#she’s so slimy but in a hot way ??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iwaasfairy · 6 months

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┌─ “ ! „ CADAVER

tw. wound fucking, blood, gore, don’t read this if you’re squeamish!!, somnophilia, oral, noncon, megumi is delusional in this, yandere, belly bulge but gross! , cannibalistic thoughts wordcount. 6.4k

a/n. this one,,, was me pushing myself to just go buck wild, and channel my inner junji, and i think i got somewhere with it... a select few of you will understand me when i say that ,, this is like my love letter to megumi fr ♡ like i said though, this one might be the one that has people a little yucked out but! it's basically my halloween fic, for the spooky month

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

When the rattling of the stretcher finally quiets in the halls and the rising rate of adrenaline starts to flatten out, Megumi’s lost on what to do. Any of the other sorcerers can’t decide what the next step is either, it seems. Yuji with his back pressed against the glass and staring off into the empty part of the hall they just came from, and principal Yaga a stern quietness and arms crossed. Ieiri-san will do her best work today of any days if there’s anything to be done about it, but Megumi can tell. That uncertainty hangs over all of them as the faint breathing of a collapsed body grows more pitched and panicked.

Megumi always sort of hated you. He didn’t like you from the second he first met you, and it just grew and grew and grew from there. He hates your stupid demeanor with your higher-than-thou morals and your sky-high milestones and that grin that could make even the coldest heart split in two. It doesn’t escape him that this is the same reason he always did enjoy Maki, but you were — more recognizable to him, and yet somehow much further away.

He always hated the way he’d catch himself watching the soft motion of your lashes, or how your mouth would form words, the heat that would carry color to your face. He always hated the quiet moments you’d sit by his side, rattling his heart out of his chest and laughing at him for his hot cheeks; and he always hated how you’d be the thought on his mind right after he’d made sure his own limbs hadn’t yet been blown to bits. But standing with his hands covered in a coating of blood that isn’t his, dripping onto the panes of the old flooring, he wonders what that hatred ever really got him. It never helped him understand you better, that for someone so alike himself, you were so much better at everything.

His chest is rising and falling too fast.

Gojo’s too late, always is when it comes down to the wire, Megumi thinks as the lankier man rushes through and stops a few feet away from them. Yaga’s brow pinches, before he lifts his head the slightest bit to acknowledge the white blond. “What’s the status,” Gojo has to ask, and before he has another conscious thought, Megumi’s furiously rubbing his hands over his sweater in an attempt to get the blood off while his teeth clack with how hard he’s clenching them. There’s a thickness between his ears that makes everything sound far off. The blood stains his fingers the more he rubs, and his face gets hotter and hotter as it lasts.

But he thinks he hears the principal explain.

How you had been pinned down and knocked clean out, head bashed against the concrete pillars. How Megumi had been too busy trying and failing to keep the uglier curse from blasting you both to shit, to notice. How the other special grade had picked you up by the neck and unceremoniously shoved something into your mouth and pushed until it went down your throat - until you started convulsing, spitting out blood and bile before he could reach you. Megumi hadn’t taken the time to look then, but he knows now what it was, slimy, decaying contents of a little vial that had gone missing a few months ago.

“The girl must’ve been a real good match.” Yaga pushes his fingers to his brow, as if forcibly trying to push the frown down. “Ieiri’s doing what she can.” It doesn’t make any of them feel better when Gojo clicks his tongue and aims his eyes at the door, before casting a quick glance at Megumi under thick, blond lashes. He wants to puke. He’d shoved his fingers down your throat for what felt like hours, trying desperately to get you to throw up the curse. Had carried you all the way back while you were sobbing and wailing in pain. Nothing.

If even the worst case repeats itself, they’ll have another incarnation on their hands, and the noose will be tightened around your throat. Yuji must have already realized this, because he’s yet to say anything since you’d been tied onto the stretcher with blood pouring out of your nose and ears and coughing up grime. Megumi’s not even sure if Ieiri would hesitate to put you down without a second warning before it gets to the same turning point. And he is pissed. At the situation, his friends, himself, you. He’s so angry his hands shake, and so angry tears start stinging behind his eyes, feeling like any motion might cause him to throw up. He hates you.

Your chest’s rising with big motions up and down, up and down, as you drum your feet on his bedsheets like an excited rabbit. Megumi grunts, snatches the book from your hands and tosses it back down with the others that were not-so-neatly stacked on his desk. Your shape on his bed makes a dent in his mind that he’ll have to keep replaying over and over when he closes his eyes, and it has a frown pulling his eyebrows down automatically. “So grumpy,” you yawn, and also roll over onto your stomach to tuck your legs to your core, lifting one hand to rest your face into it.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Might as well be,” you giggle back, and he watches for a moment as your hair falls along your shoulders in a gentle brush, making you look even more enchanting. You’re soft and parts of you are shiny like silk, seemingly oozing your rosy, peachy aura all over his stuff. You catch his eyes for just a few breaths, still rising your chest too distractingly, before you push yourself up and slide off the bed to walk up to him. He pivots to thumb through the notes on his desk again, to be farther away from your face probably, and his shoulders rise into an uncomfortable pinch when you approach, feet patting on his floor. “Megumi.” You say his name with a clear pout.

Then heat covers his skin at the base of his throat and he freezes, letting the way you drag your soft lips over his pulse fill him up entirely. His hands shake too hard to keep a grip on the paper, so he spins you around and shoves you back against the desk as you hiss at the sudden painful grip, his fist wrapped into the collar of your shirt. “I already told you to stop doing that.” He hisses, and your eyes are wide and glittering like diamonds, beautiful color peering up at him.

“But you like it when I do that,” you whisper back ever so softly, and his head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, cracking his skull under a non-escapable pressure. He can’t think, can’t even eat normally without the ghost of you hanging over him and shaking him up. It’s unbearable even when you’re not around. His fist unclenches from the flimsy fabric to instead grip your chin with his thumb, and his heart bangs against his ribcage harder than can be normal. Harder than is healthy. A little thought in the back of his skull begs to push. Just once, deny you from digging your claws deeper into him— but he’s already melted to your shape before he can blink.

His face drops like you’re magnetic, thighs pushing you further into the desk and also into him; and it’s truly embarrassing that his hands are still shaking like they do. You lean in when he does, and let your lips meet his hungry, treacherous mouth, other hand sliding to your waist to pull you closer. Your tongue brushes his and he implodes inside, and he swears it hurts to be this close to you.

Not that you care. Your arms wind around his neck to pull him even closer, and his blood feels like it’s boiling under his skin.

He finds himself wandering back to the quieter wing of the school when the sun’s already dipped far past the horizon, and the cold starts picking up. He’s dragging his feet, so he won’t fucking rush back to the room he finds himself thinking about so fast he stumbles. He’s glaring at the patterns in the floorboards so he doesn’t cry. You’re stable- quiet puffs of air escaping your nose every few seconds, but you’re still under surveillance. As far as the clans are concerned, they’ll put something sharp between your eyes sooner rather than later, before whatever’s slumbering inside you wakes up. But Gojo’s fighting for you. It makes him grimace to think about.

Knocking his knuckles onto the doorframe, he enters the dimly lit room. Nanami doesn’t stand when he spots him, but does uncross his legs as he takes a deep breath. Neither of them speak for a while, and the dark haired man takes that time to run his eyes over you. You’re not as dirty as you were when you first got back, shivering and shaking. You’re no longer dripping with blood, though he’s sure if he were to look close enough, he’d still be able to see flecks of it between your cracked lips. As he walks up, he finds himself thinking that you look strangely peaceful, and that doesn’t seem entirely right.

Save for the bloody mark that seems branded into your forehead, you look like you’re quietly sleeping on the metal slab that supports your body. After all the pain and agony you’ve caused in him, sleepless nights and long days of wondering, hoping you’d be okay. Why is it that he’s the one affected by you? Why is it that he’s the one who’s going to have to say goodbye again? He stares at your unmoving form as if that’ll give him an answer, but it doesn’t. And the pit in his stomach swells again. He’s just so angry all the time. Megumi breathes out. “It’s my turn to take watch for a while.”

“You’re early,” Nanami’s deep baritone chastises, but he gets up from the seat anyway. He smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, before slowly placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. The weight is heavy, and somehow doesn’t soothe him at all. But there’s an attempt, he guesses. He’s still not entirely sure why everyone is looking at him like he’s the one who needs it most, broken and disheveled and mourning. He’s been able to finish his tasks like everyone else has, and he can banish the thought of you when he’s supposed to focus on work— at least, mostly. He doesn’t need the fucking pity. “Want some coffee? Or green tea?” Nanami asks, letting his hand slide off when Megumi shrugs.

“No. I’m okay.”

The older man seems to hesitate, simply nodding when he walks past. Before closing the door behind him, he once again clears his voice, and Megumi turns over his shoulder. The blond has this look in his eyes, of pity, as he talks. “Megumi, there’s a chance she pulls through.” Why again - that fucking pity? “Don’t give up.” Though it makes him tingle with an unbearable sort of itch deep under the skin, he grits his teeth, and his brain’s hot and irritated when he responds.

“I wasn’t going to.” Nanami doesn’t seem to believe him, but still softly slides the door closed behind him, and when the footsteps grow softer and softer, Megumi allows for a second to collect himself. He braces his hands onto the metal as he leans in, close enough to feel just the slightest bit of your warmth on his fingers, and see the way you’re still breathing, though shallow, too faint for his liking. His brows pinch when he finds himself with his forehead pressed to your stomach, hunched over like he’s praying at your shrine or something. But he can’t help it.

As much time as he spent beside you with a frown on his face, it never feels enough. He can’t stay away, like it’s an involuntary thing— you leave him no choice in the matter. Even here in the darkness, whining softly into your wheezed breaths, it isn’t enough to be beside you. He can’t do anything from here at your bedside; and that uselessness makes him feel even more uneasy. He needs to be closer to you. Wants to be so close you two get stuck together and melt together like an inseparable entity, would want to crawl inside you if he could.

His nose presses into the clean shirt that smells like your laundry, as he clenches his fists so hard along the table edge they start to ache. His eyes are pressed closed tight when he allows him just a second to nose below your sternum, and that uncomfortable stinging sensation comes back to his eyes. “Fucking idiot,” his lips brush against your covered skin, taking in the lack of heat, of your smell and the way you sounded with his face buried there, “I didn’t mean it.”

“Aw, ow, ow, Megumi~” You pout with a pitched whine as his hand stays screwed around your knee for a little longer, keeping you trapped under his heavier, taller body so that you start wiggling. Your head falls back against his arm, and you lean to press a few kisses to his wrist that’s holding your own to the floor. “Be more gentle.” You pout when you pull back and flash him that fucking look that sends icy shivers down his spine, and exactly nothing else. “You can be gentle, can’t you?” Every other part of him flushes with heat under your doe-eyed, pitiful look, definitely when you start wiggling out of his grasp like you’re suddenly over the game.

You started it. He wouldn’t put himself in your range on purpose. When you’re about halfway out from under his crouched form, you sit up to be face to face; and you brush your hand past his ear, down his jaw and neck and trail his collarbones, all places he’s convinced are now stained a bright, obnoxious pink from his flush. You let your fingers linger when you tilt your head aside a bit so you can slot your lips over his into a sweet, little kiss, and you pull your lips into another pout. “Swear you’re doing it to hurt me sometimes. I’m never trying to hurt you, you know.” A few strands of hair fall over your eye when you sit below him, and he has to fight every single muscle in his body not to push it back for you.

He wants to see your eyes. He wants you to see him like this, pinned under you like the attraction you render him as— his body collapses on top of you as you start giggling all fucking cutely, and his heart races more than it ever has. Your heartbeat drums into his face when he buries it into your softness, chest against his cheek, too long for his own sanity before he drags himself off you. And it is a drag. His entire body starts feeling sluggish when you’re this close to him, close enough to drown himself in your scent. He won’t ever say it, but that scent gets him hard and awfully mellow all at once, his cock coming to life in his pants before he’s moving.

You look happy. Your eyes are those bright, gentle colors that rain down on him, and your lips are quirked into a soft smile, you must know what you’re doing to him. Setting him up for failure again. He huffs and pushes himself onto his back instead, knocking his head to the floor while you’re moving from the rug - splaying your knees either side of him before you nuzzle right back on top of his chest and make it even harder to get a breath, let alone catch it. He’s sure he’s panting a little when you leave your warmth draped all over him, and you don’t do anything other than be there.

His arms are still on the floor, his body rigid under you, but you’re softly giggling into his peck before he frowns down at you again when you catch his eyes. “What?”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” you admit, not proud, not gloating - just stating the fact, and heat overtakes his neck now too. Instead of letting you wind him up any further, he bucks you off and switches positions again, now with your two wrists caught in his hands as you squeak with the ache that probably lodges in your back.

“Can you get off of me?” He sits back on his feet, not letting go of your hands yet, before your eyes flutter and you grab him back. Well, brush your fingers over the skin you can reach, pawing at him just enough to tickle. “What’s with you today?” he bites back, and also snatches his hands back to escape the onslaught of feelings that wash over him. You don’t sit up this time, and from the tilt of your head, you’re considering your answer for a while before you speak out.

“Do you like me, Megumi?” Fuck. His room seems to collapse in on itself. Or, maybe it’s his body— because he gets a little more short of breath, and his thoughts short circuit as his mouth stupidly drops open. He’s choked up for long enough that he has to clear his voice to try an answer, and even then, he gets stuck. You’re studying him so closely it must show. The blaring warmth that fills him up and makes his ears bright red. After another second, your eyes seem to dim slightly, as you push your cheek to your shoulder, opening yourself up to even more attacks. “Love y’, ‘gumi.”

He straightens up with enough tightness in his chest to choke him, makes his eyes sting and his head blare cold, painful warnings— he grabs some of the glasses from the small table beside him, launches it straight into the wall until it shatters into a million pieces upon impact. The loud clang doesn’t do anything to settle his anger, where he fists his hands into his hair and pulls, in hopes the worry will somehow vanish.

“Why do you always have to be such a hero?” he hisses, even though you can’t answer now, “wouldn’t it have been enough to just stay here with me?!” He tilts your face to his and drops his lips to yours, and that familiar softness is enough to have him clenching his eyes shut again against the tears. He kisses you until your mouth opens a bit, then slides his tongue up against yours and grips your shoulders, pulling your limp body towards him more. “I’ll be better to you.” He pleads. You don’t move, and the breaths going over his cheeks are so shallow.

But he can’t stop himself from tangling your tongue with his, licking into your mouth and chasing the warmth until he runs out of breath. You’re so fucking pretty still. He kisses you again, bumping teeth, and grips your hip hard as he lays over you a little more, chest to chest and feeling it brush against him with each soft pant he lets out, each gravelly moan. It doesn’t hurt so much to brush his tongue against yours, to swallow your taste on his tongue until his lips numb — but while it doesn’t ache, it’s also not enough. Before he’s able to think about the morality of his actions, his thumbs are hooking under your shirt and pushing it up, over your soft belly and ribcage all the way up until it’s over your tits, where his lips travel to as soon as the skin’s exposed. You’re so soft still, too.

He’s not sure what he’s doing other than leaving messy, open mouth kisses onto you, kneading your skin between his hands as all the warmth in his body pools into his groin. Your tits are sucked into his mouth, one then the other, as he rubs his face into the doughy skin, then he’s pulling and pinching at your tits like he knows makes you whimper. The sound’s burned into his working memory, and it drives him on to run his face down your soft body to the part where your thighs meet. The skin just above your skirt of the softest, warmest, and he full on moans when his cock twitches hard in his pants and he reaches down to grab himself.

Normally you’d be blinking up at him now, sending him that little look with grabby hands, ready to wrap your puffy lips around him— it’s different when it’s his hand screwed around himself and not even moving yet. he can’t, or he’ll cum in his pants, and he’s not going to waste his cum like that when your warm pussy’s right before him. He’s shaky when he pushes the fabric up, flipping it over your tummy; and groans again when he licks down your panties and mouths at the seat of it. It tastes so much like you his eyes roll back, and his knees give a little, while more precum leaks out of him and into his pants.

He frees his hands momentarily to slide you to the edge of the metallic table, two hands gripping your butt and squeezing, then hooking his finger in your panties to just pull them aside. He doesn’t care about the chaffing he’ll have. Not even a second thought when your little pussy is in front of him, and he pushes his mouth to you for some open mouthed kisses, down to your pussy and back up. Wrapping his mouth around your clit, he sucks hard, and rubs the bud a few times with his tongue. He swears your breathing goes more pitched and heavier when he does, when his fingers trail down your puffier lips to rub the bit of wetness around.

His cock’s painfully hard in his pants, and after a few more times licking you up and down so that your slick covers the entire bottom half of his face, he pushes the zipper down and then takes himself out to watch how red and sore the head of his cock already is, oozing pre and coating both his boxers and his shaft. He spits into his hand to give himself a few tight-wrung pumps, tighter than he likes normally- if he doesn’t, he’ll spill all over your cute, little pussy. He pushes his fingertips inside your now wetter cunt, watching it wink and beg for something to fill, and groans when one finger slides in with ease.

Your soft walls are still soft and hot around him, giving mean licks over your clit again and again in a way that would normally overstimulate you too easily. You don’t whimper or whine now, take his finger nice and sweet inside your squelching, gooey walls, only making a little noise when he slides in a second and he can feel the slight bit of stretching you need. He’s dripping onto the table now, balls tight and heavy - imagines how you moan and look when you’re sucking on them and you smack your lips with each open mouthed kiss or lick. You between his legs is always enough to have his knees giving, and it’s no different now, he has to hold himself up against you before he thinks better of it.

You’re slid back on the table too easily, making room for him when he pushes one of your legs aside— and let out a slight gasp when he hoists himself over your body. He just wants you. So bad. It’s not so embarrassing when you’re not awake to see how fucking crazy he looks, flushed, cock twitching between his legs as he strains to kiss you again, lick over your tongue for more of your taste, and breathes your name. “Baby, fuck- I need to be inside you.” He wants to hide away in your safety forever. A crystalline, fucked up thought springs up in his mind for just a second, but he banishes that with a few blinks.

Instead he lines himself up over your hot, needy pussy and pushes inside just the head at first, grunting tightly at the softness that envelops him. His whole body shudders as he pushes in deeper, feeling that pit in his stomach expand with each inch that he goes deeper, tangles his fingers with yours when he bottoms out and fills you up so well. You’re curled into his touch, and he kisses you, his thoughts blanking as he pulls back, and snaps his hips back inside you. You’re hot and wet and it feels so fucking good, clenching your hand inside his larger one. It’s not fair. He’s losing his mind, and you’re always the end of him.

His cock rubs against your swollen insides with rough, imprecise strokes — he doesn’t mean to, it’s just that trying to focus on anything other than the heat as he slides in and out of your tight pussy is too much. You’re too much; you’re haunting him even now. He kisses down your face to your neck, sucks on your skin and bites down hard enough to make a serious mark, wanting to hear you cry. Normally, you’d cry out his name so pretty, dig your nails into his back until he’s letting you go and grinding back on his cock, but you can’t do that now. His cockhead bumps your spot each time he fucks himself into you further, but it’s not enough.

It’s never been enough. He wants to be closer to you, and that horrible image that was launched into his head creeps back up before his eyes, bloody and horrible. Maybe he always told himself that he hated you because - no matter how much he fought, he would never be able to stomach actually hurting you as much as it hurts him. But now, withering on top of you as his cock thumps with how much blood rushes south, everything else falls away. He wants to claw and bite and carve his way to your insides and make you pay just a little for his sins. His body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, thighs pumping blood through his body to his lungs, his gut, his cock.

