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anantaru · 4 months

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I HATE EVERYONE BUT YOU

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — scaramouche has always been yours, yet he needs you to know that you'll always be his no matter what— even when you get all flustered while he shows you.

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — in scaramouche we what?

— ꒰ wordcount ꒱ — 1.7k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, jealous! reader, dom scara, rough sex but very passionate, scara hates everyone but you, slightly possessive scara, spitting, cumming inside of you

"you have nothing to worry about,"

"stop thinking about it and look at me," fingers gracefully trace on your bare skin, "because i need you to realize," drawing all sorts of shapes into your searing flesh, like subtle curves into your ribs, "that you'll never get rid of me," and lines dragging across your stomach when scaramouche's hand ultimately settles on your hips.

your stomach does flips at his words, and a fresh tide of relief cuts through your initial doubts. he grins and clicks his tongue, eyes dancing with amusement when he catches your shyness, "hm? what's up with you? where's this pretty voice of yours now?" and that smile, ugh, he cannot help himself but irritate you abundantly, especially when he knows how you'd react to his words.

"shut up," you hiss, "don't do that,"

"do what?" he cocks a brow, "—that?" he breathes, boldly as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles. the fire in his eyes was hard to miss and when he feels your body react to his loving trace, he's more than happy to indulge in those waves of lust— most notably show you that he'll never go away.

"fuck—" you whine, "you're mean," and you find out that his thoroughly chosen words would end up adding fuel to the looming wildfire burning between you both, the two of you high on the tension and rush smoldering the air.

and scaramouche's confessions were driving you into a spiral.

"careful there," he coos, "take it slow," for him, there was no competition, and even if there was a competition, you're not in it. you're above everything. you're perfect, no one could ever set his heart ablaze like you did.

scaramouche hums, "you're stuck with me." he candidly bites down on your bottom lip, "okay?" when you nod vigorously at him, your hips leaving the bed as your back arches into his digits, your hands finding immediate comfort in his hair as you tug softly at his roots to press his lips on yours.

scaramouche was pretty when he looked at you like that, kissed you like he needed you to survive— dreamily while flushed, his cheeks seething with scarlet redness when he inhales deeply for a moment.

but he's not used to all of this, and he didn't like the fact that you could become jealous sometimes— after all, humans suffer more in imagination rather than in reality, and you have nothing to worry about, scaramouche certainly thought he made that very much clear.

but he's embarrassed, although not because of the fact that he might've gotten too close to someone who wasn't you and experienced regret, which, in fact, wasn't possible.

he simply cannot stand anybody besides you.

truth be told, he's a little annoyed that you forgot about the fact that he wasn't a big talker per se, he even actively chose his schedule so he wouldn't see a lot of people, or anyone for that matter. scaramouche never sought out to make any meaningful friendships with the people of the akademiya as well— despite the god of wisdom helplessly attempting to push him out of his comfort zone.

with that out of the way, the real reason as to why scaramouche was embarrassed was quite silly, because it's due to what your jealousy did to him— fuck, he finds it beyond attractive, yet he refuses to acknowledge that a special heat conquered his chest like that, reaching his groin until he couldn't think straight.

there's a delicate challenge in your ways of reacting when he tells you that you mustn't be jealous, and scaramouche drinks it like water— he knows you're everything he's ever wished for, like ice cream on a hot summer day, you're melting his heart.

he nuzzles into your skin to inhale your scent, leaves soft kisses on your cheekbones while holding your jaw, making you look directly at him.

does he need to show you that he's utterly addicted to you? so, do you require it like a challenge of sorts? because archons, he'll do it, easy work easy done.

to note, it's not scaramouche's fault that people want to talk to him and are curious about the new addition to the akademiya— yet he doesn't like them, it's pestering when they get too close to him as well, ask if he could talk a little more about where he was coming from because they wanted to be nice, civil but end up making him scoff with a roll of his eyes.

enjoying his own company was fine to scaramouche— and he always found himself fantasizing about you all the time, particularly about your soft laughs and candid smiles, your voice, your stories and your understanding was like a sweet melody to the wanderer, and he could indulge in it during his breaks, before he needed to finish a mission, or he could imagine it every single night before he'd fall asleep to the thought of you.

your body was rubbing against his now, sweat colliding as he removes his fingers from your cunt and wraps them around his erection, pretty dark lashes accentuating his flaring cheekbones while you loop your arms around him— parting your legs a little so he could easily slide himself in.

scaramouche gently adds pressure on your tight hole before moving his hips, but it's slow— gentle and delicate that you can feel every crevice of his length in you.

a soft moan rips from his throat as you mold around him easily, feeling him attentively as he traces the thick vein along the side of your walls as your hips twitch at the slight sting deep in your abdomen.

scaramouche was as desperate as ever to show you his love through physical attention— and the word shame didn't seem to find a place in his phraseology when he forces your gaze back under his. "open and stick your tongue out," he taps, once twice, against your lips with his thumb, "wanna taste me, right? so do it now," while keeping his throbbing dick buried inside as he purposefully moves his hips a little to make you squeal.

you cannot help the way your lips curve into a smile before you're parting your lips, applauding his efforts to claim you. it's merciless when he bundles the saliva budding in his mouth before spitting on your tongue, his crystalline eyes open to catch your tremble— how can he not indulge in this? you're nothing short of perfect, pleading for him to give you more.

"show me," he commands further, groaning deep into his chest when he looks at his saliva melting with your own and how it's dribbling from your chin, his length twitching rapidly as you try to steady your breathing at the sinful scenario you're living through.

scaramouche's hands clench at your waist as he fucks you as passionate as he can, his cock pressing against the overstimulated bud in your pussy before starting slow circles with his hips, your mouth huffing out candid i love you's amidst your moans.

inch by inch he slides into you, in and out in rapid movements, the more you take the better it felt having him rub your pleasure spots he so desperately desired to feel suck on his shaft and milk the cum out of his cock. he finds it cute when your face suddenly scrunches up if he moves faster than previous, your jaw parting in awe at how much better it felt the more he upped his tempo to batter your sore pussy.

it feels good— it always does, and if being a little jealous here and there would always result in this, than you'd gladly play your part as much as he needed it. it's almost like you don't hear yourself moaning and spell out honeyed praises, too occupied to indulge on the way scaramouche rolled along your walls and the noises of his balls colliding on your skin over and over.

"fuck— you're gonna make me cum fast," scaramouche gasps, dragging his sensitive cock through you like you're made for him, as if it just fits and he doesn't need to prep you, which he in fact, really enjoyed doing as well.

frankly, nothing tasted as good as your pussy rubbing across his mouth.

one hand leaves your hips before he gives your clit a little attention, pressing through the curtains that protected your sensitive pearl as he rubs your slick over the sensitivity, smirking devilishly when you arch your back off the mattress and begin to shake, your walls spasming while being so perfect when milking his cock, your pussy dripping with slick as he toys with your clit.

you cry out a sound between a broken sob and sharp moan of his name and that's when scaramouche knows you're close too— swift when he drags his hand from your clit to intertwine his digits with your own as he fucked you into the bed, your pussy pulsing around him as your eyes scrunch shut when you reach your high, falling slack against the bed and whining out shortly when he warms you with the weight of his body.

"fuck— shit!," his hips faster, his breath quicker, "you're fuckin mine, mine, mine," scaramouche falls apart, panting against your ear and groaning lowly, his erection pulsing while constricted by your walls as he holds his cock deeply buried in you before thrusting back and forth once, twice, three more times as he spills his load into your pussy— his warm seed setting your belly on fire by how perfect it felt to be claimed in such lewd, passionate way.

"fuck," he breathes, "gonna stay like that for a bit,"

archons, it's so sticky— borderline filthy and shameless with every intention of it being like that. your tits were still bouncing up and down from the following, last thrusts of him pumping his precious cum into your hole and making sure not a single drop gets lost midway.

after a while of collecting your breathing and turning it evenly again, you giggle out, finding his darkened hair strands as you greet him with a wet, sloppy kiss, "wanna join me for a shower later?" you mumble, eyes half-lidded as he hums softly into your lips, "mhm, or i'll decline so you'll get mad at me, right?"

"i will bite you," you threaten, shaking slightly as he pulls himself out without warning to expose his drenched cock being weaved with your slick, the filthy mixture dripping along your inner thighs,

"please do, "i'm counting on it," scaramouche ends with a wink.

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x you #wanderer smut #wanderer x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #genshin x you #genshin Impact x you

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joelsgreys · 1 year

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Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Part 2

Summary: You’re planning to have sex for the first time and you’re nervous—Javi offers to show you a thing or two, but just as friends of course.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags 🏷 18+ only, minors dni. reader is in late 20’s; reader is an agent for the DEA; established friendship, idiots in love lust, overprotective/slightly jealous Javi; Javi is his canon manwhore self, reader is a virgin, talks of virginity loss and her desire for no strings attached sex, a bit of pining and yearning, lots of pet names, a couple insults, friendship fluff; touching, groping, dry humping, reader gets off, Javi does not. I know, I know. I will make it up to him in part dos. this does not follow the timeline of the show accurately, Messina is in the picture, Connie is still around. reader is bilingual, no descriptions of her race or ethnicity mentioned though. *translations at the end.

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: This took me forever to edit and post because I’m scared lmao.

thank you to @cutesyscreenname for encouraging me to write this idea. I owe you cherry gansitos!

You observed your own reflection in the full length mirror in front of you and let out a curious little hum as you lifted the short, scarlet red minidress, holding it right up against the length of your body. You then held up the second dress that you had clutched in your opposite hand, a stunning, satin black midi number whose length was a lot longer than the first option, the hem of it falling down to your calves.

It appeared rather innocent, modest enough while it was still on the plastic hanger, but it fit you beautifully, just like a fucking glove. The bodice of the garment cinched at your waist and it was tightly fitted, hugging the curves of your upper body so closely that it looked and even felt like something of a second skin whenever you wore it. The billowy skirt of the dress flowed out around you, darling and sweet at first glance, however it came with a borderline dangerous slit in the side of it that stopped about two or three inches above the middle of your thigh near the hinge of your hip. It exposed the entire length of your leg whenever you walked, danced, or moved around in it—Murphy had once referred to it as the infamous femme fatale dress, telling you that it was a far, far more dangerous weapon than your gun could ever be.

You were fairly certain his remarks had something to do with the fact that you’d worn the dress on a number of different occasions while you were out on the job, going undercover in Bogotá for the US Drug Enforcement Administration.

As the only female agent on her team in Colombia and a younger, very beautiful female agent at that, Messina found herself using you to her advantage quite often these days. She would send you out all over Bogotá in that very same black dress with the hope that it would aid you in luring in members of the Medellín drug cartel in efforts to capture their leader, Pablo Escobar.

Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.

You were doing something much more frightening than mingling among some of Colombia’s most dangerous men.

Far, far more daunting than that.

You were going out on a date.

“I like the red dress the best,” Javier’s deep voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. He had mentioned to you earlier that day that he was going to some lounge with Murphy for a smoke and some drinks after work hours since it had been a long, draining week for him at the office; Messina had stuck him with an endless amount of tedious paperwork to do and it had just about driven him insane, but nothing a pack of cigarettes and some bourbon couldn’t fix. With the soft, Latin cumbias playing from the old stereo perched on top of the white oak dresser beside you, you had completely missed the sound of the front door opening and closing when he’d gotten home.

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Javier’s dark brown eyes were fixed intently on you, a small, devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he casually leaned up against the door frame of your bedroom. Well, technically, it was actually the guest bedroom of his apartment unit that he’d let you take over several months ago. The housing department of the agency had placed you into a unit in the building across the street from his, right next door to Murphy and his wife, Connie. It had been a special arrangement requested by your diligent supervisor in an effort to make sure that no one found themselves in a compromising situation—she trusted you enough not to get any dumb ideas, but she didn’t trust Peña as far as she could throw him. It wasn’t very far.

While it had certainly been quite nice, and even kind of comforting at times to have Steve and Connie as your neighbors, you’d expressed to Javier one night over dinner at his place that you weren’t all too fond of having to live alone. Without an ounce of hesitation on his part, Javi offered to have you move into his spare bedroom that very same evening after you were both done eating, but only on the condition that Messina didn’t find out about the new living arrangement. She would wring Javier’s neck with her bare hands if knew that you two had been sharing his apartment this entire time.

Hell, she would wring yours too. And you were the favorite child of sorts. Less annoying than Murphy and certainly a lot less problematic than Peña.

She only liked you because she never had to worry about you. On or off the job.

But even though you were Messina’s number one, her star player, that would do absolutely nothing to spare you from her wrath if she ever came to find out that you were living with Javier Peña. She wasn’t a fan of just how close the two of you had become over the last several months; she’d told you herself that she much preferred it if you kept your distance from him while you were off duty. One wrong move on your part or Javi’s and it was game fucking over. Messina wouldn’t hesitate to send one of your asses packing, back home to be assigned somewhere else, somewhere far away from the other.

Pursing your lips together lightly, you turned your attention back over to the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, you lifted the red minidress up against your body once more to get another good look at it, as if you hadn’t just been staring at it for the last five minutes before he’d appeared. “I don’t know, Javi. I don’t like this one all that much to be honest. I’m not even sure why the hell I let Connie talk me into buying it in the first place. She said it was cute,” You remarked, tilting your head slightly to the side. You wrinkled your nose at the diamond cut out design in the sides of it. Whoever designed it must have not had enough money to spring for more a teensy bit more fabric. “But it’s kind of tacky. And it makes me look like a whore.”

“Mm yes, but a very beautiful whore,” Javi stated, his smirk widening as he drank in the gorgeous sight of you before him. He licked his lips, openly admiring the way you were clad in nothing but one of his shirts, his pink button up with short sleeves that you had once told him you loved so much because it was your favorite color; you’d sneakily stolen it out of his closet on laundry day a couple weeks back while all of your clothes had been in the washing machine and had never given it back to him. Not that Javier even really wanted it back at this point—his shirt looked a million times better on you than ever it did on him. Seeing you in it did inexplicable things to him and he fucking loved it when you padded around your now shared apartment in nothing but a pair of panties and his pink shirt. He took another glimpse at you, nearly foaming at the mouth at how it fit your frame, how the hem of it fell to the tops of your smooth thighs, the material hardly doing anything to cover up the tantalizing curves of your hips and your perfect ass. “Hermosura. The most beautiful whore in all of Colombia.”

You narrowed your eyes at him through the mirror, wishing you had a free hand you could flip him off with. “Gee, thanks for the compliment, Peña. You are always such a fucking charmer, aren’t you?”

“Oh, come on. Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. I’m just messing around with you. You know I don’t think you actually look like a whore—and trust me, I know what a whore looks like,” he responded with a deep and hearty laugh. He uncrossed his arms, allowing them to fall down to his sides as he pushed himself away from the door frame. He sauntered his way further into your bedroom, uninvited. “I’m being serious about the dress, though. Go with the red one. El vestido rojo. It’s perfect. Besides, that color would look gorgeous on you, cariño. I bet it would look almost as good on you as pink does.” He laughed again as he added, “Nice shirt, by the way.”

