved you.

“We’re going to figure this out. I’m going to get those kids expelled, and we’ll figure out a different situation for you." She wanted to kill those kids, but she knew she had to handle this in a mature way.

————

You told Alexia everything in the car. When it started, the names of the staff you tried telling about the kids bullying. Even the fact that one of your teachers would just listen to their insults and say nothing about it.

You were confused when she pulled up to Mapi and Ingrid’s place, and you were even more confused when you saw Mapi waiting outside. You pouted at her when you saw Claudia, Salma, and Patri. “You cannot leave me with them." "Yes, I can; behave; I’ll be back soon.” Before you could protest more, Mapi opened the door.

“Come on, bebe, I want to see you beat these rookies in FIFA,” Mapi grinned, pulling you out of the car. You looked confused, seeing some other familiar faces still in their car. Alexia, along with Irene, Marta, and Sandra, were going to march into your school and demand stuff be done against everyone who had hurt you.

Fridolina and Ingrid went to get you your favorite food and desserts to cheer you up while you and Salma kicked Patri’s and Pina’s asses in FIFA.

You were very happy when they returned, hoarding all the snacks and refusing to let anyone expect Frido and Ingrid to get any.

As you watched Pina and Patri argue over teams, your eyes drifted to the door when you heard a knock. You watched as Mapi opened it and your favorite person stepped in, “Ale!” You smiled widely, about to jump up and jump on her; it quickly turned into a frown when you noticed the angry expression on her face. You looked at Salma, who also looked a bit scared.

"Ale, I’m really sorry I skipped school.” Her eyes softened when she looked at you. “Don’t apologize, bebita; I’m sorry. I should have noticed what was going on; those assholes don’t want to do anything about those dumb kids. You’re no longer going to that school.”

“Can I drop out?” Alexia scowled. “No, we’re figuring out a different situation.” Salma smirked. Usually she was the one that helped you with your homework, but instead of trying to teach you things, she just commanded you around to do her favors while she did your work.

“Just please find something that won’t come in between my training." Alexia smiled at you, a proud look on her face now. “I know, bebe, I hated that you had to miss out on practice too. I’ll see what I can do.”

————

The different situation was switching to fully online, which you liked better. Now you were finishing your work before training, which gave you all day to just relax and hang out with the team.

The downside was the fact that Alexia knew you had more time, so she made you train more; she called it bonding, but sometimes you wished you still went to school in person to get away from it. Especially during the extra-running days.

And now you were a target of pranks, before you weren’t allowed to be pranked since you used the “I have too much work to be getting involved with your shenanigans excuse.”

They didn’t even buy the ‘I’ll tell Alexia and Irene’ threats that you always shouted.

Even then, you were happy to just be free.

#woso x reader #barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni x reader #mapi leon #alexia putellas

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I had an idea for a request! I was thinking about reader with a really low sex drive and maybe one day she starts to get a little worried and insecure about it and one of the boys just reassures her that he doesn’t care about it<3 idk if that made sense but write for whatever boy you want to I don’t have a preference love you 😚

How Remus, James and Sirius would comfort you when you worry your low libido is a problem. fem, 2.2k

❥ Remus 

Remus sits with his legs crossed in the corner of the settee, a book open on his thigh, though his attention has been caught and kept by the TV. 

You think some grovelling may be in order after last night. Quiet, you round the settee and climb onto the seat next to his, body turned away from the TV, arm creeping onto his thigh. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi.” 

He encourages you closer, leaning back to give you room to lie on him. His right arm does most of the work to keep you up, sandwiching you to his chest, an almost not quite hug. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“How do you know something is wrong?” 

He taps your back with his fingers, looking up at the ceiling with a sarcastic smile. “What could it be?” 

The hints of green in his irises are more pronounced when he’s sitting in the sun like this, rays cutting in through the window, turning his pale skin slightly tanned and his hair a warmer chestnut colour that curls behind his ears. The scar on his lip relaxes as his joking smile fades to a proper one, a lovey-dovey type that melts you. It’s nice to be looked at so nicely, like just the sight of you inspires happiness. 

You shift off of your legs, deciding you might as well lay flat with your head in his lap instead. He lets you sink down. His hand takes up station near your cheek, the back of his curled fingers brushing the skin just shy of your eye. 

“This is nice,” he whispers. 

“I have to say sorry,” you whisper back, drawing shapes into his t-shirt, the soft muscle of his stomach pillowy to poke. 

Remus nods emphatically. “Yes, you didn’t come and see me as soon as you woke up. I heard you on your phone in bed. That’s not very nice, is it, depriving me of your company?” 

You shake your head into his thigh, a slow, guilty movement. “No, about last night.” 

“What about last night?” 

Last night, Remus had given you a very slow kiss. He’d been half asleep and you’d been more so, but it was a lovely kiss and his hand had been rubbing sweet half circles into your hip, but it still made you feel awful when he asked if he could touch you and you’d told him you were too tired, even if he didn’t mind. He’d just kissed your cheek and snuggled into you like a life-sized teddy bear. He never takes your rejection as an insult. 

“You… you wanted to fuck and I didn’t, I’m sorry. I feel like every time you ask lately I say no.” 

Remus frowns at you. Deep frown, eyebrows pinching and brown eyes bordering sullen. His fingers uncurl over your cheek and cover your ear as he cups your face. “I don’t want you to be sorry. The reason I ask is so you can say no, you can always say no.” 

“I kiss you, and I wind you up, and then I can’t–”

“Which I enjoy. You don’t have to worry about that.” He leans down to kiss you but doesn’t fully get there, your noses touching, and then he’s leaning away again. “Please don’t say sorry. You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

“I know that. I’m not trying to make you into the bad guy.” 

Remus taps your nose with his and leans in again. “I know you’re not. You aren’t one either. Sex is just another fun thing to do, okay? If you don’t want to, that shouldn’t bother me, and it doesn’t. I promise.” 

You curl your arms around his neck. He lifts his head, subsequently lifting you as he moves, his arm curling behind your back for a hug. 

“Sometimes I want more of you than you want to give,” he says, “but it’s just because I love you, not because I need it. Don’t be silly, dove. Don’t say sorry.” 

He presses the heel of his palm to your back and begins the heavy pressure of a back rub. You won’t say sorry if he doesn’t want you to. You shouldn’t anyways. But he’s your boyfriend and you love him, so his being accepting of it is a relief. 

Like he can read your mind, he says, “You never have to say sorry for this.” 

“I know.” You lift your chin. “Kiss?” 

Remus kisses you quickly before tucking you into his neck for a long hug. 

❥ James

“You’re beautiful.” 

You’re boiling. James doesn’t notice, kissing and kissing and kissing, your neck flushed with his touch and his murmured compliment. “James.” 

He tilts his head, weaving in on the other side of your neck to give it the same loving treatment. “Pretty doesn’t cover it,” he says in a rush, his teeth scratching dully up to your jaw, his kissing like nips without any pain behind them as he reaches your cheek. 

You catch his face in your hands and push him away gently. It’s so hot in here you can’t breathe, and you’re not in the mood for any further action. It’s funny. You adore his kisses and James is undeniably a good fuck, but your libido is low no matter how pretty your boyfriend is, or how pretty he finds you. You’d always wondered if that meant there was something wrong with you. 

James doesn’t seem to think so. 

“Sorry,” he says, beaming, “that’s enough, right?” 

You feel a weird sharp stab in your chest. “Sorry?” 

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” James sits up where he’d been lying on top of you, having manoeuvred such a position in the midst of all his warm kisses. He sits back on his calves, kneeling in the space between your legs, a hand falling instead to your knee. “It’s fucking hot in here, isn’t it?” 

“Sorry.” 

“Did you make it hot?” 

You look at your hand on your chest. He’s noticed you don’t want to take it any further, you hardly ever do. You knew he’d see that eventually. You have the libido of a panda, where James is an athletic young man who loves you. 

“No, I mean. I’m sorry, because I never want to when you want to.” 

Your serious tone surprises him. “Baby, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asks. “I am so lost.” 

“Just– Most of the time when you try to sleep with me I turn you down. You know already.” 

“Baby, that doesn’t matter.” He leans in again, only to hold your wrists, two big hands curled around your arms to stop your fidgeting. Two pet names in quick succession is unlike him, and it relaxes you before he’s begun to explain. “It doesn’t matter at all. Just makes it better when we do manage to want it at the same time.” 

You grimace. “Are you sure?” 

“You want me to be honest?” 

You’re not sure. “Yeah. Please be honest.” 

“Sometimes we kiss and you know I want you,” his eyes dart down, prompting a surprised laugh from you, and an easy chuckle from him in return, “and it’s frustrating, but it’s not ‘cos of you. I can go shower and sort myself out and it’s not the same as being with you, but it’s not your fault. It’s just a reaction.” 

“But I feel bad for making you deal with it yourself.” 

“What are you supposed to do? You can’t force yourself if you’re not in the mood. That’s the last thing I want you to do. I’d rather have it fall off.” 

You laugh again. James’ smile is glowing, and warm as he presses it to your wrist in a chaste kiss. “We can do other things. If you feel that badly about it, you can give me a scalp massage, please. You shouldn’t feel badly about it, but still. If you’re okay with it, I’d love one.” 

He presses his cheek to your chest in want of your hand. 

You press your fingertips to his hairline and weave your fingers into the roots of his soft hair, shaking them, nails scratching lightly at his scalp like you know he likes. “How’s that?” you ask. 

“Better than sex.” He is unmistakably sincere. 

❥ Sirius 

“Did you lock the door?” 

Sirius hums. 

“Close the kitchen window?” 

“I did,” he says, waving your hand gently where he’s holding it between you both. You lay straight in bed with the duvet up to your chests and the TV playing one of his favourite movies. 

“Okay. Did you take your medication?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Everything’s done. You can relax.” 

You pick your book up and open it to the first page. You’ve been meaning to read this one for a while, you’re happy to get the time, but you’re feeling queasy about something. 

Sirius is a loud guy. He loves the glitz and glamour of life, he likes to go out, play fast and hard, he’s electric most of the time. He can be quiet, too, like you tend to be, but you’re worried that you’re another night closer to him deciding he’s bored. It’s been weeks since you went anywhere, and you haven’t fucked in almost as long. 

“Can I have this?” he asks, pulling your hand to his lips. 

You smile as he kisses your knuckles, barely there presses of his lips to your skin that linger. 

“You haven’t turned a page yet.” 

“It’s hard to start,” you tell him. 

“What’s it about? Fantasy?” 