He pulls out of you to kiss down your tits and over your covered ribs, thumbing over the head of his cock and gliding it over your puffy clit, your wet pussy lips and flicking it just in and out of your drooling cunt— before he puts a sloppy few kisses there too, tongue coated in slick. The blood pumps through his head so hard he feels dizzy, pounding behind his eyes as the heat of your cunt overwhelms him entirely. It’s too hard to stay sane -he’s never felt less sane than now- when you’re laying below him like this, ready to leave him all alone. You wormed your way into his heart when he didn’t want it, and now, now that’s all about to end.

His mouth is dry, but he’s drooling as he grips your thigh and kneads the doughy skin of your tummy— looking so soft and warm and perfectly shaped for him. He wants -needs, needs it, to feel you swallow him, ruin him- to cut you open and eat your insides out with the sick force of what he’s feeling right now— he groans your name again, desperately trying and failing to get it out of his head— the more he tries the better it feels to think it. Despite having his fist around the base of his cock, stings of white shoot over your body as he crumples in on himself and paints you with his cum. He’s still hard though, painfully so, and as soon as he’s done cumming he can already feel the building urge to do it again, trailing his shaking fingers down to your clenching pussy and rubbing your clit until your body starts wiggling back just a little too.

Megumi wants to go, bury this urge down and never think of it again. He really does— but it’s like he’s possessed, drooling over your body and flicking his cock in and out of your pussy without sliding back in. He might’ve had it wrong this whole time, but if this is love - God, he loves you, he loves, loves, loves you so much he’s not ever going to have enough. Can’t ever say goodbye, not when his entire soul’s been bound to yours, has been rotted away into nothing like this. There’s only you, and him; and he can’t get close enough to make this fucking feeling go away.

With black spots swimming over his vision, he’s not sure what he’s doing until he’s knelt on the floor and shards of glass cut his knees open through his pants; he doesn’t feel it - just trembles as he gets one of the larger shards and crawls back to you, right between your plush thighs as he kisses your face over and over until he feels like he’ll be sick. “Forgive me when you wake up, baby.” It doesn’t really sound like him anymore, faint and messy as he ruts his cock against the inside of your thigh and stares at your face for a little longer. He paws at your tummy again, maybe it’s the lack of oxygen - he feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in ages - or the fact that all his blood is cleary in his swollen cock, hot and heavy.

He kisses you again, pants against your chest as he watches between your two bodies as one arm keeps him up, and the other drags the shard of glass below your belly button just hard enough to create a little cut. He just- just wants to be a little closer, you’ll let him, you’ll let him- he’s been so fucking mean to you and if he can just do this, he’ll make it up to you. Specks of blood well up that he swipes his thumb through to slide it into his mouth, get used to the taste of copper on his tongue. Sometimes he bites your lip hard enough to split it, and you tear up and whine, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He could cum on the spot when you yank like that, but the taste now isn’t enough. As he pushes the shard of glass into your skin harder, watching one layer make way for another, tougher tissue that still gives when he grids down a little- he waits for the moment where he feels bad, regrets and walks it all back- but the feeling doesn’t come. Your body looks so pretty like this, robbed of your innocence by his hands; and he doesn’t wanna cum yet, fuck. The adrenaline swimming in his head is pounding too hard to feel anything other than love for you, and the pulling, almost unbearable sensation of wanting to slide back into you. The blood pools around the hole as he slides along, hearing the skin squelch and snap, building a sweat along his neck and collar. Maybe you’d lick it up if you were awake.

The blood runs, covers his entire fist that’s wrapped tight around the glass, it creates little rivers that you’ll both be laying in soon. He coughs, before kissing you below your jaw, feeling the weak pulse beneath his lips— and righting himself to look at his work with a better angle, groaning. There’s both more blood and less than he expected, pooling in your belly button, all over your pretty pussy, his thighs and hands- his cock not yet. He drops the glass aside as he thumbs over the wound and sure enough- he’s cut through fat and muscle and sinew without too much struggle, because you’re soft all over.

He pushes the fleshy gash open more, thumbs over the clean cut he made with a strange sort of fascination before the hot, hot blood gets to be too much for his curiosity and he leans in to lick from your clit up, up, up until his tongue reaches the raised, tight skin— what has he done, what’s he doing, this, this isn’t — he can’t stand the heat that’s coming out of you for long, and it smells, but that isn’t what sticks with him right now. He’s never wanted to be closer. The gaping pouch of your belly’s drooling red for him. The head of his cock twitches when he feels the hot of your stomach coating him in blood, and coating you in turn. The cum from before’s all but washed away, but he’s sure he can give you another couple orgasms before he tuckers out.

He’s strung so high all of this feels like a dream, like his head is about to roll off of his neck; he pushes in with a garbled sort of sound that comes from deep, deep inside him. The skin doesn’t wanna give way at first, but he manages to push back hard enough before suddenly he’s inside, and it’s like nothing else. The pressure of a slab of skin taking him where it’s not meant to go— bleeding and whining out like this, it’s euphoric. He’s able to see his cock’s outline glide into you until it’s bulging your stomach, squelching and sucking him back in; feels like you’re taking him deeper than ever, letting him fuck his cock so deep he’ll hit your ribs soon. You’re so fucking beautiful, even like this, getting coated and letting him fuck it.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re dying, but the peace that washes him entirely clean might be close; he grinds his hips into you hard enough to rock your body under him as he laces your hands again. Both, this time, just chasing after an end that seems like it’ll never come.

He feels infinite. Your blood’s so hot it’s almost painful, and the tightness of the hole he carved into you is entirely different from your pussy, pushing back against him like you’re begging him to get out. He imagines you’d beg so pretty- but he’s inside you, finally inside and deeper than anyone’s ever been. He’s able to watch his cock blow up your belly and make it hollow when he pulls back, and God- he should feel worse than he does. He could swallow you whole if you’d let him. The feeling has him shuddering over you as he pants your name, makes your tits brush over his chest- and his balls smack against the smooth stretch of skin until he can’t feel his feet any longer.

Now he’s got you dirtied, he wants to ruin you too, leave you a mangled mess of flesh and swallow every last bit of you until he never forgets the taste. But that would require he’d stop fucking his hot cock into your bloody, little pouch, and that won’t happen. He’s panting, sweat running down his back from the effort, and his groin starts to feel a little raw too. He might’ve been going for hours by now, licking your mouth clean from his drool only to dirty you again. The head of his cock feels fucked raw inside you, and his thighs shake before his shoulders square over you.

Megumi speeds up his pace fucking into your guts -actually- until he clenches every muscle, is overcome again and reaches heaven inside you, spurting creamy white into the pouch he’s created for himself; “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his hand has to twist into an uncomfortable position to reach for your clit, but he wildly does it anyway— cramping up, until he’s collapsing on top of you and stilling inside. The stench of blood makes the entire room smell, as he thumbs over the side of your blood-coated thigh with one hand, and feels the shaking all the way up and down his spine. He pulls out so slowly, pumping the last bits of cum out with a throaty moan, before he slides off the table onto awfully shaky legs.

If he was any more lucid, he’d think twice before leaning by your side to kiss your eyes, your nose, your pouty lips as the tears that must’ve been building for a while run down your temple— and suppresses the need to actually eat you- for now, he rubs a softer hand over your exposed tummy, before folding the now blood-drenched fabric of your skirt back down to hide your puffy pussy, lest he be tempted again. He whispers his love into your ears, nuzzles at your hairline until the feeling comes back to his hands and feet and he tucks his spent cock back into his boxers, and goes about cleaning the mess he made of the floor.

It’s only when an uncomfortable scratchy sound comes that he notices the burning heat on his neck, the dried sweat painfully sticky— and straightens up beside you when you start to shake again. Immediately his worry is sky high. Even in the gross air of mixed blood and cum and the scent of sex soaking everything, his mind is just clear enough to hold your head when you thrash around a few times, and your chest rises wildly up and down. Then before his very eyes, the damage he’d done upon you slowly starts to stitch itself together, like weaving threads. Lacing you up until every bit of muscle, fat, and skin restores to it’s pristine glory before he ever touched you, with a little puff of cursed energy.

He bites his lip hard when the shaking stops, and your back lands back onto the metal with a soft clang. The noise is louder now it’s quiet in the room. Megumi waits for a bit longer before he brushes the hair from your face, and doesn't mind it that he’s leaving tracks. The darkness is filled with his tense breathing, and then — every sound at once. Your eyes shoot open with a cry, sobbing out like a baby for a few painful seconds. But then spot him thumbing your tears away devoted like he is -though he won’t admit it to you, and you let out a noise of pure relief.

It’s almost poetic, when you crash back into his arms and this time, he lets your arms wind around his waist.

#kinktober #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi smut #fushiguro smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw.dark content #tw.somno #tw.noncon #tw.wound fucking #tw.blood

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miley1442111 · 20 days

Text

stalker- s.reid

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: spencer saves you.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: general criminal minds topics, gore and brief descriptions of harm, mutual pining, heavy topics, stalking, reader if from Texas

Spencer sat at his desk, a less than pleasant expression on his face. His glasses had slid down his nose, his usually perfectly gelled hair was messy, and a frown played at his lips.

“If you stare any longer you’re going to end up with your face stuck like that,” Jj joked as she placed herself in his eyeline. Spencer’s frown deepened and Jj chuckled. “Come on, we have a case.”

Spencer got up, falling into stride with you as you left your desk, hanging up the phone.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked, trying to make small talk. You were new to the team, an old contractor Strauss had hand-picked, you were smart (smarter than him), beautiful, and you were so polite and dutiful that Spencer couldn’t tell if you were actually his friend. You just had an air of coolness that seemed so unreachable for Spencer. You and Derek had worked together in Chicago, you two made sense as friends, Penelope, Emily, Jj, and you all got along well, that made sense. David and you had a shared love of cooking, something SPencer couldn’t even begin to understand. You even made Aaron laugh on the worst of days with some witty comment or sarcastic joke.

Had Derek just asked you to befriend Spencer for the team's sake? Why would you be interested in him? It made no sense.

You smiled. “My friend from home.”

“Where are you from?” He asked as you two sat in the conference room, Aaron shot you two a look that Spencer clearly didn’t see so you didn’t answer.

“Tell you later,” you whispered as the briefing began.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking into the sweltering heat of Texas from the lovely air-conditioned plane was quite the shock to the body.

“Fuck it’s hot,” you sighed, pulling off your hoodie to reveal a tight black top beneath. Yes, it was work-appropriate and completely within regulations, but Spencer’s eyes all but popped out of his head like he was in one of those cartoons.

“You’re drooling,” Derek joked from beside him, pretending to wipe his chin. Spencer pushed his hands away with a shy smile, trying to recover from his embarrassing moment.

“Ok, Spencer and Derek you two go to the latest crime scene, Y/n, Jj and I will go to the precinct, David and Emily you two will go talk to the deceased family,” Aaron gave out jobs. “Oh and Y/n, I want you with someone at all times, this unSub is going after women with your exact description and our team is a definite hit for him. He’s made contact with the police asking specifically for you and me,” Aaron explained.

You all dispersed into your separate cars and began working the case. The precinct was full of slimy cops who all promised to ‘protect you’, just not from themselves.

“We want you to wear this,” Jj handed you a bulletproof vest and you rolled your eyes.

“Seriously? I’m not a porcelain doll, I can handle myself-” You tried to reason with them but the look on Aaron’s face made you stop. He, himself, was wearing one too. “Fine.”

“Good,” Jj smiled.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer was worrying himself sick at the crime scene, rambling about all the ways the unSub could get to you and how you shouldn’t even be in the state.

“Spencer!” Derek exclaimed. “Go to your girlfriend, send Jj back after you. You’re no help when you’re like this.”

Spencer didn’t take kindly to the small jest, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed the keys and drove down to the precinct, finding Jj immediately and making up a poorly executed lie about feeling sick. She saw right through him.

“Hope you feel better Spence,” she smirked. “Y/n is with Hotch interviewing a suspect here,” she pointed it out on a map. “See you later.”

After grabbing the keys to Emily and David’s vehicle (they’d just come back from the crime scene) and driving there, anxiety ran through him as he found the door to the farmhouse open. He turned the corner, finding three figures. One was on the floor, shouting in agony, the other was standing, hands above their head. The third was holding a gun.

He turned back, dialling Derek’s number.

“We need back-up, we’re at 34 Terrace Avenue! Agent down!” He spoke quietly into his phone.

“We’re on the way kid, don’t go in without back-up,” Derek told him. Spencer didn’t respond. “Spencer?”

“She’s dying,” he reasoned and hung up, walking in. “FBI! Put your weapons down!”

The unSub, Mitchell O’Hara had been obsessed with you since high school, you’d rejected him in senior year when he’d asked you to the prom since you already had plans with friends. All over the farmhouse, there were photos of you from every stage of your life. Childhood to teenage years, to college years, to your various positions before joining the BAU just a few months ago, including your CIA and covert Ops positions.

Spencer could see you on the ground, multiple knife wounds in your exposed torso, he’d made you take off your vest, Spencer thought. You groaned in pain on the floor. “Spencer?” You asked hazily. Spencer kept his gun trained on Mitchell.

“Yeah?” He was stalling, waiting for Aaron to get his own gun or for back-up to arrive.

“Good,” you were slipping out of consciousness. “I’ve always liked you,” you smiled hazily. Spencer would be elated at those words if the circumstances were different.

“This is your dream guy Y/n?!” Mitchell shouted. “Him?!”

“He’s nice,” you managed. “He’s funny.”

“I’m nice! I’m funny!” Mitchell screamed.

“You’re not Spencer,” you mumbled as everything went dark.

SWAT suddenly filled the room and Spencer ran to you, trying to stop the bleeding. Thank god Derek had ordered for an ambulance to follow them to the scene.

As Aaron cuffed Mitchell, Spencer went with you in the ambulance. He watched as they attempted to treat your wounds, needing to cut open your shirt. Spencer was shocked to find what looked like 50 different scars. Some from bullets, others knives, others things he couldn’t name. He knew you’d been in the CIA and on a Cover Ops team, he never thought you would’ve been hurt this many times and still have the strength to go on. The ambulance pulled up to the hospital and you were brought straight into emergency surgery.

He waited for hours there just pacing, nervously biting at his nails, or attempting to sit there as no one told him a thing. He lied, saying he was your boyfriend. Technically it wasn’t a lie, you liked him, he liked you. He just hadn’t asked.

“Dr. Reid?” A nurse called out. He stood immediately. “She’s stable and should be waking up soon, you can see her.”

Spencer nodded a ‘thanks’ her way and entered your hospital room.

You were alive. You were here. You were awake.

You smiled at him. “Hey.”

Your voice was hoarse, tired from the shouting you’d done.

“Hi.”

“Thanks for saving me Spencer,” you smiled. “And about what I said… if you don’t feel the same I’d totally get it. I just thought I was… y’know dying so…”

Spencer shook his head and smiled. “I like you a lot too.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He leaned down, a sudden surge of confidence ran through him and he kissed you softly.

“I’m from Texas by the way,” you smiled against his lips.

“I actually guessed that, yeah,” he joked, making you laugh. God, he loved your laugh.

He loved you. He just wouldn’t tell you that yet.

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds

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bluecollarmcandtf · 3 months

Text

Dads, Dads, and more Dads

I did something I shouldn't have! My buds all bailed on our night out, so I hit the bar and got hammered by myself. Somehow, I ended up blackout drunk in a fortune teller's shop. I remember crying about how much I wanted a fatherly figure in my life. She did this weird ritual to make me feel better. I thought it was a joke at the time, but I know now it wasn't...

"Buddy, get out of bed! Breakfast is ready!"

A pang of guilt empties my stomach. For a moment, I stare at the ceiling with absolutely no urge to eat. It's been two days since that fortune teller put a curse on me, and I have no idea how to live with myself. I obviously can't pretend her little ritual wasn't real anymore.

"Hey, Josh," I nervously answer, stepping into the kitchen to look at my roommate.

"Can't sleep all day, buddy. Eat up!" Josh gives me an endearing smile that sends shivers down my spine.

A few days ago, Josh was a lazy, rude asshole who was only good for paying his part of the rent. We were chill enough roommates, but he only ever talked to me when he wanted a second opinion on girls he saw at the gym. The guy was easily the biggest douchebag in our friend group, always showing off and making someone else the butt of his joke.

Looking at him now, I'd laugh! If only I didn't feel so guilty for his personality's erasure.

"Look at the time! I better get moving. That yard won't maintain itself!" Josh flashes the brand new watch on his wrist. The thing is clunky and old: the kind of wristwatch you'd expect a dad to wear.

"You know we're only renting this place for the semester, right?" I search his expression for any trace of the slimy old Josh, "The landlord is supposed to take care of the yard!"

Josh just chuckles and mutters something about wanting to impress the neighbors. He even has the audacity to reach out and tussle my hair. My face gets hot as a guy, only a month older than myself, treats me like a child.

That curse really screwed up his brain. When Josh found me the morning after, something just broke in him. He immediately jumped to my side and promised to help me nurse my hangover, and it didn't stop there. After he tucked me in for a nap, he drove straight to the mall, buying a whole new wardrobe of cargo shorts and polos. I thought he was just hitting the gym like usual, so when he came back dressed up like the suburban father he hates, I barely even recognized him.

"Have a good day, buddy!"

Josh ignores my protests and plants a big smooch on the back of my head before marching out of the kitchen. It was bad enough my roommate was calling me buddy! Does he really have to kiss me like that too? It makes me uncomfortable to see my scummiest friend infused with such insane paternal instincts, but this is kind of what I asked for. Right?

I slam the back door shut and look at my rusty old bike. Today is already getting on my nerves and I'm not in the mood to peddle all the way to class. Maybe, that guy next door hasn't left for work yet...

"Oh, hey there, Kiddo!"

The deep voice of my neighbor makes me relax a little. I see all six and a half feet of him climb out of the car and stare at me with the same look Josh had on earlier. He's a father of four, but ever since my night out, he looks at me like I'm him his only real son.

"Hey, Mr. Jones," I mumble back.

"Glad I caught you, Kiddo. I was just about to pull out of the driveway," he explains, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "You want a me to drive you to class today?"

I push aside my feelings of guilt and manage a smile, "That'd be great."

Mr. Jones beams back brilliantly. He claps me on the back, which knocks me a bit off balance. Before I know it, he's guiding me into his passenger seat and asking me to hold his briefcase.

"Just let me text work to let them know I'm coming in later than normal," he adds while texting on his flip phone, "How are classes going, kiddo?"

I shrug off the question with a one-word answer. Now that everyone's forced to act like my dad, I get asked about my classes like twenty times a day. My thoughts drift, but Mr. Jones keeps up the conversation, lecturing me about good grades or something. I don't know how a guy who barely knows me can have so many opinions about my academics!

"You know what!" I cut him off just before he starts reminiscing on his own college years, "Just drop me off at this cafe."

Worry lines form on his forehead, "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you the whole way?

"No. Just give me some cash."

Mr. Jones gives me a look of disappointment before shimmying his wallet out of his khakis. He counts off forty dollars and hands it over.

"Can I have a little more?" I press quietly.