Your annoyed expression immediately softened into one of guilt. “I’ve been meaning to give you your shirt back,” You told him, sheepishly. “Te lo juro, Javi.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” Javier snorted, waving off the little white lie. He finally forced himself to tear his attention away from you and glanced around, observing the current state of your room instead. It looked like a tornado had hit the inside of your closet; dresses, jackets, and high heeled shoes were strewn all over the place. He wasn’t all too surprised by the mess. He knew you like he knew the back of his own hand by now, and this was typical of you when you were searching for the perfect outfit to wear on a free night out in the city. “I don’t remember you telling me you had any plans tonight, bonita. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with the chismosas of the office? Or are you going out for a girl’s night with Connie?”

You momentarily hesitated.

“Actually, I have a date.”

Through the mirror, you saw the smile fade from Javier’s face almost instantly.

Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.

“You have a date? With who?” he demanded.

Reluctantly, you turned around to face him. “You know Valeria, don’t you?”

The color drained from his face.

“That’s the translator who works up on the third floor, right?” He touched his hand to the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around a couple of times.”

You almost laughed at the manner in which Javier tried playing dumb.

Of course he knew Valeria.

He had fucked her three weeks ago.

Javi had tried to keep it on the down low, but loud mouthed Valeria would brag to anyone who would listen all about how Agent Peña had fucked her in her office one evening while they’d been working late together and everyone else had gone home. Not that Javier even needed her services as a translator, he’d just needed an excuse to find himself in her office after hours so he could get his dick wet.

For some strange reason, you felt oddly fucking generous and decided to let Javier have this one, playing along with him and his sheer stupidity. “Yeah, her. She has an older brother who’s visiting the city for a few days. His name is Diego. He’s an immigration attorney who is here on business in Bogotá. She offered to set me up with him,” You explained, keeping everything as brief as possible. “I’m meeting him for drinks tonight.”

Javier frowned. “Have you met him in person?”

“Well no, but Valeria showed me his picture and she told me all about him. It’s not like he’s just some random ass guy I met on the street, Javi. He’s her brother, she advocated for him,” You tried to reason with him, knowing all too well where this conversation was heading. Sure, it was nice to know that Javier cared about you enough to be concerned about you meeting up with someone who was essentially a complete stranger, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle yourself. You’d spent many evenings sitting right in the laps of the violent criminals who worked for Escobar—a blind date with a coworker’s brother was nothing for him to make a fuss over. “I really don’t think that I have anything to worry about with him.”

He rigidly shook his head. “Look, no offense to Valeria, but I don’t like the idea of you running around this city at night with some fucking prick that you’ve never even met before. And before you throw all that undercover bullshit at me, just know that it’s not the same thing. You aren’t going out on the job tonight. You’re not going out with your team on standby to watch your back, you’re not going out with me and Murphy armed and ready to jump into action if things head south. What if something happens to you?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the complete and utter ridiculousness of his drama king antics. “Oh, give me a fucking break, Peña. Diego’s not a member of the fucking cartel, he’s a lawyer. And besides that, you’re acting like I can’t take care of myself.”

“Listen, I know damn good and well that you can take care of yourself just fine, muñeca. But still, that doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole arrangement.” Javier’s hands went to his waist and he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head once again. “I’m going to need to meet this guy before you go out with him. I don’t care whose fucking brother he is—whichever way you try to spin it, the bottom line is that he’s a still a fucking stranger and I want to check him out for myself before I let you go out with him.” He saw the mischievous twinkle in your eyes and peered at you suspiciously. “Please tell me he’s coming to pick you up here at the apartment.”

You laughed. “Of course not, Javi. I’m not stupid. I already knew you would behave like this. I knew you would go straight into overprotective mode, just like you always do. I didn’t want you scaring him off, so I’m taking a taxi cab and we’re meeting up at the bar instead.” You easily clocked the all too familiar glint in his eye and smiled sweetly at him. “And don’t even think about trying to guess which one it is so that you can show up and keep tabs on me the whole night. There are thousands of bars in this damn city and I can promise you that you’re not smart enough to figure out which one we’re going to, Agent Peña.”

Annoyed by the smugness in your tone and the way it was starting to get under his skin, Javier’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He watched you walk over to your closet, subtly swaying your hips to the music as you pulled out yet another dress to add to your rapidly growing list of options.

He could feel the envy prickling at each and every last single nerve ending in his entire body, his frustrations stewing at the mere thought of you going out with another man. His jaw clenched and he forced himself to shove the feeling down knowing damn well that he didn’t have the right to be jealous. Not when you two weren’t anything more than just friends.

If you’d just been a coworker, it would be different.

Javier would gladly, happily, risk mixing business with pleasure as he had so often done in the past with several secretaries—and a translator or two—in his time. But no matter how hard he’d tried over and over again to place you into that box, into that category, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

You weren’t just his coworker, you were his friend.

His best friend.

For as much shit as he gave you, you mattered to him. You were important to him, way too important to ever risk fucking up your friendship by fucking you.

Still. Javier would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it. He thought about it all the damn time. When he discovered that fucking himself into the palm of his hand and moaning your name quietly over and over again under his breath didn’t quite do the job for him anymore, he would find himself standing outside of your bedroom prepared to say fuck it all and make his move on you. But then it happened every single fucking time without fail—as soon as he lifted his curled fist to knock on your door, he started to remember things.

He’d remember the way you could so easily make him laugh with your clever and quick witted sense of humor. He remembered all those late nights you two would spend together lounging on his brown leather couch in your pajamas watching old, poorly made slasher films while indulging in the greasiest, unhealthiest takeout Bogotá had to offer. He remembered how you could read him just like a fucking magazine, how you always knew when something was wrong—and how you would always somehow know exactly what to say and do to comfort him whenever he needed it the most.

He would remember how you’d come to feel like his home away from home.

And then he would drop his hand right back down to his side, whirl around on his heel, and march straight back into his bedroom where he had little choice but to go back to fantasizing about what could never be between you and him.

Snapping himself out of his own train of thought, Javier carefully stepped over the mountains of clothing and shoes on the floor and made his way over to another pile of dresses that were draped over the foot of your bed. He caught a glimpse of the lingerie set on top of them, brand new with the price tag still attached to the fabric; the set was black, made of delicate, see through lace that would leave very little to the imagination when you put it on. He picked up the thong, hooking the thin elastic of it around his index finger. “Something tells me that you’re not planning on coming back home tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Confused, you turned around and gasped, dropping the dresses in your hands. “Javier!”

“Are these even going to cover anything up?” he teased you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement as they darted between the thong and the lower half of your body. “Falta mucha tela, cariño.”

You rushed up to him and made a dive for the underwear. “Give me those!”

“How come you don’t ever wear anything like this around the apartment, hermosa?” Javi dangled them above your head and out of your reach. “All I ever get to see you in are those cotton panties, the ones with polka dots on them.” He glanced down, getting an eyeful of you and the aforementioned polka dot panties. “Kind of like the ones you’re wearing now—”

“Javier, cut it out!” You placed a hand on his shoulder as the other continued grabbing for the lingerie. “Come on, stop being such a fucking asshole!”

Although he could have easily enjoyed taunting you for hours and hours on end, Javier knew you wouldn’t hesitate to have your knee meet his balls. Not wanting to risk ending up on your floor curled up in pain, he eased up and handed them over to you.

“Idiota!” You hissed at him, furiously snatching the underwear out of his hand. You stomped over to your dresser and shoved them into the middle drawer, slamming it closed so hard the old stereo nearly went crashing to the floor. “You can be a real fucking douchebag, Peña.”

Javier wasn’t bothered by the insults; he’d grown used to those—however any trace of playfulness vanished as the reality began to set in for him. The reality of you sleeping with another a man tonight. “Wait a minute, are you really planning to fuck the guy?” He didn’t even make the attempt to mask the disappointment that laced his tone. “I mean, you haven’t even met him yet. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, querida.”

“You sound awful judgmental for someone who brings home a different escort every other fucking week,” You snapped at him, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh, and speaking of escorts, I had the pleasure of meeting Alessandra in the bathroom this morning. She asked if I had a tank top that she could borrow since apparently you got too eager and ripped her shirt off last night.” You tilted your head, squinting at him as he started shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “If you happen to go back to her for a second round, tell her that I want it back. Washed.”

Javier grimaced, looking down at the floor. “Shit. I thought she would be gone by the time you woke up,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Lo siento, bonita. I’m sorry.”

You blinked. “Sorry for what?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.

He didn’t have anything to apologize for, not really.

He was a single man who could do as, and who, he pleased.

Yet he still felt like a pile of dog shit knowing you’d encountered Alessandra while he had still been asleep.

You would never admit it, but Javier knew that to some extent, it hurt you to run into the women he would bring home. As if having to hear him railing them on the other side of your bedroom wall for hours wasn’t bad enough, having to meet them the following morning and seeing them half naked with their smeared makeup and disheveled hair from the previous night’s activities only made it so much fucking worse.

Having read his mind, you sighed and offered him some reassurance. “It’s fine, Javi. We both know that you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You said, prompting him to look back up at you. You pointed a finger at him. “I do want my shirt back, though. And then maybe I’ll be nice and give you back yours.”

You expected Javi to scamper off to his room with his tail between his legs in shame. It was what he usually did—he’d avoid you for about a few hours until the dust settled, and then everything would go back to normal. Instead of running off, he stood there and spoke again.

“Are you really going to have sex with this guy?”

You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.

“I don’t know,” You confessed, quietly. “I want to have sex with him, but I don’t know if I’ll actually have the fucking balls to go through with it.”

“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”

Though Javier hadn’t been poking fun at you, you couldn’t help but feel irritated with him for asking you if you were nervous; because you actually were nervous, and him asking you only made you even more fucking nervous. “And so what if I am a little nervous?” You challenged him, lightly. “Sorry that we’re not all just confidently fucking our way through this city like you are, Peña.”

“When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s when,” You quipped.

“That’s not fair.” Javi pouted at you. “You know when the last time I had sex was.”

“Not by choice,” You retorted. “You’re right on the other side of my paper thin wall and I left my Walkman in the office.”

Javi waited expectantly for an answer. He wasn’t going to drop the subject, and you knew that.

“You’re such a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” You muttered. Feeling a burning heat flood to your face, you decided to give him just about the most generic answer there was in order to get him off your back. “It was a long, long time ago.”

“Okay, but how long ago?” He pressed, curiously. “Are we talking weeks? Months?”

Your stomach began to churn violently, the hidden secret you’d kept to yourself for your entire adult life now at risk of being exposed.

“I-I really don’t remember,” You stammered out in response, averting your gaze away from his. “Can we not talk about my sex life, please? Besides, it’s getting late and I still need to take a shower and get ready for my date tonight. So if you would just kindly fuck all the way off, that would be great.”

Javier took a step back and there was a very brief moment where you had been certain you’d just narrowly avoided what could have been a painful, humiliating conversation. However, just as he was about to turn to leave, Javi’s eyes widened as it slowly clicked into place for him.

“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”

You groaned. “Javier, please don’t. For the sake of what’s left of my sanity, please don’t,” You nearly pleaded him, wishing that a large, Twilight Zone style swirling vortex would open up in the middle of your floor and swallow you whole.

“You’ve never had sex before,” he realized. “Have you?”

Your face felt like it had caught on fire.

Not knowing what to say or even do, you clasped your hands together and wrung them anxiously in front of you.

Of all the people to find out your secret, it just had to be Peña.

“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”

Surprised, you looked up at him.

Javi wasn’t teasing you or being a dick about it.

He seemed genuinely perplexed by the fact that you’d never had sex before. Not that it made it any less mortifying.

“Yes,” You admitted, exhaling the breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. “I’m a virgin, alright? There, are you satisfied?”

“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”

Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but you don’t always have to fuck your informants to get what you need out of them, Peña. It’s not a requirement. I use my brains, not my body.”

“You’re shaming me for using my body?” he joked lightly, hoping it would further ease the awkward nature of the conversation—for your sake, not his.

“Just a little bit.” You offered him a small, crooked smile and felt your tense shoulders finally begin to relax. “You’re probably going to think it’s stupid or maybe even crazy, but the truth is that I’ve always wanted to wait and give it to the right man. Maybe even to a man that I’m in love with. But with the way my romantic life has been going, it just seems like that’s never going to happen for me.” You shrugged. “I just want to lose it already, Javi. I’m almost in my fucking thirties—either I lose it now, or I may as well throw in the damn towel and join a convent.”

“You would look kind of cute in a nun’s habit,” Javi mused, thoughtfully.

You shot him a glare, but felt the corners of your mouth threatening to turn up into another smile.

After a long minute, Javier broke the silence that had fallen over the both of you. “So then, Valeria’s older brother is the man you’re going to lose your virginity to? Tonight?”

“That’s the plan. He’s only here until the end of the week. It’d be no strings attached, so it works out perfectly.” You anxiously chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But only if I can find the courage to actually go through with it.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Not knowing what to do.”

Javier quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly rocket science, querida.”

You resisted the sudden urge to go up to him and backhand the stupid smirk right off of his face.

“Could you please just take me seriously for one second, Peña?” You huffed out in frustration. “I’m just really fucking nervous about it, alright? What if I can’t—what if I’m not good at it?”

Javi’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth and he stifled his laughter. “Preciosa, you’re being kind of…” He trailed off, trying to choose his next word carefully.

You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”

“Ridiculous. And before you come over here and start pummeling me to death with those little fists of yours...” He stopped and held up his hands in defense. He took a second or two to let eyes glaze over you from head to toe. “I’m only saying that because you’re fucking gorgeous, muñequita. Any man would be lucky to have a night with you. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s not about how I look, Javier. It’s about how I perform.” You felt your face grow hot for what had to be the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. Never did you think this would be a conversation you’d be having with him of all fucking people. “I listen to the way those women you bring home—I hear what they do to you. And I hear how much you like it.”

His lips parted slightly. “And you want to do that to him?”

“I want to make him feel good.”

Javier’s jealously simmered in his veins. But what could he do?

Nothing, that’s what. Just like him, you could do as, and who, you pleased. But if he could just get his hands on you first, at least to some extent, it would help ease the blow. He saw nothing wrong with blurring the lines, so long as he didn’t cross them.

Javi hummed. “If you really want to know how to make a man feel good, I can help you.”

“You can help me?” You repeated. “How?”

“By showing you a thing or two.”

You let out something mixed between a scoff and a laugh.

“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”

He tossed you an innocent look. “That’s not what I was suggesting at all.” He crossed the bedroom and walked over to you, reaching for your hands. He took them in his own and then started pulling you towards your bed. “If you’re really that worried about not knowing what to do, I can give you a few pointers. And calmada, querida. Our clothes stay on,” he reassured you before you could open your mouth to protest. “Just think of it as a friend helping out a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

You chewed on your lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Javi.”

Javier’s thumbs softly smoothed across the back of your hands. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Right now, I’m not so sure that I do.” You paused long enough for him to throw you an exasperated, almost offended look. You rolled your eyes at him and nodded your head. “Yes, of course I trust you, Peña. I trust you with my fucking life. Literally, I put my life in your hands at least once or twice a week.”

“Then let me help you, hermosa.”

You inhaled a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled it softly. “Fine. But remember, our clothes stay on—” You were cut off, all the air leaving your lungs as Javi yanked you forward, slamming you against his chest. You looked up at him, ready to give him a piece of your mind for knocking the wind out of you, but as his eyes met yours, words failed you and all you could do was stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

This could not possibly end well.

And yet here you were, going along with it.