“No, just a romance, I think.” 

“I like your romances. You read the complicated ones with the good love, like ours.” 

It’s a very nice thing to say, even if you’re not sure how he knows what romance you’re reading. He enjoys listening to you talk about books when they’re done, so perhaps the details have sunk in.

You let the book flop to the side and curl up around your joined hands. “I love you,” you say. 

He curls into you in return, “You should. That was a good line,” he says teasingly. “I love you too, my girl.” He speaks it with a quiet, gentle cadence that suits him and the pet name well. “Lift your head. Wanna see you.” 

You angle your face up to give him a view of the half that isn’t hidden by the sheets. “I’m so boring.” 

“Says who?” 

“Everybody, probably. All we do is watch TV and sleep.” 

“Good thing I love both of those things.” He wraps an arm around you, palm to your shoulder. “And it’s not true. We went to the cafe yesterday after work. On the weekend, we’re going to the cinema. Why, do you want to do more?” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Siri. Aren’t you bored?” 

He stares at you. Long, non-judgmental looking, his dark lashes kissing in the corners as his gaze wanders down to your neck. “Is this about something else?” 

“No.” 

His mouth turns sympathetic, a wobbly frown. “Are you sure, lovely? You can talk to me.” 

You weigh each word as you say it, determined not to embarrass yourself, “I’m worried that I don’t make your life very interesting. We don’t go out much, we don’t drink, and I never…” 

You turn your face down, your forehead to his chest. Sirius hums unhappily and encourages your head back to see you again almost immediately. “You never what?” he asks. 

“Never mind.” 

“No, please. Tell me, Y/N. You can tell me anything, I won’t care.” He’s getting so serious about it and it’s making it even more embarrassing than before, but you don’t want him to worry. You spit it out. 

“I don’t put out. We hardly ever have sex.” 

“Does that upset you?” he asks. 

“Well. It upsets me if it upsets you.” 

“It doesn’t.” His hand cups your cheek, his forehead drops down to yours. “It doesn’t upset me. Did I make you think that?” 

“You’re just so cool and I’m your loser.”

He laughs happily. “You’re my loser,” he agrees. 

“The last couple of times I’ve said no. I guess I just worry you want more than I’m giving out, so. I don’t want you to wish we were having more sex, but I can’t make myself want it more.” 

“I see.” 

You listen to him breathing, the warmth of his exhale like a kiss all its own as it fans over your mouth.

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Can I tell you what I think?” You nod, and he continues, “I only want to have sex with you, that’s one of the consequences of being in love. It’s a good one. So if you don’t wanna have sex, it’s safe to say I don’t want to either. Okay? Love you just as much with or without it.” 

Unlike him and not to be this tender. You bite the inside of your lip.

“Promise?” you ask. 

“I promise.” 

#the marauders #marauders #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #james potter fanfiction #remus lupin fic #sirius black fic #james potter fic #the marauders x reader #the marauders x fem!reader #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter

[livelaughlovesubs]

Incubus fyodor 1

Dom!priest!reader x sub!incubus!fyodor

Warning: pegging, CNC, against a wall, in a church lol, also taking virginity??

Sometimes I use strap, most of the time dick or whatever. Then anyone can feel included? Idk?

This was requested by 🍮 anon, like a loooong time ago. Gonna repost it now :> (was too lazy to do so but now that you are back-)

Fyodor was just wandering around, looking for his next victim. It was boring to keep staying at one place, he always craved something grandiose and better. One day he ended up at a church after going around town, he detested those places due to his nature. But then he saw you through the windows, a diligent priest working for god. Proud, hard working and kind. What a sight, you must have never known the pleasures of the flesh. Oh how he pitied you, guess he will just ‘enlighten’ you then~

The incubus was wandering inside the building, looking everywhere for you. Until he found you in the chancel, the sacred place. Perfect, let's see how sacred it will be after he defies god’s little helper. Protecting one’s innocence? How laughable.

Fyodor walked inside, wrapping his hands around you and holding you from behind. Hands running all over your torso, grinning in delight as he said, “come on, let's have a little fun~ I can fulfil all your fantasies...” before he could even react to it, you took hold of his hands, turning around and twisting them in the process. “aAHH-”he yelped, falling backwards and taking a few steps back, his body hitting the wall. Your hand pinning his wrists over his head, knee pressed against the wall in between his legs. He felt you apply pressure to his crotch.

The boy gritted his teeth, showing his fangs. "Are you a demon?" You asked nonchalantly, while he struggled against your strength. Fuck, why were you so strong? “Yea and? What, gonna exorcise me? Haha.” “An incubi probably, by the way you were touching me.” You came to that conclusion, not an ounce of emotion present in your voice.

Continuing on as if you didn't hear him, thinking for a second. “I suppose you wanted to feast on me?” He stared at you with a skeptical look, why did you seem so interested? Before he got the chance to ask you, you commented, “I'm sorry that you were born this way, having to rely on such sinful acts to survive.. what a pitiful being.” “What, oh no you are the pitiful thing here, I bet you don't know what pleasure is, all because of some prideful faith. Want me to teach you?” Fyodor said cheekily, grinning as he looked up at you, his knees bend slightly due to the position.

“Don't get me wrong, I don't detest your kind. God has taught us to accept anyone. In fact, i’d be willing to help you, so that you don't need to bother other innocent souls. It's the duty of a priest.” He didn't understand what you were hinting at, for him you were talking garbage. “You aren’t going to seal me or anything?” The demon was genuinely confused, you want to help him? Why? “No need to fear anything, I'm sure you have experience in this field after all.” Next thing he knew you turned him around, his back arching like a crescent moon. “What are you…” suddenly you pulled his pants down, exposing his plum butt. “Huh?! wha-" poor him, that incubus was super confused now, this can't be what he thinks it is right?

Seems like his worries came true, it was what he feared, he knew when he felt your tip press against him. “Hu-huh? Wait a second..! I-I thought you were...” “I've learned many ways to deal with succubus or incubus, don't worry I'm quite experienced too.” Then you entered him, yearning a surprised moan from the male. “Ahh..!” Fingers desperately gripping the wall, looking for anything he can clench onto, eyes looking back and trying to understand the situation. He was getting… topped? By a priest nonetheless??

Him? Up until now he has only ever been on top. What experience, this is his first! Fyodor felt another push from you, the strap slowly driving into him. “You are so tight... ah, what's your name?” “Why do you care, pull it out!” “I'm sorry, I can't do that.” “Why?!” “Because I have to subdue you first, to make you submit.” Your voice was serious as you said that, pushing more of your dick inside him. “UgHh! Slo-slow down...gentle, gentle! Ah, hu-hurts..” the boy whined now, crying softly as his dick twitched in excitement. “Oh? It is your first? Maybe you aren’t as dirty as I thought.” Still using the same emotionless voice as before, you kept unintentionally leave snarky remarks behind. All while your free hand collected the slick around his rim, covering the toy with it.

“So wet already, more than many others of your kind.” Were you mocking him? He wanted to insult you, if only the dick wasn't making his mind go blank. “Ahh...you, I won't-mhm! Fo-forgive you.” “I don't need your forgiveness, only gods.” You said, before starting to move and trust into him. Then you explained, “in order to excuse this sin I had to commit due to your existence, we will have to work hard to beg for forgiveness.” “AhHh! Ah-aHh.ah. Oh-uhh..uhm! Nghh..!” Each trust was paired with whimpers or a moan. Cute squeaking sounds escaped him, face and shoulders flushed red and figure covered in sweat now. His filthy fluids were running down those slim and shaky legs, eyes rolling into the back of his head. What was he doing, didn't he plan on fucking you at first? So how was he getting dicked down now. It was still too hard to comprehend. Yet it felt so good.. it was melting his brain, he has never felt anything this amazing before.

“Such inappropriate noises you are letting out, i guess you are enjoying yourself?” The hand which you used to collect his slick was now on his hips, holding him in place since he kept trying to wriggle his way out, trying to escape those blissful sensations. “Ah..wait..ah-Uhm! This is..no-no good..stop aHh!” He whispered, shortly after tears started rolling down his blushing face. You only picked up your pace, going faster and rutting into him roughly, sometimes you'd brush against his prostate which made him cry out even more. “Ah-aAhhH! OOHh! I'm c-close.. m’gonna cu-cum.” Fyodor breathed out, his entire being quivering in pleasure. This was heaven. Don’t get him wrong, he knew nothing of heaven but this is how he'd imagine paradise to be like. He was filled with pure ecstasy, it was damn addicting and he doesn't think he will ever get over it.

“You have to beg for forgiveness, and to excuse your pathetic self.” You whispered into his ear. Like a spell he couldn’t disobey, he immediately began pleading with.. whom? God? You? Ugh.. to think he had come this low. “AhhHhAA!! ohHh! For-forgive meHHnghh~..!!” His release came in torrents, coursing through his veins and making his legs go weak. He felt so helpless, so exposed and vulnerable with you. And it was the best feeling he has ever experienced, never in his life did he knew something like this was possible. Those noises were filled with desire and longing, loud and clear as he painted the wall white, “aAhHahhhH~!” A shudder ran down his spine, hole clenching down onto you.

The slick was all the way down to his knees now, and he was still lost in subspace. Guess the climax was pretty intense, rendering him to such a whiny mess. You weren't sure if he could understand you, but you tried it anyway. “So, may I inquire the name of you pitiful thing?” There were no answers, only breathy whines and pants. Eventually he gasped out his name meekly, mumbling, “fyo-fyodor…” After blinking a few times, you leaned down to his ear and uttered in a seductive, as well as sadistic voice. This was the first time he heard your tone change. “I'm going to keep you here, so that you wont cause troubles for others. You don’t mind being my pet fyodor, isn’t that right?” And you let go of him after finishing your sentence. Hands leaving his body. Ahh..another shiver travelled down to his core, how could he ever refuse such an enticing offer? Without your help, his legs finally betrayed his body as he crashed down onto the ground. Sitting there looking all ravaged while a sticky white puddle formed beneath him. Fyodor looked at you over his shoulder while panting heavily, tongue hanging out from his blushing face like a dumb little pet.