Look, I know it's wrong to abuse this bizarre new dynamic between us, but I'm a poor college kid! If he doesn't want to give me his money, he can just say no. It's not like I'm holding a gun to his head!

"Sure thing, kiddo," he gives me a dry smile and pulls out a couple more twenties, "Don't spend it all in one place!"

"Ok, bye," I awkwardly announce and hop out.

"Wait!" his husky baritone calls from the car window, "You want a ride home after class?"

"Nope! Just go back to your own life," I yell stiffly. Even though I don't turn to watch him drive off, I hear his car pull away. It's just a car, but it somehow sounds disappointed in me too. I try to swallow the growing lump in my throat and step into the cafe for some much needed coffee...

"Morning, young man. What can I get you?"

The lump in my throat seems to get bigger when I see the waiter. He's a lot hotter of a man than I expected to find in this little cafe.

Already, the way he looks at me is shifting. That curse is transforming whatever thoughts he'd just had in his head. He's feeling more and more protective and responsible for me with every second he looks at me. At this point, I've grown accustomed to the mysterious effect I have on older guys. It's only been a few days, but I've seen so many random dudes go through this psychological transition. It's like they're discovering a new purpose in life: me.

"Uh yeah, I guess a cappuccino would be nice," I mutter with a dry mouth.

"You got it, young man!" he gives me a friendly wink, "Anything else I can get you?"

I know I shouldn't push my luck, but I can't help myself with this guy, "A hug would be nice! I've been feeling a bit isolated lately..."

The waiter instantly puts his pen and paper down and holds out his arms. His welcoming smile is gone, and a look of genuine concern waits for me, "Come here."

I practically leap into his arms, and he eagerly accepts me, pulling me into his chest like it's where I belong. It feels amazing to be held by this man, even if I don't know him at all. I could stay here all day if he'd let me.

"Seems like you're enjoying the hug," the waiter eventually chuckles into my ear.

For a second, I'm confused, but then I realize I'm fully erect and the waiter can definitely feel it poking into his waist.

"Sorry!" I jump back, searching for any other witnesses.

"Hey, don't be!" he assures me, "It's a completely normal part of life, ok?"

"You're not mad?" my voice comes out more timid than I expected, but I can't help myself. I just accidentally boned up someone who was trying to be nice. What makes it worse, is that he's probably only trying to be nice because of my ridiculous curse.

"Of course not," he affirms, "I can help you take care of it, if that's ok, young man?"

"What do you mean?" My face burns red hot.

"Oh, let me show you," he grabs me by the hand and leads me away from the table, "There's no need to be ashamed of any part of your body! In fact, this part can be a lot of fun."

I'm left speechless as the waiter gives me another fatherly wink, but I can't linger on what he's said. I'm being pulled into the men's restroom. I hear the click of the door locking behind us as he pulls me in front of the mirror, sliding up behind me. I can feel his chest on my back and his thighs against my ass.

If I was hard before, I'm practically bursting now!

"It's time you had the talk, young man," he calmly speaks in my ear like this is a completely normal thing for a waiter to do.

He starts droning on about men, women, sex, and where babies come from, but I'm not listening. I obviously know what sex is, and I think I'm having it right now. His hands slip under my arms and wrap around my waist to unzip my pants. My rock-hard cock bursts out of my jeans the second they're open, and a moan of surprised ecstasy fumbles over my lips just when the waiter gets to his point on male anatomy.

Does the waiter really believe a dad should do this for their sons?

He starts talking me through how to jack off. He must think I've never masturbated before, and I'm sure as hell not telling him that I have! Hearing him narrate every wrist movement, every ball tug, every nipple pinch is just too much fun! Before long, the waiter has me violently shooting on our reflections in the mirror.

"And there you go," he pats me on the back while I stand there stunned. The waiter steps back and looks at me like he's proud of the great life lesson he'd just taught me, "Now you know how to get rid of those boners of yours. Let me go get your coffee started."

I stand in the bathroom, collecting myself, as the waiter finally tends to my coffee order. This dad-curse the fortune teller gave me might be more fun than I originally thought. If I can get one daddy to randomly jack me off, then who knows what else I can do! Rushing out of the bathroom, I already have so many ideas flooding through my head...

"Excuse me, sir!"

"Sorry!" I shout.

In my excitement, I almost crash into the cafe's porter. A little less graceful, and I would have sent every single dish crashing to the floor. Glancing at the face of my would-be victim, I almost moan when I see get a good look at him. I can tell his head is already filling up with the same artificial need to be my father.

"No damage done," he assures me, lingering back to stare at me like I'm some lost puppy.

"Don't you...um...have to bus some tables or something," I breath nervously.

"Oh yeah," he frowns, "Sorry to get in your way."

He shakes his head like he's trying to lose the strange new thoughts in his brain. I stand there frozen like a deer in headlights as he walks away. He glances back at me before turning his attention to a cluttered table.

"Wait!" I yell, "Come back!"

The busboy drops the tub of dirty dishes and rushes back over like his life depends on it. The sight of this worried hunk running back to me makes me hard all over again.

I grab him and pull him into a hug, but his arms quickly take over and support me. Once again, my boner is rock hard and poking into the body of some random guy I just met!

"You have a car?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"You want to drive me around?"

"Of course!" he yanks off his apron and puts a hand on my back.

The waiter comes back around and hands me my coffee, looking at his coworker in utter confusion.

"Cover his shift," I demand, "He's driving me to school."

The waiter nods with an open mouth. He does look completely confused, but there's also a hint of jealousy in his stare. I think he's mad the busser gets to chauffeur me around: poor guy.

The porter doesn't seem bothered to be walking out of his job. He's busy smiling at me like I'm his whole world. I slide into his humble car and tell him where my class is. Before long, he's pulling out of the parking lot and driving me to school. I use our time to get to know him. I'm honestly not all that interested in learning about his life, but I do enjoy watching him talk. It doesn't take a while for us to get to campus, but before I get out I grab his hand and put on my best puppy dog eyes.

"I don't know when you get off work, but I'd love it if you came by my apartment. My roommate is trying to clean it up, but he could really use the help of someone more experienced."

"I love housework!" he just answers, "I'll be there!"

I snicker and slam the car door shut. I might be an hour late, but I'm finally here for class. It's time to give my professor a visit...

"Yeah, I can unbutton my shirt!"

My professor fell under my spell just as fast as the others. He had a look of anger when I walked in; probably from me skipping his class, but that expression quickly warped as he looked at me. Within seconds he was rounding his desk to give me a big old hug. Apparently, he "forgave" me for being so late.

"You like what you see?" he asks, gesturing to his hairy chest, "Trying to check out your old man?"

"You're my old man?" I ask, kind of surprised by the goofy smile on his face.

"Well, no," he bumbles, "But I am a strong male influence in your life! I'm like your dad!"

I nod my head like he's just made a really good point, "Oh. Then you probably want to treat me like your son. Right?"

"Yeah!" he holds his arms out to animate his enthusiasm.

Professor Reid has a reputation for being stiff and demanding in the classroom, so his new personality completely contradicts his true character. The man I know would never smile at a student, let alone bare his chest to them.

"So, I'm off the hook for missing today's class right?"

"Well," he pauses, "Sure."

"Can I skip the rest of the semester?"

"What, no. I want you to have a good education, my boy!"

I creep up to him and place my hands on his hairy torso, feeling the fur and the weight of his body. Professor Reid sure has a lot to hide under all those dress shirts he always wears.

"I'm just so lucky to have a daddy like you," I purr, "A daddy who's willing to do everything he can for me."

My professor grabs my arm and stares into my eyes. With a serious tone, "I am willing to do everything for you, my boy."

"Alright," I smile, "You should give me private lessons then..."

"What a great idea," he's back to grinning like an idiot.

"...and you should always do it in your underwear!"

"I can do that. From now on, I'll be stripped and ready before you come in!" He smiles at me like this is the best decision he's ever made in his life.

"Alright, now pull the rest of your clothes off," I command, "I want to see what the rest of my daddy looks like."

Mr. Reid doesn't hesitate to start stripping in front of his favorite student. I could probably get this guy to do anything now. I can already imagine our private lessons; me lounging in his leather armchair and him on his knees with his mouth full. Maybe that curse isn't a curse at all. Maybe it's actually a gift...

"Hey, buddy! How was class today?"

Josh looks tired from a long day of yardwork, but he still seems excited for me to come home. The lawn looks immaculate compared to our neighbors', and I have my roommate to thank for that.

"The grass looks great, dad."

"Dad! Woah!" Josh yells ecstatically, "Buddy, I can't tell you how much it means to hear you say that."

Josh sweeps me up in his arms. Apparently, it doesn't bother him to be the father figure of a guy only a few months younger than himself. It doesn't bother me anymore either. I kind of like that he smells like aftershave and bacon now instead of weed and sweat.

"Let's go inside, buddy. I'll cook something up for dinner," Josh says with a hand on my back. I'm already growing so accustomed to being guided around everywhere.

"Actually, I invited a guy to come over," I admit, "He can cook. You should relax. You got a lot of work done today, dad."

"I did, didn't I?" he smiles proudly, "Let me grab a beer, then. We can watch TV."

"Actually, I thought there might be something else you'd enjoy."

"You know me so well, buddy. What are you thinking?"

"You could bend over the couch..."

Josh cringes and shakes his head. Once again, it's like he's fighting the foreign thoughts entering his head.

"...I know how much you like to make me happy, and I really want to pound ass right now."

For a second, a look of horror flashes over his face, but it's gone in an instant. A bright fatherly smile spreads between his cheeks.

"That sounds perfect, buddy. Enjoy yourself."

Josh doesn't look away as he unbuttons his cargo shorts, smiling at me with love and devotion the entire time. He seems completely relaxed as he bends over the couch, and he only seems to become more comfortable as he spreads his cheeks apart.

Once again, I'm rock hard as I stare at one of my dads. This curse might have made me feel guilty before, but Josh said it himself.

I think I will enjoy myself.

Thanks for the ASK, Vebrendos

#hypno story #gay mind control #gay hypnosis #hypnotized #gay ai art #gay dad and son

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hedgehog-moss · 6 months

Text

I meant to do some greenhouse cleaning and tidying today because my mum is coming to visit and I don't want to be judged. It involved finally bringing myself to say goodbye to my moribund basil plants (by turning them into pesto) among other things—but my plans were derailed when I took down one of the aquaponics towers and heard a big splash. I thought I'd disturbed a fish that was napping amid the plant roots in the water, but no.... I looked into the fish tank and saw a big frog indignantly swimming away.

I went to get a little dip net and spent a solid half hour trying to fish the frog out—she swam so fast! And was really determined to stay in the fish tank, even when I told her I would put her outside somewhere watery and nice where she could meet frog friends. But I did catch her in the end.

I'd never seen a completely black frog before! When I googled for more info, all I found were photos of the (amazing) African rain frog, which one website compared to an angry avocado.

Back to my tank squatter—she was delicately placed on the edge of the barrel that collects spring water in the pasture and invited to start a new life here, and she morosely sat for quite a while, mulling over her options.

I'm not even lying to you, frog: I found a beautiful toad in the pasture some time ago... I'm moving you from a place of existential alienation (lone frog in fish tank) to a hot spot of batracian life.

I tried to film the moment when the frog accepted her fate and gracefully jumped into the barrel but of course I started filming just a second too late and she refused to come back for a second take. In the meantime, every pasture dweller had noticed that something interesting was happening, and converged towards me. When they found my hands and pockets empty of snacks their reactions ranged from sharp betrayal to distant melancholy.

Pirlouit looked so sad in the rain staring at the horizon, pondering the inherent unfairness of life, I ended up letting him sniff the dip net, like, did you actually WANT to eat a frog?

I know, but this one was too large for you.

Poldine was the only one who didn't resent me for visiting them with a frog and no snacks; she was just happy for the opportunity to kiss someone's cheek.

When I went home and looked at my frog pictures I realised there was an apple floating in the barrel ! which I hadn't seen since I was too focused on the frog. The apple tree has shed nearly all of its fruit by now, it must be one of the last apples of the year... And since entering the pasture with a poor slimy excuse for a snack in my dip net had clearly made a dent in my approval ratings, I decided to go back and offer llamas & donkey the apple along with some vegetable peelings.

Pandolf was intrigued when I fished an apple out of the barrel; he sat down in front of me the way he does to signal that he is a good dog and possibly deserving of good things; but UNLIKE SOME he wasn't disappointed with me when he realised the thing I was holding wasn't meant for him because the world doesn't revolve around him.

.... approval ratings skyrocketing 📈

Look at Pirlouit in the background, startled and horrified as he realises he left the scene to soon!

Look at him leaving a cloud of dust behind him as he rushes towards us!

Don't worry Pirou, I saved you a whole half courgette <3 You can drop the tragic misunderstood persecuted look now.

#crawling along

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satoruhour · 10 months

Note

the racer toji smut won’t leave me alone so here is my additional brainrot bc my sister in christ we must suffer together <3

what about fem!reader who’s bf is a total ass bc he dragged her to the races but ignores her for the whole night bc he’s too busy showing off to the other guys and makes fun of her for not knowing shit about cars. she went to support him but he’s being so shitty and she goes to sulk alone near some quiet part.

a little boy comes to join her and he introduces himself as megumi, he hates crowds and loud noises so he sits with reader for a while, until his daddy comes along and his daddy is hot. toji introduces himself, asking what a pretty girl is doing alone in these parts and offers to show her his car but out from nowhere comes slimy bf who just embarrases himself trying to kiss toji’s ass and reader is like i need to break up with him

but ofc toji puts him in his place and tells him his gf is way out his league, and a real man would never leave his girl alone the entire night. it shuts him up fr and toji, megumi and reader leave to go check out some cars bc it’s nice to actually have someone tell you all about the cars instead of being made fun of for not knowing

the rest is obvs history bc megumi loves hanging out with reader and toji can’t keep his eyes off her. and vice versa hehe

a/n: jelly ur mind >>>>> also how did i write a whole FIC about this omfg im sick. i claim i dont like toji then write like this 💀💀 + can u tell how much i love making fun of incompetent men by the way i talk about reader’s shitty boyfriend cause youd be right. i hate men. ✶ / 2.2k

the stuffy parking lot had been a routine place for you at this point, taking the familiar route past shibuya 109 and into miyamasu-zaka avenue. you’re not entirely pumped to be in the car beside your boyfriend right now, who’s talking loudly and obnoxiously into his phone, but that isn’t what is irking you right now. you’re more worried when you reach there, sure to come face to face with his equally obnoxious friends who just can’t shut up about their cars.

it would be fine if they were being cocky and could back up their modifications and NOS with proper results from racing, but they were all losers, both figuratively and literally. you sigh for the umpteenth time when daisuke asks if you cancelled the dinner with your friends because he was going to celebrate his ‘sure’ win and you stifle the urge to laugh. sometimes you wonder why you’re still here.

“we’re here babe, c’mon, get out. i’ll go park the car and come back to get you,” as daisuke tells you this, he’s patting your thigh like you’re a dog, smiling his stupid smile and your brows knit together.

“can’t you just drive to wherever you’re parking?”

“ahh… no can do, baby — my parking’s somehow better when you’re not stressin’ me out in the passenger seat.” what were you doing dating a man who couldn’t even park? you groan into your hands, picking up your bag and exiting the vehicle, making sure to slam the door extra hard even if you’ll be getting a lecture later about harming his ‘baby’.

he’s perfectly fine watching your tantrum and doesn’t say anything except for continuing to smile, driving off without a care as he looks for a parking spot. thankfully you could save your face a little, since you were still early to the meet, a minimal amount of people lingering around the abandoned parking lot in their miniskirts and tights and tramp stamps — a look you definitely would’ve loved to try out if not for your boyfriend telling you you can’t show off your legs.

it’s like he has some personal vendetta against you, but really you think it’s just because he saved you from an unfavourable situation before and while at the time you expressed mutual feelings for him, he just might be holding you hostage with that favour he did for you, unconsciously feeling terrible if you were to leave him.

a few minutes pass, and then ten, and you’re waiting for a full fifteen minutes against a wall, all the while the classic crowd of tokyo is trickling into the car park, cars driving in slowly and you’re dreading every time someone enters, sure that you’re being judged for being daisuke’s significant other. and when the waiting time finally hits twenty, you’re taking matters into your own hands and turning the corner where he drove.

just to see him conversing with his loser friends who were already somehow there, showing off their own cars which they spent money on for nothing and laughing up a storm. you lug your body over, because while you were still somehow okay with daisuke, you couldn’t stand his friends.

“babe! ah, my bad, should’ve texted you that the boys were already here and that i was with ’em,” his affection was limited to just a hand on your waist, not wanting to look like a softie in front of them, “we were just talking about our updated NOS, or ‘nitrous oxide system’ for my cute baby who couldn’t remember it the first time.”

all you can do is burn in embarrassment as they laughed, ridiculing you for the mistake you made ages ago about the terminology of street racing that sometimes you couldn’t exactly grasp. you did your best each time, sometimes googling things about racing that you wouldn’t know otherwise, but because it was still pretty illegal in japan, it was difficult to find the specific terms they used. but with how much your boyfriend teaches you (as condescending as it was), you probably could’ve written an essay.

and it wasn’t a one-time thing either, from smacking your hand off the stick shift to pestering you about closing the car door more gently, you’re soon to reach your limit.

“yeah, i know what a NOS is, bitch.” you mumble under your breath, turning away from him as he continued joking with his boys before one of them shouted out someone else’s name, hiroshi, you heard and they all pile over each other like excited dogs, seeing his new and improved Mitsubishi Eclipse, a bright, striking green and your boyfriend follows them easily.

throughout the different races of the evening and the excitement, you’re left chasing after your boyfriend who can’t help but sidle up to different racers and their cars, and the dreaded situation you hoped wouldn’t arise, did. daisuke loved asking you questions with confusing numbers and letters, and then laughed in your face when you picked the wrong option.

so when he asked you whether a L72 or a 327 small-block was better for his sorry excuse of a Camaro from 1981, you answered that you knew they had used 327s for Yenko Camaros, but without the knowledge they had discontinued it since it wasn’t optimal performance for the car. “yeah, no, darlin’, they already stopped it and switched to big-blocks after ’69… i thought i taught you this!”

with lips pressed tightly together, you find that you hardly want to be here any longer, body turning hot with shame and tears prickling at your eyes. you don’t chase after daisuke when he walks off and nudges hiroshi about your limited knowledge about cars, hands clenching and unclenching into fists before you’re tugged gently on your jacket sleeve.

in front of you is a young boy, playing with his fingers shyly with a head full of messy black hair and strong features that scrunch up into an anxious expression and you’re squatting and wondering what business a young boy like him had in scenes like this before he’s explaining how he hates the loud music and noises of metal against metal and the sound of tires.

you frown, understanding him immediately as you ask if you can hold his hand to which he nods, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“fushiguro… megumi,” he mumbles, flinching when there’s an erupt of cheers from the concluding race.

“oh, honey, let’s go,” you squeeze his hand in solidarity, “let’s sit far away from the action, okay? you like music?”

megumi sniffles a little and nods again, calming down the further he is from all the cars, sitting down on the curb in an area where there’s fewer racers, it being a deadend for the route. soon, you’re fishing out your earphones to insert into his ears, playing a few favourites of yours at a softer volume to drown out the noise of the cars. you’re content to find someone as clueless as you in this whole thing, even if the other was a child, and you almost want to chastise his parents for leaving him so vulnerable in a place like this when said parent is looking left and right, jogging while looking for his son.