He snaked an arm around your waist, holding your body flush against his. Feeling how tense you had become, stiff as a fucking board, Javi gave you a light shake in an effort to get you to loosen up a bit. “First thing is first, you need to relax. There’s no need to overthink this, cariño. Especially not with me.” He reached up with his opposite hand, letting his index finger feather along your jawline. He then slipped it underneath your chin, lifting it ever so slightly and forcing you to look right into his rich pools of espresso. “I mean it. It really wouldn’t take much for a beautiful girl like you to drive me—I mean, drive him wild.”

You tried your hardest to keep your voice from trembling, but between his touch and being in such close proximity, you were finding it a hell of a lot more difficult than you’d imagined. “Show me, Peña. What drives you—I mean, what’s going to drive him wild?”

“Well, it always starts with the right kiss.”

You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”

“Kiss me.”

Had he lost his fucking mind?

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You echoed your thoughts

“Just a friend helping out a friend,” Javi reminded you in a murmur. “Remember?”

You should have said no. You should have decked him for even suggesting such a thing.

Instead, you gave him a small nod. You rested your hands delicately on his hard, lean chest and tilted your head upwards, lightly pressing your lips to his for a split second before quickly pulling away.

“There.”

“That was fucking pathetic,” Javier laughed softly, his warm breath fanning over the tip of your nose. “You’re not kissing your abuela, you know.”

You smacked his chest. “Javi! Leave my grandma out of this.”

“You have to kiss a man like you actually want him, querida. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

Your throat went dry as his grip around your waist tightened. He moved his other hand away from your chin and it went to the back of your neck, gingerly tilting your head up towards his. Your heart hammered almost painfully against your ribcage, beating way too hard and way too fast for him not to feel it against his own chest. You had to silently remind yourself to breathe as Javi inched his face closer to yours, slowly. You knew that he was doing it on purpose, moving an agonizingly glacial pace to allow your anticipation to build; all the while his dark eyes were staring deeply into the depths of your very fucking soul, causing a fire to set ablaze deep in your lower belly.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily as the tip of his nose skimmed a spot near the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing the underside of your jawline.

God, he was fucking good.

“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.

You needed to stop this. Javier was your friend—friends didn’t do shit like this.

Javi sensed your reluctance. “It’s alright, mi vida,” he whispered, uttering an affectionate pet name that he’d never used before. He gave you a small grin as he moved in to finally close the small gap of space between your faces. His lips met yours and every ridiculous cliché of sparks flying and fireworks exploding occurred the moment they did. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, gently coaxing its way into your mouth to begin a slow, sensual dance with yours. Cupping the back of your neck, he tilted your head up a bit further, granting himself better access to your mouth so that he could fully explore it inch by inch.

There was kissing other men.

And then there was kissing Javier.

Whimpering, your body melted against his as he swelled your lips with a kiss that was slow and sensual, yet somehow still hungry and possessive at the same time. Javier’s hands travelled down to your hips, his fingers skimming the hem of his shirt that you wore. He took the opportunity to sneak them underneath the garment, allowing them to meet the warmth of your skin.

Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him.

“Javier!” You squeaked out his name breathlessly, furiously swatting his hands away from your sides. You glared at him. “I thought we agreed, our clothes fucking stay on!”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware that I was taking any of your clothes off.” Javier reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. He then took a step backwards and gestured towards your bed. “Lay down.”

Your mouth fell open at his request.

“W-what?” You sputtered out, your eyes wide.

“You heard me. Get on the bed and lay down.”

Javi reached down, sweeping your pile of dresses off of the bed and onto the floor.

“Why? What are you going to do?” You questioned him, shuffling anxiously from one bare foot to the other.

Javier rolled his eyes and let out a small, impatient sigh. “Just do it, hermosa. You can trust me.”

Swallowing harshly, you obeyed him and walked around to the side of your bed, taking a seat. You inhaled another deep breath before bringing your legs up and laying back, your head resting against your decorative pillows. You nervously tugged and pulled at the hem of his stolen pink shirt, trying to cover yourself up as best as you could as you laid there, sprawled out before him; however Javier had other plans. He climbed onto the bed after you, positioning his body so it hovered over yours. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling himself right in between your thighs. He grabbed one of your legs and hiked it up around his waist, putting the two of you in a very, very dangerous position. His fingers remained wrapped around your thigh, his touch burning right into your soft flesh as he held your leg in place around him.

“Don’t be shy, muñequita.” His voice had gone low and husky. He trailed his hand further up your thigh.

He grinned, feeling satisfied with himself when he felt the goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Shut up, I’m not shy,” You fibbed, prompting him to chuckle.

“Mentirosa.” Javi’s hand abandoned your leg and he brought his hand up to the side of your face to cradle your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip.

“Kiss me,” he commanded, gently. “And this time, kiss me like you mean it.”

You reached up for him with trembling hands and grabbed two fistfuls of his pewter blue, button up shirt. You pulled him down towards you and lifted yourself up slightly off your pillows, crashing your mouth against his. You allowed yourself to finally release any fears that you might have had before and kissed him greedily and with fervor, as if it would be the very last time you’d ever get to kiss Javier Peña—because it very well could be the last time you would ever get to kiss Javier Peña.

You kissed him deeply, going on until your lungs began to burn—you only broke away from him once they started screaming, demanding oxygen.

Tearing yourself apart from him, you released his shirt and dropped back down onto your pillows, breathlessly asking, “Better?”

“Oh, so much better. Good girl, mi muñequita linda,” he praised, grinning again as he caressed the silkiness of your cheek. He lowered his head and lips ghosted over yours for a moment before he moved them down your neck, feathering kisses to any exposed skin peeking out from underneath his shirt. His hand found your breast and he groaned realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath it. He kneaded the perfect, soft mound of flesh through the thin fabric, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. He bucked his hips into yours, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips the second you felt his hardened cock through his tight, light blue jeans. He caught sight of the way you blushed at the sound that he’d elicited from you and his grin widened. “Noises like that? The louder the better. So don’t hold back, preciosa.”

“What else can I do to make you—to make him feel good?”

Javier dipped his face right into the hollow of your neck, thinking it over for a moment. “A woman who takes control can be very sexy. I like it—I bet he’ll like it if you get on top.”

“I think I can do that.” Biting your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, sliding yourself out from underneath him. You guided him to lay back onto your pillows and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.

Maybe he’d been in over his head with this idea.

He knew at some point he’d have to stop it from going too far—but would he be able to?

“How do you like it?” You asked him, shyly. This time, you hadn’t bothered to correct yourself.

You didn’t want to know how to please another man.

You wanted to know how to please Javi.

Even if you’d never get the chance to do it.

“Depends on the mood,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders in the most nonchalant manner that he could muster under the circumstances—as if his cock wasn’t rock hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans and begging to be inside you.

“Te gusta despacito?” You start to rock your hips back and forth against his, slowly. “Do you like it slow?”

Javier’s breath hitched in the back his throat. At this point, there was no doubt about it—you could feel him underneath you, throbbing. “Sometimes,” he managed to choke out in reply. “Like I said. Just depends on the mood.”

“Or what about like this?” You grinned down at him, gaining a sense of confidence as you started to move faster on top of him, finding your perfect rhythm. You could see and clearly feel what you were doing to him. Knowing that you were having this kind of effect on Peña was nothing short of a fucking dream come true.

His hands went to your hips, holding on as you picked up the pace, grinding your clothed core down against his bulge.

You could feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, soaking your panties; you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d leave behind a wet spot on his jeans. “How am I doing?”

“Fucking amazing, muñeca,” he answered, earnestly. His long, thick fingers dug into your sides as he suggested, “It helps if you put on a little show while you’re up there, too.” He then pictured you in that sexy black lingerie set you’d bought; he imagined what it would be like to slip that tiny little thong to the side so you could freely ride his cock. The mere thought had him seeing stars.

“A show, huh?” You smirked and popped the top two buttons of your shirt—his shirt—exposing the smooth valley between your breasts to him. “I think I can do that too,” You giggled, pulling the fabric to the side, just enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of the soft curves of your chest but not enough to expose yourself completely.

“Hermosa,” he couldn’t help but groan out. It took every ounce of strength he had inside him not to reach up and tear his shirt right off of you so he could see all of you.

You grabbed his hands from your hips and slowly began guiding them all around your body. You started by placing them on your breasts, giving him permission to cop another feel before moving them slowly down the lengths of your sides and placing them on your bare thighs. From there, you picked up Javi’s hands once more and placed them behind you, allowing him to take two generous handfuls of your ass. Your hands then abandoned his and you placed them on his chest, supporting yourself as you continued to roll your hips against his, riding him through his jeans. You tossed your head back and closed your eyes; the friction of your clit against his pelvis even through all the clothes felt like absolute heaven, and you let out a lustful moan that bounced off of your bedroom walls as you continued to drive your hips harder against his own.

Realizing that this was no longer a lesson and you were actually pleasuring yourself, Javier groaned again. He moved his hands back to your hips and found himself bucking his own hips upwards to meet you halfway—he abandoned any and all worries about taking it too far. He wanted you to come.

He needed to see you come.

“Javi,” You gasped his name, moaning again.

“That’s it, muñeca,” he rasped out. “Just like that, baby. Keep going. What a good girl, what a good fucking girl.”

Any and all common sense had been washed away by pleasure and by your need to reach that sweet, sweet release.

It was so close. You felt him right there, right between your clothed folds, and all you could do was imagine what it would be like to have his cock fill you up and stretch you completely.

His name began to slip from your lips, rolling off of your tongue over and over again with such ease.

Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.

You went down, he went up.

You pulled, he pushed.

No doubt about it, Javier was trying to get you off.

Somehow, you find a voice that speaks in between all your pitiful little pants.

“J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”

Javier quickly sat up and wrapped one of his arms around your waist. He slammed your mouths together, silencing you mid sentence. He thrusted upwards, and you whined into his kiss, rubbing your clit against his bulge even harder.

The beginning of your orgasm coiled up tightly in your belly, and you knew it would spring forward any second now.

“Javi, I’m so close—”

“It’s okay, hermosa. Come for me,” he mumbled into your mouth. “I’ve got you.”

Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you buried your face into his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, your loud cries came out muffled against his collarbone as you unraveled, coming undone with one last cry of his name.

You slumped forward, resting your head on his shoulder as you fought to catch your breath, the pleasure still pulsing between your thighs.

Javier’s other arm curled around you and he said nothing as he held you.

Once you’d finally started coming down from your high, your eyes flew open and a chill went up the length of your spine.

What had you two just done?

Still straddling his lap, you pulled back. “Javi—”

Without warning, Javier flipped you over so you were on your back underneath him once again. He hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he dipped his head and captured your lips with his one final, deep and sensual kiss.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about tonight,” he murmured once he had pulled away. “You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”

He touched the tip of his nose to yours before climbing off of you.

“I fucking hope this guy realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is,” Javier said quietly before turning on the heel of his boot and walking out of your bedroom, leaving you laying there with your mouth parted open in complete shock.

Translations

Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. - It’s just a little joke, doll. No need to get offended.

El vestido rojo. - The red dress.

Te lo juro, Javi. - I swear to you, Javi.

Chismosas - Gossipers

Falta mucha tela, cariño. - There is a lot of fabric missing, darling.

Mentirosa. - Liar.

Te gusta despacito? - Do you like it a little slow?

#javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier peña angst #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #javier peña smut #narcos smut #javier pena smut

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bodyans0ul · 1 month

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Taking you into the woods dressed up as little red riding whore I've been so obsessed with you for so long now this fucking uncontrollable rage that seeps through my veins, when lust and desire and the need to consume take over, youre so fucking beautiful the way the moon light reflects your silleutte, enchanted eyes that pierce the night sky with flowing locks of firey red hair gliding and dancing with the wind and eyes that sink into my soul, a little red dress that shines so brightly, you are innocence and purity I am lust and obsession desire and rage I am your hope and despair, this endless dream that haunts my every waking moment, I'm chasing you naked through the forest blind rage consumes me.

Your red dress getting caught on bushes ripping in tatters, your skin cut and blistered from the tree branches, your feet are bloody and swollen, and I'm chasing you naked in this cold, empty place. Nothing is slowing me down. The drive to get to you is like a beating drum driving me crazy. The closer I get, the louder the drumming becomes in my head.

Until that moment of pure terror and defeaning silence, my beating heart pounding out of my chest, when I finally catch up to you following the trail of torn clothing you leave behind, I can hear your sluggish steps, mud-soaked feet, you are tired and exhausted, you just want to collapse but you keep running, rage takes over me, and I start howling like a wolf, increasing my speed weaving through the thick shrubs, my body bleeding cuts all over, adrenaline keeping my blood pumping, coursing through me like ice, my body morphing into a frozen wasteland, and I scream out In the night sky, I'm going to fucking rape you. Do you hear me? I'm going to fucking rape you!!!!! I'm not going to stop until you're crawling away, my spent cock pressed into your cunt, my cum leaking out of you. I want to lick the fear off your face, turning you into my broken little brain-dead doll with eyes rolled back, tongues out, panting, just a complete mess of a girl, crumpled body trying to crawl away from me, cum leaking out of you.

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utahimeow · 5 months

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even death will not do us part — satoru gojo

summary — your wedding day with satoru gojo is not exactly conventional.

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — slightly suggestive beginning, pure fluff, established relationship

word count — 3.9k

author’s note — for satoru’s birthday ♡ i put my heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears into this and i hope u can tell. it may be the best writing i’ve ever done, so if u read it, thank u and i love u. also it’s like extremely sappy so pls keep that in mind lol

After a seemingly endless night, tendrils of golden sunlight come crawling through the blinds. They dance over your flesh that’s dotted with soft bites from your lover, and warm it like soft kisses until your eyes peel open.

Satoru’s already awake, ocean eyes gazing at you. A wave of memories of how he touched you so ardently the night before comes washing over you. After it, a wave of heat, his lustful poetry echoing in your mind until it pools between your thighs. Finally, the heat subsides into something warm, a gentle glow which settles within your ribs.

“Good morning,” your lover rasps, voice heavy with sleep.

You reach out to him until your hand finds his face, your fingers grazing over soft pink skin, your thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone. He’s slightly puffy, eyes still ever so slightly droopy, but slumber is not the only thing that simmers in them.

“Good morning,” you reply, your words hoarse yet covered in honey.

For a while, neither one of you says anything, instead basking in one another. Satoru drinks in the sight of you laying next to him, gulps and gulps and gulps it down like it’s red wine, until he’s drunk.

“Marry me,” he says. Time stops moving and your heart stops beating momentarily. Your mouth tries to move, tries to give a response, but every word you’ve ever learned suddenly abandons your memory.

He laughs, so obnoxiously beautiful, but within his eyes that carry a millennium of history there is only pure sincerity.

It shouldn’t surprise you this much—his question—not when Satoru had long since carved a space inside your heart, and you in his. You’d been together so long that sometimes you both forgot you weren’t married, and Satoru had a habit of casually stating things like “when I make you my wife”, because it was undisputed that he would marry you.

Still, somehow you didn’t see it coming, and not like this. Satoru Gojo was a man of grandeur–always dramatic, always making a scene, always showing off in some shape or form, whether it was you or his cursed technique. The last place you would expect him to propose was in bed at ten a.m. after a night where he made you see God himself. Although, the more you think about it, this is where he is home. Where he bears the deepest parts of his being to you and where he may shed the weight of a society that idolises him as a god. Where he can ask you to marry him as just Satoru.