Part two

#sub character #sub!character #dom reader #dom!reader #sub bsd #sub bungou stray dogs #sub fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor bungou stray dogs #fyodor bsd #fyodor #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x you #fyodor smut #fyodor x y/n #fyodor dostoyevsky smut #🍮 anon #incubus fyodor

[ningvory]

secret — julie han

CW: noncon/dubcon, g!p julie, julie’s a perv, manipulation, corruption, naïve reader, unnie kink, creampie, mentions of natty in the end, not proofread, this is rushed so apologies in advance! 🙏

word count: 1.3k

anon ask? yes!

you’ve been a trainee for just over three years by now and you’ve been striving for your dream of becoming an idol for years.

you’ve been transferred to different companies in hopes of being able to debut with a few other girls but it never happened. so you joined S2 just after they debuted their most recent gg, kiss of life in hopes of debuting in their next group or even becoming a soloist. i mean, you’ve got the voice and and you can put on a show so yea, really could.

ever since you switched over to S2, you’ve gotten more sharper with your moves and worked on your dance technique. it was known to the other trainee’s that you were definitely going to debut sooner or later under S2, even you knew yourself. everyone knew you were the favorite trainee to the trainers. you caught everyone’s eye, rather it was your looks or your talent. you even managed to catch a special someone’s eye.

but what you didn’t expect was for the company to just add you in a already established group. especially since they were starting to get ready for their long anticipated comeback. S2 had long thought about adding a new member to the group and they decided that you were the only one that they picked to be the added member to the group. plus, the girls even agreed to it too, especially the eldest of the four, julie.

when it was time to meet, you all actually got along really wel! you were now the middle child in the group, being an 03 liner, you were younger than julie and natty but older than belle and haneul. it’s like you were ment to be in the group the whole time.

song recording went really good, you got plenty of compliments from the producers and composers. saying how great you sounded with just raw vocals and that you should’ve been debuted, making your cheeks hurt from all the cheesing you were doing in the studio.

now it was the time to learn the choreo itself, and let’s just say, they had you damn near breaking your back in a few moves to make it more visually pleasing to the eye. you decided to wear a crop top that barely did anything to cover you up with pink sweats. you didn’t wanna wear something that you’ll get hot in immediately, not thinking that it’ll be a bother to anyone.

but oh julie, all hot and bothered, trying to hide her boner from you all and the choreographer. it was so wrong she kept telling herself, watching how you were practicing the hip move in the chorus section of the song. so wrong and sick of her to just shamelessly stare at your tits and your ass, fantasizing about how your ass would smack against her tummy from her forceful thrusts to your cunt. but she just can’t help herself…you’re just so cute to her, and so…fuckable, how can she not? her daydreaming got too much for her she had to go excuse herself to the bathroom and relieve herself from her painful erection.

for the past few days you all had multiple group practices to make sure everything looked eye catching and synchronized. which of course, it did. but the more dance practices, the more confident you got with your moves, especially the more sexier moves, which did nothing to help julie’s raging boner.

she almost always was daydreaming, making you tap her and ask if everything was alright which seemed to break her out of the dream.

“julie unnie? is everything alright?” you asked her with a soft tone, looking directly in her eyes with doe eyes. fuck. she was caught, and she swears you’re doing it on purpose.

but what was she supposed to say to that? ‘yea i was just fantasizing about you riding me while i play with your tits.’ but she gained composure, “yea! don’t worry about me, got lost in my thoughts,” she gave a small smile, reassuring you as you nod your head and continued practicing. if only you knew you were the only thing on her mind.

since she was the leader, she had to monitor the four of you dancing. making sure there’s no mistakes, you all did amazing but julie payed the most attention to you. not because you were the newest member of the group, but because you were just so mesmerizing. each sway of your hips and bounce of your tits had julie left in a trance that she didn’t want to break out of, she had it bad for you and everyone could tell except for you.

you all lost track of time and it was far time to go. but you still wanted to practice, ignoring the fact your body was exhausted. which julie took for the perfect opportunity.

you wanted you moves to be basically flawless, being the newest member to an already established group meant there was a lot of eyes on you. julie took this opportunity and stayed with you.

“thanks for staying, unnie! you really didn’t have t—,”you went to say but was cut off by julie pushing you to the ground.

“see what you’ve done to unnie, baby? swear you’re doing this shit on purpose.” she groaned, getting ontop on your shocked body, pinning your arms beside your head with a tight grip.

“wh—wha? unnie, get off me!” you shouted a little to loud, making her remove a hand to cover your mouth.

“fuck..don’t cry baby. do this for unnie ‘kay? you’ll be good for unnie, right?” julie shushed you, pulling your sweats and panties down, before undoing her pants and her boxers.

she wasted no more time, plunging into you. head swinging back from the pleasure, biting her lip to conceal her moans.

“u-unnie—stop! d-don’ ‘wan it! please—!” your poor lil cunt s’not use to being filled all the way up! tears begin to fall down your face, trying to push her away and shoving at her with you hands.

“stupid slut, take all i give you—fuck!—you cryin’ f’me to stop but your cunt is suckin’ me all in.” she grunts, bullying her thick cock inside your lil cunt. she’s pounding into you anomalistically, she’s lost her composure to try and hold herself back.

she lifts your tight shirt up and pulls your bra down to play with your tits. she groped and pinched you nipples, making you squeak out. more tears falling down.

“all your damn crying isn’t gonna make me stop, baby.” she stays before moving her hands down to pinch your clit.

“don’t even think about telling the others, they won’t believe you, stupid whore.” she snarks, balls slapping against your ass from the quick pace she’s going.

“shit—g’na cum. and you’re gonna take it all!” her thrusts become sloppy, before she fills your cunt up with her thick spurts of cum.

when you feel her fill you up, you felt your body begin to shake. before letting out a loud whine, cumming aggressively on her cock still inside you!

she slowly pulls out, pressing down on your tummy to see her cum begin to spill out, making you whimper. the tingling sensation of her pulling out of your cum covered cunt has you quivering.

once you got home and took a long shower, you went to tell the second eldest, natty. telling her what your leader did to you but she just laughs in your face. telling you that you shouldn’t have been teasing her. but poor you, natty’s no better than julie! she waits till your sleeping and uses your tired body for her own pleasure! waking you up from your sleep and filling you up with her cock! before telling your sleepy self that you better get used to being their personal fucktoy cuz their gonna use you for their own pleasure, not caring if you cum or not! :((

#♡.julie #♡.kiof #wlw smut #kpop smut #julie han x fem reader #julie smut #kiof julie smut #kiof smut #g!p #kiss of life smut #julie han smut

[hellonearthtoday]

outsiders red dead AU I'm actually crazy about

here's johnny and pony in the au I literally beamed my vision onto my screen like no one's business. anyway AU rambling in the undercut. if you even care

OOOOKAY I'm seriously crazy about this. I need whoever's reading this to LOCK in. Gangs in red dead are just that, but the difference between theeir 1960s counterparts is that they're far less restricted. Because it's the 1800s.

There's a variety of gangs, but the Curtis gang are tighter knit and don't just let anyone join. And by that I mean they haven't opened applications in like 1 gazillion years because they all met when they were young so they're locked in 4 lyfe and don't really trust anyone else because it's actually crazy out here. everyone and their mama has a gun it's like 10x more dangerous to trust the wrong mf also because it's literally the 1800s everybody is wilding

Shepard's gang is also real here and they're a lot more fucked up and evil than Curtis's, but they're also just a lot, lot bigger and have a lot more mouths to feed.

misc facts I don't care to weave into something comprehensible:

- the gang forces Pony to wear his bandana near constantly because he's like the one member of the gang that doesn't have metaphorical chains around their wrists locking them into being an outlaw until they die

- Ponyboy and Johnny's horses, while more drawn to their owners, trust PB and Johnny an equal amount which means they can just switch horses whenever. It's free horse. The rest of the gangs horses are more accustomed to their one rider. Dallys' hates literally everyone. Even Dally. but he's a really good horse to have in a shootout, and Dally likes him.

- Soda loves his horse so bad and he refuses to take him on any real dangerous expeditions. He rides with Darry and his shire horse in those events

- Soda's horse is also the most pampered. And Extremely spoiled

- Two-bits horse has tried to eat his hat on more than five occasions

- Even though they seldom ever have access to one, Steve is a FREAK about automobiles. They're pretty new to the region but if there's ever a chance to get ahold of one in a heist Steve is risking it all to get his hands on one. Even if they don't keep it for long (because it's kind of inefficient in their situation) Steve just likes taking them apart and putting them back together

- Steve's horse hates anything with wheels. inconsolable

- Steve has to ride several paces ahead or behind whenever they're traveling with a wagon because of this. He tried getting another horse at one point, but Idiot (Accidentally named) the Horse wouldn't leave him alone and no other horse liked him.

- Ponyboy used to want to participate in more of the gangs work, but as he got older, the less it appealed to him. Even if he was raised on it

-The Curtis parents unfortunately died a little earlier in this. Darry was seventeen.

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #red dead outsiders au #hell on art

[ronintales]

ೃ₊ 🌾 ❝ So When I Die ❞ ╰►, Gojo Satoru

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 | following gojo satoru’s death, his ex wife is in charge of taking care of his funeral service and everything else that comes with it.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 | 4,676 words

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | character death, possible spoilers, funeral, angst, and not proofread ;p

 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | I did NAWT want this to be my first work on here but due to certain circumstances…. AHEM his DEATH!!!! I felt it was necessary because laik… grief LOL. I wrote this a while back tho. Enjoy.

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ♡ ༘° 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓, gojo satoru …

Your ex-husband is dead, and in his line of work, yes, you know that he has a higher risk of dying than the average person, but still, death never comes expected, does it? Even if he always says—oh wait… used to, you suppose, say that he was crazy strong and no one could ever take him down. Well, he was wrong in the end like a bunch of other things. Like how well he took care of you, how he’d give you six kids, how—you won’t ramble, noting he’s dead now and there’s no point, but also because it’s quite rude of you to talk down on someone who is dead and can’t defend themselves. Whatever.

You just… don’t expect it. Yes, you understood he was hard headed and insanely cocky, but in a way… you always believed that he would always come home alive and, even if he did get hurt, he would be okay eventually as he heals. You don’t forget it, he’s only human, you know because of the many mistakes he’s made, but still… he’s… he’s gone?

You hesitated when you heard that. Gojo Satoru, the so-called love of your life from two years ago, is dead? Impossible, you think. Gojo Satoru found death embarrassing, with all the things he said. He said that he would be okay. He was always okay. What are you supposed to say to that?

When you get the call, you wonder why you, of all the people in his life, were the one they called to inform about his status. Why did you have to go to his place and clean out all his things? Take all his belongings with you? At first, your instinct was to say “throw it all away,” because what does Gojo Satoru mean to you now? You’re not his wife! He neglected you for years and filled your days and nights with sorrows. He broke your heart. But still, he didn’t mean nothing to you at the same time.