“that’s my dad…” megumi mumbles with hope in his voice as the man starts to call out for him, expression morphed into worry from the moment he looked down from his car to find megumi gone. the boy’s hands you back your earphones with a slight smile and a ‘thank you’ before running off, and you’re lunging forward just to make sure he’s safe, running a little behind him while he navigates his father’s voice. it seems like he doesn’t have much care for the loud noises when his dad is finally in view because he speeds immediately into his arms before a tall man comes into view, and you’re blessed with seeing this hot-ass dad in a baggy long-sleeved top.

“hey… thank you for lookin’ out for the kid. i’m fushiguro toji,” toji nods towards you in acknowledgement, looking past your face after appreciating it before glancing down to your figure. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

megumi who was propped up against his shoulder opts to cling to his father’s neck, hiding from the rest of the world while you walk slowly alongside the man, fingers thumbing the strap of your bag to keep your grounded. you were quick to explain that you were here because of your boyfriend, and you swear a glint of disappointment flashed in his eyes, but you don’t give it much thought because soon the man himself is running up to you with a renewed sense of confidence.

it was probably because toji was here; and sure, you knew about fushiguro toji and how much your boyfriend loved him, but you didn’t know how popular he could get, drawing countless pairs of eyes to your interaction.

“hi! hi, fushiguro toji right?” and you’re already ready for the clownery to start when he opens his mouth, “i’m wakashita daisuke, big fan! any chance you’ll get back into racing?” daisuke is spouting so much shit you can’t even bear to look up but there’s one sentence that has got toji riled up, using just one hand to threaten your boyfriend who looks scared out of his mind. “you’d look so good with a Ford Mustang too, why don’t you sell off that old Corvette you’ve got—”

and soon toji is clutching onto the collar of his shirt, easily pulling him off the ground as the people surrounding you laugh and whoop. seems like you weren’t the only one who hated him.

“that Corvette means something to me, not like that piece of junk you call your Camaro. and at least i treat my car better than how you treat your girlfriend,” he spits the word like it’s venom, “who you can’t even respect as a person.”

daisuke is plopped onto the floor, but toji easily backs him up with a finger to his chest, “laughing like an idiot when she doesn’t know about engines and then saying you taught her — that would reflect your efforts as a teacher, wouldn’t it?” the man smirks when your boyfriend stutters out his answer, the crowd oooh-ing like it’s a free show.

“and then you leave her stranded for the whole night to hang with your boys, in a place where she’s uncomfortable and vulnerable. but you couldn’t give a shit, can’t you? you’re too busy sucking your friends’ cocks to notice.” there’s howls of laughter now (you can’t help but let out a giggle too) with how ruthless toji is being, all the while having a kid on his shoulder, but you imagine megumi is used to these types of altercations by now.

toji leans down to spit in his face, “you disrespect a woman in my eyes, you’re a joke to me.”

he just rolls your eyes, heading off from your stupid boyfriend and toji fully expects you to follow, beckoning you to go with him when you stay rooted. “c’mon, don’t mind him. he didn’t deserve you.” toji mutters, pressing a kiss to megumi’s temple as he leads you away from the scene silently, and you leap at the opportunity to thank him immediately.

“to be fair… i did all the research for my boyfriend,” toji interrupts with ex-, and you laugh, “yeah, ex-. but i’m not entirely opposed to learning about cars. they seem kinda cool.”

“is this your way of telling me you want me to teach you?” what’s a little flirting with a guy, anyway? even the other said it himself, daisuke didn’t deserve you. you nod with a sheepish smile, petting megumi’s head when he rouses from his dad’s shoulder, heart warming at how the young boy shoots you a gleaming smile.

toji shrugs with a little chuckle, “sure.” he’s keen on showing you his Chevrolet Corvette at the other end of the parking lot first, telling you about the specifications and the modifications he made for it to be suitable for drifting. he explains how his Corvette had to be converted to a rear-wheel-drive car, or a RWD to support the heavy stress on the back wheels to make a successful drift turn.

toji tells you the differences between a clutch kick and a shift lock and how to sustain a drift on a sharp turn, excited at finally finding someone who didn’t have a clue about racing. he even offers to show you, but you’re a little too intimidated by being in the passenger seat with him, especially when it’s going at high speeds.

“maybe another day,” you offer and toji picks up on your insinuation, trying to stifle at grin that maybe this attraction wasn’t one-sided. he liked the way you talked to megumi, he liked the way you intently listened about his love for cars, and he couldn’t wait to get you in his car with a hand to your thigh.

“i’ll hold you to your offer, darlin’.” the name sounded so much better coming from his mouth, an attractive smile lining his face before he offered his free arm for you to hang on, gasping silently when you felt how toned his arm was. oh, the late night thoughts you already knew you were gonna have…

“i’ll tell you about the other cars here, let’s go.”

thirsts and drabble requests are open!

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vibingandsimping · 8 months

Text

More random intimate positions/scenarios! Pt.2

Morally grey/villain characters this time!

Forewarnings: Dark content… including things like ownership, stalking, gore + obsession. Some pure fluff though :)

(I apologize for this being considerably longer compared to the others. I have been playing some more plus researching the lore. I feel more confident in my understanding of the characters and my writing.)

Gortash had his fingers wrapped around your chin as he beckoned you to look at him. You’re sat in his lap with your hands rested atop his shoulders. His expression is content with how closely pressed you are to his body. He could savor your warmth and read you so intimately. His brown eyes meet yours with a certain warmth laced in all the unwavering dominance. His lips quirk into a smirk as he watches your poorly built facade begin to crumble. His spare hand runs along the small of your back slowly… beckoningly. He'd be the hero of Baldurs Gate soon. He'd have all the power he dreamt of as a boy. Don't you wish to share that with him? His chest purrs when you keen into his touch. Good. He knew you could be a pretty thing for him. Such a formidable foe and he’d have you right by his side.

Minthara had her arms wrapped around your frame protectively. No matter how large or small you were in comparison. She was determined to hold you and plant some sort of reassurance into you. The way she regarded you was not that of any other. No, you were special to her and the woman realized it may not be so clear. She may be a cruel and a standard "drow", but beyond that there was an affection for you within her heart. She plants a kiss against the back of your shoulder-blades and it draws a shudder. Her muscles tighten around you as she presses her face into your shoulder, hot breath washing the junction of your neck and the flesh of your shoulder. You resist a second shudder. Unbeknownst to you, she’d follow you even if it was fruitless. Nothing was shaking her now that she was wrapped around you.

Orin's blade travels down your chest. It was gentle yet sharp... she wasn't particularly aiming to harm you but the thin streak of blood was enticing. The wound was so shallow it barely bubbled- just enough to alert her she broke the skin. Everything about the way she gazed at you was unhinged. You knew if she had pupils they'd be dilated. She draws her face downwards and laps at the tender flesh while you draw a shaky inhale. The whispers of praise and wishes for more barely reached your ears beyond the thrum of your heart. The slimy feel of her tongue worming it’s way up to your collarbones hitch your breath and you watch carefully. Each movement breeds more anticipation- she was soaking in your torment. She was wicked, truly, she devoted herself to you. You’d never understand her… but did you have to?

Ketheric’s hand laced with yours as you walked to his side. He was laid on his throne with open thighs as he acknowledged your presence. The man was aged and once a father. Well, technically still but Isobel regarded him with disowning. He long burned that bridge from his desperation and despair. You entered his life and turned things around. Everyone in Moonrise had never seen him so soft since he lost his daughter and wife. You took a seat on one of his thighs as he drew your hand to his face. His lips planted a gentle kiss on the back of your hand and then along your wrist. His beard tickled and caused you laugh, struggling against his hold as he stubbornly refused to let you go. When he finally did his lips were quirked upwards and there was a twinkling in his eye. He never thought he’d take a lover again… so he was glad when you broke down his walls. He’d once curse you for being persistent but now he’d praise you for it.

Raphael tugs on the invisible leash that was wrapped around your neck. You jerk forward on the bed as you kneeled with palms balancing you on the lush fabric. His wings were on grand display as his typically slicked hair tussled ever so slightly. Expression dark and expectant as you slowly crawled toward him. His brows furrowed as he tutted impatiently, a leg swinging out to hook around your thigh and jerk it underneath you. You collapsed as he drew you towards him with little patience. You now sprawled across his lower abdomen and crotch as his chest rumbles in amusement. Your skin burned with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. The hold he had on you, literally and figuratively, elicited a deep part of your brain. One that wished so carnally to be claimed… to be owned. Raphael would see to that, he promised, with one hand stroking your hair. You were such a sweet thing… and if you weren’t so persistent he’d lock you up for himself.

Kar’niss thought of you as a blessing. Truly, a drider like him didn’t deserve such an angel. He was supposed to be punished for all eternity for his shortcomings. He failed once and will never see to being a normal drow again. That’s why it didn’t make sense for him to be rewarded- but who is he to look at a gift with ungratefulness? He always holds you so tenderly… his body shockingly cold. He’s restless today, you note, as his eight legs skitter and his hands curl at you. There’s a flittering look in his face. A hunger he tried to conceal. When you question, he answers truthfully, drider need to feed on blood to survive. Every four days or he’d succumb to weakness and eventually die an empty husk. You offer yourself and he checks you for any hesitancy before diving in. He pierces the flesh with his sharp nails before indulging in the crimson that flowed. Between suckles and licks, he praises you for your generosity. Endless ‘thank you’s’ flow as much as your blood. He’s sure he’d never fallen deeper in love… or was it infatuation?

Haarlep knew their affection for you was essentially forbidden. Raphael handed you as a toy to them. Nothing more and nothing less- they should regard you only for his entertainment. They somehow found themselves wanting to indulge in your mind rather than your flesh after some time. It was your softness that first stunned them and foiled their pure-desire. Raphael never touched themself with such… they could barely find the word. Gentleness? Regard? They’d lay with you after your shared bliss and inch their nails down the side of your hip as you detailed your life. With a hand propping their head; they seemed enchanted. Mesmerized by how simple yet complex of a creature you were to them. Haarlep was a succubus and spent their life serving that purpose. They almost felt jealous of the freedom you held in life. They couldn’t help but find themselves fantasizing a life where you two lived in better circumstances. It was all a fantasy, though, they knew it with a bittersweetness.

Durge had always watched you from afar. Stalking, following and admiring. You caught their gaze amongst the crowd as they deliberately chose their next victim. You would’ve been easy. You didn’t hold yourself with a particular air in the ranks of Baldur’s Gate. Another citizen lost to the crazed killings of a maniac. It wasn’t until you’d noticed you had a secret admirer did your hackles raise. You could feel a pair of eyes on you at the most inopportune times. Then, came the letters at your doorstep detailing how they defied their nature. You could’ve been another hung corpse but instead they wished to wrap their mind around your heart and their lips amongst your neck. A shiver ran through you… a mix of disgust and a strange intrigue? Surely it was the way the letters were so detailed and deranged. You would’ve ignored it all until the stalking emboldened. You saw their figure in the window at night and through the alleyways. It was only a matter of time before they struck and claimed you as theirs. You’d simply have to keep an eye over your shoulder and hold a dagger close. If you could even strike them, that was.

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bump1nthen1ght · 1 month

Text

Lovers in Arms (Living Armor x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Knight x Living Armor (He/Him)

Genre:Fantasy, Established Relationship, Slight Exhibitionism

Warnings: None

Word Count:1507 words

Summary: As a famous knight, you’re quite used to receiving unwanted attention from others, romantic or not. Your partner, however, has found another way of coping with it.

Request: Hear me out a female knight x living Armor. Outside is very protective plate armor but the inside is a sticky, slimy mass of tendrils. When she is out fighting everything is normal but when she is talking with people and doing errands is when it starts to become hard to ignore. Doesn't help that the armor dirty talks and praises her while its fondling and screwing her. They both have a great relationship.

“I don’t like this man.”

“I’m aware.” You mumble under your breath, feeling the way Rust squirms and wriggles against your skin, a tell-tale sign of his annoyance. It’s a far cry from his usual movements, which have a way of syncing perfectly to your limbs, slipping right into the natural crevices. “But he’s willing to pay for this next campaign, so we gotta suck up a bit.”

You’d normally not speak so freely with Rust like this, but the man of discussion, some lord or something, is talking about himself so loudly you doubt he notices.

“I’ve heard much about your past battles, good knight! When I saw you would be leading this battalion, I knew I had to come and meet you.” You nod along, used to the simple back and forths of these sorts of conversations. You play the part, stroke their egos, and your knights and squires have full bellies and well-maintained equipment for the rest of their next mission. It’s embarrassing, but worth it. “I must say too, you are much more…beautiful than I expected, captain.”

You internalize a groan, your armor shuddering as Rust’s tentacles tense up.

This happens a lot too.

“I mean not to offend but when I first heard of your epic tales, I thought ‘surely someone so accomplished can’t also be attractive.’ And yet you-” The lord bites his lip in what he mist thinks is charming, “-have enchanted me.”

You muster your best flattered grin, despite the way your stomach sours.

“Thank you, my lord. I assure you the feeling is mu- hngh!” Blood nearly draws from thr forceful bite against your lip, a moan nearly clawing its way out of you mouth. The lord’s eyebrows shoot up. “E-excuse me. I think some of my old battle scars are-” another breathy sigh, your cheeks growing hot, “-acting up. I apologize.”

You don’t stay to hear the lord's worried questions and sympathies, instead running to your tent. You pass by drinking soldiers and courtiers, all celebrating your last victory. None spare a look at their serious captain, knowing how often you retreat your quarters. Surely to look over battle strategies and war routes, always the hard worker.

“F-fuck, Rust.” You pant, nearly collapsing once you reach your bed. The appendage currently circling your clit stops, your cunt aching from the lack of stimulation. “You have to stop doing that.”

“And why should I?” Rust's smug voice echoes in your helm. “Not like that buffon would’ve noticed. Pigheaded, ignorant fool, flirting with you-”

This was a common occurrence as well. Something about military success and captain’s armor has a way of drawing people’s attention, several nobles looking to leech off of the prestige of courting you. While you’ve perfected a method of deflection, seeming humble yet appreciative, Rust can’t help but seeth whenever they start sweet talking. His jealousy comes to a head, all the sass and the passion all bursting out like a broken dam. You’re usually able go escape somewhere private before it becomes too overwhelming, but there have been times you struggle to finish your sentence because of the tentacles fucking you like a piston, his low voice whispering laviscious that echoe in your ears.

“You’re an immaculate treasure, captain. They don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t know when you look more beautiful, on the battlefield or cumming on my tentacles.”

“Cum for me, Captain.”

You learn to give a grated smile, utter an excuse about your old injuries, and hobble away while cum runs down your legs in rivulets.

It can get a little frustrating, but in this moment, you can't say you hate the effect jealousy has on him.

“Forget about him.” You collapsed onto your bed, all thoughts of reprimanding Rust fading from mind. The only need at the forefront of your mind is lust, your body craving the taste of pleasure. “It’s just us now.”

If he could, Rust would surely be smirking.

“That's right. As it should be.” Rust’s voice rumbles all across your body, accompanied by the familiar slipping of his tentacles, all slotting into place. One slides right between your pussy lips, now slick, and resumes circling your clit. “Just you and I, together.”

Your head is thrown back in a moan, helm falling off and letting your hair lie loose. Rust’s inner body only extends to your chestplate, his voice now echoing off your collar and into your ear.

“Yes, pretty girl. Such pretty noises.” Two tentacles encircle your breasts, squeezing and fondling. “My gorgeous captain” The metal shakes with Rust’s purrs, plate joints rubbing against each other as all the tentacles move. “Hmm, I love the way this pussy tastes after a long battle.”

“Rust.” You whine, hand thrown over your face as a hot blush spreads up your neck.

“What? Its true.” A tip of a tentacle prods at your entrance, dancing around it like a tease. “The sweat that drips down between your thighs, your sweet juices…” That tapered tip slowly enters your whole, tabtalizinignly slow, “It’s addictive.”

A shaky sigh is muffled by your palm, your legs instinctively spreading wide as the tentacle stretches you open. Lines of ridges along the side scrape against your walls, sending shocking bolts across your stomach. Your free hand digs into your blankets.

“Divine.” Rust moans, two limbs pressing your breasts together as another slots in between them. The tentacle inside burns as it reaches its girthiest part, the tip now curled against your g-spot. “If those fools ever saw you like this, captain, they’d know how out of their league you are.”

“Aah!” Your hand becomes a fist and you bite down on your knuckles, Rust finally starting to thrust inside of you. In private he likes to take his sweet time setting the pace, unraveling you like a gift.

“I want you to sing for me, general.”

“Oh, fu-uck.” You draw out your vowels, back arching as the tentacles around your nipples twist even tighter. The ones deep in your pussy go frustratingly slow, drawing out to the tip before pressing you open again. “Rust.”

If your enemies could see you now; The fierce Captain of the Crimson Brigade, whose command brought countless victories for the crown, who never rested until the fight was one, begging like a common whore. Your voice all high and needy, so different from the gruff persona you put on when shouting orders.

On the battlefield, you and Rust are all business. Everything clicks, your two bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, throwing javelins and wielding a greatsword with ease. You’re the perfect pair; You bring the technique, he brings the strength, and together you can bring down titans. A force to be reckoned with, that bows to no one.

But it can be exhausting. All those decisions, life-changing decisions, are in your hands. You are the face of this operation, after all, and any missteps reflect on your leadership, no one else's.

So what's wrong with handing the reins over, every once in a while? Let someone set the pace, move your body for you. Let you be the obedient soldier, following the lead.

“Good girl.” Rust purse, and all those troubles from before melting away.

Your thighs fight to clench together as he begins fucking you faster, vision blurring as he hits your g-spot with precision. The merriment of celebration and drunken victory outside are loud enough to drown your wanton noises. Let them have their image of their general, let them have the person you pretend to be on the battlefield. These noises are for Rust, and only Rust.

“I’m getting close.” Your lips quiver, the skin nearly worn thin from your incessant biting. “Please, Rust.”

“How could I ever say no to you, Captain?” A second tentacle slips inside you, joining its twin and thrusting in you like a well-oiled machine. A gaso claws its way out of your throat, hips jumping from the burning stretch. “Especially when you ask so nicely.”

The tentacles twist together, writing against your walls. Your eyes roll back into your head as a buzzing sensation travels up from your core to your face, like you're starting to go numb.

“Oh, gods!” You cry out as the crescendo finally hits, pussy clenching the tentacles in a vice. All of Rust’s appendages shudder, a sultry groan echoing out of your collar.

The armor feels hot, almost too hot as you lay in the end, the high of climaxing slowly fading. Sweat drips down your entire body, loving tentacles lapping them up eagerly. Words still escape you, your thoughts a jumbled mess of sensations and emotions. You should really take a shower, shed Rust and clean him as well, but everything is sore, and your brain calls for sleep.

“Rest, my captain. We can bathe in the morning.”

Rust whispers, low tone only pulling you further into unconsciousness.