“Don’t go shy on me,” he says, still amused by your disbelief.

“I-yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you say, sobbing out a laugh, launching yourself into his embrace and burying your face into his bare chest.

“What if we did it today?” he asks, his voice reverberating through you until it almost puts you back to sleep.

“Did what?” you ask.

“Got married.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes flitting rapidly over each of his nonchalant features. Once more, you don’t find a single hint that he’s kidding. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it,” he says, his face like a mischievous cat’s. “And I can’t spend another minute without you being my wife, so please, elope with me.”

Unlike Satoru, you were never exactly one for grand gestures. He knew you never had dreams of a big fairytale wedding with hundreds of guests or a giant hall, and it’s precisely one of the reasons why he’s asking this of you.

“The higher-ups are going to be pissed,” you say, leaning in close to his face until there’s hardly a hair’s width between your noses.

“That’s the point,” he tells you. “Is that another yes, then?”

You stare into the depths of his irises, the ones that are swimming with adoration, the ones that have never changed how they stare at you, even after all these years. Not that you had any doubts before, but suddenly you’ve never wanted anything more. The feeling settles into your bloodstream, to your bones, to the very core of your being–certainty.

“Yes, Satoru, I’ll elope with you,” you say, and then your lips are on his. There’s a million words in the way he kisses you, ones that he would never be able to speak even if he tried, so he kisses you and kisses you in hopes that you’ll understand them. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It is.

You part, sorrowfully, heads spinning, but then you remember you have things to do.

“I need to start getting ready,” you say, and you already know exactly what his response will be–a groan, a whine, and him begging you to stay in his arms for a little while longer.

He does just that.

“Satoruuu,” you say, mimicking the way he whines your name. “The sooner I get ready the sooner we’ll be married. Isn’t that what you want?”

He pouts for the sake of pouting, then his arms loosen around your waist and you leave him with a peck upon his lips before tossing yourself out of bed.

You spend the next hour and something at your vanity, having never imagined that your wedding day would leave you doing your own hair and makeup.

After Satoru brings you a cup of coffee and plants a chaste kiss to your temple, he heads to the bathroom to shower, leaving you to finish getting yourself ready. When he returns twenty minutes later, he finds you standing in your walk-in closet in only your bra and underwear, looking terribly focused. You don’t need to be a mind-reader to know he wants to tell you to go as you are—he refrains, however. It’s a miracle that he’s able to.

“You should wear that white dress you have. The one with the sleeves,” he suggests, flapping his arms and immediately you know which one he’s talking about. A plain white minidress with flared mesh sleeves and sweetheart neckline that you wore to a fancy dinner once. You fish it out, and Satoru approaches you as you step into it and pull it up your hips. Wordlessly, he zips the back up, holding his breath as he does.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see me yet,” you quip, giggling when you turn to face him.

“Baby, there’s nothing conventional about how we’re getting married,” he grins, giving your ass a tap as you walk past him to pick out your jewellery.

Of course, he insists on putting your necklace on for you too, a dainty Tiffany chain with a diamond sun pendant that he gifted you for your birthday years back because he liked to call you his sun. Again, the feather-light brush of his fingers over your skin sends bolts of lightning shooting to your fingertips. It’s reminiscent of the way he made you feel a decade ago, before he had even kissed you for the first time, when his cheesy, cat-like smile would send your heart racing and heat rushing to your face. When butterflies would erupt in your belly and you felt like you were floating. For some reason you found it hard to believe that feelings like that would persist, but it is in Satoru’s blood to prove you wrong, and he did, and he does still.

You decide on a pair of glimmering white Jimmy Choo heels, but before you can even think to put them on, Satoru is on his knees, softly grasping each leg of yours so he can slip the shoes on and carefully tighten the straps one by one. It’s something that never fails to make you giddy–to make you question if you’re even worthy of this man (you know you are, after all he’d spent the last few years doing everything in his power to prove to you that he’s the lucky one between you). Still, you think it’s perfectly valid to wonder what you’ve done to deserve someone like this.

Satoru stands then, a perpetual smile upon his glossy pink lips. He’s in a pair of pressed black slacks that hug his thick, toned legs, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons left open (because you always tell him you like how good he looks) and nothing to cover his eyes. You’re the only person he’ll be looking at today, after all. He’d die before letting anything obscure his view of you.

He takes your hand and raises it into the air and twirls you around, his eyes drinking in every detail of you, inhaling your sweet, angelic scent, and now it’s his turn to wonder how he managed to get so lucky, as if it doesn’t occupy his mind from the very second he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.

He’s still unlearning the idea that he’s alone because it was all that he ever knew from the day that he was born. He’s always had friends and caretakers and people who admired him and who depended on him and who worshipped him, but he was always there at the top, the closest thing to a god that a human could be—by himself. No one could possibly understand him enough to be by his side, not really. Then one day you came along and you slithered your way into the cracks and crevices of his very being and refused to budge, and you showed him that he’s not alone, that there are people who he can trust and depend on and people who he can love.

He never lets go of your hand, pulling you close to his chest and grinning down at you. His eyes gleam with a mischief that’s all too familiar, one that’s got you instantly suspicious.

“Please don’t hate me,” he says but it’s without any real concern.

You have an inkling as to what he’s planning, but you don’t even get the chance to open your mouth to question him because one moment you’re standing in the foyer of your home and the next you’re outside of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building.

He predicts the way you smack his chest and whine out a mildly irritated “Satoru!”–it only makes him grin harder, because he knows how much you hate when he teleports you without warning, but right now he just can’t wait another moment (and neither can you) so you don’t have it in you to be genuinely displeased.

As he makes his way to the entrance, you tug on his arm suddenly to stop him after a certain realisation hits you.

“Satoru, don’t we need a witness?” you ask.

His eyes narrow in thought and he looks around, cartoon-like, before his face fills with resolution and he’s strolling away from the building with you in tow.

“Excuse me,” he exclaims, and you follow his gaze to where an older couple are walking by, hands intertwined. They turn to him inquisitively, so he continues. “My gorgeous fiancée here and I are about to be wed. All of our friends were too busy today, so we don’t have any witnesses. Would you spare a moment of time for a young, smitten couple?”

You roll your eyes, but the grin smirk your lips betrays you. “We’re sincerely sorry for interrupting your day. What my insufferable fiancé here means to say is we would appreciate it greatly if you would be our witnesses.”

The couple take a glance at one another, silently communicating before they face you and Satoru once more, nodding their heads.

“It’s our day off, we were just going to walk around the city anyway,” the lady explains, her pale, weathered lips stretching into a gentle smile.

Thus, you waltz into the city hall altogether, and only now does it begin to settle in that you’re about to marry Satoru Gojo. The morning had gone by so quickly– you’d only been awake less than four hours, and during that time you never once stopped to let any of it sink in.

Now, it sinks in. All the way to your core, to the fibres and cells that make up your being. Inside your ribs your heart is swollen, filled to the brim with scarlet red until it overflows and paints everything around it, until every part of you, every seam that holds you together has been altered, touched by something that Satoru gifted you on the first day you met him.

Your lover seems to move in slow motion. Your breath is caught in your throat. It’s a dream, you’re sure of it. Then Satoru squeezes your hand, ever perceptive of your thoughts, and reminds you that it’s not.

After gathering a pile of documents, a man in a suit takes you to a room that’s a smaller version of a court and begins to lay out the papers, simultaneously explaining each one’s purpose and indicating what you and Satoru must fill out. You provide him with your own documents–birth certificates and proof of residence, and then the two strangers who had offered themselves to you as witnesses give their signatures.

Your officiant makes his speech in a professional language, far from the flowery words given by priests or family friends in churches or venues adorned with flowers and ribbons along every wall.

Lack of preparation means your vows are a repetition of a script written decades ago: you take Satoru to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

During Satoru’s turn, he hesitates. His eyes shine with a strange epiphany as he stares down at you.

“...From this day forward, until the end of time. Even death will not do us part.”

There are no words in any language, dead or alive, that are adequate enough to describe the elation you experience. There is no concept, idea, or theory that would truly reveal the way that you are consumed by love for him. It runs through your bloodstream, intrinsic to your very being.

The officiant announces that you and Satoru are husband and wife. Now you are one flesh and bone. He leans forward, kisses you, and it’s a promise of eternal devotion.

Outside of the city hall, where time no longer stands still but you still feel as though you are not inside of your body, your husband Satoru Gojo bows to the man and woman who made your marriage possible.

Satoru Gojo does not bow. And while it is easy to attribute it to some god complex, to the product of his upbringing, as many do, those to whom Satoru has shown his soul know that it is rebellion. It is the denial of a convention he refuses to assimilate with, one he does not believe in, one which begs children to be grateful to those who have sown them as though they had the choice to be sown.

When Satoru Gojo does bow, it is not without good reason. Most often it is only when he owes someone his life—so he bows to the two strangers, whose signatures on a piece of paper mean that he is eternally yours.

Beside him, you bow too.

“Thank you,” Satoru says, then both of you straighten up to find the couple smiling before you. There is kindness etched into every line on their face, a fondness simmering in their eyes. Their arms are linked, and all of a sudden you’re looking in a mirror.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” the woman says. “I’m certain you will flourish together.”

“You know, young people are always getting into relationships, but seeing true love like what you have with one another… It’s a rare thing nowadays. Please cherish that,” the man says.

“We’ll be forever grateful for you,” you say. “Thank you.”

The four of you part, but the couple, whose names you do not know, now lives in a part of your mind that can never be erased.

The first thing Satoru does as your husband, as you walk down the streets of Tokyo with your hands laced together, is suddenly disappear into a flower shop as you pass by it, before emerging once more and handing you a bouquet of crimson carnations and white roses with a cheshire cat smile on his face.

“Your wedding bouquet,” he says.

“Oh, Satoru, they’re beautiful,” you muse, allowing your nose to absorb their earthy scent. “Thank you.”

You tug him by the hand that’s woven with yours, pulling him down to plant a kiss upon his cheek.

The next stop is a jewellery store, and you yelp as Satoru pulls you inside with him this time.

“Pick whatever ring you like, baby,” he tells you as you stand before the glass case where thousands of crystals glimmer back at you, splayed out on a bed of white. “Just to wear until you pick your actual one.”

Blood warms your face. It’s not meant to be a brag. Even if he didn’t have generations of wealth in his bank account, he’d buy you as many rings as you wanted until you found the perfect one. For you, he would find a way.

Your eyes wander over every diamond, over gold and silver and platinum, and it’s not long at all before they all start to look the same. Not wanting to spend your entire wedding day inside a jewellery store, you land on a simple diamond-studded silver band and point it out to Satoru.

“That one?” he asks.

You nod, a satisfied smile making your lips curl.

Satoru flags down the jeweller, a thin woman with shiny skin, requesting the ring you want. She tells him each of the five diamonds weighs 0.2 carats, making the ring a total of one carat, as if it’ll make a difference to either of you. He doesn’t ask her for the price, but she tells him it’s 550,000 yen—practically theft for someone from the Gojo clan.

After picking out a matching plain silver band for himself, you and Satoru leave the store and continue strolling through the city. To everyone else, you look like no more than an enamoured couple like the millions of others in Tokyo, and while a part of Satoru feels like he wants to wander up to random strangers to brag to them that you’re his wife, another part cherishes this little secret between you two.

From the day he was born, Satoru Gojo’s wedding was to be a grand affair. Sorcerers from far and wide would gather to witness the expansion of the Gojo clan. It was to be a several day-long event, planned intricately by the higher ups without room for any say from the bride and groom. Satoru did not want that—not for himself, but especially not for you.

Now he laughs as he imagines the higher ups’ faces when they realise he has not only married but eloped behind their backs. Though he thinks he’ll keep his left hand in his pocket the next few times he pays them a visit, at least for a few weeks.

“What?” you ask. His grin spreads from his face to yours.

“Nothing. Are you hungry?”

“Ugh, yes,” you say. Suddenly your empty stomach becomes even emptier, howling agonisingly loudly.

“Sushi Go?”

“Please.”

The nearest one is ten minutes away. When you get there, you sit in a booth next to the conveyor belt, with Satoru insisting on shoving himself into the seat next to you rather than across from you. As soon as his heat radiates into you, however, you feel like melting into him.

After ordering almost the entire menu despite your scolding, Satoru finds the ring boxes and pulls them out of the ribbon-tied bag from the jeweller. He takes your left hand, gently, as though you’re made of glass, and slides the glittering ring onto your fourth finger. He brings it to his lips, then his velvety lips kiss just above where the ring rests.

“Beautiful,” he says. He’s looking at your eyes, not the ring.

You twist it around your finger, lungs empty as it catches every ray of light that comes its way and tosses it back at your eyes.

“It’s a little big, but I love it.”

“I’ll get you the perfect one, don’t worry,” he says. “To make up for no engagement ring.”

“You make me sound so materialistic,” you quip, taking his hand into yours and slipping the matching silver band onto his bony finger.

“Just spoiled,” he corrects.

You narrow your eyes at him, but it turns into hearts not a moment later. He makes it impossible.

“I love you, Satoru Gojo,” you say, holding up your hands as you lace your fingers together with his.

“I love you,” he says, and the smug, cocky front vanishes, and he bares himself, his true self, to you. “More than anything in this world. I’m gonna prove it to you every single day from now on.”

Your giggle is drenched in fondness. “You already do that.”

“Then I’ll do it even better. This is a promise of that,” he says, thumb stroking over the ring he put on your finger.

His eyes don’t hold an ounce of hesitation, of questioning, of doubt. Only truth.

Your food arrives, and you wish you could say you feel bad about how overtly gross you and Satoru are being, feeding sushi rolls to each other with twinkling eyes, but everything inside you is screaming with euphoria that you can’t bring yourself to care.

You wipe a drop of soy sauce from the corner of his lips, and he stares at you like you put the sun and the stars and the moon in the sky.

Not to your surprise, you and Satoru don’t finish all of the food he ordered. One of the waiters offers to box up the leftovers, then returns with two paper bags and hands them to your husband, whose unoccupied hand takes yours once more.

He decides he wants to take you to the park. He’s not sure why. It just feels right, and all you want is to spend time with him, so you tell him the park sounds perfect. It’s only another fifteen minute walk, anyway.

When you get there, the emerald lawns are teeming with families, couples, friends. Children run as if they can fly, dogs chase after tennis balls like it is their life mission. Satoru whisks you away from it all however, taking you into the trees.

Nestled amongst the Japanese chinquapin and zelkovas, a cherry blossom spreads its branches out like arms, its blossoms like pink fingertips that flutter as the wind swims through them. Satoru sinks into the cushion of grass at the base of the tree, leaning his broad back against the trunk. Like a cat, you find your way into his lap and rest your head upon his chest, next to his heart. The way his arms wrap around you is instinct.

Sparrows and finches flit about the branches, dancing as they move from one tree to another. Two turtle doves perch together, huddling into the other even though the air is warm.