Those precious years of being his acquaintance in middle school. When you had shorter hair and he didn’t know much about you other than you were in his class and he had bought you cute white socks for your class gift exchange on Christmas that year. The long years that Gojo Satoru pined for you after you both attended the same high school. The hard and dark times he went through losing Suguru and shutting you out, though he loved you for so long. When you turned twenty, and Satoru had gotten better, to the point where he felt he was ready to move on and continue with his pursuit for you. When you turned twenty-three, and got married to him on a spur. When you moved in and shared a bed, until the marriage got cold and most nights you spent alone.

You couldn’t say for the past fourteen years, Gojo Satoru was nothing at all to you. The news was shocking, and knowing he was dead… did you have to be careful about how you felt about him, or how you thought of him? Well, now that he is dead, should you be so ruthless and hostile toward the man who broke your heart? You don’t know, so naturally, and it really just slips out, you agree to take care of the process of his passing.

For the most part, you’re calm. You don’t actually know how to feel, and you don’t know how to be. You’re not his wife, you have no obligations to take care of him, or anything that he cared about. Yet, you’re here. In his lonely apartment that doesn’t even smell like him. He probably never even spent much time in this place, even so, he still had a lot of belongings. Pictures of you in frames surprisingly. He did take them all when you got divorced and he moved out of the house, you just didn’t expect that he’d put them up on display. He probably didn’t get many visitors to question him about the lady in his pictures. You were sure that would get annoying.

Anyway, you don’t know if you’re supposed to cry or even feel sad. You don’t know if it’s strange to feel that way or not. You can’t quite make out how you feel, being surrounded by Gojo Satoru’s personality and things. You don’t think too much about the things inside the apartment because you don’t want to be too reminded of what you used to be. What you felt about the man once upon a time. If there was still love in your heart for him.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t clean either by any means. Given he probably didn’t stay here much, it made sense that you didn’t need to clean a whole lot of the apartment. You get there and you take it all in. Satoru’s little apartment, because he didn’t want to pay for such a luxurious place he wouldn’t even stay in. Maybe that kind of place made him feel more alone too. Thoughts you should not be thinking start to trickle into your brain, but you stop yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad for leaving, nor should you want to go back. You made a decision to leave and you should honor it. It was the right thing to do for yourself (hopefully).

Do you even want his things? No, not really. But you have a keep, donate, and a throw away bin anyway. Most of it keeps going to the keep bin and donation box. Somehow the feeling of someone else getting Gojo Satoru’s things is unsettling to you, but it’s even worse to think that all these things will just go to a landfill where things that were once valued are forgotten and it’s all going to be considered “trash.” Maybe that’s because you know why every item is there and the story behind that certain mug or decor piece. You don’t know it, but you’re trying your best not to care.

You sigh, the thought that this is all so strange, bothering and pestering you like an annoying fly. You tell yourself you know that already, so stop thinking about it. Maybe you’re in denial that Gojo Satoru is actually gone. You can feel him. He’s still there, you know it. That or you’re just surrounded by his belongings and that’s why his presence is here.

In your hand, you hold a big black garbage bag as you make your way to his bedroom to clear out his closet. This is a room of his that you haven’t been to, strange right? You wondered if another woman spent time here. Jealous much? You’re supposed to be clearing out your ex-husband’s apartment, not pondering about what he was up to after you two had split. The man is dead for one, what are you going to do about it? Confront his dead body? You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that, so that thought is one you shake off and ignore too.

You sigh because you’re tired from cleaning all day and clearing his things out and you’re probably only a quarter’s way done with the place. It’s not even that big, it’s just been uncomfortably hard for you to bring yourself here with your mixed and strange feelings about this whole situation. Isn’t there anyone else who cares about Gojo Satoru? How come you’re stepping up to the plate when this is how you feel—confused and unsure? What are you even going to do for the funeral? You took the task up because Gojo Satoru would probably turn in his grave knowing the higher ups organized his funeral. So while it is strange for you to do all of this, you’ve rationalized the lot of this situation that you put yourself in. Once upon a time, he loved you right? So surely he would prefer you over—you’re so silly, thinking all these things when Gojo Satoru is your dead ex-husband.

You plop on the bed with a small groan as you turn over. This is a bit inappropriate, to be laying on your ex husband’s unmade bed. It’s left in the state that it was the last time he woke up. That’s a little precious you think, freely, not even denying it. Are you ruining this precious thing here? Well, in all honesty, you’re kind of cherishing it, because this is a small piece of Satoru that is really still here in the present times. He always liked soft things and this blanket is soft. The sheets still smell like your ex-husband. The light musk of his skin and his soap is there. The thought of this bed being his is comfortable enough. Like you miss his warmth and touch, you curl up on the mattress, hugging yourself to the scent of him surrounding, and you can almost imagine that he’s holding you right now, like he used to. His detergent is faintly there too, well actually, it’s the same as yours. He asked when you two had split and he was settling into his own place all the household items you used. You supposed that it was all he knew.

You offered to go shop for household things with him and it was probably the last time you two had exchanged any kind of affection. You let him put his hand on your thigh as he drove you two to the supermarket. He let you link your arm with his, sides flush together like you two didn’t just get divorced. It was a silent message of “I miss you,” because it was and—quite frankly, still is—hard to get over someone you loved for so long. Even if he left the marriage long before you did, emotionally and physically. This was something you wanted while you married, for Satoru to present, and in your arms. For him to show you that he cared and loved you. You were even a little upset that was the only time he was doing all of that for you, but you chose not to ruin the moment for the both of you.

Funny how all these memories and things between the two of you are flooding in constantly. It makes you feel kind of sick. Nauseous and unable to breathe. You open your eyes in realization of what you’re doing right now. You sit up immediately, flustered and embarrassed as if Satoru would open the door right now and have that annoying smug grin on his face with his arms crossed, just to say as he leans on the door frame, “I knew you missed me.” Following with your name because he liked your name the best. He always said your name was pretty and he wouldn’t give you a pet name because nothing will ever be as great as calling you by your name. A nice little reminder that Satoru loved your name makes you smile a bit. Weird how all of these just keep piling up. One thought triggers another and it almost makes you itch and feel bad for the way things ended between the two of you. You almost have regrets about—

Whatever, you have a deadline to clean this place up you remind yourself. You spread your palms out on the sheets once more, feeling every thread that Satoru once laid his body on. You should take these for your bed, you think. They’re not so bad, just a plain white sheet, but it reminds you of Satoru’s hair and it would be waste.You lift yourself from the bed and open his closet, not even noticing how you keep having to make excuses for yourself to keep some of his things.

Already feeling overwhelmed because you keep holding back, opening the closet makes you feel like you’re cracking. You let out a suppressed sound. You can’t even register what it sounds like. A squeak or something? But looking at all his clothes almost makes everything so real for you. All his uniform? All his coats and sweaters? Ah, the one from high school. And then you can see all the ones you bought him. Damn, does that really test your strength.

Lined up neatly and nicely put away, it’s almost a shame to you to give these away. Your hand shakes as you hesitantly reach for one of his favorite button ups. Your skin meets the soft fabric and you only lightly touch it because you don’t want to wrinkle it. You remember when you used to iron Satoru’s clothes early in the morning before he woke up. Even until the end of your marriage, you still ironed them.

You look up, reaching for his work uniform. This is what he wore most often, you know that. So you let yourself crumble. Carefully taking off the hanger and sitting on his bed as you hold the shirt close to you. You bring it to your nose, just to smell it. You wish it smelled like Satoru more, but even so, it makes you break down.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you take another sniff. The thought that Satoru really isn’t here anymore makes your heartbreak. It comes crashing down on you. You really miss him, and you regret that you didn’t spend as much time as you would have liked to with him. You wish you could have had the courage to tell him how much you still cared and loved him. Yes, it might not have been the same kind of love you had for him before, but you did still love him.

You let out a little sob. In frustration and despair, tears flow out as you hold his clothes close to you. The walls of your bruised heart collapses as you hold his clothes so tight as if he was still in them. Well, you really do wish he was. You’re desperate to feel him in your arms physically. Just a moment with him so you could say your last sentiments. Just a moment to see him again. Just a moment to love him.

You’re helpless as your tears flow endlessly onto his shirt. You feel silly, but you just can’t stop. You really miss Satoru, and you have been for so many months now. You stroke the shirt as you would his body, wallowing in the grief you’re supposed to feel, even if the dead man is your ex-husband. You spent so many years loving him, how could you just not feel anything to hear news of his death? How could you not feel any regret or remorse for how messy you left things with him? There’s so many things you want to say to him, and it kills you to know you will never get to say any of it to him.

You wonder if Satoru was still around, would he wrap his arms around you and tell you not to cry? Would he kiss your temple like he always did when you were down? You wish he would just do all of it. You wish you two could have tried harder. Your love for him never burned out, you know that much. It’s the reason why you’re here, alone in his room crying as you hold his clothes dearly to you. And even if you hate to say it, even if you don’t want to admit it, Satoru loved you until the very end too.

“I’m still in love with you y’know…”

“Shut up,” You mutter as you slide the eggs off the pan for the hungry man at the table.

It was the dead hours of the night when he returned from a mission, knocking on your door, telling you that he was hungry and needed a place to crash.You slammed the door on him of course, but he wedged his foot in the gap of the door (no, it didn’t hurt, he’s got magical powers that prevent him from actually getting hurt like damn maniac) and used his own strength against you to push his upper body through the door to beg you to let him stay. It was a mistake on your part, but it actually wasn’t all that terrible that night. You were just bitter.

“My bad,” Satoru said dramatically as he took a bite. “Just thought you missed me. That’s the reason you let me in, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not in the mood for any of his games. His smug grin made everything even worse, because he was right. “Gojo Satoru, wipe that grin off your face.”

“Must have hit a nerve,” He teased like it was still appropriate to do so.

You actually don’t even remember what you said then after that, but you just know… Gojo Satoru has you all figured out yet… he never said anything about it to you. And that was just him. He knew well enough not to break your heart one more time, but he was selfish enough to constantly flirt with you any time he could. If he passed by, or was coming home late from a mission and knocking on your door to remind you that he existed. Not anymore.