In the soft embrace of your lover, you can fall asleep peacefully. No thoughts of battles, or blood, or death. Just the two of you, as always.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert

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hihomeghere · 6 months

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UGH! Holy crap! You did so well with the Five smut! I love me a good soft dom y/n 🤭😩. So how about a fluff? Five and Y/n are working together at the commission and Five gets injured, he thinks Y/n will just continue fighting because her job is very important to her but as soon as Y/n sees Five in pain she grabs him and rushes him away from the fighting and the bad guys get away. Five's all aloof like "Why would you do that? I know how much your job means to you" and Y/n's bandaging him up and saying "Well maybe you mean more"

Et tu, Brute? | Five Hargreeves / F!Reader

First off, thank you for your kind words! I hope this lives up to what you had imagined! Word Count : 1.2k, a little guy Warnings/Tags : Gore, stabbing, hospital setting, blood, fluff, Aged up!Five, I do not own the umbrella academy or any of it's characters. Tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff, cursing.

“Five!” You yelled, Five felt someone punch his lower back. He turned and swung at the target behind him. His fist connected with the man’s temple, knocking him to his knees. Seriously, a back shot? Why had you been so worried in the first place? He reached back to rub the dull pain on his back when his fingers connected with the handle of a blade. There was a knife in his back. He fought every urge to pull it out, knowing he would be in a worse situation after doing something like that. If he wasn’t so disappointed by his lack of situational awareness skills, he would have laughed. Getting stabbed in the back, really? Where were the 22 senators waiting in the shadows?

Missions are never this easy, he should have seen the obvious trap. Cornering one target before another sneaks up behind you. You let out a groan of pain as the man’s fist connects with your cheek. You stagger back, your hand covering your cheek. You flipped your hair back, passing a glance at him. Your face immediately fell.

“No!” You yelled, reaching out to him as the knife was pulled out from his back. His legs gave out from under him, his knees smashing against the pavement below him. Just another injury to add to the list. What a stellar partner you are Five. He hung his head, tears pricking in his eyes, hot and heavy as they fell down his cheeks. The target behind him ran, taking his knife with him. You jumped, twirling your body as your foot connected with the target's face. Sending him sprawling onto the pavement.

He twisted his arm wildly behind him, trying to cover the gushing slimy blood. He had less than five minutes until he bled out, oh the irony of it all. You sprinted over to him, dropping to your knees.

“Fuck!” You hissed as your hand pressed over the hole on his back. Five cried out, bile rising up into his throat. He clamped his jaw shut, keeping any cries and puke in. Millions of tiny needles seemed to be digging into his skin.

“Can you walk?” Your voice sounded miles away, like you were yelling at him from one side of the Grand Canyon. Your hair had fallen into your face, your wide eyes staring into his. He tried blinking the black spots that filled his vision away.

“Et tu, Brute?” He whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion as Five chuckled to himself. His hearing was slowly going, like he had been plunged underwater.

“Fuck it.” You grumbled setting the briefcase down in front of you both. No. You wouldn’t. He looked back at one of the targets, still lying on the ground. There was no way you would throw away a mission like this, not for him. He reached out, his cold fingers covering yours.

“No,” he groaned, bile rising up in his throat as the spots returned to his vision.

“Yes.” You said through gritted teeth as you turned to glare at him, “I’m not letting you die here” You said as your sticky red stained hand encased his own. As you clicked open the briefcase, Five succumbed to the darkness.

The incessant beeping of machines woke Five up. He snapped his eyes open, the bright led lights blinding him momentarily. He sat up, hissing as his back throbbed. No doubt pulling on his stitches.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright.” Your soft voice soothed as your hand covered his shoulder as you gingerly pressed him back down on the bed.

“What?” He croaked, his throat dry and scratchy.

“You lost a lot of blood so just take it easy, Caesar.” you teased pulling your chair closer to his bed. Tubes were attached to his arms, liquids pumping into his body.

“How long was I out?” He asked, turning to look at you, you had changed out of your suit. A soft sweater hanging off one of your shoulders, your cheek had a bit of purple bruising. You sighed, shaking your head, a small smile pulling on your lips.

“Already thinking about work?” You breathed, a weak excuse of a distraction.

“Tell me.” He said propping himself up on his elbows, the sharp pull on his stitches making him wince.

“Just two days.” You said as your hands returned to his shoulders, pressing him back against the bed. He relented, rolling his eyes as he laid back down.

“And the target?” You pursed your lips, smoothing out his blanket. “Y/n.” He furrowed his brows watching you avoid the question.

“I’m gonna get enough shit from the Handler so can you just-” You stopped, shaking your head, “Can you just say thanks for saving my life.” You tried to play it off as a joke, but he caught the slight waver in your voice.

“Why did you let them get away?” Why didn’t you let me die, is what he wanted to ask. It’s not like you owed him any loyalty. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m still not hearing a thank you.” You teased, your gaze raising to meet him.

“Thank you.” He rolled his eyes, sitting in the comfortable silence between the two of you. It was something he could appreciate, knowing neither of you had to say something to fill up the space. You could just be. But the question still nagged at him in the back of his mind, why? Why did you let them get away? You could have easily left Five to bleed out. One of the targets was unconscious in front of you for god's sake. Not to mention this damn place was your life. As much as he hated your undying loyalty, he also admired it. Found some sort of resemblance of himself in you, for Five his siblings pushed him to keep going. His reason to get up everyday, to save them. For you, it was the commission.“I know how much this job means to you.” You narrowed your gaze, tilting your head slightly. A smile began to spread across your face before you looked down at your hands.

“Maybe you mean more.” You said as you shrugged. Five was sure his heart had stopped beating, but the EKG continued its steady beeping.

“Oh.” He said, unable to think of anything smart to say.

“Can’t have my partner dying on me.” You teased, lightly shoving his shoulder. He sat frozen like an idiot, watching as you stood up brushing your hands off on your pants. “Rest up, now that you’re awake I can’t avoid the Handler any longer.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against the door to his room. “You owe me for that by the way.”

“Apparently me being asleep has helped you avoid that witch for longer than you should have. So you owe me.” He said, raising his eyebrows. You crossed your arms, scoffing in false offense.

“Even on death's doorstep you find a way to be a sarcastic little shit.” You laughed, Five couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“Please, you love it.” He said with a smirk.

“Maybe I do.” You returned his smirk before you walked down the hall and out of sight.

Five’s usual smugness returned to him in all its glory. He rested his hands behind his head, getting more comfortable in the hospital bed. Maybe getting stabbed had its perks.

#the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #alison hargreeves #ben hargreeves #five x reader #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #aidan gallagher #aidan gallagher x reader #hihomeghere

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alpples · 5 months

Text

Tamaki slipping into domspace during the deed?

pairing: Tamaki Amajiki x fem!reader

word count: 0.7k+

warnings:| overstimulation, monster sex(?), tentacles, fem!reader, domspace-ish (that's what I was going for but I’m not exactly sure if I did it right), fingering, clit simulation, a bit of nipple play, cum eating and aftercare for reader. |

//this is my first time, so it won't be that good, but I hope you enjoy!//

summary: Tamaki is usually a submissive bottom, but he wanted his dominate top to lay down for once and just let him please her like she usually does to him, but he got a bit carried away.

Tamaki being the poor boy he is just wanting to please his fem lover for once. And having a talk with you about it, you were okay with it and let it happen the following day, The poor baby he was shy at first barely doing anything but as he got used to it and got into the mood it just clicked for him. The sweet kisses and delicate touches till he made his way to your cunt, which was now drenched in your own arousal making your underwear uncomfortably wet. For this especially he ate octopus and turned one singular finger into an octopus tentacle for you he first ran it along your cunt. First stunned by how hot and wet you looked for him before he placed the wet and slimy tentacle over your cunt to cup it, and without knowing there was a suction cup that laid beautiful over your clit, covering it completely by the size difference. Once he noticed this, he focused on the particular suction cup and make it do its purpose and suck. It sucked hard on your clit, and due to it being so sudden it made you arch your back and moan. And once your back laid back onto the bed he stops the cup from sucking and when you least expect it, he made it suck again, this went on and on before he was satisfied, and mainly due to the fact that there was a safe word, but you didn’t use it. Meaning you liked it. Then when you were calming down from your overstimulation (but not cumming) he placed the tip of the tentacle into your dripping wet cunt, making a puddle under you. You moaned slightly enjoying the slight stretch of the tip.

“Mm..” then without warning he shoved the rest of his finger inside you leaving your wet clit and pussy lips open to the cold. You moaned as your back arched off the bed against his finger finding and hitting your sweet spot instantly. He smiles down at you, at this point too far gone in how your body reacts to him and this interesting way to use his quirk. His cock throbs due to being turn on greatly by how you react but he’s not done with you yet, he fingers you with the tentacle fast and hard. If you really wanted him to stop or slow down, you’d use the colors that y’all also established beforehand but you're not, you're lying there and taking it. After you cum about twice on his finger he pulls out his aching cock. All wet and throbbing, precum leaking out of the tip ever so slightly before turning his cock into a tentacle like appendage. You blush and drool slightly at the sight. He slowly enters your still slightly too tight cunt as he moans with you. He stretches you deliciously as he goes down to suck on your nipples. After some time to allow you to get use to his length he starts to fuck into you, once more sucking your nipples but now this thumb somehow at some point found your clit rubbing circles around the sensitive and slightly puffy nub. You moan as your back once more lifts into the air, the pleasure being a bit overwhelming for you, due to being used to toping and not being so much on the sub side.

Tamaki was loving the feeling of your cunt around him once more, it made him moan and whimper at the feeling of your warm, moist walls sucking him in, asking him to cum deep inside you, but of course he’d never do that without your permission. At this point your both a moaning mess, you’ve came on his cock at least three times already and he’s still not done with you and surprisingly he hasn't came yet. But just then he pulls out roughly and rests his cock on your stomach, cumming on it while some landed on your breast and chin. After a few minutes of calming down Tamaki gently picks you and almost as if a second nature he licks his cum off your stomach, boobs and chin before cuddling you close. Once more after a bit he takes you to clean both of you off, properly in a bath and afterwards you two cuddles in bed as you watch a movie before falling asleep in one another's arms.

#tamaki smut #tamaki x reader

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hollewdz · 2 months

Text

Quinn and Jaz - Ch 1

word count: ~2.1k

_______________________

Quinn sometimes wondered if she was cursed.

Not with a big, life-altering curse; she didn’t believe she was important enough for one of those. She wondered if someone, somewhere, decided she was worth fucking with, and decided, every day, to do little things to make her life just that much harder. Right now, she was wondering if this mystery-being decided to make her bus late.

Pacing a circle into the snow at the bus stop, a flash of ice bit at Quinn’s heel. Looking down, she saw a pathetic old winter boot, ripped at the seam and gulping in muddy ice slush.

“Because the bus being late just wasn’t fun enough, huh?” she griped, trying and failing to shake the ice from her boot. She hated this. Hated these long, exhausting days of classes and overtime shifts, which would have been bearable, if the damn bus was even half as efficient as she was.

A long, forced sigh shot into the air in a dramatic cloud. Instead of standing around for 20 minutes in the cold for a slimy bus, she could walk for 15 minutes back to her apartment. It would suck, but at least she could choose the suckiness she had to deal with. Briskly trudging her way through the slush and muck on the cracked sidewalks home, chunky snowflakes began drifting through the air around her. Quinn wanted to cry, but refused to permit herself the catharsis. She’d been through so much worse; and heavy college textbooks, a long shift at Shelly’s, a late bus, a broken shoe and walking in the snow was nothing compared to that.

This isn’t for forever, Quinn’s calming mantra surfaced in her mind. It’s not even for the next 20 minutes. Get home and you can take a steaming hot shower and have some soup.

Slowing to a stop at a crosswalk, Quinn nearly tripped on a wet heap of something piled right next to the crosswalk button. What the hell? After mashing the button a few times, she used her good boot to shove some of the snow away. A pile of soaking wet clothes, some sneakers and an expensive-looking bag stared back glumly at her.

Who would strip in this weather? Crouching down to balance sitting on her ankles, she unzipped the bag and rummaged through it. Tugging out a heavy metal clip wallet, tapped out the cards to see that this bag -and presumably outfit- belonged to…

“...Jasper Ross” she breathed absent-mindedly. Why does that sound familiar? Quinn was hardly a socialite, and she only knew the names of the people she had to deal with for projects and such. There was a sudden stirring from the pile of clothes. With a yelp reminiscent of a scared chihuahua, Quinn splashed clumsily from her half-perch-half-crouch into a slush of muddy ice. Oh God, a rat?? Not even caring that her backside was now soaking wet, Quinn tried and failed to push herself away from the nest of laundry, her old worn boots refusing to grip the ice. Then, she heard the most peculiar noise that gave her pause- an almost unhearable, muffled shout came from within the pile of clothes. “What the fuck?! Where am I?”

Quinn’s eyes grew wide as she saw a… a… tiny guy. There was a tiny guy, emerging from the pile in front of her. Frozen in place, Quinn couldn’t tear her eyes away, she needed to download every bit of information about this new phenomena in front of her.

He looked proportionate, and fit. Even, golden-brown skin with a mop of dark brown hair. He seemed to be assessing his surroundings, hands exploring the fabric around him. He could have been muttering something, too, but Quinn wasn’t close enough to hear. Miniscule eyes finally swiveled towards Quinn, and for a moment Quinn thought he looked quite a lot like an action figure with how still he went. His face slowly traced from her boots to finally meet her bewildered gaze.

A long silence yawned between the two- Quinn had no idea how to approach this situation. Usually she’d blame her awkward personality, but she figured most people would be struggling for words right about now. Thankfully, she didn’t need to worry about what to say.

“Oh hell no,” the man said with an exasperated groan. He began to rub his eyes vigorously. Quinn blinked. “Excuse me?” “Hey, lady, um, I think my vision is fucked. You look absolutely massive,” the man stated plainly. He righted himself and offered another comment, “And not in, like, a fat way. It’s like, a sky-scraper, ‘massive’ way. You think you could call an ambulance for me? That bitch from last night probably drugged me.” She ignored anything that could have been implied. Quinn’s throat had gone dry from the cold, but she managed to force out a response.

“Your vision has nothing to do with it. You’re, like, a borrower, dude,” Quinn half laughed. She had no clue how to react to this. The laughter built into a chuckle, then a full-blown fit. “W-what the fuck!” She managed to say between laughs of disbelief. She slapped her gloved hands firmly clasped over her mouth, failing to quell her convulsive laughter. She felt a heat begin to rise in her face, and darted her eyes along the street, head on a swivel. Thank god there’s no people around. “Lady, you’re a total psycho,” the diminutive man offered, going back to scrubbing his eyes.

A lazy snowflake slowly drifted down and planted atop the man’s head. Quinn steadied her breathing, watching him reach up and break a bit of the snowflake off in a crystal shard and then melt in his doll-sized hand.

“Hm.” He started shivering then, enough for Quinn to notice. In fact, her own jeans had been soaking in ice-water since she slipped, and it was becoming very clear she needed to take control of the situation before things got worse.

Drawing in a deep breath and loosing a cloud of fog into the chilled air, Quinn composed herself as well as she could manage. Chill out, he’s just…some guy. A very, very small guy, but still, she thought. She closed her eyes and breathed, then looked back to the doll-sized man. “Are you Jasper Ross?” she asked, holding up his wallet and sliding out his ID for him to see.

“First of all, looking through other peoples’ things is pretty invasive- but yes, that’s me. Secondly,” he pointed at her, “no one calls me ‘Jasper’. Ew. It’s Jaz.” He ran his hands over the folded cloth in front of him to dry his hands, and started rubbing his arms sharply. “Seriously, it’s too fucking cold out.”

Quinn started feeling a bit bad for Jasper- or, Jaz, despite him being all sorts of rude. He was the size of a hamster, of course the cold would be biting at him hard. “Do you have any place I could take you to-”

“No,” Jaz shot, slumping into a grumble. “No I don’t.”

“For real?” Quinn furrowed her brow. “I would offer to take you to, like, the police, but I don’t think you’d like it there, either.”

“So you’re abducting me?”

“I’ll take you to the police station if you want.”

Jaz thought for a moment. “Yeah, I’d rather not be a lab rat. Do you have a place?”

“Wuh- me?” Quinn sat back again, but this time in shock at how forward he was being. A gust of icy wind made her shudder, and the cold concrete was making her legs go numb. “I-I mean, I do have a place, but-”

“Perfect, take me there.”

“I’m not ready for, uh, company-”

“Lady, I’m about to freeze to death, that doesn’t matter.”

Quinn pursed her lips, holding her breath. He does look like he’s in the early stages of popsicle… And, realistically, what’s the worst that can happen? Pinching the crease between her brows and sighing, she shifted and replaced the wallet in the bookbag. “Fine. Just let me plan out how to carry everything, alright?”

“Roger that, Goliath,” Jaz shot back, gathering fabric to cloak himself, making him look even smaller than before. “What is your name, anyway, lady?”

Quinn was unamused by Jaz’s nickname. “What a skill, you guessed it right on the very first try. People usually say I look more like a Gulliver, though.” She finished packing up Jaz’s bag and swung it over her vacant shoulder. How should I tackle the clothes?

“I think you look like a perfect Goliath. Same stature, and all,” Jaz quipped.

“Quinn. Is my, uh, name,” she offered lamely, rolling her eyes. “So. I assume you’re naked. And you’re standing in the middle of the clothes. I dunno what to do, champ.”

“You can’t just grab everything all at once?”

She gave a huff, “All of that shit is like 20 pounds, it’s soaked. Maybe I can shove it in your bag? I don’t want to ruin anything-”

“Just do that, then, I can get a new bag.”

Quinn’s eyes went wide at how wasteful of a thought that was, even if he could have been joking. She was slightly angry on behalf of the bag. “Whatever, it’s your shit. You want to go in the bag too?”

“You literally just said it’s freezing and soaked.”

“Well then I guess you’re walking,” Quinn huffed, growing tired of his less-than-pleasant attitude.

“Can’t you just…” Jaz trailed off, eyeing her gloved hands. He lingered there, and… gulped? Quinn couldn’t really tell. “What if you let me have your glove?”

“You’re naked.”

“And freezing.”

Quinn looked down at her left hand for a long, disgusted moment. The gloves were the only things she had that were actually high quality- a gift from her younger brother. Her eyes scrunched tight at the thought of them being treated the same way this guy treated his bag. She summoned her courage, “You have to be clean. If you get them dirty you own me new ones.”

“God, is that not obvious? Anyway hurry it up, this isn’t funny anymore. It’s getting actually painful to be this cold.”

Quinn was surprised by how quickly he offered to pay for the gloves, and would have been suspicious he was lying if not for how disinterested he seemed by it. She pushed a finger under the cuff of her left glove, got it halfway up her hand, then pinched and tugged the glove off from her middle finger. She quickly went to lay it down next to Jaz, but stuttered when she saw how her hands truly dwarfed him.

Quinn had never felt big, compared to anything before. Even though she was taller than average, her nature was to minimize herself; withdraw until no one could tell she took up any space at all. So much of her life was dedicated to remaining unseen, that she might have convinced herself that she didn’t even exist.

Maybe that was why she grew queasy at seeing the truly baffling difference in size between them, why she felt more than ever that she had to shrink smaller than this finger-sized man before her. She basically lost sight of him behind her hand, as if there wasn’t a tiny person in the heap of clothing at all.

She ripped her hands back from the glove as if it had burned her, “Whatever, don’t worry about the glove. Just get in and yell when you’re good to go.” She slouched and waited for him to call out, shrugging his bag back to the ground and unzipping it. She heard a muffled Okay let’s get a move on, and she pinched the opening of the glove to hover it above the clothes, then used her free hand to quickly and clumsily shove the sopping outfit into his really nice bag.