Even if you and Satoru do not stay bound together in this life, if death takes you or him early, one thing you know for certain—you’ll find him again in another life. Right now, however, you have him in this life, and nothing else matters.

dedicated to @ushiwhacka and @tetsuskei <3 i love u both

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo fanfic #gojo imagine #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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chosok-amo · 4 months

Text

TIME TO CONFESS: RYOMEN SUKUNA

halloween night and you decided to go to the party that you're best friend(maybe)— Yuji Itadori has at his house and he has an older brother, a hot, sexy and handsome older brother, Sukuna. You're having a crush on him for as long as you can remember, and goddess of luck seems like it on your side that night.

olderbrother! sukuna, jealous!sukuna, virgin! reader, human sukuna, non-sorcerer, praise, degradation, names calling, chocking, hair-pulling, dirty talk, rough sex.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

“y/n, you came,” the pink-haired boy shouted between the loud music. with a drink in his left hand, he came to you and hugged you. you smiled at him and hugged him back as you felt he kiss your cheeks. he looked at you up and down before tilting his head to the side, “devil, huh?” you are sure you can see lust in his eyes as he scans your body. yuji is wearing a tight, spiderman costume. you can see the outline of his dick, even from afar— he has a big and long dick, that's for sure. “you look good in this,” you smile as you run your hands on his stomach, feeling his hard-rock abs. he smirks at you before letting his hands that in your back go down to your ass, squeeze it as he pulls you closer until your tits touch his chest.

“come on, let's meet the others.”

he holds your waist as he guides you somewhere. his huge house is painted with halloween decoration. “it's so crowded in here, how many people do you invite?” you ask him as you look around. his place is filled with people you didn't know.

“i don't know exactly,” he laughed.

he brought you to the sofa where you could see all your friends. “lady, you look hot,” yuta came, both hands holding a drink you assume for maki, his girlfriend. you look at him up and down and send him a smirk, “you, yourself look hot too, not as hot as your girlfriend tho.” he rolled his eyes and chuckled lightly, “yeah, can't argue with you bout that.” he kissed you check before sit beside his girlfriend and hand her the drink. they both dressed as a couple— harley quinn and joker.

“come here,” Yuji sat himself beside a spike-haired boy known as megumi fushiguro and pulled you by hand to sit on his lap. his palm hand rested on your ass— squeeze it in tiny from time to time. for quite a long minutes you just sat on yuji's lap and talked with your friends. nobara hands you a glass of alcohol as he sits beside maki and looks at yuji. “have you met yuko ozawa?” she asked and lifted her eyebrows.

“who?” you asked and looked at the boy. he looked at you and nobara alternately before waving his hand in the air. “there's no reason for me to meet her,” he said which made the girl roll her eyes. “yuko ozawa was the girl from junior high school, yuji's ex,” megumi explain to you, you nodded your head as a respond. “she cheated on me, don't want to have anything to do with a cheater,” yuji added.

“yeah, I just pity her because she seems so desperate and causes a lot of drama, it's mental,” nobara remarked and took a sip of her alcohol. “you guys just wanna sit here and talk? you should go home instead,” inumaki said and went where people were dancing, followed by megumi and nobara— who literally had to drag the boy to dance with her. “we wanna go somewhere too,” Yuta said, smiling at you and yuji. his hand wrapped around maki's waist as the girl leaned her body to her boyfriend.

“please wear condoms, I don't want to clean your mess again, it's disgusting,” yuji begged. the black-haired boy's face became a crimson red and cleared his throat. “were not that messy,” he mumbled as you laugh, making his face become even redder in embarrassment. “we can make a mess as much as we want, you just sad because nobody's want to fuck you,” maki defend her boyfriend.

“come on baby, don't mind them.”

and the two of them lose between the crowd, leaving you with yuji. you shift your attention from the crowd to yuji as you feel his hands rub your tight smoothly. “wanna dance?” he asked, nearly whispering. he looked into your eyes for a moment before focusing on your parted lips. “i don't know, there are too many people,” you whispered back to him. he could feel your breath kiss his face. “maybe we can stay here for a while,” he mumbles on your lips before he kisses you.

you can taste the alcohol on his lips, vaguely. you corrected your sitting position, previously you were sitting crookedly on his lap, now you are sitting on his lap with your legs on the sides of his thighs, holding him in place. yuji runs his hand to your tight, moving them to your ass and squeezing them— rocking you back and forth on top of his lap. you can feel his dick getting harder under your cunt.

“fuck, y/n,” he moaned in your mouth.

you keep grinding on yuji's dick and hug his neck to pull him closer, losing your finger under his soft and fluffy locks. feeling your finger on his scalp makes yuji moan. he put his tongue in your mouth, lock them with yours. you can feel a bit of your saliva run down to your chin from the side of your mouth. your body feels hot because of the make-out because yuji's hands keep squeezing your ass and spanking them slightly, because of how hard you can feel his dick under your cunt.

“you are so fucking sexy,” he whispered as he pulls away from your sloppy make-out session and look the trace of saliva on your chin. he grabbed your neck and pulled you closer making you yelp in lust. he kisses your neck, sucks them and bites them— giving you a hickey. “yes baby, keep going,” he breath out on your neck, telling you to keep moving on his dick and make them wet with his precum and your wetness, lucky for him you decide not to wear any underwear.

you're so busy with yuji and your little world that you don't realize someone was watching you the entire time. from the moment you walk into the door until you are on yuji's lap, making the boy's dick harder each second— boring his eyes on your back wishing he could just make you despair.

“i'm gonna go get a drink, wait for me yeah?” you tell yuji, giving him a little kiss on the lips before getting up. “don't make me wait too long,” he spoke as you saw him run his hand to his throbbing dick. you can see a white stain on his costume and the way his dick looks more visible and longer than before. you feel your cunt twitching because of the sight. “I won't, pretty boy.” with that you waltz your way into the crowd, where all the alcohol is.

you put some candy in your mouth as you pour some alcohol into your plastic cup and suddenly a raspy and deep voice could be heard from behind you as the hot wind kisses your naked shoulder (your costume is the same as the picture). “fuck,” you muttered in surprised and snap your neck to find whoever does that to you. your eyes meet with red pupils, blue light flashing on the eyes, face covered with a tattoo, hair styles up showing his loving forehead. “sukuna,” you breathe out making the man smirk.

“doll face,” he teased.

he smirks, but you can clearly tell he's upset. his eyes darker than usual, his smirk looks more sinister rather than in a flirty way, and his hot breath kisses your face— heating your cheeks. ryomen sukuna, yuji's older brother, mean, arrogant yet so fucking hot older brother, also your crush for you don't know how long. he's wearing a priest costume— in slutty way that shows his tattoo and his eight-pack. ever since you lie your eyes on sukuna's shirtless form the first time you come to their place, all you could ever think about is how good it must feel to get fuck by him. you make it obvious, shamelessly showing your body with how little you let the fabric cover your body everytime you come over when you know he's around.

sukuna knows that he knows how desperate you are to want his dick to be inside your cunt. he likes the attention and effort you gave to him and seduces him. as much as an asshole he is, you're his little brother's best friend, someone who he cares about, so he doesn't do anything about it. at least not until he saw you walking through his front door, looking all sexy and gorgeous, and seeing your make-out session with yuji makes him jealous—he doesn't want to admit it— but all he's thinking about right now is fuck you to oblivion and remind you that he's the only man you want, he's the only one you want to get fucked by, not his brother.

that's why you are in your position right now, pinned against the wall with your leg wrapped around sukuna's waist, in his bedroom, forgetting yuji who was waiting for your return. his big hand in your ass to support your body so you don't fall. lips collided for dear life, doesn't care how you're about to lose your breath. you pull away only for him to grip your nape and smashed his lips back. “don't fucking move,” he growls, biting your lips in the process. you whimper when you feel a bit sting on your lips and that's only to encourage sukuna to kiss you more and put his tongue inside your mouth.

sukuna's left hand that was still under your ass moves upward, feeling your naked-soaked cunt. he smirks when you moan from his touch, leaving your lips to look at your face. “so you decided to come here to party, where you know there's gonna be a lot of drunk-loser and humping on my brother without wearing any underwear? are you really that desperate for a dick, y/n? hm?” his middle finger going up and down between your fold. “you're so fucking wet, it is because of my brother or me?” he looks into your eyes, still with a cocky smirk on his lips.

he tightened his grip on your neck as you refused to speak. “answer me when I fucking talk to you, y/n,” he commanded and shoved his two fingers inside your cunt roughly. “f-fuck sukuna,” you whimper and close your eyes for a second. “bet you can get wet easily no matter who he is since you're so fucking desperate for a dick,” he mocked you. “only for your dick,” you tell him, confidently locking your eyes with his. sukuna lifts his eyebrows after hearing your words.

“yeah?”

so he puts you down and sits on his chair— manspread. he pats his one tight, signalling you to sit there. “sit here and hump on my tight, show me how such a fucking slut you are,” his deep voice calls you. with no hesitation you sit on one of his laps and start to move your hips back and forth. your bent knee found themselves on sukuna's dick, rubbing it from the outside of his black pants. sukuna moans, throwing his head back for a second. one of his hands gripping harshly on your hips to support your moves.

he pulls the zipper of your dress down, leaving you with nothing but a fake wing on your back. he guides your hand to his dick— you can feel his erection. you pull his dick out of his pants and your eyes widen because of the sight in front of you. you sure that sukuna has a massive dick, more long and thick than yuji, but you don't expect it to be that big, clean and trimmed. he's probably nearly 11 inches and 5cm girth.

you shift from his dick to look at his face— which is already looking at you with a sly grin. he knows you've never seen a dick as massive as his and it boosts his confidence until it hits the roof. you wrap your little finger around his dick, spreading his precum around the head with your thumb. “fuck, y/n,” he breathed out. heart beating fast and lips dry, he lets you play with his dick while you keep humping on his tight, making a mess there. he feels hot, burning as he looks at your pretty face. his dick frantically fucking your fist as you keep on making a mess over his tight.

your tiny hands fit perfectly on his dick, but it's not enough for sukuna. he wants your mouth around his dick, begging and on your knees. “fuck y/n, your hand fit perfectly on my dick, wondering how your mouth feels sucking me— fuck, get on your knees, baby,” he can't take it anymore. you obey him and go down on the floor, on your knees as sukuna stands tall with his dick in Infront of your face. he pulls down his pants and throws it somewhere you don't pay any attention to.

sukuna looked at you and gave his dick a few strokes, grunting in between. his red eyes were half open, full of lust and danger— your strange addiction. he placed his free hand on top of your head as he smacked your lips with his dick. you look up to him with your big innocent eyes, quite the opposite of your state right now. sukuna's dick twitched in pain because of the sight. he squeeze his dick lightly before, “open your mouth, it's time to confess your sin, slut,” he demanded.

you stick your tongue out, touching his mushroom head with it, “forgive me, father, for i have sinned,” and with that slowly you put his dick into your mouth. again, sukuna cocking his head back with his dick touching with warmth and wetness of your mouth. his hand tightly grips your hair— holding you to stay in place as he tries to get used to your filthy mouth. and the sentence you just said to him wasn't giving him any help at all, only making him more hornier than before.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, y/n!”

he looked back at you as he slowly rocked his hips back and forth inside your mouth. you can only fit almost half of his dick, even your jaw hurts because of how thick his dick is. “open your mouth properly baby, I know your mouth can take me,” he moaned. you shake your head slightly and try to push him by his tight only for him to wrap your hair around his hands and push his dick further until the head touches your throat down. “ah, fuck, like that baby,” a load whimpers left sukuna's mouth and close his eyes— enjoying the feeling of his dick bottomed out inside your mouth. you hit his tight with your palm as you feel like you can't breathe and tears start to gather around your eyes.

he keeps on fucking your throat without any mercy, he doesn't care how tears keep streaming down your face, how red your face is because of lack of oxygen. all he ever thinks and cares about is how good his dick felt inside your mouth. you don't either, all you ever wanted is to feel sukuna to spit his cum and fill your throat. your tongue sends a burning sensation into sukuna's dick, playing with his vein and tip while he keeps on fucking your throat— making him cum faster than he usually is. “fuck, fuck, baby, ’m close, so good— ah..” and a second later you feel something exploded inside your mouth, leaving an aftertaste of sweet, salty and a little bit sour. you gladly swallow all of sukuna's semen without a second thought.

he waits for a few seconds until you swallow all of his cum before he drew his dick out and met with your cough as you tried to grasp some air. you pulled out your tongue to show him and he chuckled sinisterly and stroked your head gently, “you're such a good girl, y/n.” he gripped on your chin between his thumb and index finger and stuck his tongue inside your mouth to feel himself before kissing you roughly. “do you want me to fuck you, hm? want me to fuck you good, baby?” he mumbles on your lips and slaps your sloppy cunt. “yes, sukuna, yes.. fuck me,” you sound more desperate.

he smirked, “come here, slut.”

he carried you to the bed, laying you on your back with your feet at the edge. he threw your feet over his shoulder while pressing the other one to the bed, making your cunt wide open. he smiles as he looks at your cunt, feeling proud of himself to know how wet he gets you. “look at you, y/n, you're so fucking wet, i don't even get to use my hands. who knows yuji has such a slutty friend. or it's because you like me, hm?” feels like all of the blood from your body makes its way to your cheeks, making you look so innocent yet so dirty. so all this time, he knows you like him. you feel embarrassed which makes sukuna laugh a little.

“you make it obvious, with the way you dress and how much you try to impress me and to get you fucked—” he stopped for a while as he parts your fold to look at your holes clutch into nothingness. “you're doing a pretty good job since I always have to fuck my fist every time you come over with that slutty outfit of yours,” he put his two fingers inside your mouth, cover them with your saliva before sticking them inside your cunt, slowly going in an out. “gonna stretch this cunt before you get to taste my dick,” he talks to himself, looking at his hands before looking back at you. “you must be feeling grateful now you're about to get fucked by me.”

you moaned in pleasure but sukuna didn't let you have your fun for a long time as he collected his finger. you cry in dissatisfaction and narrow your eyes at him. “be patient baby. I'm gonna give you something more than a finger, I'll get you pregnant, gonna fuck you until you can't walk,” he pulls you by the neck to kiss you roughly. his hands went down to your cunt to wet his palm with your juice, use it as a lube for his dick. he rub his dick to your cunt as you mewl. “please, sukuna, fuck me. i want your dick inside my pussy so bad, please,” you begged on his lips, between the kiss.

“yeah? you sure?”

you nodded, “yes, been waiting for this dick for too long.”

he smiles and pushes you back to the bed. “such an impatient little whore.” and without further ado, he thrust his dick into your cunt slowly, he wants to feel how good your cunt is for the first. “oh fuck, sukuna,” you choked and your back arch as sukuna's dick fill you. “so tight, shit. I never knew you were going to be this tight, baby,” he growled— feel your gummy wall hug his dick perfectly. soon the loud claps of your skins touching reverberate through the wall of the room. the sound of skin slapping along with your screams made sukuna content.

“fuck y/n, pussy so good— ah!”

he keeps pounding his dick inside you, hitting your sweet spot every time. the second the sight of his dick bulges on your stomach, he puts his hand there and presses it, finds his dick moving under his palm. “if know your cunt gonna be this good I'm gonna fuck you sooner than wasting my time on fucking my fist.” pleasant clouded your sense and you can't think of anything other than the pleasure sukuna gave you. your eyes looking at him with temptation glint, half closed, crimson cheeks, tits bounce and with black wings on your back, looking like an angle, a slutty one. there's no better sight than this for sukuna.