After cleaning his apartment, it’s all empty now. Which is a little strange. You’ve never even been to his place until after he died, and yet… it makes your stomach turn and feel upset after realizing that this place is no longer where your ex-lover resides. You understand that he’s no longer occupying it. There’s no point in keeping it for him. But maybe because you don’t think it through while you’re still in the grieving process. You don’t think about Gojo Satoru being dead because you don’t want to. It makes your heart squeeze and your breath stop. You can’t face the fact that he no longer exists and you can no longer see him anymore. You just can’t, so you wonder: where will his home be? Who's going to take care of him? Where is he going to go to shelter himself from the rain or snow? Where is he going to sleep? Where can he feel safe and secure?

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. You really need to get some proper rest. You feel yourself withering in the bitter feelings you still have toward Satoru, but also the dangerous sorrow that’s sinking your whole body down. You can’t believe that you really miss Gojo Satoru after all this time hating him and wishing you two had never met when he was here and alive, waiting for you to just cave into what your heart wanted. Truth is though, you never would. You were too strong for that.

Finally, you pack up the final things, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Satoru isn’t here anymore, and it looks exactly like that. This little corner of the world isn’t his anymore, and you’d like to say that it never was because he didn’t spend much of his time in this place. It’s just sad to see it all gone, stripped to the bare white box it actually is without the fun of your late ex-husband. You shut the door, leaving this place behind and bringing this part of Satoru with you, maybe the only part of Satoru that is still worldly and able for you to have in your grasp. You leave the key to his apartment on the landlord’s desk and leave with the rest of Satoru’s things in your arms, all thrown in the cardboard box labeled “Satoru” in your handwriting with a permanent marker. Silly of you to not even realize it, Gojo Satoru’s home is not a place, it’s you.

The end of it was the funeral process. Which was much more work than cleaning his apartment. You wish somebody was worried about your well-being, but that somebody, the most likely candidate, was dead. Satoru would have told you to chill out a bit and ask you to wind down with him, but this is his funeral, he can’t really do that now, can he? But you don’t want to seem like you’re so reliant on him. You’ve done plenty of things without him, and this will be no exception. He just… sort of made the process easier and bearable. You’re on your 10th phone call with the carpenters of the coffin when you really wish you didn’t take on the task of carrying out Satoru’s dying wishes. He didn’t even have many, because he was so sure he wasn’t going to die so soon.

Through it all, you hold yourself together quite elegantly. Even through the eulogy. No one would even guess the mental strain you put yourself through to make this all happen. All the floral arrangements are beautiful, Satoru’s corpse is dressed nicely—though you grace him with a closed casket funeral because you were sure that he did not want anyone to see him so vulnerably lifeless and you simply could not handle the sight of his stale and unresponsive body. But everyone could indeed tell, Gojo Satoru was loved. They could understand your love for the man. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t love him. But you just deny it.

His guest list was quite large. Some people you didn't even know, and you were sure he did not want that. But the higher ups had their own agenda too, and you had to make compromises though you stood your ground quite well for the sake of your late ex-husband's well being in the afterlife. You wonder, would Satoru love you for eternity for loving and caring for him unconditionally and so thoroughly? When you eventually join him, will he thank you for so meticulously planning and giving him a proper send off? You hope so. You hope that he will continue to love you in the next lifetime, and in that lifetime, you two will be happily together. Not miserably apart like you are now.

Maybe the only time anyone can see you break is when the casket is lowered and this is the last time that you’ll ever see Satoru’s face again, except you don’t. His casket is closed and covered with all the flowers you bought to send him off beautifully. There’s a complex look on your face, and no one could quite read it, but it was clear that there was a storm going on inside of you, stirring and rumbling. Your eyebrows knitted together and your eyes glossy with a down turn of your lips. You’re just keeping yourself together for Satoru. You need to.

The only time you get to break down about it is when you get home from the long day. Crumbling down your door, as you miserably sob. How could the world be so possibly cruel that you had to bury the last man you loved for the past ten years? It never gave you time to move on. You weren’t ready to let go just yet and be content with the distance. Sure, you asked for it when he was still tangible, but now he was untouchable, not existing, and it felt so painful. You curl up in a ball, on the bed you used to share with him. The bed you two used to gossip on and the bed where you simply just held him to sleep on your good days. The bed that you laid alone for most nights wishing he’d come to hold you and not be too tired for you. All the bad and good memories come to make you think of one thing; you wish Satoru was here right now.

You lay there, contemplating if you just want to stay there for the whole week or get up and cook yourself something. You haven’t been eating with how hectic it’s been to take care of Satoru’s send off. You sigh, closing your eyes. Sleep sounds like the best thing to you at the moment. You were drained and exhausted from preserving the life of Gojo Satoru as well as commemorating it. You needed that rest.

When you drift into sleep, you kind of hope that Satoru is there for you, waiting in a field of beautiful flowers like he came to visit you in a dream. Even if it’s just your imagination. You’d like to think that he cared enough that he left you alone to deal with all of the things he left behind. He doesn’t though, because you don’t dream. You just black out and you wonder if you’ll ever dream again. But maybe you’re just being dramatic because you miss your ex-husband so much. You blink the tears out from your eyes, wiping them before getting up and pulling yourself together. You can be sad, but not miserable. You were never the type to just crumble, however, even this shook you down to the very ground and yes, it is hard to get back up. But everything with Satoru was hard, and this was no different. You should have been used to this.

Eventually, you do get yourself together. Sad, but you’re functioning. You go back to work and you continue with your daily life. Satoru’s never really been a part of your daily routine after the 3rd year of being married to him. It was no different not seeing him at all, but it was just the fact that he truly wasn't there anymore. If you were to call his cell, it would just ring on your dresser in your room and go to voicemail. Sometimes, you wait for the voicemail just to hear his voice, but most times you stay away from his contact. You’re recovering, just slowly.

People at work send their condolences, just like they did when they found out you divorced Gojo Satoru. They give you a pitiful look and tell you to be strong, but when they think you’re not listening they bash Satoru for passing and still putting the responsibility of carrying his will out on his ex wife—you. You don’t defend him nor does what they say settle well with you. They’re right, of course. Gojo Satoru has always been selfish, up until his last breath, but you just can’t seem to feel validated when you’re the one who buried Gojo Satoru. He was once your whole world, how could you just completely numb yourself to the pain of losing your connection with him, absolutely and completely?

Apparently, you’re the only person on his will too. You inherit everything of his one day, and it’s kind of overwhelming. All of his money is transferred to your bank account, all his belongings, everything is yours. You don’t even know what to do with most of it. You don’t even want to look and use anything of his. So you store most of his things in a box and label it “Satoru,” along with the other things that you took from his apartment, and you make an account to store all his money in, for what? You don’t know, just something.

When you're older, you’ll come to realize that you made Satoru a loved person until the very end, and that you were perhaps the only person that he still had love for, even if you weren’t his wife anymore. This is why Satoru loved you so much, and yes, he got very lucky with you, you will give yourself that. But you also won’t feel so bitter about having to be the person to handle his departure because you made sure to do just the way he wanted it, by you. for now, you’ll miss him lots and bring him flowers whenever the time comes. You won’t call him your ex-husband, but your late-husband. You keep some of his clothes to wear like you used to. You still sleep on your side of the bed, leaving the space Satoru used to fill empty for him. Life goes on the way it used to.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo #satorugojo #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #gojo fanfic #gojo angst #jjk angst #jjk fluff #satoru x reader #satoru x you

[wttcsms]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x reader word count 1.4k synopsis love for you is holding him; love for him is allowing himself to be held. content contains hurt/comfort, intimacy, atsumu-centric, insecurities, unconditional love, showering together but make it sfw

The stinging spray of scalding hot water from the showerhead should be enough to get him to leave, but he barely registers the pain, can’t seem to bring himself to feel the heat, can’t seem to bring himself to feel anything.

No — that’s not entirely true. He feels one thing.

Devastated. 

Everyone knows Atsumu Miya likes to talk shit on and off the court. It’s his thing, his trademark, his brand. Lots of athletes like to talk big about how they’re going to win; who the hell is going to support a guy who walks onto the court with a well, it’ll be alright if I lose. 

He’s staring down at the tiles of the shower, can somewhat register the persistent barrage of water spraying onto his back as he has one hand splayed on the wall, shoulders slumped, water dripping from his hair and running into his vision, making everything blurry. 

Don’t blink, he tries to demand of himself, but the issue is, we can’t always control our bodies. He has to shut his eyes, just for a brief second, and in that second, it all comes back to him.

The opposing team at set point. His team depending on him to serve. One point left. Only one chance. He can feel the stadium’s crowd holding their breath, can feel the lack of air in the atmosphere, can hear how loudly the blood is rushing to his head. Dizzy. Dazed. He doesn’t give into pressure, not anymore, not ever. Doesn’t feel performance anxiety, knows better than to try to attempt something flashy just for the glory of a good story to tell. 

Give ‘em a serve they don’t have a chance of receiving, he demands of himself. 

The final seconds of the match all come to him like stills from a movie, each frame another devastating blow to his ego, his self-worth, his very being. The ball is in the air, he’s bending his knees to prepare for the jump, his hand making contact with the ball. Something’s off, he can feel it upon first contact, but it’s too late to save, too late for him to change anything.

The ball lands.

On his side of the net.

He’s frozen in place as he stares ahead. He can tell the other team is cheering, slapping each other on their backs, and he can hear the blow of a whistle, the celebration from the crowd. But all he sees is the ball. All he sees is his failure.

Atsumu has spent a good portion of his volleyball career knowing that he plays the game better than most. It’s why he feels so comfortable talking about the lack of skills other players display. It’s why he always has something to say at practice, on the court, during a post-game interview. 

And he knows he makes mistakes. He knows that he’s only human. But a bad serve in the middle of a game isn’t as crushing as knowing that he is the sole reason as to why the Black Jackals’ season is going to be ending early. 

Where did he go wrong? He did everything perfectly, did everything the way he usually does. Why couldn’t he perform? Why did he let his team down? Why—

“Atsumu?” 

He doesn’t look up, and all you can see is the sad shape of his outline from the foggy glass door of the shower. You know that Atsumu probably wants nothing more than to be alone right now, but you can’t help but worry when fifteen minutes have gone by, and you could still hear the shower running. That’s your first sign that something is wrong.

Atsumu is a notoriously quick showerer, to an almost concerning degree. When you first started living together, you debated planning elaborate tricks to see whether or not he was even using soap. (Which, in hindsight, was just flatout silly; he walks out the shower smelling overwhelming of his Axe Men’s 3-in-1 and Old Spice deodorant.) 