She was able to ignore that queasy feeling with Jaz out of sight, thankfully. She tried to be as careful as she could standing up, figuring the best way to keep her gloves clean was to give Jaz a steady ride so he wouldn’t blow chunks, and she slipped the glove gingerly into one of her winter coat’s inner pockets. Still, the thought of Jaz spilling his guts didn’t stop her from basically jogging home- the promise of soup had never been so desirable.

__________ Chapter 2

This drawing is from like, 2020 and is definitely more of a concept image than 100% accurate X] I'll have to redraw it! I've actually been sitting on this story for so long, and I've gone back and forth about whether or not I wanted to do a comic or not, I just decided "fuck it write the damn thing and go from there" so here we are! :3

#Quinn and Jaz #My writing #g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #macro/micro #giant #g/t community #gt #giantess #minors dni

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strawbsj · 3 months

Note

can you write a smut abt bondage s3x with sakura (le sserafim) x fem!reader ??

Pairings: Sakura x fem reader

Word count: 1k-ish

Warnings: LOTS OF TEASING, cum eating, reader receives oral, bondage kink, use of blindfold and ties, kkura masturbates in front of you and just filthy smut!!!

Tears filling your eyes, breathe all shaky, and hiccups falling out from your lips constantly. You and Kkura decided to try something new, hot and intimate.

Kkura had confessed that she has some bondage kink, and in one of her fantasies would be just teasing and restricting your movements. So you of course as the loving and caring girlfriend, that you are decided to make one of her desires come true.

You didn’t honestly know the consequences, you had no idea that you would be on the bed, legs wide open, and hands tied on the upper edges of the bed. Her constantly blowing air on your bare pussy, or teasing her fingers against your clit or entrance.

You saw how she slid her fingers in and out of her glistening hole, how she spit on her fingers and started rubbing her clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

If you closed your legs. She’d leave you tied like this for the rest of the day, not giving you what you want. Here and there she gave you few glances, looking at how your hole gushes more wetness out of it. How your pussy looks so swollen and glassy due to the amount of slimy slick pushing out of your silky walls.

When she was close to her own climax, her fingers started rubbing her clit faster and her fingers ramming in her cunt harder. Tears were flooding down your eyes like a waterfall, you couldn’t do anything but to imagine what would that feel like, how good will that feel.

She let out a loud whimper before her juices went straight to your pussy. She came so close to you that now your pussy was drenched with her juices. Pussy now extra wet, with her fluids then your own slick.

You couldn’t help but to orgasm, the way her own liquid shoot straight to your cunt. Was so hot and intimate in a dirty way. You felt dirty for releasing without even being touched, you didn’t even ask for permission.

“Did you just cum untouched pup, that’s so hot!” Her tone was shocked but satisfied nonetheless. You nodded your head, embarrassment now all over you. She grabbed the wine red blindfold that was on the night stand, her hand found their way around your head lifting it a little before tying the blindfold.

A new round of wetness gushed out, the anticipation killing you. She traced her fingers slowly down your silky skin. Making sure to be sloooooow. Which made you let out a whine, along with a broken sob. Her teasing was way too much for you to handle now. Your tears wet your puffy cheeks and you continuously sniffed.

She went to the level of your core, and licked a long stripe. Your body shivering under her, the messy and slow impact of her wet muscle making you want more. Her nose was on your clit and you started grinding and rubbing yourself on it. Your bud bumping on her pointed nose, creating the perfect amount of friction.

Your high started building up again before you know it. With kkuras teasing nature, her nose suddenly left your clit. The delicious bump was now gone. More tears slid down, and your whines continued.

Her fingers started pumping your abused and teased cunt. Finger slammed easily in you, thanks to your wetness that drenched hole. She curved them up roughly and her fingertips knocked on the best spots. “You’re so wet, pup!” She chuckled teasingly. “All f-for yo-you.” You nod admitting.

The sentence made her feel things, it was such a confidence boost. Her fingers actions started being faster and rougher, her tongue started rubbing your clit. She knew you and your body so well that she knew you were close. “Cum on my tongue baby!” She demanded, her fingers got replaced with her tongue. Of course you obeyed all of your juices got welcomed by her tongue and she started slurping and licking all of it. Overstimulation hitting you hard, you tried to close your legs. But she was quick to wrap her arms around your thighs, locking them in her grip.

Her tongues movements slowed down and so did your squirming. Your breathing went back to normal and she flopped herself next to you. She undid your blindfold and the tie that was restricting you. Her hands went around your waist and lifted you on top of her, her warm body against yours. The feeling and warmth you both loved.

#le sserafim smut #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x fem reader #le sserafim #le sserafim sakura smut #sakura x reader smut #sakura x fem reader #sakura x reader #le sserafim sakura #sakura smut #sakura #miyawaki sakura #miyawaki sakura smut #miyawaki sakura x reader #miyawaki Sakura le sserafim

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smileyerim · 1 year

Text

lifestyles of the rich and famous

Your coworkers are really tired of hearing you pine over a guy who doesn’t want you, so they decide it’s finally time to do something about it. Thankfully the hot young son of the country club’s owner just walked in the door and sat at your bar.

main pairing: rich boy!johnny suh x bartender!reader

minor pairing: fuckboy!jaehyun x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, slight angst !!MDNI!!

length: 8k

warnings: adults having sex, smoking weed, drinking alcohol, vaping, jaehyun is a lying fuckboy

net tags: @kflixnet @neowritingsnet

if you repost or translate my work i’ll feed you to the metaphorical sharks (aka angry tumblr writers)

You’re a simple girl with simple desires, you like to think. You’re not demanding, nor are your dating requirements long or difficult to meet.

So when the guy you’ve been seeing for a couple of weeks decides that now of all times is the most appropriate time to begin speaking to you with short responses and leave you on read for hours on end, you’re pissed.

So much so that you feel validated enough in your desire to tell him off to your friends/coworkers but they seem to have differing opinions.

“I mean, he’s not your boyfriend Y/N.” Doyoung, always too blunt for his own good, says and it makes a groan escape your chest as you let your head fall onto Yerim’s shoulder in a painful thud.

“Thanks, Doyoung.” You say, speech mumbled against Yerim’s cotton polo uniform.

“You need a rebound. Let this inconsistent and slimy motherfucker go.” Yerim says and you hum in response, still leaning into her shoulder from your position behind her back.

“I don’t want another guy, I want Jaehyun.”

You’re startled into standing up straight by the reverberating banging sound of a hand coming into contact with the metal table separating you two from Doyoung.

“Too bad,” Doyoung says, looking directly into your eyes “He’s not yours so just let it go!”

You stare back with wide eyes and Yerim interjects, turning to lean against the table behind her and face you.

“He’s right, babe. It’s time to let him go. You don’t deserve to be led on like this.” Yerim says with her usual gentle tone of voice and you frown, looking down at the ugly shoes your boss forces you to wear behind the bar.

“You’re right. You’re both right.” You say, turning to give Doyoung your scariest look, “You’re incredibly cruel about it, but you’re right.”

—

Sure, your friends may have been right about your need to leave Jaehyun in the dust and move on to bigger and better things but you’re weak and never claimed not to be.

That’s why you choose to spend the last five minutes of your thirty minute break in the corner of the staff restroom taking and then deleting what feels like fifty Snapchat pictures.

Emerging from the restroom you’re immediately faced with Yerim with her arms crossed across her chest, staring you down in the way that communicates that she knows exactly what you were just getting up to.

“Either you just took the fattest shit of your life, or you were just texting Jaehyun.”

You don’t respond, brushing your shoulder on hers to pass her and clock back in.

—

With your last customer served her jack and coke, you decide it’s finally time to check your phone again. Forty five minutes is enough time for a man to come to his senses, open your Snapchat, and respond with an overly enthusiastic compliment and apology for being so unavailable, right?

Before you can even allow your phone to scan your face, it’s being snatched out of your hand.

“What the fuck!” You exclaim, hand chasing Yerim’s in an unattractive and unsuccessful flail.

“No, you aren’t doing this.” She chastises with one finger pointing at you. She’s somehow slipped your phone to somewhere you can’t spot it with a quick scan of your eyes up and down her now apron-clad body.

“You can have it back after your shift.” She says and you roll your eyes at her, leaning your hip uncomfortably into the short fridge behind the bar.

“Come on Yerim, that’s in three hours. What if he responds and asks me to hangout? That won’t be nearly enough time to get ready and by then he will have made other plans and-“ you ramble your embarrassing train of thought.

“Hush, you’re embarrassing yourself in front of a cute guy.”

You frown, arms crossing your chest as you follow Yerim’s line of sight to a bar stool behind you currently taken by oh- an extremely attractive guy with long brown hair tucked behind his ears. He’s waiting patiently for... well, you.

“Go serve him.” She says once you whip your head back over to face her again.

“Fuck.” You groan, grabbing your sanitizing towel and pretending to wipe down the bar in an act of stubborn defiance to Yerim and procrastination.

You know him, you’d be a fool if you didn’t. He’s what some would call a country club celebrity with how he’s gained recognition for being the best singles tennis player and for his last name being on the front of the building. His family photos are littering the hallways, a particularly precious photo of him as a kid with a half melted ice cream cone is situated on the front door of the child care center.

His father owns the country club, and he is much cuter in person than he is in his old family photos. He doesn’t visit your bar ever, so you’re intrigued to know why he’s here.

“Oh,” Yerim says stepping into your bubble and combing her fingers through your knotted hair, “go fix your hair first.” She says and you roll your eyes, hand blindly grasping at your back pocket in search of your cell phone.

“Here,” she says, handing you her bulky iPhone with some Sanrio phone case, “go in the back.” You roll your eyes again at her mistrust of you before following her orders, quickly rushing into the kitchen and pulling up her front camera to inspect your appearance.

Emerging from the kitchen, you feel a pair of eyes on you immediately and you look right back, making unexpected eye contact with the handsome man who’s been waiting. You flash him your brightest customer service smile before rushing over to stand across from him at the bar.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he waves you off in dismissal of your apology before smiling at you, “what can I get for you?”

He’s still smiling a very polite smile, his eyes shining with kindness and it makes you weak in the knees. Working at a country club comes with a lot of perks, but those perks were bought with a price. The price being dealing with the type of people that belong to a country club, the rudest and most stuck up wealthy people in your town. You don’t meet people like him so often, genuinely kind people.

“I’ll take a vodka soda with extra lime whenever you find the time.” He smiles at you again and you actually feel your knees buckling at his kindness.

“Premium or well?” You respond out of habit, your brain fogging with his presence. He shoots you an unbelievable look that makes you both laugh. Forgoing an immediate response, you shake your head and scoff at yourself when you grab a glass to pour ice into.

“Top shelf, duh, sorry again.” You apologize as you press the sparkling water button on your soda gun.

“Stop apologizing so much!” He says and you look up from his drink to catch his kind eyes staring back at you in a way that makes you want to blush.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” You say, now in front of him situating the lime wedge on the side of his glass.

He takes a sip before responding. “I just know how understaffed you are.”

You lean an elbow up on the bar, “I didn’t know it was that obvious.” Your cheeks flare up with another blush.

“It isn’t!” He clarifies, hand coming down to grab at your forearm in reassurance. You ignore sparks that shoot from his contact with your skin.

“I just-“ He says, removing his hand to play with the branded cocktail napkin under his glass, “sometimes they actually put me to work around here and I know how small your staff is.”

You hum, pensive frown on your face as you look around. You are short staffed.

“So what work do they make you do?” You tease, not really wanting this conversation to end.

“Dad tries to put my accounting degree to work by making me do our books every once in a while, but more recently he’s got me planning for the new garden. As if I would know anything about landscaping.”

You laugh at his charming joke, taking a moment just to steal a quick once over his appearance. He’s wearing a blue polo with some brands insignia stitched onto the breast pocket, a watch you’re assuming is very expensive from a luxury brand on his right wrist, and a tennis racket cover placed on the barstool next to him. He’s handsome, of course, with his kind eyes and long brown hair tucked behind his surprisingly pierced ears.

“Well I’ve been a bartender since college. So I wish I could be of more assistance, but I can’t offer any help.” You quip with a sigh and he smiles back.

“You have your degree, huh? What’re you doing here?” You find it charming that he’s actually engaging you in conversation.

“All I said was that I was in college, not that I finished.” You say, slight embarrassment lacing your voice.

“Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t finish.” He says and you shoot him a look urging him on to explain further.

He smirks at your offense before continuing, “We wouldn’t have met if you didn’t work here, and I don’t know about you, but I’m quite enjoying your company.”

A blush creeps it’s way up your neck, a coy expression on your face as your head drops down to stare at the sanitization bucket behind the bar.

“Gotta go, I have a tennis lesson in fifteen.” He says, standing and taking another sip of his drink.

“See you around.” He says with a final look and you nod, waving him off.

No more than 30 seconds after you watch his tall figure leave the restaurant, you see him slowly jogging back towards the bar.

“What’s your name?” He says, wrist resting on the back of the barstool opposite of you.

With a grin you tell him your name and he replies with a warm smile.

“I’m Johnny.”

“Nice to meet you, Johnny.” Your voice light with affection.

He nods at you, reaching into his wallet and digging out a five dollar bill, throwing it on the bar and ignoring your shouts of protest as he leaves the restaurant for the final time.

Later that evening when you check your phone after Yerim slides it at you from across the bar, you notice that Jaehyun still hasn’t opened your photo.

Surprisingly, though, you don’t care nearly as much as you expected to; with the thoughts of a very tall and handsome tennis player in the back of your mind.

—

Johnny comes by a lot more often after your first interaction, and you’re just a little too aware to pretend like you don’t know what for. He comes in, same bashful smile on his face as always, sits down, waits patiently for your attention, spends at least an hour or two chatting with you, and then leaving a five dollar bill on the bar.

Today’s no different, except that it’s been 98 hours since Jaehyun last spoke to you and you’re feeling antsy for attention.

“Johnny, hi!” You chirp out, leaping up out of your stool to walk over to the same section of the bar he always sits at.

“Someone’s a happy girl.” He snickers as he sits down.

“Yes she is, how did you know?” You tease, teeth sinking into your top lip.

“So what’s the good news? What’s got you so happy?” He says, smile painting his face. He thinks you’re cute.

“My favorite customer walked in.” You say, cheeky smile on your face as you look dead into his eyes from beneath your eyelashes.

He pretends to be touched, as his hand flies up to press against his chest in an overly dramatic way that makes you laugh and drop your flirty act.

“I have a proposal for you.” He leans in, eyes sparkling.

“What is it?” You blush.

“Let’s go swimming tonight!” He whisper shouts.

You tilt your head in confusion when you look up at him, “the pool closed at 4.”

“Not when you fucking own the pool, Y/N!” He leans in, eyes anticipating.

He’s so cute this way, and it feels really nice to be wanted when you’ve been getting ignored so obviously by the man you think you want.

It’s a no brainer.

“Let’s go!” You say after rolling your eyes and Johnny stands up on the foot bar of the stool, hands up in the air in victory.

You giggle as you swat a dry towel at his now exposed lower torso to encourage him to sit back down. Once he’s sat, he clears his throat and looks around with wide eyes in fake suspicion, and it just makes you laugh harder. For a moment your eyes meet as you two laugh, and it forces the butterflies in your belly to awaken and flutter in their cage.

He seems to have felt the moment shift too, as his smile falters for a second before going back to his wide grin.

“I’ll be back when you’re done.” Johnny says, grabbing his drink, tossing a five dollar bill on the bar, winking, and then quickly exiting the bar.

Two hours later, the bar is absolutely dead with zero customers in sight. You still have ten minutes to go of your shift, yet you’ve already completed all of your closing duties, just sitting by and waiting.

“Damn, what did you do to everyone?” The familiar voice shouts from the entrance of the bar and you smile. Finally, you think.

“You’re early, I still have a couple minutes to go.” You pout as he approaches the bar.

“Seriously? But nobody’s here. Let’s just go.” He draws out the ‘o’ sound, leaning his tall body over the bar to get in your face.

“Johnny, I’m not breaking two staff rules tonight.” You wave him off and he lets out a humph sound as he sits.

A mischievous smile then moves over his face as he opens a wallet, and hands you a twenty dollar bill.

You grab it between your pointer and middle finger and eye him suspiciously, “What’s this for?”

He smiles even wider, he’d wanted you to ask. “I wanna buy my favorite bartender a drink on the last ten minutes of her shift. Is that okay?”

You smile, waltzing over to the cash register and opening a tab. If Johnny wants you to enjoy your evening, who are you to stop him from making that happen?

Forty minutes and two more drinks downed, the two of you are finally tip toeing down the cobblestone path to the pool deck.

Johnny looks over his shoulder at you with a playful glint in his eyes as he hushes you.

“Whatever happened to ‘there is no closing time, I own the place!’?” You chastise, weak fists coming in contact to the back of his shoulder.

“I- oh shit,” he says, arm flying out to stop you in your tracks, but of course you drunkenly stumble right into his arm anyways.

He’s got a focused look on his face, and his chin is tilted up as if he’s listening out for someone. The coast is clear, obviously, when Johnny begins walking now with you two side by side.

“I may have fibbed about the no rules thing.” You roll your eyes at him in the dark. Of course he lied about it, you wouldn’t be here sneaking around after sundown if he wasn’t.

“No fucking shit.” you snap, but quickly dissolve into drunk giggles when he makes an offended face at you. He’s been doing that a lot lately, making you laugh uncontrollably and feel giddy like a little girl with a crush.

“Gimme your jacket.” Johnny says and you frown, immediately shaking your head no. The evening breeze is just a little too cold for your liking.

“Come on, I gotta get the gate open.” He whines, gesturing towards the locked gate in front of you.

With another frown on your drunk face, you shimmy your athletic jacket off your shoulders and hand it to Johnny, who quickly grabs the jacket by the two arm holes creating a makeshift hook. He uses his height to his advantage (and frankly, for your visual enjoyment) to lean over the gate and Macgyver the door to open with one swift pull of the jacket over the stem of the door handle.

The view is great, you must add. His t-shirt has ridden up a bit exposing a small sliver of his midriff and seeing him use his height so smoothly is making you feel weak in the knees. You can’t help it, you’re drunk and a very attractive man is being just so manly in front of your eyes.

When the door pops open, you let out a squeal of excitement and he laughs, pushing the door open for you to step in before him.

“So that tiny fib about no rules really was a big fib, huh?” You tease as you strip off the oversized tee shirt you were using as a coverup.

It takes him a moment to respond, he’s a little distracted by the sight of your body to have heard your teasing remark.

“I— uh, sorry?” He says, bashful smile on his face as he strips out of his own tank top, and approaches you with a flirty smile on his face.

He’s close enough to touch you, but he doesn’t, and that makes your breath catch in your throat. He’s got a look on his face that you don’t recognize, and that bothers you a bit, but you brush it off.

You’re the first to run away and plunge into the deep end of the pool, your ears filling with the roaring sound of your body splitting the previously still water. Before you even have the chance to notice the cool water causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, Johnny’s jumping in after you, sending suffocating waves in your direction.

You squeal again, swatting the water towards him when he resurfaces, and running away towards the shallow end so you can stand on your flat feet.

He follows you, of course he does, and soon enough he’s standing in front of you with his whole upper body exposed above the water. You aren’t sure how you’ve never taken long enough to notice his height before, but it’s definitely on your radar now.

“Hey.” He smiles down at you, droplets of water dripping down from where they had collected on the end of his long dark hair.