“ ’s good, kuna, fuck— me, ahh..”

loud music from the outside but both of you could hear your moan, whimpering and the sound of your skin slapping each other. you yelp in surprise when sukuna suddenly flips your body— making him face your back, putting you in doggy style. he pulls you by feet making you stand while the rest of your body is still on the bed. again he rolls his hips back to your cunt, bottomed out. in your current position, you can feel all of his dick inside you. “oh fuck! too much, kuna, i can't—” you try to pull yourself away only for sukuna to tuft your hair, jacking your head back. he uses his other hand to grip your throat, and squeeze it gently. he pulls you closer until your back is a few centimetres away from his chest.

“shh baby, I know, i know,” he whispered in your ear. hot breath kissing your neck and start thrusting into your cunt. he let your hair go to cover your mouth as the choked sob leaves from between your lips. “so good for me, baby, taking me so well, squeeze me y/n— fuck, yes, like that.. ah! good girl, oh fuck. my dick is better than yu ji, right? tell me baby.” a moan and wail and grunt soon fill the room, again. a spank kiss your ass as sukuna demand an answer from you, “yes, ’s good, feels so good inside me, better than yuji— ah, fuck,” you let out a cry leaving sukuna satisfied. you can no longer feel the pain but pleasure. sukuna's dick keeps on bullying into your overstimulated cunt. you no longer thinking about yuji while the boy is outside of the room— looking for you.

the door to the sukuna bedroom swings open, revealing yuji standing there. sukuna gave him a sly grin as he kept on pounding at you but you didn't realize, too deep into the pleasure that sukuna gave you. yuji closed the door and locked it before he found his way to in front of you, on the bed. you open your eyes as you feel something touching your lips only for you to meet with naked yuji, on his knees in front of you with his dick in your mouth. his usually bright brown eyes now looking dark, clouded with lust and desire. “sucks, y/n.” he commands you. without waiting for you, he fuck his way into your throat, choking you. a loud relief moan leaves his lips. “ah fuck!”

he pulls your hair, “you're so mean leaving me out there while you were here, getting fucked by my brother. I didn't know my best friend is a dirty little whore. how about you take us at the same time, princess? since you're so fucking hungry for dick and my dick wasn't enough for you,” he ramble. who knows someone as sweet as yuji has a dirty mouth. sukuna on the other hand enjoys the sight of you sucking his brother.

and by the heart you know you're gonna have a long night in front of you. and you don't think the two brothers gonna go easy on you either. let's just say you have the best night you could ever imagine.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut #itadori smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #yuji itadori x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #yuji itadori smut #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru smut #geto suguru smut #toji fushiguro smut

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saintgoths · 6 months

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☾༺♰༻☽ʙʀᴜɪꜱᴇᴅ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni very 18+ - you give ghost the best head he's ever gotten.

simon 'ghost' riley.

250+ notes and i'll post ghost giving you eye-rolling head.

If having to have a vastly sized cock down your throat to swallow as punishment for your impish behaviour, you will be able to find yourself between the large thighs of Ghost many more moments in the future, though, he knew you always wanted to rile him up, he knew you loved the punishment of having to use your tongue to please the usually iced man and he played along with it.

Bruised knees as an outcome but an example of your desire for him, amiable to the way his fingers dug into your hair guiding you up and down his length as you shamelessly gagged and drooled on his member. Cheeks hollow as your jaw shivered whenever his cock re-entered your mouth, with carnal written in your eyes you had looked up at him.

His face hidden by his skull mask and his usually dark and arctic eyes replaced by a biting shadowed lust that had watched you feed onto him. “That’s it baby doll,” he whispered as low grunts emitted from the back of his throat, the man found himself gently rolling his hips while the head of his shaft stroked the end of your mouth.

With your hands against his thighs, you found your tongue dancing against the angry red tip that had threatened to spill, and with incoherent words that had left his mouth, Ghost found himself rubbing his tip against the texture of your tongue, his eyes rolling back as a short whimper jumped out of his mouth.

You were the only person who could get him down like this, having him in a mess as he ached for more of your mouth, your mouth a nirvana he fucked, back straight as both of his hands pressed against the top of your head, eyes drunk as his white spill slid down your mouth, “fuck baby doll,” his voice trembled, as he released the rest of his sticky cum and once you felt the width leave your mouth, you obediently swallowed his load before wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

Eyes wide and doe for his next instructions which included him tapping his lap, silently directing you to sit on it and once the weight of your figure had been pressed against his legs, he gently lifted his mask, only showing a bit of his face, allowing you to kiss and embrace his lips as he roughly slapped the curved skin of your arse---ere his fingers gripped into them.

“Y’love getting in trouble don’t ya?” He whispered and caught red-handed, you tucked your bottom lips behind your teeth before you slowly nodded at his comment, his eyes still full with lust, he had now found his hands between your legs. “Well maybe I have to find something else you’ve done, to get you back on your knees,” he hummed and satisfied, you pulled yourself off his lap which had earned a certain look from him

“I didn’t say you could get off.”

“You didn’t?” You teased and as he pulled his mask back down you quickly could see his smirk while the dominant aura clouded his body once more. “Well, what do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?” You asked and as you could feel his eyes examine your body, he finally spoke.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, and so you did.

POSITION REFERENCE.

♆

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

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agendabymooner · 6 months

Text

SOMETHING DESERVED !!! LANDO N. X DRIVER!FEM!READER (18+)

summary: when she robbed him of a victory, all lando norris could do was retaliate and reward her at the same time (based on this request)

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, not proofread, marking, dirty talk, dom!lando, praise with degradation (good slut), practically hate sex, brief breath play, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, pure filth from lando

note: saw the request and my hands just slipped and boom! lando norris smut. enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

💌re:moony’s planner is opened!!!

he was so close to his first ever win.

p1 was on his reach this weekend and with the upgrades on his vehicle, he was confident that his tractor wouldn’t act like one but like an actual race car this time.

but god sent up a demon in disguise and decided to call it a day after.

lando was so busy fighting with max for the lead that he’d forgotten about the woman who was once three seconds behind him — to which she overtook the two drivers in the span of a second. their fighting ended in a massive space that she then took and sped off to without any hesitation.

she then defended her position— she was good at that and even verstappen couldn’t deny that he already lost the moment she’d overtaken him.

but lando was fuming. it was his fucking turn to win— and this woman just decided to strip that opportunity off of him? he wasn’t sure if it was because of the bad blood between him and the only woman in the grid— or the sexual tension that came with their rivalry.

his p3 celebration was nothing but sour, so regardless of how good he felt at the points he’d earned he still felt like he was robbed of his time to shine.

all thanks to her.

her, who danced wildly with the rest of the grid as they showered her with their celebrating presence and the joyous energy of the club.

her, who decided to lay off the alcohol tonight to enjoy her first win of the season without forgetting about tonight.

her, who grinded her hips with carlos as they both danced scandalously without any intention to take the other back to their place after.

her, who looked at lando across the dance floor and offered a wide smirk as she taunted him with a wordless expression that told him — i won, you lost. she continued to dance with carlos while she kept her eyes on lando, whose hand gripped the glass of his virgin drink a little too tightly as his temper arose.

if it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t be like this now: his jaw clenched with his face flushing red in frustration while his eyes flickered down her body. he was frustrated, angry, and lustful.

all thanks to her.

her teasing smile and taunting eyes weren’t caused by her victorious result this race weekend and lando knew that.

the way she danced with carlos while she kept her eyes trained on another man told lando enough — that she was chasing after something and it wasn’t the first place.

she sought for her reward.

but for her to assume that lando was kind enough to hand things to her easily? the british man could only scoff.

sure she deserved it. but with how she easily took his win away from him, lando wasn’t sure if he'd be nice to hand it to her on a silver plate. she had to work for it.

lando clicked his tongue in a mocking way, pulling himself away from her for a moment as she sobbed.

his eyes trained on her glistening cunt, watching it throb at the emptiness after he edged her for the fourth time tonight.

maybe it wasn’t ideal to taunt her like this— to fuck her with his mouth then pull away before fucking her with his fingers until she was crying out for more only for him to deny her of that euphoria.

maybe it wasn’t ideal, but this was how lando wanted to get his frustration out.

“you should look at yourself, princess,” he cooed mockingly, his wet fingers being welcomed by her mouth as she suckled and swirled her tongue around them. “you taste yourself? so good, don’t you think?”

“so desperate for me,” he crooned, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucked on his fingers harder. his other hand tapped on her face slightly as he tutted, “ah, ah, none of that.”

lando pulled his fingers out of her mouth, to which she tried following it before his hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed it lightly.

“it’s funny how eager you are for everything, baby,” he chuckled darkly. “you won’t even let me win and now you want my cock inside of you? so greedy. such a needy, greedy slut.”

she whimpered at his words as lando continued, “you got to choose which one to work hard for and which one you should continue to beg for, princess. not everything can be handed to you that easily.”

when she continued to whimper and plead quietly, lando smirked and taunted, “oh? i can’t hear you, babe. you’re gonna have to tell me what you want.”

he was teasing her and she knew that, but she couldn’t find herself to argue as she knew that she was already playing with fire earlier at the club. that, and because she was already falling into a euphoric state where she thought of nothing but getting too fucked out by him.

“speak up,” lando demanded firmly, squeezing her throat for a moment as she moaned at the feeling. “you’re always mouthy with me in front of everyone, why are you quiet now?”

“lan- lando please,” she whined, her cunt now grinding against his thigh as she cried out in frustration, “just wanna cum, please! fuck~”

“oh you want to cum?” lando looked at her with a devious smile, “is that what you deserve?”

“‘m a- i won-“ she hiccuped, “i won this race- lando pleaseeee~”

“i know you did, princess,” he cooed, pressing his lips against hers before his tongue slid in to play with hers.

he hummed in satisfaction, tasting the virgin strawberry daiquiri from her mouth before he pulled away.

he pouted mockingly, “and you got a trophy from it— what else could you want from anyone?”

“i want your cock so bad, just fill me up- fuck, lando- fuck me,” she begged, her eyes glistening in desperation and lust as she continued, “wan’ you to fuck me hard and fill me— i wan’ to be full please, please lando,”

“such a greedy girl,” he clicked his tongue again before wiping her tears away, his tongue trailing from her neck down to her chest as he sucked on her skin and left a purple mark on her tits.

“but i guess i can’t deny you, huh? because you always get what you want-“ she gasped aloud as lando slid his cock into her without a warning, filling her cunt fully as lando continued to speak, “especially when you deserved it. even if you’re such a fucking brat.”

she tried to get a hold of him but with the way her legs were hooked over his shoulder and his hammering of the tip of his girthy cock against her cervix, all she could grab and hold onto were the white sheets under her.

she let out a strangled cry as lando continued to fuck her — as if they haven’t hooked up days before and as if he was angry. he sure was angry at her — because he never fucked her like she’s the last person he wanted to see before.

now she knew what that felt like, and all she could feel was her arousal escaping her cunt and trickling down to her puckered hole while he growled quietly. lando’s forehead rested against hers as his thumb made its way to make her sensitivity go overload and rubbed her clit.

she cried out, “god! fuck!”

“not even god could hear you, princess,” lando chuckled as he moaned at the sensation of her walls clenching around him. “fuuuuuck~ so tight, pretty girl- yes, fuck! keep tightening ‘round me like that- fucking shit!”

her legs shook as she felt an incoming orgasm, her body now convulsing under lando as she mewled, “fuck, lando- lando, i- i’m fucking cummin’! fuck, lando! shit!”

she let out a strangled moan once more before completely stilling around him, reaching her climax in the process as her vision turned white. “shit~” she gasped, her pussy throbbing around his cock as she felt another orgasm incoming— lando never stopped fucking into her when she came and now the overstimulation was leaving her to short circuit as she cried, “lan- lando, ‘s too much! fuck! ‘m cumming, lando shit~”

“yeah? you cumming again? ‘s too much?” lando hoarsely mocked her, his cock ramming into her as sounds of hips snapping against the other filled the room. “but you deserve more of this, princess. you can’t just give up after the first one!”

“fuck! lando!” she mewled pathetically. another orgasm approached as her body limped for a moment and shook under him. “o-oh~ i~”

lando slowed down his pace, pausing briefly to allow her to ease off the overstimulation as he watched her mouth let out the prettiest gasp he’d ever seen. he had forgotten about the loss of p1 today for a moment.

all thanks to her.

“so pretty,” he murmured, watching her body calm before she let out a squeak when he began to rock his hips and thrust in and out of her again. “wanna see more of that. be a good girl for me hm?”

“be good for me and i’ll show you how much you deserve that win and these orgasms, baby. you’re such a good slut f’me.”

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jarofstyles · 1 month

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One More Night of Freedom

.... hey.... So this is another piece of filth! Stripper!Y/N and Bachelor Party!H with his one night of freedom. I hope you enjoy love bugs!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 150+ exclusive writings!

Warnings- infidelity (H cheating WITH Y/N), stripping, dirty talk, daddy kink if you squint, slight anal play. We don't condone cheating irl thanks

WC- 4.6k

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

Harry knew it was wrong. So wrong, so against every normal moral compass he usually held, but there was something about the woman in front of him that enchanted him. Made him second guess everything.

It was his bachelor party and his mates had encouraged him- forced him, really- to go to the back room to get a private dance from the one he’d been eyeing up all night. It was hard not to, with her creamy smooth skin, breasts held up perfectly by her bra and those fucking garters around her thighs- it was a major weakness of his. She moved her body like water, smooth and rippling as she worked around the pole. Hair following her like a velvet curtain and a cat like grin, full of filthy promise. His head had been reeling as an unfamiliar feeling rose in his guts and his cock shamefully grew in his trousers.

The thing was- He’d been trying to talk himself out of having cold feet for months. Proposing was what felt like the next logical step. That’s what her friends had said, what her parents had hinted out. They weren’t wrong, he supposed. Savannah was a good girl, someone his parents approved of, and she was nice. The sex was alright, she didn’t complain, and she was beautiful. But there was something missing.

That passion. That lust he’d always thought he would feel when it came to his forever partner. Something he’d been convinced wasn’t real. And he was a piece of shit, because watching the woman in the skimpy get up approach him as he sat in the oversized cushy chair, his cock had more interest in her than it had in his fiancè in the last 4 months.

“Hello.” She purred, syrupy voice warming his bones. “I heard I was specifically requested and with quite a nice tip promised. I can’t help but be flattered.” He could see her skin sparkling, like there was body shimmer sprinkled all over her. The thighs, the chest, her breasts especially- he felt that guilt in his stomach start to dissipate as she got closer to him. She smelled sweet, like coconuts and vanilla, and she stared right back into his eyes. Her lips painted a cherry red, he nearly panted as she placed her knees on either side of his spread thighs and sat on top of him.

God, he felt like his heart could beat out of his chest. Her warmth went straight to his cock though she wasn’t sitting on it yet, her hair long and brushing his forearm as he kept it on the arm of the leather chair. It was oversized for this specific purpose, he thought.

“Well, I have to admit to you that the feeling is mutual. I could feel your eyes on me when I was on the stage and I was impressed. Such a handsome man.” Her fingers stroked his jawline, tilting it up towards her face as she moved her hips. He was hypnotized. Eyes dipping to her lips and back up to her heated eyes. “You’ve got me for an hour, now. I think you should introduce yourself.”

He could barely feel his tongue, but he had to get to talking. She almost intimidated him, sitting on top of him and touching him like she had all the rights to be there. Like he wasn’t about to get married. “Harry. My name’s Harry.” He rasped, managing to spew those words out without losing his tongue. Thank god, because he knew it wanted to do many other things.