No — the first sign that something is wrong would be his uncharacteristic silence on the trip back home. He hadn’t responded to your it’s okay, baby, you’ll get ‘em next season. Instead, he just looked out the window, the devastated expression on his face silencing you as well. Even when he lost to Kageyama, he had been disappointed, upset, but still talking big about how he was going to crush the Adlers next time around. He had then made a comment about Tobio’s stupid haircut, and that’s when you told him if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

Now, you’d give anything to have him say something. Something for you to work with.  

“Atsumu?” You call out for him again, worried when you don’t see his figure moving. 

Pathetic. Atsumu thinks that’s what he is. A loser, a fucking scrub, a failure. Even if his teammates won’t admit it, the media will. And what then? Will you think that about him too? It’d be the truth, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re in the bathroom now? To pity him? 

He’s too busy tearing himself down to react to the distinct sound of you sliding back the glass door of the shower so you can enter it. There’s a brief burst of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his exposed body, but it evaporates the moment you shut the door. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu.” You whisper it, and he wants to tell you that he’s not fucking fragile. That he’s not going to shatter into a million pieces if you just raise your voice, if you tell him how you really feel about him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around to face you. He doesn’t want to. He can’t.

His skin is red from the heat of the water, his back staring at you angrily, hurt. The skin’s going to need some time to heal, and you turn the faucet, lowering the temperature of the water. 

“Turn around, honey. Please?” You’ve never seen Atsumu so upset before, so quiet. You wait several minutes for him to actually do as you request, and you think it’s only because he wants a way to get rid of you sooner. 

You don’t say anything to him as you reach for his shampoo, letting it lather in your hands before you give him a pleading look, one that has him leaning down so you can reach his hair. It feels nice, he thinks, the way you’re shampooing his hair. You’re gentle with your movements, and it almost relaxes him. 

You use your body wash on him. Massage the suds into his skin, but you’re mindful of the amount of pressure you apply. You know which areas of his skin is more sensitive from its exposure to the hot water, and you are careful with the spots of his body that he had chosen to be negligent with. 

“Am I so fuckin’ worthless that you have to do somethin’ as simple as bathing me?” He’s not angry at you. He might spit out the words — words that come out sounding all raw and scratchy, like they had to personally claw themselves from his throat — but the anger is not directed at you. It’s at himself. 

“Look at me.” 

His eyes are glossy, wet, shiny, and you know it’s not because of the shower. You’ve never seen Atsumu cry before, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. So, you do what feels right. You whisper his name softly, tenderly, and it’s this tenderness, your unwavering softness, your unconditional love, that breaks him. That makes him feel safe enough to break. That makes him think of the possibility that you’ll take these jagged pieces of him and piece them back together for him, with him. 

He’s so much bigger than you. You tell him all the time that he’s larger than life, and he thinks about that comment as he lets himself sink into your open arms, as he lets himself be held. He has never felt smaller in his life, and in your embrace, he buries his face into your shoulder, letting his warm tears mix in with the water already on your body.

“I don’t know how you can still look at me.” He mutters, and every word is spoken onto your skin, tiny blades striking you. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what he wants to hear, isn’t even certain that there’s anything that could be said to ease his devastation, but melts into you even more so when you tell him,

“Atsumu, I thought you already knew that nothing can change the way I look at you.”

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #angst #one shot #fluff #drabble #imagine #alright if this doesn't make it to the tags im never posting again

[r0-boat]

Hiii would you mind if I make a request :3

Soooo, I've been thinking, how would the 5 demon king's would react when their s/o or MC (she/her if it's possible, if not genderneutral is ok uwu) is ovulating and she is all needy but doesn't say anything~

Because these men are truly more feral, like Beel's always sniffing us and getting aroused by our smell, or Leviathan having some kind of rut/heat and getting all attached to MC; these boys are more wild and animalistic (don't know if it's the correct way to describe it haha)

Thank you if you accept my request :3

Actually obsessed with this Ask.👀

Natural Pheromones

Whb headcanons

Cw: scent kink, Breeding Kink, scientifically explaining in a porn game lol

summary: AFAB!reader is ovulating and the demons are acting weird

This is very interesting to me considering the fact that demons can't have offspring on their own with each other unless they pray to Lilith or something. But they can have offspring with humans so it makes me think

Since demons have better chances having offspring with humans, perhaps demons just evolved to react to what a human is ovulating.

Solomon was born male he doesn't have the same natural pheromones that AFAB has. Demons who had never been in the human world will never know why they start feeling such a magnetic pull to you.

Did you change your hair? Was it perhaps new clothes? Maybe a new lotion or perfume? because you smell slightly sweeter. And is it just them, but is your skin softer too?

Beel was the most affected by this change; He could practically find you from miles away. Uncharacteristically clinging to you as soon as he finds you. Burying his nose against your neck. You ask him "is there something wrong?" And he just matters that he misses you.

Levi has been taking up his aggressive antics a notch because he's too stubborn for you to find out that he has been jerking his cock ever since you stepped foot in his castle. You have been driving him and his devil's crazy, and he hasn't had the foggiest idea why.

Lucifer has been having a little baby fever of his own since you visited. He wants to know what the child between the child of man and fallen angel would look like.

Mammon is in fucking rut, And no matter how much he fucks you, it's not enough. Draining his balls leaving him still unsatisfied.

Satan is starting to become a resource-guarding dog.

Devils will not leave you alone!! Sure you've been always surrounded by devils but this time you draw crowds, And if it isn't for the kings always around you these devils will be bang and brushing themselves against you desperate for your attention.

#smut #whb #whb headcanons #whb x reader #what in hell is bad

[gay-dorito-dust]

How do you think Argenti, Gepard, Dan Heng, Blade, and Dr. Ratio would react to finding their lover crying about how beautiful they are?

Argenti would be honoured that you found him of beauty equal to that of your own.

Truly he was because he was the type to believe that it took true beauty to recognise beauty in all its other forms.

He would hold your face in his hands and try to calm you down with some sweet nothings and kisses as his thumbs wipe away your tears.

‘My beloved rose,’ he’d begin, ‘to be viewed as beautiful by your eyes is an incomparable experience and I am blessed that you think so highly of me because to me, you might as well have been the originator of beauty itself as you make even the most mundane chore beautiful.’ He pushes his forehead against yours, brushing his nose against yours. ‘I am so honoured to be viewed as such in your eyes. I shall Cherish this eternally.’ He finishes as he then proceeds to kiss under your eyes, your eyelids and finally down your tear streaked cheeks gingerly as though you were going to break.

Argenti just spends the rest of the day proving just how beautiful you are in his eyes as repayment afterwards.

You’d probably had to hold onto him and tell him that he doesn’t have to repay you for speaking your truth, but Argenti was adamant in repaying you for doing so and if that meant spending eternity wait in on you hand and foot then Argenti would gladly do so.

Gepard originally thinks that something was wrong when he caught you tearing up and was about to use whatever he needed to resolve the issue, only for you to tell him how beautiful you thought he was.

Now he’s sporting a cherry red face and was at a loss for words.

He was use to people singing his achievements despite thinking that he could do so much more but getting a compliment in general that wasn’t tied to anything he’s done was enough to have the second oldest Landau a little speechless.

‘Really?’ He would ask sheepishly while rubbing the back of his head. ‘I mean I wouldn’t think so but that doesn’t mean I’m within my right to tell you whatever you think of me is right or wrong, it’s just something I’ve got to get used to to in due time.’ He adds as he then grasps your hands in his and squeeze them.

‘But I thank you for thinking so highly of me that isn’t in regard to the things I’ve accomplished and more so on me just being…well me, even if I do fail at keeping our plants alive…but still I’m glad that you’ve stayed by my side for as long as you have. I truly don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Gepard finishes his statement off by kissing your forehead, down the slope of your nose and finally a sweet and gentle peck to the lips.

Dan Heng

He was quick to come to your aid upon seeing you crying, but the moment you tell him that the reason why was because you thought he was beautiful.

He didn’t hole much of an option about himself but he certainly didn’t think he was beautiful, average maybe, but not once did he ever look himself in the mirror and saw beauty staring back at him. He just saw Dan Heng of the Astral Express, nothing more, nothing less.

So for you to see beauty in him wasn’t something he was prepared for as his eyes widened a tad and his breath caught in his throat before looking away to scratch the tip of his nose out of habit.

‘You truly have a unique way with words don’t you?’ He’d say to himself as he smiles softly to himself, glad that nothing horrible had happened when his back was turned, you genuinely had him going for a bit there and he was more then glad to be wrong on this occasion.

He’ll hold your compliment close to his chest in hopes of absorbing it and committing it to memory, guarding it as though it were a priceless treasure he could not be separated from. He often didn’t think himself as someone special, but the way you spoke about how beautiful he was while crying made him want to appreciate everything you have ever said about him in the past in a remotely positive light. He didn’t know he needed it until you came along to shower him in love for just existing.

Blade is more of an ‘actions speak louder then words’ type of guy.

So he wouldn’t exactly be moved to bits when you tell him how beautiful he is because he knew what his body looked like, he also knew that you knew what his body looked like, so he often wondered where or not you were seeing the same thing as he was.

So unless you were holding his arms, admiring his scars and or tracing/kissing them with adoration like you were doing now, then he wasn’t going to be less to easily believing in words alone.

‘I’m far from it.’ He’d reply but felt the walls he’s built inside weaken the moment you pressed a soft kiss to one of the more larger scars across his inner forearm. A simple act made from genuine affection that shouldn’t have made as much of an effect on Blade it did.

The feeling of vulnerability wasn’t one he welcomed that often but when he does it was more or less only within your presence. In those moments you could tell him anything and he would be lead by the smallest spark to believe in it, including telling him he’s beautiful as you combed your fingers through his hair with tears still blurring your vision.

He’d brush your tears away with calloused finger pads and wordlessly bring you in close to his body, leaching off of your warmth and allowed you to borrow your head into the crook of his neck, and just keep you there as his own special way of saying thank you for seeing beauty within a monster.

Ratio

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, or however that saying goes.

Veritas didn’t pride himself on his how conventionally attractive he was but more so on his intellect and extensive wealth of knowledge.

So when he caught you crying over how apparently beautiful he was, Veritas would want to naturally disagree with this statement but due to the fact that you were in a highly emotional state, he just bites his tongue and calmly walks over to you, kneels next to you and pulls out a handkerchief and start gingerly wiping away your tears.

‘I appreciate the heartfelt compliment but I do not think that it is worth your tears.’ He would then say afterwards as he coddles you into his side, making sure you could feel his appreciation for your ability to care for such things in life, seeing as how he was too transfixed on the much bigger, more complex paradoxes of life. ‘And don’t rub your eyes so hard when wiping away your tears, you’re only hurting yourself when you do that.’ He adds fussily but it never fails to make you smile and laugh at how much he cared about you in his own way.