“Hi,” you whisper up at him. The tension from before is here again as you stare up at him. Like before, he’s close enough to touch you, and you desperately want to feel his hands on your waist, but he doesn’t. Too afraid of what this would mean, of where you are now and where things may be going.

Fuck, you think, you might like Johnny.

You’re a simple girl with simple emotions and simple responses to those emotions. So what do you do at this realization?

Well, you splash him right in his stupid handsome face, of course.

He retaliates almost immediately by stepping back and splashing you with far more aggression than you did with him.

“Hey, you’re not playing fair!” You scream as you swat blindly at the water, too afraid to open your eyes and get water in them. You’ve already got a mouth full of chlorine from the laughing you’re doing, you don’t want the stinging feeling in your eyes too.

“You started it!” He shouts from the other side of the pool, not letting up, even for a moment, for you to breathe.

“Truce! Truce!” You call out over the noise, stumbling over your own feet below the water, gently floating back until your upper back is resting against the cold and hard concrete edge of the pool.

He begins to laugh when he sees your panicked face, moving in closer to you to tease you up close.

“Man, you fucking destroyed me. How can someone be good at splashing water?” You exclaim, defeated.

A smile is still on his face as he slowly takes a couple extra steps into your space.

“Tennis, baby.” He says, exaggerating his point by mimicking a down swing, hand dipping below the water and splashing up at you again.

You let out a screech, “I called a truce!”

He just chuckles, hands coming up in defense as he steps in closer with a playful look on his face. His eyes dip down to the cleavage exposed by your bikini top, only for a moment, before flicking up to look into your (still panicked) eyes.

He doesn’t say anything as he reaches his destination, toes almost touching below the water. His hands come up on either side of you to rest on the edge of the pool, your faces nearly inches apart. If the cold water of the pool hadn’t cooled you off so much, you’d be blushing like crazy. Your heartbeat does pick up again as he looks down at you.

Is he about to kiss you? He looks like he wants to, and you aren’t sure if you’d have the willpower to stop him if he tried.

Jaehyun crosses your mind at that moment. Sure, you aren’t official, but you think you'd like to be. How would he feel knowing you’re having a late night crime date with the wealthy son of your boss?

With the unmistakable look of want that flashes across Johnny’s eyes, you feel yourself begin to crumble. If you had wanted your brain to go back to Jaehyun in this moment you aren’t sure you’d be able to, too entranced under Johnny's spell. How can you still smell his woody cologne even after he got wet? Maybe that’s just his natural scent. The prospect of that being true sparks a fire of desire in your belly.

He’s leaning in now, figuring he had given you enough opportunities to push him off and away from you.

Of course, as if the universe is sending you a message, you hear another voice pierce through and pop the bubble you’ve created with Johnny.

“Hey, what’s going on in there!”

—

You haven’t been able to get last night off your mind, pulling all of your best distraction techniques out.

You tried to speak to Doyoung, but he had told you that your credits for emotional support friend had run out for the month, so that was a bust. You had tried to focus on work, but today was slow with the weekend just around the corner. You had even resorted to scrolling on Instagram, but then an ad for a pool cleaning company had come up, and your brain went straight back to the almost-kiss that you and Johnny nearly shared.

You hadn’t tried one thing though, but you think it would be a pretty shitty method.

Fuck it, you think, Johnny had left you wanting the company of a warm body and you know just the person to text.

Y/N: hey

Y/N: its been a min

You sit anxiously, biting at your freshly done manicure. This was one way to get your mind off of him, overwhelming anxiety and anticipation.

Jaehyun: ik lol sorry. u kno how work gets

Thank God, you think as you type out your next message.

Y/N: can i come over tn? i wanna hang out.

He responds almost immediately. He knew exactly what you were asking him for.

Jaehyun: ya. see u then ;)

Having the plans solidified with Jaehyun doesn’t feel the way you had originally thought they would, a sneaking feeling of guilt coming up over you.

What’s gotten into you? It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten who you’re pursuing.

It’s still Jaehyun, right?

It must be, since he’s the guy who you’ve been going out with for weeks, and have cried endless tears over. Johnny is just a friend. A friend who almost kissed you last night, but ultimately just a friend. You shouldn’t feel guilty for continuing to pursue Jaehyun, he’s the guy you want.

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

—

The sky is dark when you finally pull up to parallel park in front of Jaehyun’s house. You’re nervous for some reason, your palms slick against your steering wheel. It’s even more embarrassing that you didn’t have time after work to change, so you’re sitting in your usual white tennis skirt and club branded polo shirt.

You can hear shouts when you first approach the door, the noise startling you so bad you question if going inside is even the right choice. You decide the best call is to just text him that you’ve arrived.

Almost immediately after you hit send, you hear a loud hushing sound and a voice whisper-shout, “Shut the fuck up! Haechan, shut the fuck up. I have someone at the door.” and then a chorus of teasing “ooh”’s from the other voices.

It makes you smile at the boyish charm of Jaehyun caring, and that’s how he finds you when he opens the door. He’s barefoot and wearing grey sweatpants and a white tee shirt with a stretched out neckline from years of wear. His hair is wet, and his eyes are drooping like he had been smoking.

“Hey, babe.” He says and invites you into the now quiet home. You follow him down the dark hallway until you finally see on your left is a living room full of 6 men, all splayed out on different mismatched pieces of furniture, some MMA fight playing on the TV. The stale scent of marijuana lingers in the air, reinforced by the big blue and green water marble design bong on the coffee table.

“We’ll be in my room.” Jaehyun addresses the crowd, and a loud response of ooh’s and laughter get thrown in your direction. Jaehyun pushes you gently towards the hallway to the right of you, and you hear snickering from Jaehyun and more hushed whispers.

“Ignore them, they’re fucking weird.” Jaehyun whispers in your ear from behind. You can’t help but agree, but wonder if he has the self awareness to know that he’s acting just as weird as they are.

His room looks exactly how you expected it to, with a king sized mattress sitting atop a tall box spring on the floor directly adjacent to the door, a dresser across from the bed with some Netflix show quietly playing on the large TV. There’s purple LED lights stuck unevenly to the perimeter of the walls.

From the moment that the door is shut and locked, his hands are low on your hips. Your heartbeat picks up in speed at the contact, turning around to face him.

“Hi.” He says, smug smile on his face as he leans down to kiss you. It’s a gentle peck, and it makes a blush creep up and land on your cheeks. You hope the dim lighting hides your color.

“Hey, it’s been a while huh?” You jab, hands coming up to rest the palms of your hands against his firm pecs. You can feel his heartbeat through your left hand, it’s steady and slow cadence contrasting to your fast and hard heartbeat.

He raises one eyebrow at you, his hand trailing down to grab at your ass, “Come on baby,” he growls out before nudging his way into your neck to press a warm kiss to the space next to your carotid artery. “Don’t be like that. You know I’m busy.”

You melt at the feeling of his tongue poking out and licking a small stripe up your neck, sucking in the skin immediately after.

Confusingly, Johnny crosses your mind, and the idea of him seeing you with a hickey on your neck embarrasses you so bad that you tell Jaehyun not to mark you.

“Boring, but okay.” Is all he says before grabbing you by your hand and leading you to lie down on his bed.

You’re putty in his hands the moment he has you both naked. His skillful hands, mouth, and dick take you down like you’ve never been taken before. You’ve never moaned that loud or experienced such pleasure at the hands of a man. It’s so good, it makes you wonder why you didn’t do this earlier, but then you remember that he’s never invited you over before.

He’s never wanted you here before now. That must mean something, right? That he waited until after you had already gotten to know one another before having sex with you?

That means he likes you and wants to take you seriously, right?

In the afterglow of your orgasm, your head lies uncomfortably on Jaehyun’s bare chest. You make quiet and unfamiliar chit chat with Jaehyun until you’ve both caught your breaths.

Although you just had the best orgasm of your life, the post-nut clarity is hitting you like a bus, his hands feeling too foreign around your body, now suddenly hyper aware of the smeared remains of cum on your back drying down.

“Hey, uh, I hate to be that guy but I have a really early meeting at work tomorrow so,” he says, cold hands tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Oh,” is all you say, suddenly feeling far too embarrassed of your naked body in front of the man, “do you want me to leave?”

He just frowns and takes a moment to read the look between your eyes before sighing loudly and looking away, his focus now taken by Money Heist playing on the TV near the foot of his bed.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he lies and you can see right through it with the way his arms are slowly letting go of you, and how he won’t look you in the eyes.

“I just have work, baby. You get it right?” He says, and you have no choice but to nod silently, ignoring the deep sting in your chest and the tightness in your throat. It’s odd that although the one thing you want to do is run, him asking you to leave makes it hurt.

You get dressed quickly and awkwardly as he lies on the bed, fishing a vape out from his bedside table drawer and taking a few big hits, eyes staring straight ahead at the TV.

“I’m gonna go now.” You whisper, one hand on the door in a silent beg that he would hurry up and get dressed to walk you to the door.

He looks over at you, charming smile on his face as he sits up and awkwardly crawls across his bed to sit on the edge in front of you, his soft dick on display. You’d find him pathetic if you weren’t under him five minutes ago.

He leans in and places a hard and emotionless kiss to your lips. His kisses now feel nothing like they did earlier today, and you wonder if post-nut clarity could really be this powerful.

“I’ll see you.” He says, eyes scanning your body up and down.

You roll your eyes the moment you’re not facing him, and walk straight out his front door, ignoring the whoops and hollers from his roommates who definitely heard you and Jaehyun.

None of them seem to mind that you’re unaccompanied, or as if they were expecting anything different. Then again, why should they care? Jaehyun never introduced you to them.

When you finally slide into the drivers side of your car, and your cold and wet panties make uncomfortable contact with the inside of your upper left thigh, the sensation alone is enough to make you burst into hot tears.

Later that evening when you’re lying in bed after a long, hot shower and a motivational phone call with Yerim, you send him a text.

Y/N: we shouldn’t see each other anymore.

Read: 2:46AM

—

Johnny finds you the next day crouching behind the bar with your forehead in your hands. You didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night, and you’re feeling hungover after the whirlwind of confusing emotions you’ve felt over the last couple of days.

“Tough shift?” He says, eyes glimmering with amusement as he looks down at you hiding behind the bar.

“The worst.” You say, standing up straight and grabbing a glass to make him his usual drink.

“Wait,” he says, hand grabbing your wrist as you go to pour the soda in the iced glass.

“I have something that might chill you out. Wanna join me when your shift is up?” He says and you smile, reading right through his invitation and nodding with an appreciative smile on your face.

The “thing”, of course, is a perfectly rolled joint. You can’t help yourself but smile at his playful look as he presents it to you as you both sit in the front seat of some random golf cart overlooking the sunset as it falls down over the man-made lake that is central to the entire property.

He sparks it up for you in the way only a gentleman does, laughing at your antics when you pinch your fingers in a silly way to urge him to pass the joint onto you.

After a couple of passes back and forth in silence, only the whooshing sound of the breeze and the occasional tapping sound in the background as golfers across the way tee off, Johnny opens the conversation.

“So, miss Y/N,” you ignore the butterflies that erupt when he says your name in that way, “what made today so difficult?”

Ah, that. Your fuzzy brain thinks. You aren’t quite sure yet if you’re ready to divulge the details of your failed fling to your blooming crush, but you know what they say, intoxicated words are sober thoughts. And he’s right here offering to listen in a way that your friends are too fed up with you to listen to anymore, so you decide to tell him.

“I broke things off with a guy I’ve been seeing for a while.” You decide to keep it short and leave out all the embarrassing details.

“Ah,” he says as he stretches out, his arm coming to rest on the seat back behind you, deciding to let the joint die out. His arm is not around your shoulder, but a part of you really wishes it was.

“He sounds like an idiot.” He says, eyes drooping as he gives you a silly high smile.

You scoff, “He’s not an idiot for not wanting me.” He’s an idiot for other reasons, but you aren’t willing to share that just yet.

Johnny looks away from you and back out to the sunset, “Nah, he really really is. You’re a catch.”

The butterflies in your belly erupt as you swallow, staring at the side of his face with no thoughts of what to say next crossing your mind.

“Thanks.” Is what you finally croak out, reaching for the dead joint sitting on the short dashboard in front of you. When you lean back to light the joint, there’s something blocking your back from hitting the seat.

You look over at Johnny, your shoulders brushing his elbow and forearm from behind you. He smirks and gives you a side eye before snaking his arm up so that it rests across your shoulder. You don’t say anything at the new warmth and weight of his arm on you, so you just smile into the joint as you bring the lighter up to the end.

Johnny clearly isn’t reconciled with your conversation, so he continues with his compliments. He's hoping with everything in him that you pick up on his hints so he doesn’t need to continue to be so bold.

“You deserve a guy that’s gonna stick around.” He says, grabbing the newly lit joint from your fingers.

You scoff once more, scooting over to be a little closer to him on the seat as he takes a long drag, letting the slight spring breeze carry the smoke away out of his lips as he exhales.

“Try just a guy to stick.” You say with a dry chuckle, “we weren’t even official.”

Johnny hums and nods his head in understanding, passing the joint back to you.

“You fuck him?” He asks, and you choke on your hit. Coughing out the smoke in an unattractive spittle.

“What did you say?” You ask, now facing Johnny fully in the seat, staring between his pink and spacey eyes.

“I asked if you had slept with him.” Johnny nods, speaking slower than before. He looks as if this comment is no big deal to him, like this is casual conversation between you two.

Before you even think about it, you feel the flirty words leave your lips, “And if I did?”

His eyebrows raise as he grins at you, suppressing a laugh. He had gotten exactly what he wanted, “Was it good?”

You break eye contact this time, looking over the lake, “Maybe.” You shrug.

“See that explains why a stunning girl like you would stay with a loser like him.”

You say nothing in response, choosing to stare ahead at the golfers across the lake, the oldest gentleman of the pack teeing up his very poor shot.

Johnny takes a pause before speaking an unwelcome comment, “You need a guy that’ll stick around and dick you down.”

You scoff out another laugh, looking at him again with a disbelieving stare.

“Oh yeah? Where would I find that.” You spit the last word with bitterness, head falling to look at the hangnail you had been picking at between passes of the joint.

“Here, actually.” You stare at him in shock before he clarifies further,

“Like... me. I’m offering myself up. Only if you want, I mean.”

It takes you a minute to process what he says before it finally hits you, and it hits you hard.

You’re usually the overthinking type, if that wasn’t obvious enough, but for the first time in your life you decide to finally make an impulsive decision. You owe it to yourself and your vagina, you figure.

When your lips hit his, it takes him a moment to process what you had just done, but soon enough he’s kissing you back with a passion that makes you moan embarrassingly against his lips. He’s a soft, yet passionate kisser, allowing you to show him the ropes before taking the lead and kissing you exactly how he likes.

He’s also a surprisingly dry kisser, choosing to wait longer than you usually would to use his tongue on you. Even after a couple of flirty swipes of your tongue across his bottom lip he doesn’t give in, choosing to show you his softer side first with the slow and meaningful passes of his lips over yours.

It’s like a switch gets flipped when he does finally decide to allow your tongue to enter his mouth. He grabs you instantly by the back of your neck and waist, and pull you closer into him as your tongues dance. You moan, feeling like putty already in his hold. You’re far too overwhelmed by the feeling of the best kiss you’ve ever been given to be even tempted to touch him yet, your hands sitting prettily around his neck, allowing the pressure and the closeness to be decided by him.

His hands fumble a moment before they find your hips, moving gently over your ass to grab a hold of the back of your upper thighs to situate you on his lap. The change in position gives you an opportunity to lean back and steal a look at the man beneath you.

When you had first met Johnny you had initially only recognized his handsomeness and not much else. That’s how it began, attraction and nothing more. Overtime, however, you’ve gotten to actually know more about Johnny than his regular drink order at the bar, and what began as a simple attraction slowly grew into genuine interest. So by being here, in the lap of the man that you’re interested in, aren’t you repeating same old mistakes?

Are you repeating the same mistakes you made with Jaehyun?

“Baby,” Johnny says, reading your expression after you had stared at him for a little too long.

You hum in response, still a bit caught up in your head.

“I’m not just trying to hook up here. Do you know that?” He says, hands leaving your ass to rest gently on your waist. You frown in response, shaking your head ‘no’ to his question.

“I told you before, you need a guy who can dick you down and stick around. I wanna stick around.” He says, an embarrassed smile resting on his pink cheeks.

“What?” You say in response, and he just lets his head fall back against the seat in frustration.

“I like you, okay?” Your jaw drops, “and I also want to fuck you right now. So can we do that?” You laugh in response, fingers threading to hold him by the back of his neck, leaning him slightly into you.

“We can definitely go do that.” You giggle and he quickly smiles, leaning up to press a quick peck to your lips before swiftly (and awkwardly) moving you off of him so he can start up the golf cart and drive you both, as quickly as possible, back to the lobby of the country club.

—

Johnny doesn't give you long to take in the sight of his luxury apartment before his lips are on yours again. He has the same passion from before, but slightly elevated. Like he had worked himself up on the drive over.

When he picks you up, and tosses you lightly down on his plush leather sofa, you notice something. The absence of purple lights. When Johnny later picks you up and carries you to his bedroom, you make another note. A bed with a bed frame and headboard.

When you both reach your peaks of pleasure, you don't feel regretful and dirty, you feel alive. When you step into the granite tiled shower, you don't feel gross, you feel giddy when he joins you. When you fall asleep with your head on his chest, you don't dream of Jaehyun, you see flashes of Johnny.

—

The next morning when Johnny walks you out to your car, kisses you on the forehead, and tells you to text him when you get home, an unmistakable feeling washes over you.

The overwhelming feeling of something very big, and important beginning.

Jaehyun’s reaction to finding out about Johnny and Y/N

a/n: sorry there’s no actual smut, I decided at the last minute to drop both sex scenes for the overall plot and flow. if you’d like me to post the sex scenes as one shots lmk and I’ll get on it! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated :)

taglist: @dazzlingsya @oopstoshi @neolovely @hopefulchick @thysrs @oimqrks @lydinews @xiaomeilovespizza @got-sum-badhabits @inbluehour @shiningnono @soonnypeach @onlyrosyjohnny @reader221 @matchahyuck @9763vill @svntdream @johnbananaa-blogg @multifandombtvhh @jeonwonuniverse @justineasian

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whalesforhands · 10 months

Text

chew your regret (geto x reader x gojo) pt.3

previous masterlist next

warnings: no fluff here folks, just suffering. gore mentions.

“Suguru?” The man let out a laugh, throwing his head back as the sun shone down on him. “He’s my best friend. My one and only.” A boisterous exclamation.

“Ah, Satoru?” He smiled, gentle, soft and affectionate. The moonlight bathed him in an ethereal glow. “In this world, there is definitely no other like him.” A serene confirmation.

“After all, we’re the strongest.”

There was a ‘we’, a ‘they’. In those conversations you’ve had, there was no ‘you’.

Maybe there never was.

No matter how you view it, Satoru and Suguru were made for each other. They loved the other in a way only they could ever understand, a love so deep it transcends meaning.

How could you ever have thought you’d be able to fit in a puzzle that never required you?

You should never have coveted what was never yours to have.

You feel the marks on your neck sear, the aftermath of your little session with the two boys. They glowed an angry red, the beginnings of the hickeys starting to mar your nape as you wince slightly at the soreness.

You floated around in a domain, eyes blank and empty as you thought and thought and thought, mind racing back to the times of your first significant memories of the duo.