“Yeah? Well, Harry… you can call me Angel.” She purred, slipping her fingers up and through his hair. It was embarrassing when he let out a soft moan, feeling her manicured nails against his scalp. It had been so long since someone touched him like this. His fiancè was sweet, but she didn’t really… do much for him. Not like this. She’d make a good wife, a good mother no doubt, but he wanted more than that. “I don’t usually take offers like this, you know.” The temptation moved from straddling him to standing in front of him, turning around and bending over to brush her ass against his crotch. “I don’t do private rooms but being blunt? I thought you were sexy. We can break a few rules tonight, can’t we?”

Her body laid on top of his as she rolled her ass on top of him, making him drop his head back against the chair. There was no way she couldn’t feel his cock, not with the way it was straining against his trousers. She moved perfectly against it, her arm coming back to tangle in his hair. Her temple was against his cheek, feeling the slight scruff as she took his hand from where it was clenching the arm of the chair with white knuckles, pulling it to run over her stomach.

“Usually… we don’t let people touch us. But I think I can make an exception for you.” Her hand was slow as she moved it up, trying to feel for any resistance. It was clear she wasn’t going to make him do more than he wanted- but that was the problem. He wanted. Fucking desperately. It was hard to hold on to the resolve, to remain faithful when the girl of his dreams was dangling herself like a cat going for a string. He wanted to touch and taste and feel. All the things he absolutely, positively should not do.

“Yeah?” His voice was dark and rough, trying to find his self control and ultimately failing as he let her drag his hand up and cup around her breast. The both of them let out a noise of relief as he squeezed without her urging, continuing her moving on him. “What kind of exception?”

“Well… your friends told me that you have one more night of freedom. That you didn’t seem like you were getting what you needed in your other situation.” Her thumb ran over his ring finger. “They told me that you needed to pull your head out of your ass and see that it’s a mistake.” Her body moved further up, lips ghosting his jaw. “To put it bluntly, Harry, they wanted me to show you that you could have the attention you want. Don't settle for the first pretty face that someone approves of. Sometimes….” She moaned as his fingers pinched her pierced nipple through the lace of her bra. “Sometimes you’ve got to be reminded of the things you could have.”

Harry was in a trance. He’d barely had a sip of his drink, having been too enthralled with her on the stage. His friends must have noticed it, and he hadn’t even been sure considering he had stared her whole set. Tipped most of his cash he’d taken out. At one cold sober, and he couldn’t even blame it on anything but his own mind. He hadn’t allowed himself to look at other women, tried desperately to make this work and be faithful but fuck, he was losing. Her supple ass moved against his cock, his fingers plucked her nipple as she was giving him an in.

“And how am I going to be reminded of that?” He was going to regret this, probably. When he woke up tomorrow and the adrenaline had faded… or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe his mind would be as clear like he had been dying to have it.

“Like this.” She hummed. “Let yourself do what you want with me, Harry. If you do decide to go through with it… if you cuff yourself to that woman, as lovely as she may be… you’ll have had one final night of freedom.” Her voice was a purr. “Let me take care of you.”

It scared him. Being locked into a relationship he knew he wasn’t going to be fully satisfied with… it wasn’t what anyone wanted, but he felt a little trapped. He’d settled, he knew that, but it hadn’t been so obvious to him until a woman he was truly attracted to came and ruined his plans. It wasn’t fair to put this on her, but it was like looking at his decision for what it was. A mistake.

He wished he could be stronger. He wished he had more resolve, that his prick wasn’t leaking in his pants as he palmed her tits, that he stopped her from sinking to her knees and undoing the belt his fiancè had bought him for his birthday, that he didn’t raise his hips and help her pull his pants down. He wished he could say he didn’t groan in satisfaction as her hot little tongue ran up the length of his cock, from his sac to his tip with a filthy little giggle, but he did it anyways.

“Fuck…” she cooed. “Such a pretty cock, Harry.” Her words were murmured as she lapped over the leaking slit. “I’m going to take care of you. Don’t worry about a thing, okay?” She took his hand and pulled it to her hair. “I’ll pinch your thigh if I need to stop for a second. Let go of all that worry and let me take care of you.”

The guilt that had still tried to roll around in his stomach began to dissipate yet again as she sunk her head down on his length. Taking him down, showing off her skills as he felt the tip of his cock in back of her fucking throat. His mouth fell open as he looked down, feeling her nose brush his tummy before she pulled up, saliva stringing to her lips as she sent him a filthy grin. Harry hadn’t felt that in ages, his fiancè more gentle with the way she gave oral- refined. She didn’t like to do it much anyways which- it was fine. Everyone had their preferences. But fuck, when she spit thickly on his cock and used her hand to stroke and smear it all over, he remembered just how much he missed a sloppy blowie. How much he missed the animalistic desire, when a person would be so eager to please that they’d put their all into it.

“Shit.” He hissed through his teeth. “That’s good.” The words fell from his tongue without a second thought and her eyes brightened as she sucked the tip back into her mouth. The soft squelch of her wet hand stroking him was audible, sucking firm on the ruddy tip and her tongue brushed the slit, making his breathing quicken. He was only a few minutes into it and it was the best head he’d ever had. “Take more.”

The Angel on her knees simply looked up at him, putting her clean hand on his on the back of her head and motioning for him to push.

Fuck.

“You- You want me to fuck your mouth.” He rasped, watching as she nodded, humming the best she could around him. How could he say no to that? When his prick was dripping for her and her hand was firmly stroking over the base. He held her hair in his hand, slowly pushing her down as he watched. Her red lips had smeared on his cock and his stomach and he knew he’d need to wash up before he got home and his clueless fiancè possibly saw, but it sent a thrill up his spine. Watching her stretched lips sink all the way down, marveling at how she took it with only a few gags- he was in his own version of heaven.

“Christ, you’re good at that.” He grit his teeth, pulling her up slightly before pushing her back down. “Let me know when you need to breathe. Fuck, it’s been so long.” His head rolled back on the chair, lifting his hips slightly as he felt her throat flex. She was drooling around him, letting out noises that vibrated against him and added to the pleasure. It was disgusting, filthy, so fucking wrong- and yet he was obsessed.

She sat like a good girl, even though she was being a filthy whore for him, her free hand gently dragging her nails over his inner thigh. It made him fucking crazy, hissing as he really fucked into her throat. She’d feel it tomorrow, she’d remember taking his spoken for prick into her mouth and changing his whole fucking world view. “Such a good slut for me. Can’t believe you’re taking all of this, fucking Angel.” He slurred, rutting up into her face as she let out little gags and fueled his arousal.

Giving her a chance to breathe, he relished in the choked sound she let out as he pulled out of her mouth. She panted, pulling on his length before spitting on him. The girl was a fucking wreck, eyes wet with tears and chin dripping with spit but she looked happier than he’d ever seen anyone else taking his cock. It made him think about how she’d never seemed this happy to pleasure him. It was done, of course, but it seemed like a chore. This girl, Angel, which he doubted was her real name- she was enjoying every bit of it. Loving it. “You like sucking me off, don’t you?” He thumbed away some of the mess.

“I love it.” She admitted, turning her head to press a kiss over his thumb. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to suck a pretty cock. None have been as good as yours.” The girl’s voice was wrecked and it did something to him, the most primal part. “Is this all you want, sir?” Her eyes gazed into his own. “Did you want to cum into my throat? Or….” She tilted her head. “Did you want to do more to me?” Her eyes fluttered as she gave him a soft, coy little look that made his prick twitch in her hand. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

The man didn’t even know that was an option. Honestly- he shouldn’t. This was bad enough. He was cheating, he was fucking up massively, but he couldn’t deny he was drawn to this woman. This beautiful stripper who had given him the most glorious head and let him fuck into her throat. It would be wrong to fuck her. So fucked up, so awful to do this and crawl back into bed with Savannah when he got home- but he couldn’t say no. He really, really needed this.

“I want to know your real name before I fuck you.” He decided, sealing his fate as an awful- but sexually satisfied- person.

“Y/N.” She mumbled, moving up his body. “But don’t tell anyone else, yeah? I like you…” her lips brushed against his own. “So I’m going to let you do awful, filthy things to me. The stuff the girl at home won’t let you do.” The side took the lead again and took his hand, cupping it over his cunt. “Don’t waste a tight, hot cunt that’s wet for you. Or… my ass.” She purred. “It’s all up to you. I’m open to anything with a cock like that.”

Harry moved in a blur. A double check she was okay with it, a condom being produced from the side drawer that she slipped on his cock and her body climbing on top of his, he couldn’t really find a way to stop himself when the mere sight of her had changed his plans, ruined his mental resolve. Her panties yanked to the side, her slick cunt wasted no time. He’d offered to prep her but she shook her head, telling him she wanted the stretch- and he wasn’t going to tell this girl no.

His mouth fell open as he groaned, watching her cunt spread for him. He had a front row seat as she sat herself on top of his cock, watching it fill her up. She whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders as her tummy jumped at the sharp breaths, but she never stopped. Slowly taking him in, she engulfed him and covered him in that tight, sopping heat that he had been desperate for. She was much tighter than the woman he had waiting for him at home, and the thought only spurred him on. “Fuck me… you’re so tight.” He hissed, hands gripping her ass tight. His marks would be visible on her. She’d stumble home and go to sleep, wake up with the reminder of his cock in her and his hands on her- but he couldn’t have the same. He wished he could, though he doubted he could ever forget this.

“Just for you.” She purred, pushing him to lean back against the chair. Fully sat on him, she began to grind over him. Whimpering as her clit brushed his stomach, looking at his face as his eyes were moving from where they were connected and her face. He looked almost like he was in pain, but she knew it was pleasure. Getting used to feeling her around him. The girl knew it was wrong to do this, but she never claimed to be a saint. A man as sexy as him should be positive about who he was marrying, because god knew he could get anyone he wanted. “Is that what you needed, Harry? Needed a tight cunt wrapped around your big cock?” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Testing her limits.

Everything about this was wrong, but it had never felt so right being inside of a woman. Feeling her squeeze him as she rocked back and forth in his lap, her breasts brushing his chest and her lips nearing his. He knew kissing her would be the final nail in the coffin, the last straw, there would be no turning back or controlling his urges. But he knew she was the one in control at the moment and he was at the mercy of the beautiful woman and the needs of his leaking cock. “So fucking good, baby.” He panted. “S’all I needed.”

Y/N beamed, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head back before connecting their lips. And that was game over for Harry.

He gave in. Submitting to his desires, the last tiny droplet of guilt drying up like water on a hot pan. Sizzling away as the arousal burned hot in his gut, his balls tight and full as she began to lift herself up and down on his prick and her tongue entered his mouth. Sweet like cherry vanilla, moaning into his mouth as she fucked herself on his cock like she owned it. Hell- he had to admit that tonight, she did own it. She was giving him everything that he had been dying for, begging for, but couldn’t have. He’d settled without it for a while but this was the reminder that it could be better- he could have better.

She was so fucking wet. Harry’d never felt pussy like this before, not with it dripping down to his balls and smearing over his stomach as she whimpered against his mouth. Her hand held his hair and tugged, making him growl against her mouth as he began to fuck into her. Sinking down further into the chair with his feet firm on the ground, bucking into her welcoming, sopping hole as she let out little noises against his mouth.

“Take me.” She taunted through breaths. “Fuck me, Harry. Fuck me like you’ve been needing.” Lips dragged across his own and he could feel her smile. “She doesn’t give it to you like this, does she?” Her hand pulled harder at the nape of his neck, making him grit his teeth. “Doesn’t suck you nice and messy, doesn’t let you take her pussy like this? How could she waste such a gorgeous cock…” her other hand clenched down on his shoulder, a squeak leaving her as Harry’s hand came down roughly on her ass. “Oh, fuck. She doesn’t let you do that either, does she?” The girl had nerve to giggle against him, suckling on his bottom lip as he snarled. “Do it again, baby. Hit me.”

Harry felt like he could pass out. Fucking into her cunt without reservation, her filthy words fanning the flames of his arousal and dousing any possible guilt even just talking about her, she told him to smack her ass again. So he did. He didn’t hold back, feeling the sting in his hand but also noticing how she got even more soaked as his length pistoned into her, how she let out a string of low curses before tugging his hair harsher. “Again.” She growled. “Fuck me, Harry. Fuck me like you can’t do to her. Are you going to lock down this perfect cock on someone who can’t use it right?” Y/N was pushing boundaries but she was getting what she wanted, another rough spank that she was sure would bruise.

“Yes, yes- you know I’m right.” A giggle of disbelief filled the room, along with the slap of wet skin. “You could have pussy whenever you want. Don’t-don’t tie yourself to someone you can’t pound like a slut. That’s what you’ve been needing, isn’t it? Pussy better than that frigid bitch of a wannabe wife-“ the words were cut off as Harry took control. Turning them around, he stuffed her face into the cushy back of the chair and lifted her hips up, making her scramble to hold on to the chair as he slammed back in.

“Shut the fuck up.” He hissed, tugging her head to the side so she could breathe but holding on the side of her head so she stayed put. “Just shut up and take my cock like the good little whore you claim to be. Fucking slut.” He smacked her ass again, smiling to himself at the fucked out smile on her face. This was the nasty shit he’d been holding back, no outlet to put it in. It was pathetic, he knew it, not going after what he wanted- but this was a wake up call. Women like Y/N existed. Who wanted it just like he did, who taunted and craved and let themself get messy. Didn’t worry about bruises, who asked for it harder. This was his dream woman, if he was being honest.

“Sorry, Daddy.” She whined. “I’ll be good for you. Just don’t stop fucking me. I’m gonna cum.” It wasn’t a secret. He could feel it, feel her beginning to pulse around his length as he railed her. He was in her stomach, fucking her deep and she took every inch. The thought lingered in his mind, thinking about how an hour wasn’t enough. He needed more of this. He wanted to take his time, to make her whimpery and wobbly in the knees. Make her fall out of work the next day. It wasn’t something he thought she did, but if she would allow it he knew he was going to pay her for every second. He’d been depriving himself of everything he wanted for the idea of a picture perfect life, for what people thought he should have. “You’re going to make me cum…” the warning was higher pitched, her eyes watering.

“I can feel it. God, can’t believe how lucky I’ve got it. Perfect little slut for my cock.” The chair was hitting the wall but the pumping music outside muffled it. His balls smacked against her clit, getting wet with each thrust and making her legs quiver. The girl’s fingers held tightly to the chair he was fucking her into, body lax and giving him then ability to do whatever he needed. “Maybe I’ll come back and take this pussy again. Would you like that? Like being a nasty fuck like this, ruining my plans?”

“Yes- yes, don’t keep this dick away from me, Harry. I’ll do anything to have it again.” She was cockdrunk and he knew she may not mean it, but it was what he needed to hear. Y/N was doing what he’d needed to have months ago, providing him the mental clarity to see he was making a massive mistake if he went through with this. “She doesn’t have to know. I’ll be quiet, please- come back and see me. Shit.” Her hand hit the fabric, eyes hooded as he gave her what she needed in return. “Or don’t go th-through with it. I can give you what you need- oh my god.” Her words were interrupted by him spreading her open and spitting right over her hole, thumbing over her ass. “Yes. Yes- please, do it.”