He doesn’t stop mid work to smell the flowers but you did and he knew how even the smallest, minuet things could mean so much to someone, even if he didn’t understand the reason as to why, but he can learn to accept that what you found worth praising and what he found worth praising were two completely separate things and that was okay.

#hsr imagines #hsr imagine #hsr x reader #honaki star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail imagines #blade x reader #blade imagines #blade imagine #argenti x reader #Argenti imagine #Argenti imagines #dan heng x you #dan heng x reader #dan heng imagines #Dan heng imagine #gepard x reader #gepard imagines #gepard imagine #veritas ratio x reader #Veritas ratio imagine #Veritas ratio imagines

[knavesflames]

arlecchino tying you up and eating you out 🙈🙈

Heheh done!!

Contents: cunnilingus, bound wrists, praising, reader’s a little bratty but that’s ok😈

Word count: 1313

NSFW under the cut!

You sit with a smirk, straining against the lace bound around your wrists, looking down at Arlecchino, who stares at you with a steely gaze. It’s clear she wasn’t in the mood for your bratty antics tonight.

“This lace is pretty, but it doesn’t keep me from escaping.”

A sharp tug at the lace, the fabric giving a small stinging sensation, causes a grunt to leave your lips before the smirk reappears. Arlecchino has been so busy lately with the Fatui, with project Stuzha. You feel she’s been neglecting you a little too much, so of course you resorted to the one thing she can never resist. She just loves putting you in your place, so when you sit on her lap while she’s doing paperwork, grinding yourself on her, your hand slipping through her shirt and rolling her nipples between your thumb and forefinger, she gets.. irritated. Only at the fact you manage to distract her so well. Her voice comes out as an irritated growl as her hand grabs your wrist.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

And when you wore that skimpy dress and bent down to ‘pick up a pen’, she lost it, dragging you to the bedroom. And this is where you sit now, bound by that pretty pink lace she loves so much. It makes you look so innocent, so pretty. And she loves the contrast it gives when you’re screaming her name and arching your back as you beg for more.

“Is this what you wanted, hm?”

She almost growls, planting aggressive kisses on your neck, trailing to your collarbone and then lower, her tongue flicking out against your nipple to relish in the soft sounds you make.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t know what you mean.”

Your words earn her teeth grazing your nipple, a small yelp echoing the room. Her tongue soothes the bite, swirling softly around your nipple as she hums, the vibrations of her voice travelling to your breast. The breast not occupied with her tongue is fondled by her fingers before they switch. She blows air on your now damp nipples, cooing softly, though, the words have an intent that is less innocent than she makes it sound.

“So cute. You’re so sensitive when you can’t use your hands.”

You strain once against the lace, earning a sharp, almost warning look from Arlecchino, and you know better than to be bratty now. She can be cruel when she wants to be. When she deems that your breasts have been given enough attention, her mouth travels down, kissing your stomach, and then your hip bone. Her kisses are aggressive, the occasional nibble just to prove that you’re hers, and she’s in control, not you. Your hips tilt up as her lips ghost over your pussy, not even touching it and her hand pushes them back down.

“Patience.”

She seems to be taking great enjoyment out of hearing your frustrated breaths, your desire to break free from the lace and guide her lips to where you want them most. She hooks one leg over her shoulder, biting the inside of your thighs and soothing it once again with her tongue. She’s marking you, you have no doubt about that. But you can’t move, if not for your wrists being tied, then for the way one hand is keeping your hips down, the other gripping your ankle, keeping your leg on her shoulder.

“Arl-“

“Be quiet, or do you need a gag?”

A quick shake of your head and almost a whimper.

“Good girl. You’ve been teasing me all week, don’t complain now you’re getting what you want. We go at my pace, or not at all.”

You groan in annoyance, just to be even brattier, but you nod anyway, obeying her. Her kisses go further and further up your thigh until she takes a deep breath, almost burying her nose in your pussy.

“Soaked, are you? Isn’t that sweet? So wet over simple kisses and being tied up.”

Once more, you try to buck your hips up, getting her where you want, but she moves at the last second. She’s clearly enjoying this game, enjoying your growing neediness.

“What did I just say?”

You sigh, letting your head fall back in frustration, only for it to come right back up as you gasp, feeling her tongue lick the gentlest stripe up your slit. Already a soft moan sounds out, a low chuckle coming from Arlecchino. Her two fingers, with dangerously sharp nails you’re always cautious of, gather some of the slick you’ve produced from simple teasing, before forcing your mouth open, stuffing her fingers inside.

“Taste yourself. The sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

When your heavy breathing prevents you from doing anything, her fingers shove just a little further in, her voice warning you once more.

“Suck.”

And you comply, moaning on her fingers as you taste every last drop of yourself while her tongue moves around the spot you want most. Not touching it, but around.

“Good girl.”

She whispers to you, look into your eyes as her tongue finally finds its correct place, watching your reaction with silent glee. She begins lapping at your pussy, alternating between soft, gentle licks to more aggressive sucking of your puffy clit, enjoying the noises that come out of your mouth. She enjoys the squeal even more when her tongue dips inside of you, thrusting as she makes sure her nose bumps against your clit. Again and again she alternated between fucking you with her tongue and lapping at your clit, so puffy and swollen.

“You have such a pretty pussy.”

She murmurs as you strain against the lace. You’re becoming painfully aware that you *can’t move*, wanting nothing but to card your hands through her hair and keep her where she is. The urge to do what you’ve done once before, turn the tables, use her, use her tongue to grind on. Though, you’re also aware you only did that because she gave you permission. You keep straining, your mewls and grunts getting louder and louder, vibrating on her fingers. And when you gag ever so slightly on her fingers, she speaks again, removing her fingers from your mouth, taking to circling your nipple again.

“Careful, doll. Wouldn’t want you to choke before I’m done with you.”

Her words are sensual, commanding, but you know the hint of love and concern in there. It’s there, barely, she’s hiding it well. But when her tongue resumes her work, you forget all about that, your body trembling with the amount of sensation going on. Your toes curl and your pussy begins fluttering around her tongue, and she knows you’re close. And she does the one thing you both love and hate. Sliding her tongue out, and then back in, and then out again and repeat, her nose bumping your clit, giving you what you need to keep you on that edge.

“Cum for me.”

“Wanna cum all over your mouth.”

“You will. Now, be a good girl, and cum for me.”

You take the opportunity, and the fact she’s being nice for once, your eyes rolling, your back arching, and a loud, strained almost cry of pleasure leaves your lips as you cum messily all over her mouth. And god, does she love it. Her tongue laps up every drop, swirling around your clit slowly as you come down from your high as she whispers.

“Good girl. Pretty girl. Such a good fucking girl, cumming all over my mouth.”

She comes back up to your level, her tongue sliding over yours before she breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both. You smile breathlessly. You got what you wanted, and there wasn’t a punishment. That’s what you thought, anyway, until—

“You think we’re finished? Silly girl. We’ve just started.”

#knavesflames inbox🔥 #arlechinno genshin #arlebina #arlechinno x reader #genshin impact #arlefuri #arle #genshin smut #genshin wlw #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #arlecchino smut #arlecchino genshin #genshin impact arlecchino #arlecchino #genshin imagines #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfics

[leaderwonim]

unconditional love. ✧ park sunghoon x fem!reader genre: bittersweet fluff, coming of age angst

you liked park sunghoon, you truly did. he was kind, intelligent, and had that soft introverted persona on the outside.

when you got to know him, he became the most funny and loudest person to ever exist, which had your heart doing backflips.

it wasn’t him that was the issue. it was you. you always had commitment issues, never being able to settle down because of your past pulling you behind. i mean—how could anyone ever like you? you felt as thought you were too loud, too annoying, too irritable, just too much.

despite your brain constantly bringing you down, park sunghoon loved you. he loved every single piece of you, the way you’d blow your perfect hair out of your face as you concentrated on the textbook in front of you, the way your eyebrows would furrow when you didn’t quite catch a question or answer, the way you’d prop your head onto your knees as a way to comfort yourself.

god, park sunghoon swore you were the one. he didn’t care that his friends warned him about your earned title of being a ghoster when it came to relationships, he didn’t care that it felt like he was constantly putting in more effort than you.

as long as he’s got you, he doesn’t care. so how did the two of you end up in this situation?

“i don’t get it,” sunghoon frowns, “what did i do wrong?”

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you say exasperatedly, “in fact, you were perfect sunghoon. you were everything i wanted and more—it’s just me.”

park sunghoon hated the classic it’s me not you excuse when it came to situations like these. but because it’s you, he lets it slide, even though he already feels the tears coming.

“i don’t want to hurt you any longer, hoonie. you have to understand i’m ending this because i care about you too much to put you through hell.”

sunghoon solemnly nods, knowing whatever he’ll say won’t change anything, that it’s already too late and you’ve already made up your mind.

it’s cruel, he thinks. life. how it could be so depressing and meekly all at once.

it wasn’t until a year later that sunghoon and you crossed paths again. you two were now sophomores in college, and had even attended the same university.

you had gotten a boyfriend, finally deciding to settle down after maturing and realizing how much of a piece of shit you were to all the boys at your high school.

his name was heeseung and he had treated you like a princess, reminding you of how sunghoon used to treat you back in senior year.

now here you were, sitting on one of the university steps with your head hung low. your parents had given you the call about them divorcing, right in the middle of your sophomore year. you were miles away, and was heartbroken knowing your family was splitting in two without you being there physically to support them.

“hey, you okay?”

you knew that voice better than anyone.

“hoon?” you sniffle. “i’m sorry—why am i even calling you that.”

“it’s okay.” he reassures you, patting your back as he takes a seat. “what’s wrong?”

“parents are getting divorce,” you scoff. “guess thats karma for all the things i put you through.”

“don’t say that.” sunghoon gently wipes away your tears, frowning when he sees more appear.

“you shouldn’t even be comforting me, i treated you like shit sunghoon, i got a new boyfriend right after i said i couldn’t settle down with you.”

“who cares?” sunghoon says, and for the first time, you don’t see the romantic love he used to have in his eyes for you. “we’re young! of course you’re going to find other people.”

you’re in awe at the maturity sunghoon is displaying. you knew it took a lot of courage for him to do so.

“why are you being so nice, sunghoon?”

“the world is already cruel, yn.” sunghoon sighs. “so therefore, i won’t be.”

and although his words won’t stop the divorce of your parents or the sadness filling your chest, it makes you feel a tad bit lighter, knowing that you had someone like park sunghoon in your life.