Harry was in awe of her, pressing into the needy girl’s ass with his thumb and watching as her mouth dropped open. It was a domino effect after that. Pushing his thumb in and pulling it out only once before filling her back up, she began to shake under him before letting out a choked moan of his name- she came. Wet and hot, gushing slightly around his cock and making a mess as she came, slick and perfect for him.

He wished he had more willpower, but it had been so long since he’d fucked properly. Seeing her whine and reach back, finding his arm and digging her nails into his forearm and cumming like a mess around his cock, he was quick to follow. It surprised him how intense it was. Feeling her pulsating hole trying to milk him of every drop, he growled loudly and sloppily thrust into her, looking at the creamy cunt as he unloaded into the condom. His legs felt weak as he slowed his thrusts, breathing heavy and sweat covering his forehead as he looked down at the view under him.

His dick sheathed by the best pussy he’d ever had, her ass snug up against his body and her blissed out face looking back at him. He was a mess, one that he knew he wouldn’t be able to explain to anyone without making it abundantly clear about what happened, but this was the best he’d felt in months.

“You okay?” He asked softly, stroking the hair out of her face. “Went rough on you.” His knuckle brushed away the trail of tears. It did something for his ego, he knew, and this would be something he remembered forever. The most beautiful woman looking at him like he’d hung the damn moon. He’d done that to her. It filled him with pride. This was the feeling he was supposed to have after sex. That feeling he’d been going crazy searching for. Not the slight disappointment as soon as the lackluster orgasm faded. Savannah wasn’t a bad woman, not at all- but she wasn’t right for him.

“I’m fucking perfect.” She breathed out, shaking her head. “Just- don’t pull out yet. I need a minute.” Her voice was weaker now as she slumped against the chair, Harry following suit. Pressing himself against her back, he took the lead and kissed her again, humming at the taste of him and cherry vanilla on her lips. “Are you going to come back and see me?” She mumbled as he pulled back a bit.

“I’d like to, yeah.” He laughed breathlessly. “Have some things to break off but… I’d love your number, if that’s something you’d be comfortable with.” If he didn’t do this again, he thinks he may die. Dramatic, but his life was changed. “Mmm…”’she hummed. “I don’t usually do that, but I’ll make another exception for you.”

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azsazz · 7 months

Text

You Know My Desires

Kinktober Day 1: Azriel x Reader [Wingplay]

Summary: Azriel is a jealous male, and you know just how to calm him down.

Warnings: Smut, wingplay, jealousy, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics.

Word Count: 2,892

Notes: Alrighty, let’s do this!

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He’s trapped.

Boots rooted to the unusually pristine floors of the Court of Nightmares ballroom. Body rigid and frozen, nearly vibrating with rage. His wings ache from being held taut, and his teeth are on the verge of cracking from how tightly set his jaw is.

If he moves, this entire sub-court will perish.

A patron indulging on the gluts of the party—rich, fae wine and hor d'oeuvres paired with teasing touches and lew moans—stumbles nearby, her steps faltering as she passes through the bubble of his anger. Azriel watches her from his peripherals as she locks up, shivering as if his shadows are raking their way down her spine. His hazel glare stays locked somewhere across the dance floor.

Right to where you’re dancing with him.

Not even the fire that had scorched his hands when he was young hurt as badly as watching this bastard twirl you around the ballroom.

Rasor’s grin is a wicked one. It’s twinged with secrets and chaos that Azriel doesn’t like; pale, gray eyes alight with mischief and lust. He hates the male leading you in this less than formal dance. Of course he does—he knows every single creature lurking at this unnecessary party. Rasor is a suck up, a male who gets off on trying to be like his High Lord, snarky and silver-tongued.

He is a failure at even that.

Azriel fantasizes about killing him for the way that his hands are on you. One, settled so low on your hip it’s nearly on your ass, the other clutching yours tightly as he guides you gracefully across the floor.

Everyone’s attention is on the two of you and it stings. If he knew anything other than hundreds of ways to torture a male for touching what is his, he might have asked you to dance. The shadowy corner of the room provides the darkness he requires to seethe like the fucking pathetic male he is.

You need to calm down, Rhysand says gently within his mind. Azriel desperately wants to roll his eyes at the High Lords warning, to cut a glare to where he’s lounging on his throne, but his mind doesn’t allow him to let his gaze stray from you for even a moment. Or everyone’s going to wonder why the ballroom is pitched in darkness. And I can only cover for so long.

Immediately, Azriel reels his shadows back. He watches the way your brows furrow and cast over Rasor’s shoulder when he pulls you against his chest in a move that makes even the fae fucking in the corner gape in awe. You’re seeking him out, wondering if he’s reigned his shadows back because he’s left.

No. He would never leave you.

I hate this, is all Azriel replies, but he means much more than that.

I need her for a bit longer, Rhysand says, and Azriel can feel that violet gaze on him, even if he’s shrouded in darkness. Do I need to have Cassian remove you?

Azriel wants to fight. He wants to launch himself across the ballroom and land a killing blow to your dance partner. No—he wants to paralyze the male and then take you to the floor and fuck you, claim you, mark you with his hands, his teeth, his cum, until every last patron knows who you belong to.

He takes a breath but it’s a struggle.

No.

But you laugh at something Rasor says and Azriel sees red.

His shadows consume him, moving him from his spot in the corner of the room to the middle of the dance floor.

A female shrieks at his sudden appearance but he doesn’t care, baring his teeth when her partner runs into his side. He’s behind you, catching you around the waist mid-twirl. Your dress is still the silky smooth it was when he caressed your thighs and had taken you before you left, his cum leaking down the insides of your thighs masked by the dark fabric. He had wanted to lap the mixture of both of your orgasms from your legs like the Godly ichor it was, but instead he’d asked you to let it dry, a warning to any male who’d try to make their move on what’s his.

Rasor either hadn’t taken the hint or he’d ignored it completely, a dangerous act, and one Azriel will kill over.

The shadowsinger swears he can feel the other male’s fingerprints on your hips, and he doesn’t like it.

Not. One. Bit.

Your gasp is soft as Azriel’s hands gently but possessively wrap around you. It makes his cock twitch in his leathers. The way that your hands find his, clutching them tightly as he moves you makes him preen on the inside, his face a solid mask of steel.

Rasor looks less than pleased to have his dancing partner taken from him. His eerie gray eyes flicker over to where the High Lord has sat up in his throne. Azriel doesn’t like that, fighting the urge to strike. Rhysand pounds on the solid walls of shadow in his mind but Azriel doesn’t answer the demand. He doesn’t care if he’s not invited to the next ball, he’ll kill Rasor before then so there’s no chance of him getting his hands on you again.

As badly as he wants to growl ‘mine’ to the still-staring male, Azriel allows his shadows to twine around the both of you in an intricate manner that has some of the patrons flushing. His pets put on an extravagant show as they twist and turn around you, swallowing you to take you from this plain to the next, and Azriel grins like a feral beast, meeting the eyes of the wretched male who had taken you from him tonight, before the darkness consumes you both.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“What was that?” you ask, annoyance lacing your tone. You hadn’t finished your mission—hadn’t schmoozed Rasor enough to slip you the information your High Lord desired. No, Azriel had appeared—though you hadn’t been surprised, you could feel his anger writhing through the room like a beast stalking its prey—before he had stolen you away from the party, depositing you back in your shared chambers.

Azriel stares. His demeanor is calm, but his hazel eyes are brimming with fury. You cross your arms, looking right back. A challenge.

“You laughed at something he said.” It sounds silly now that he says it aloud, but it irks him, your eyes lighting and that sweet sound falling from your gorgeous lips because of another male. A more disgusting male. A more untrustworthy male.

“I didn’t mean to,” you reply, a touch softer. You tug on the bond tethering your souls together, but Azriel does not react.

“It was no accident.”

“You know my desires,” is your simple answer. And with it, you tug on the bond again, harder this time, watching how Azriel sways slightly towards you, the way that his throat bobs. A teasing smile threatens to stretch your lips, but instead you bite at your lip, a taunt. “Do you want me to show you?”

There is no waiting for his answer. You slide the shoulders of your dress off, heat pooling between your legs from his heated stare alone. Your nipples tighten as Azriel follows the movements of your manicured nails, the salacious way your body writhes as the buttery fabric slips down your body. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a gasp as the dress slides across your sensitive breasts.

Azriel closes the distance in one step but your hand flies out, planting right over his pounding heart to stop him in his tracks.

“No,” you whisper as his brows pull tight. “I want to show you.” Punish him, you mean, for ruining your mission.

He grunts roughly, shaking his wings out to dispel some of the frenetic energy rushing through his veins. Your eyes catch on them, and it gives you an idea. Your heart beats with desire, right in time with your mates.

Stepping forward, you help him out of his leathers. Your movements are slow, a tease of your fingertips across his chest as you reach around him to undo the buttons of his shirt. Azriel growls low as you intentionally brush across the ridges of his wings, and his large hands come to plant themselves on your hips, steadying you so that you don’t touch them again.

You look up at him through lowered lashes, licking over your lips seductively. Your mate tracks the motion, and his arms tremble with the effort to keep his hands still instead of dipping down between your thighs where your arousal calls to him.

“Sorry,” you whisper against his lips, and when he closes the distance you pull away, kneeling in front of him.

Gods, do you look fucking delicious on your knees for him like that. Staring up at him with wide eyes and a sinful smile on your lips. You look like you're two seconds away from taking out his length to lick down his shaft and shove him down your throat, and he can’t wait.

He stays silent, patient as you lean forward to mouth at the fabric keeping his throbbing cock contained. Every breath is a shudder, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, empty by his sides. He wants to bury them into your hair and guide your head down his cock, but you’ve said that you want to touch him, and until you say otherwise, he will obey.

Azriel’s cock springs free as you pull the leathers from his legs. His glorious, thick thighs on display, packed deep with muscle. You’re soaked, and the urge to grind yourself against him hits full force. Azriel steps out of his trousers and you almost whimper at the sight of his cock pulling away from you, but you remind yourself that you have ulterior motives here.

Your mate helps you to your feet upon your request, and then you’re throwing your arms around his shoulders and kissing him deeply. Distracting him is what you’re doing. Azriel’s hands find your waist and hold you tight, lifting you into his arms with an ease that makes your heart skip. He’s thoroughly occupied with touching your exposed skin and dipping his tongue into your mouth, and then you strike, trailing your fingers across the tips of his wings again.

Instead of ripping his mouth from yours in irritation, Azriel presses further into you, tasting you deep with a noise that you take as approval. Again, you gently finger over the rugged skin of his wings, dipping lower as he raises them for you to touch.

They’re silky and soft, raised in places where they’d been wounded, but even the silvery scars make him shudder with pleasure. He bites your lower lip, grunting and bucking his hips into yours when you breeze over one of the more sensitive parts of him.

“Bed,” you gasp against his mouth, and he has no complaints.

You seem more than eager, tugging on him with both hands and bond, so Azriel lays himself on the bed, keeping you flush to his chest while he settles.

It’s perfect for what you want to do.

Azriel bucks but you pull your hips away from his. He groans your name, hands sliding down your sides to curl around your waist and tug you back into his body, but you’re not having it, no matter how much your body craves to be against his.

You chide, “I want to touch, Az, remember?”

He sighs in frustration. He loves when your hands are all over him, needy and desperate, stroking his cock and leaving marks across his chest, but right now, still annoyed with Rasor and Rhysand and the entirety of the Court of Nightmares, all Azriel wants to do is fill you with his seed until he owns you and you’re screaming his name.

You peck him on the mouth once, twice, pressing your chest flat against his. You shiver at the touch of your hardened nipples against the warmth of his body, but you keep your hips high, hovering above his cock. You can feel the heat it’s giving off, the throbbing uncomfortableness that’s shared down the bond with you, like you might take pity on him and sink down on it.

You won’t.

Instead, you spread his arms wide, tracing the dips and curves of his musculature until your fingers slip off and onto his wings, spread flat against the bed.

Azriel jumps. Your name is a low warning from his mouth but he doesn’t have the time to say anything else because you’re scratching lightly down the softness of his wings and his words break off into a breathy moan.

“Fuck, baby.”

And you know he likes it, no matter how much he warns you to stay away. You can feel the heat blooming in your own gut, mirror to his emotions that are drifting down the bond. It feels good, albeit dulled because you’re not him, but it makes your cunt wetter, dripping onto his cock below.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, kissing along his neck. It’s exposed from the way that his head is thrown back at the sensations wracking his body from your touch, and you take full advantage, marking him in the way that he wants to claim you.

“I’d feel even better inside of you,” he curses when you swirl your fingers around the base of his talons, followed by spreading your palms wide and dragging them across the velvety body of his wings again.

“We’ll get there, Az. Soon,” you respond, peeling your torso from his. His hands steel themselves to your hips. He’s afraid that you’re pulling away completely when actually, you’re leaning over one of his wings and brushing your mouth against it.

Your lips on his wings feel like your mouth on his cock—wet, warm, and sensitive. Your touch is gentle, a soft scrape of your nails against the thin skin has him pressing his head further into the pillows, biting through his lip to keep himself from cumming.

The taste of his blood only adds to his arousal.

His body shakes, hands planted so firmly on your hips as you hover above his aching cock that you know he’s leaving bruises. You don’t care, not because he ruined your assignment from the High Lord, but because he is yours just as much as you are his, and you were made to be marked by him.

“If I could make your cum stain my skin, I would,” you whisper against the flesh of his wing. You know he’s heard you because his hips buck higher, seeking out yours, and the debauched moan that slips from his mouth is a song to your soul. “So everyone knows that I am yours, Azriel.”

He cums with a noise that he’s not all too proud of, but his mind is muddled and he’s seeing stars. He spurts hot and white, coating the inside of your thighs and you quake when it splatters on your opening, legs nearly giving out from the feeling alone.

You work him through it, though it feels even more tortuous now, because his wings are sensitive. Your fingers trace pretty lines across the expanse of the leathery skin, tongue lapping across raised scars and dips that have never been touched, so sensitive that he chokes back a whimper, cock twitching, trying to rise again.

It’s as if you’re on top of the world, making your mate cum without touching his raging cock. It’s neglected, red at the tip and weeping still as you slowly retract your touch from his wings. His hands are slack against your waist but his body is taut, rock solid, and there’s a full body blush creeping from his chest and up his neck, embarrassed that he’s cum from your mouth on his wings alone, even if they are the most sensitive part of an Illyrian male.

But you’re beaming, gaze heavy and hot, aroused at the sight of him undone beneath you. Your cunt clenches with need. Your thighs are soaked and for a fleeting second you regret letting him cum because you need his cock filling you up right this very second or else.

Azriel senses it, as a good mate does. His fingers dig into your hips again before one releases you. He takes his cock in hand, giving it a few rough tugs before guiding you lower. Your head falls back on your shoulders at the feeling of his cum-coated cock nestled against your entrance. Your entire body shudders, but you force yourself to look at your mate, a questioning look in your eyes.

“I need you again,” his voice is rough, strained. Azriel’s cock is sensitive but it’s already filling up again at the touch of your cunt alone. It will be a bit painful until he’s fully erect again, but it won’t be long because you are the most beautiful female he’s ever seen, and your cunt is otherworldly. He’s going to keep you here all night, he decides, and he will take you until the both of you are cum drunk and unable to move. His hazel eyes grow a shade darker at the thought. “Now be a good girl and ride it.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist: @bunnymallowo

#azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel wingplay #azsazz #azsazz kinktober 2023 #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel/reader

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