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen texts #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #enhypen scenarios #enhypen soft hours #enhypen ff #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon fanfic

[paymechildsupport]

Divine. // Heian Sukuna x M!Reader <3

smut brainrot :( -!! Overstim, - oral, - sex with a lot of feewings, - monsterfucking (he has 2 cocks), - tadbit body horror possibly --------------------------------------------------

aghjakhg he's so.. :3

------------------

Sukuna couldn't quite believe it: your hands, so soft, were gently running themselves over his chest.

"What are you...?" The words clogged in his throat, feeling you start to trace down.

You shifted in his lap, alone with him and solely him, -- under the dark awning of the night. No one would come to look for the two of you, not now, when it was so late out.

You could barely see the massive body in front of you, -- so you felt him. You ran your fingers over the expanse of his chest, his shoulders, his four arms, - mapping a general shape in your mind's eye. You couldn't see but you could see him, -- see him in a way no had before.

Air eluded itself from his lungs and he shuttered involuntarily. He had never been touched, been held like this, handled so tenderly. Fingers, miniscule compared to his massive figure, grazed over the markings etched onto his skin. You could faintly feel yourself touch over a scar, a raised, rough mark on his perfect body. It only made you sink deeper into him, his loose embrace of his arm around your waist. Your fingertips sketch the defined muscle, feeling every dip of skin and flesh, -- living proof of the decades of hard, grueling work engrained into his abdomen. His abs slightly flex when you run over them, you can feel the strong muscles ripple with each sharp intake of breath.

You reach the curve of his second mouth, running your thumb over the thin lip in his stomach.

"Careful..." he mutters. The last time someone had gotten so close to that area, it hadn't ended well for him. Sukuna could briefly picture his mangled skeleton, twisted and bent at all the wrong angles.

The Curse was in awe, how you effortlessly touched over his body, hardened by the decades of war and bloodshed it had borne witness to.

A noise involuntarily ripped itself from his lips, - the broken sound of a tiny, cornered animal. He had never in his life been touched in such a way, -- revered almost.

You reach back up, fingers dancing along his skin, tracing every line of those inky black markings. Sukuna realizes too late when you reach for his neck, pausing there, to rub the place where his pulse was. The blood rushed underneath your touch, rapid and humming and alive. It was such a vulnerable spot for him, but Sukuna stays frozen, rooted to his spot, so you don't stop. You travel up, all the way up to his face, where they lingered over his jaw. You press the pads of your fingers into the hard bones of his face, feeling along his jaw, his chin, and the jutting outline of his nose.

In his long lifetime most had shunned him: turning on him with huge swords and fearful expressions. But with you, he no longer was the ghastly monster, he just simply was.

"Beautiful...." You breathe

Sukuna's own breath faltered,

"You think I'm beautiful?" He sounded surprise, unsure, -- a kind of insecurity that should have terrified him, -- but it was with you, and he embraced this vulnerable state.

You smile softly, only Sukuna with his cursed vision could make the shape out in the dark,

"Very."

Sukuna wanted to lick the worship off your lips.

The lower arms on your abdomen tighten.

Silently, your fingers meet the rough start of his second face. You freeze, feeling the harsh change in texture from his smooth skin. Sukuna hesitates; would this be where it all came to an end? When you look at him with anything but deep adoration? Where the affectionate touches would be met with violent resistance, and you'd hate him, find him to be the grotesque and horrifying monster everyone else did?

Sukuna hated himself for feeling so hopeful.

But you simply start your exploration again, fingers travelling up and down the rough expanse of melded flesh.

"Fascinating.."

Sukuna was surprised; you found his second face fascinating.

He waited for the moment you'd change your mind, stop lying to yourself, start spitting crude insults and accusatory words, to swear, to hit, to resist him in some way.

But it never came.

You trace the rough folds of his face with a caress nothing short of adoring.

For the longest time, he had been denied this.

Sukuna's eyes were closed now. He couldn't comprehend the mixture of emotions he was feeling in this moment.

He was completely exposed, vulnerable... beautiful...

His second face... usually filled with terror... was receiving such tender care.

His thumbs trace to the hem of your top, gently pressing down into the soft skin, rubbing what he hoped were affectionate caresses. No one had ever made him feel such a way before, and he wished to show you the same affection, the same adoration, as you showered onto him. He had to admit he was quite inexperienced-- making contact with another living thing usually had some violent motive, but all Sukuna desired to do was wrap his arms around your tinier body -- shield you from the rest of the world. The idea of anyone else getting this kind of attention from you filled him with a strange bitterness unknown to him: jealousy.

He could feel every tiny detail of your movements, every inch of you getting slowly leaning in closer, every carefree intake of breath. He felt envious of the way the oxygen so effortlessly entered your lungs, how you inhale it without a second thought. It would be so easy for him to simply reach out and crush your windpipe, steal the air from your lungs the same way you did his.

In this moment, he saw and felt it all. Every inch of your body was beautiful to him.

"Mmm..." he whispered, relishing in the feeling of your presence so close to him.

Carefully, tentatively, you dip your head down, bringing your face closer, lips softly grazing his cheek.

Sukuna almost choked.

The feeling of your lips on his cheek sent chills through his body. He had always seen himself as the menacing and terrifying harbinger of suffering who had to be kept at a distance.

But now, he was seeing from your view... And from your perspective, he was beautiful.

His heart pounded against his chest as he felt your breath on his cheek.

Then you kiss him;

Every muscle, every tendon of his body seemed to tighten, and you were surprised they didn't just snap altogether.

All kinds of new, delicious sensations coursed through him,

Mwa :3

He had spent countless years of his life slaughtering people and taking control of everything he could... But here, he was weak again, like a newborn child.

He felt his breath grow short, labored, completely lost in the sensations of the kiss. All his fears and regrets, all the pain and misery accumulated from his years of cursed isolation, separated from the world around him, becoming the untouchable King of Curses, -- It all melted away. It was pure, unadulterated bliss.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, pressing you against him. Having you so close, you seemed so delicate to him, yet you were exploring him without hesitation, without fear, the first person he had encountered in so many years who didn't think of him as a monster.

His muscles were completely tense, but he had no desire to stop. He was enjoying every second of it.

You were kissing him, and he felt your tongue peek out from your intertwined lips, slipping into his mouth and meeting his. You fit so nicely against him, his hands slotting perfectly onto your waist, hips fitting like two puzzle pieces. It was all so... soothing to him.

The way you were taking control was indescribable--your kisses making his heartbeat so fast he swore it would explode, his breath was fast and short. He didn't think he could keep these feelings in for long without combusting altogether.

You pull away, gasping for air (unlike Sukuna, who as a curse, if he could have his way, would have kissed you for hours, days even).

"Your touch is.... divine"

Sukuna could bathe in the way you gazed at him, the way your eyelids drooped, the way your bright irises shone up at him through your lashes. Many once eerie, cold maroon eyes met yours with enough loving reverence to shake Heaven Herself.

As the word left his lips, he was staring at you. The look on his face was one of utter contentment and happiness.

You had kissed him so delicately, so tenderly. He felt every sensation burn itself into his mind, desperately grasping to remember the way your lips felt on his.

His grip on you was gentle and cautious. He didn't want to crush you. You were so small and slender. Such a frail and delicate human in his grasp. Yet the same, you were something else, something he had never experienced before.

You wanted something so intimate with him. It had Sukuna spiraling deeper and deeper into a side he had long since forgotten about. He felt frail, weak... human, -- yet Sukuna couldn't find it within himself to care. The rush of sensations and emotions he felt from your contact, from your kisses and the way you touched him, -- It was intoxicating.

He wanted you, every single part of you...

No matter what.

---

You laid with him that night, and he took you-- right on the dirt ground beneath a sky of stars. Sukuna reveled in the way your body writhed underneath him, such a beautiful, fiery creature.

He bent down, placing a gentle, loving kiss to your forehead, licking the salty sheen of sweat from your skin. You shudder, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as another hot lick of pleasure curdles through you, searing white.

He couldn't get enough of you, decades of societal neglect and the absence of human companionship had starved Sukuna, and you were a whole feast. He ravished your body, the carnal hunger never satiated until he filled you with his full.

You clung desperately to his strong forearms, nails digging into the firm muscle. Incoherent babblings cascaded from your lips which he dipped down to hungrily lap up as you mewled underneath him. He'd crash his lips onto yours, the sweetness almost lost from the first time, -- drowned in the desperate need of the kiss.

Two large hands held you steady, keeping your legs apart and waist in place as Sukuna continued his rolling thrusts into your lower abdomen. Every snap of his hips against yours sent another coil of pleasure curling in your stomach.

Puddles of his seed bubbled from your opening, leaking through the small crevices and corners from where his massive cocks somehow didn't take up. You swear you almost shatter completely the moment you feel those sharp teeth graze the walls lining your insides.

Sukuna smiles from inside of you, two long tongues lolling out to lick at the coating of your guts. He pulls out the slightest bit, just enough so a relieved smile breaks on your face. He wished there was a way to permanently engrave the moment your hopeful expression shattered into his brain-- the way your eyes widen in horror, your mouth slacked open as the two tongues bully their way between your organs. They twist, intertwining, drinking the wetness from your body dry almost, and coming to a deadly point prodding at your stomach and swirling your intestines.

You cry out, the agonizing pain clashing deliciously with the pure bliss you felt. Your mind blanks and all the colors melt together.

Everything turns molten. Sukuna reaches down between your thighs, taking you in one big hand. You choke on your own spit, coughing and spluttering, hands flying to your crotch, only to be gently swatted away. Sukuna chuckled, gently pushing your body down as your back arches.

He continues to play with you in his hand, kneading the flesh between the pads of his fingers. He runs his knuckles up and down, coating his fingers with the tears from your crying tip. He tugged you playfully, watching like an eager puppy when your relief pours into his hands, drizzling in between his fingers, squirting onto his chest, painting the black markings white.

Sukuna places two lathered fingers into his mouth, groaning from the taste of you sitting on his tongue, and he sucks down hard.

He needed you like the earth the sky's rain. You gave meaning to his long, empty, accursed life. You were forever damned to him, and Sukuna would have it no other way.

You were his god, his stars, his beauty.

And he found you absolutely ... divine.

<3

--------------------

[A/N]: the other kind of lobotomy kaisen

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk oneshot #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x y/n #sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen x reader #ryomen smut #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x male reader #jjk x male reader #x male reader #x male smut #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader fluff