Your breaths uneven as you heaved, the heavy stench of blood filling your nostrils as you shook. Your knees, scraped. Your leg having had had an arrow pierced, embedded into your flesh. You’re in pain.

It was a Grade 1 curse. What was supposed to be a straightforward, simple exorcism of the appearance of a few Grade 3 curses, your second ever solo mission, had soon taken a sharp turn.

You screamed as you felt the curse’s hands snap your arm, your staff laying on the ground, broken and useless much like your hand.

You heard the damned thing snicker, laugh at your pain as you struggled to maintain your vision. To stay awake. Stay alive. You can’t die. Not when you saw the young girl cowering behind the pillar you had hidden her in.

“Hehehe! You sorcerers are a joke!” It taunted, it’s hand gripping painfully tight around your torso, making you wince as you felt one of your ribs give.

“Oh? Not going to scream again? Perhaps I should break something else?” It squeezed tighter, it’s disgusting tentacles wrapping around you as it’s jaw began to unhinge, revealing a red, slime covered mouth, rows of yellowed, misshapen teeth and a sliced tongue. You felt bile and blood rise in your throat, desperate to fight off the pain. Desperate to fight back. You can’t be eaten here. Your vision was white hot, your broken arm feeling limp and useless at your side.

You heard a cackle.

Tchak! “Let the lady go, you ugly monster!” A small rock was thrown at the monstrous curse’s head.

No. No no no no nonnonono You felt yourself be thrown into a concrete wall, your back taking the brunt of it as you clawed at the wall with your good hand for support.

Stand up. Stand up stand up stand up.

“And what do we have here?” You heard the curse hum, it’s slimy appendages moving further and further from you. Towards the innocent civilian you were protecting.

Shit. You can’t see. The blood was rushing to your head. Your heart pounding at a mile per minute.

Your vision is gone.

You heard more screams. Your legs burned as you forced yourself up. Your eyes closed as you channeled your cursed energy.

Get the focus off the girl. You may not be able to physically see the curse with your current state, but you sure as hell can sense it.

You focus. Focus and focused and focused, a blast of your pure cursed energy surrounding itself around the girl, who was running for her life towards you as she screamed and begged for help.

You want to keep her safe. You promised, afterall.

Your mind steeled, your cursed technique activating as it formed a barrier around her just in time as the curse reared one of its ugly tendrils, forming a spike at the end as it readied to plunge through the civilian’s skull.

The tendril bounced back, burnt to a crisp by your cursed energy as the protective barrier burned, shined bright within the dark compounds of the abandoned car park.

The curse giggled. “You think that measly shield is going to stop ME?” It clawed and clawed at the barrier, the little girl curling into a ball in on herself as she cried and begged for it to be over.

The curse was futile in its attempts. You can’t break a promise. You steadied your breathing, your hair a mess and blood trailing from your face as you shakily held your broken staff in your good hand, your good elbow bracing yourself against the wall for support.

“Come…” You heaved. “Get me, you ugly bitch.”

It reared its grotesque head towards you.

“I should’ve finished you off first, sorcerer!” It broke into a run towards you, screaming agonized threats. “You’re going to wish you died just now!”

You hope your shield holds. This is your end. You can’t fight anymore. The last remaining remnants of your cursed energy flicker uselessly on your staff, dying out as you prepared for death to take you.

You failed. Failed to accomplish your mission. Failed. Failed failed failed failed failed

“Oops.” A strong wind blows in your face, the curse incinerated with one strong blast, with no milliseconds left for it to even think about its final words. “Suguru would’ve called that overkill.”

Gojo Satoru has made his entrance.

You never felt such relief, your knees collapsing where they stood as the chosen one stepped before you.

He took one look at the young civilian girl that had fainted from overwhelming fear, your cursed energy still glowing bright around her, before turning his judgmental gaze towards you.

“That was weak.” You know. “That all it took for you to get in this state?” You tried.

You couldn’t even answer him, your body burning in pain as you struggled to stay alive.

“Gotta hand it to ya, though.” You felt his presence near you, hearing him squat down to be eye level with you, his bones creaking slightly. “Pretty stupidly brave of you to sacrifice your last pitiful reserves of cursed energy on ‘er. Respect.”

You think you felt your heart throb at the compliment, before you passed out.

—

You sat within the confines of your hospital room, aimlessly staring out the window. The bandages encased almost your entire body, your cast heavy as you looked into the outside world with one eye.

(The other was tucked away behind an eyepatch to speed up recovery. Apparently, using reverse cursed technique on you in your sensitive state would cause you to potentially implode. Gonna have to wait a while before you could receive that treatment.)

You smile down at the signature Gojo had left on your cast, a crude drawing of what was meant to be him winking and sticking his tongue out.

(“You don’t have any other friends anyway. I can sign it as big as I like!”)

Beside it, was Shoko’s sign. A small message to you to recover quicker, cause being left to the two menaces was driving her insane, and she missed you so much.

(“I missed you.” She whined out, plopping her head onto your lap as you sat upright on the propped up pillow. Her short auburn hair obscured her eyes as she stared up at you, a pout on her pretty lips.)

“Please excuse me.” The hinges of the door squeaking slightly as they were opened.

Suguru was finally here. You’d didn’t think he cared enough about you to come.

“Ah, Geto-san.” You tried to bow in greeting, wincing when you were only able to bend forward awkwardly due to the pain and stiffness of the bandages as you met his eyes. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

“It’s nothing.” Suguru bowed back politely, a small bag of what he had seen you snack on during breaks in his hand.

(They were bought at the supermarket nearby after he decided it was rude to visit a hospitalized classmate without something. He’s better than Gojo.)

“I’ve come with some gifts.”

—

Suguru sat upon a chair at the side of your bed, lazily leaned back on the chair as a leg crossed over the other, hearing you fumbling with the plastic bag with your one good hand.

He broke the silence.

“Satoru told me about your mission.” He pauses, before smiling. “He’s been non-stop whining about having to fill in that report in place of you.”

(Gojo would’ve never written that report if it wasn’t for you.)

You let out a polite laugh. “I suppose I should thank him accordingly after I’m discharged, then.”

Suguru stays silent, watching, observing you.

“Were you actually going to let yourself die, trying to save that little girl?”

You stay silent, your one eye cast down towards the scratchy sheets of your bed. You don’t hesitate with your reply.

“I think protecting those who can’t protect themselves is a noble thing.”

“Even at the expense of your own life?” He cocked a curious brow.

You smiled. Genuine, soft and melancholic.

“Even then.” You direct your gaze towards him, looking him straight in the eye. “If not us, who else?”

Geto smiled. “You’re pretty strong, huh?”

——

You drift endlessly in the confines of your cursed space. You don’t think you could even forget them if you tried.

You think you’d curse yourself to remember them even in your death.

If- If all they wanted was your physical being… That’s okay, right?

You’re okay with that. Right? It’s all you can offer the two who had everything. The two who your heart hopelessly longed for.

Fate has cursed you to love.

And you’re going to accept it, wholeheartedly and in all its cruelty. You’re going to take it, cling onto the hope that they could ever love you, take and love and love and love, then die. No matter the pain.

That was just your fate, right?

masterlist next

Notes:

Gojo thinks it’s amazing that you push on through again and again, despite your weak self. Putting others before yourself is something he isn’t used to seeing, and he’s so intrigued by your weird kindness. You never stop smiling either.

Geto thinks your strength is admirable. You were clearly weak and struggling to nurture your cursed technique, you should’ve given up long ago. You don’t possess any talent. But you didn’t give up at all. Cool.

The hospital was the first time you had ever properly met eyes with Geto. He didn’t expect your one good eye to be so sparkly and full of life. You looked cute.

Your cursed technique is pretty simple. It’s more defensive than anything. A technique that allows you to make barriers, walls and transport you to void of empty space. The void is not your domain. Only you can get in and out of it.

Unfortunately for you, you crushed on Gojo first.

#geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #whalewrites #getou suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #dyf au

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givemea-dam-break · 4 months

Text

daughters of the evening

⭒⭒⭒⭒ in which luke’s descent from good may be found.

pairing: luke castellan x (fem) reader

a/n: hey guys!! first fic in a while and i know, i know, pjo book readers are disappointed in me… but i’m just a girl! i’m literally just a girl! please enjoy my brain baby i love her :) i love writing quests so much, so this was really nice to write for my first fic back on tumblr. i hope you guys enjoy! if anybody wants to be added to my pjo taglist, let me know!

warnings: canon typical violence, book spoilers, blood/injury description, rusty writing

words: 5.8K ⭒⭒⭒⭒

(y/n) couldn’t remember when the change in Luke became permanent.

She could remember the hints of something at the corners of his eyes, something that bit at the happiness that filled them, eating away at it like rot on wood. She could remember the slow decline in his respect for his father, respect that had barely been there for years, though was now bridging on outright disrespect.

She could remember the crux of it all, the very moment in which all of the little things began to coalesce into something ugly. A flash of claws, the deep scarlet of mortal blood followed by shimmering gold ichor. The horrible sound of screaming. Gleaming fruits of gold. Gorgeous, blooming green trees towering above them that concealed the violence below.

It was after the quest that Luke, her Luke, was never the same.

⭒⭒

“I don’t remember San Francisco looking like this.”

Luke’s lips curled into a smile. “You’ve never been to San Francisco.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen it in movies through which I have lived vicariously. It’s in one of the Indiana Jones’s, right? Looks different.”

“Those movies are from the eighties,” Luke said. “So, yeah, it’s going to look different.”

Charles Beckendorf, their questmate, heaved a sigh. “Do you guys ever stop?”

“Stop what?” (y/n) asked.

“Being annoying? Flirting? Whatever you want to call it.”

Her face felt awfully hot and she found herself unable to even look in Luke’s general direction. It was a comment that had been made many times in the past, one she was sure Luke was sick to death of, but she found herself yearning for comments like it. They meant that maybe she wasn’t dreaming up something between them.

Either way, she didn’t acknowledge it, rather stuffing her hand into her unzipped backpack and scrounging around until finally she found what she wanted. With a dramatic flair, she revealed three paper maps, each embellished with their names written in colourful pen at the top.

A moment of silence, then Luke said, “Why do we need a map each? Can’t we just share? And where did you even get those?”

“I got them back in Salt Lake City, before we happened upon that massive crab, you remember the one? All blue and slimy.” She pressed the maps into their hands. “There are multiple because knowing you both, you’ll lose them and I’m not buying any more. But, look! They’re colour-coded. Green for me because, duh, Demeter. Orange for Beckendorf, red for you. We can at least make this quest for some stupid apples interesting.”

Beckendorf raised a brow, giving her a strange look. “With glittery gel pen?”

“Glittery gel pen makes everything better,” she insisted. “I’m glad you acknowledge that. Now, come on. With all this talking you two have been doing, we don’t have much time to spare. You’re like a pair of gossiping grannies.”

The two shared a look over her head, one they thought she didn’t see, but it only made her hold back a laugh. They were a relatively upbeat group as it was, but she prided herself on keeping the mood light, especially when danger was looming. With the might of glittery gel pens, a travel-size game of Monopoly, and a cheesy puns book they had picked up off the side of the road, they would be unstoppable should their enemies need a good laugh.

It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of what was ahead of them that she felt the need to joke around, it was just her regular nerves. The three of them were experienced and powerful demigods, skilled fighters and strategists, the best of the best. Luke had his immense skill with a sword and the mind of a trickster; Beckendorf had the brains and strength of a blacksmith, and could sense a trap a mile away and disarm it in moments; (y/n) herself was a powerful daughter of Demeter and, though not to the standard of Luke, was also skilled with a sword.

They hadn’t faced much trouble before. They were a tried-and-tested trio, having been on multiple quests together in the past and finding themselves working well together.

This time, it seemed like a match made by the Fates. A quest ordained by Hermes, Luke’s father, to retrieve the Apples of Immortality from the Garden of the Hesperides - gardens and plants being the domain of Demeter and, by extension, (y/n). And, no doubt, there would be many traps or the need for a strong mind, hence Beckendorf. He was a year or two younger than she and Luke, but had proved himself upon countless occasions. She trusted him with her life.

Almost a week now they’d been on this quest, and still she felt like a giddy child. Almost seventeen and, at her big age, she was holding back smiles and giggles befitting of a schoolgirl with a crush. Part of it was gratefulness that a demigod such as Luke had chosen her to join him on this quest, even after being friends for years and having gone on numerous quests together already. Part of it was simply that she was madly in love with the boy.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then, watching the way the afternoon sun gleamed on his face, setting his dark eyes alight with flame. There was a curious smile on his lips, one that concealed mischief and intelligence; one she had loved for as long as she could remember. His hair was messy after days of travelling and not bothering to fuss with it - she dreaded to think of what her own looked like, the only mirror she had being her sword - but there was something so extremely endearing about it. Wild curls that gave his lightly-freckled face even more life.

Their maps didn’t help their hunt for the Garden an awful lot. For what had to have been at least two hours, they stumbled around the city, turning this way and that, earning odd looks from strangers.

“For being the son of the god of travellers,” (y/n) said, “you are horrendous at reading a map.”

Luke gave her a nudge with his elbow as he scanned the map. He was grinning. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. “Maps make sense enough, but I think these ones are out of date.”

“Maps don’t go out of date, stupid.”

Beckendorf was holding back a smile. “I think he’s right. I think our maps are too old.”

(y/n) glowered at them, plucking their maps from their hands. Fine. They didn’t deserve to hold maps graced with her glittery gel pens anyways.

“Well,” she said. “Unless either of you have any ideas, we’re going to be stuck wandering for hours. Come on, Luke. Use your magicky journey powers. They got us this far.”

His eyes shone, and her knees felt a little weak. She loved it when he looked at her like that, when she had said something funny. It was as though the heavens themselves had descended and flooded his face with light and beauty. She couldn’t look away.

“It’s a big garden,” he retorted. “Find the big garden, daughter of the mighty Demeter!”

She knew he meant it as a joke - the sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice - but there was something in his tone that she couldn’t identify. Something deeper than a simple sarcastic comment. This had been a pity quest, of sorts, she knew. Luke had been getting restless and his father had wanted to satiate him, but it wasn’t enough. He was displeased with the gods, to say the least.

But he kept a good lock on his expressions, on his words. She wouldn’t have suspected a thing had she not known him as well as she knew the feeling of grass beneath her feet.

Eventually, combining their powers and the single brain cell that seemed to be taken by Beckendorf, they found their way to the Mount Tamalpais State Park, which was not open to visitors now that the sun was setting.

They stared up at the distant mountain, the sloping greenland and towering trees that led towards it, and heaved a synonymous groan. Quests could never be even slightly easy, it seemed. Why would the gods let them head to a random park in the city when they could have them trespassing in a state park at night, lives in the hands of the monsters and animals alike that roamed the woods? The gods would rather have them arrested than have something be easy.

“You’re kidding, right?” Beckendorf said. “We don’t have to walk all that way?”

(y/n) frowned. She wished more than anything that they could just turn around and leave, a feeling she did not often get on quests. But something didn’t feel right. There was a twist in her gut, a deep intuition that told her something was going to go wrong.

But her gut was also pulling her towards the mountain. There was a power there, unlike any she had felt before, and she wanted to know what it was.

“We’ll be fine,” she insisted, though she didn’t feel entirely sure herself.

She was the first to make the step towards their darkening fates. If she had known the outcome, she would have turned and fled immediately.

The three of them trudged up the path, flicking on torches when the sky grew darker and the ground in front of them too hard to see. It gave them an eerie glow, entirely unlike the warm glow of their weapons. All of their features were in stark contrast to the dark surroundings; Luke’s cheekbones, Beckendorf’s eyes, her brownbone. It was disconcerting, and it felt all too much like they were the lead characters in a ghost story.

She was considering turning back about halfway there. The tug in her gut was becoming stronger, almost unbearable, and her head was pounding, filled with the worry of the possible incidents that had not happened yet.

The only thing that kept her going was Luke’s pinky finger wrapped around hers.

Maybe he felt her nerves, so acute that she feared her sinews and tendons and bones could snap at any moment. But Luke knew her. He had known her since they were barely teenagers. He knew her better than she knew herself: every habit she had; every face she made; every hint of a feeling before she knew it was coming. He had some deep understanding of her, one that would have made her feel vulnerable in any other situation with any other person. Luke was not any other person.

His pinky was wrapped around hers tightly, warmer than the rest of her body put together. It curled around hers just so, acknowledging her worry. His jacket sleeve brushed hers.

It wasn’t until they reached the Garden at the foot of the mountain that his hand wrapped around hers fully, encasing it entirely in warmth and comfort. His palms were calloused, fingers ribbed with light scars, but she could not imagine it any other way.

The Garden of the Hesperides was easily the most beautiful place she had ever seen and was likely the most beautiful place she would ever see. Stars hung above them in the night sky, glittering so brightly it was as though they could reach out and touch them with their outstretched fingers. Lush green grass coated the ground beneath their feet and beyond, speckled with flowers so bright they almost glowed in the dark. It was bristling with life, so full of it that (y/n) could feel it all deep in her bones.

But the source of the power lay further afield.

A tree, much taller than the rest, stood at the centre of the garden, boasting more golden apples than (y/n) could count. Its branches swayed in the faint breeze in mesmerising swoops, and the scent of fresh fruit laced with something that could only be described as addictive brushed over them. A faint mist swirled around the trunk of the tree, glittering slightly in the moonlight.

“Holy Hephaestus,” Beckendorf murmured, slack-jawed.

“That’s one big tree,” Luke said.

“You certainly have a way with words,” (y/n) said.

His hand only squeezed hers in response. She could feel his heartbeat in his wrist. How was it so steady?

There was a shift in the wind, then, and a soft bite came into the air. Goosebumps prickled the skin of their arms, raising the hair there. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she swore she could hear the faintest lull of singing voices and could feel the weight of some large presence in the air. Nothing could be seen but the beautiful garden and the decadent tree in the centre.

“Luke Castellan,” said a soft voice. Luke visibly tensed, eyes narrowing at the usage of his surname. “(y/n) (l/n). Charles Beckendorf. We have been expecting you in our Garden for quite some time now.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. But, finally, after a few moments, the speaker emerged from the fine mist.

She didn’t look like much, appearing to be barely older than (y/n), but there was something about her surrounding aura that suggested she was much, much older. Dark, inky hair tumbled over narrow tawny shoulders, framing even darker eyes that shone with unknown magic. The woman seemed to blink slowly, as if bored or tired, and it looked as though she were merely floating over the ground rather than walking. It was hard to tell. Her Greek chiton covered her feet.

“We are the Hesperides,” she said, voice ever gentle, as four more women appeared, each almost identical in appearance. “Daughters of the Evening. Nymphs of the Sunset. Protectors of this Garden. What is your business here?”

There was a cockiness to Luke’s smile then, one that had (y/n) on edge. “If you’ve been expecting us, then surely you know our business.”

The lead Hesperide drew nearer, stopping a few feet away from their trio. Her sisters gathered at her sides, dark eyes sparkling with stars and cold curiosity and something overtly bitter. The demigods were clearly unwelcome here, but they intended to make a game of their quest.

(y/n)’s hand squeezed Luke’s in warning. He spared her a glance, her heart drawing still when his warm eyes met hers. His chin dipped slightly in a nod, and he gave her hand a squeeze before turning his attention back to the Hesperides.

“We’ve been sent here on a quest by my father Hermes,” Luke announced. His voice held more confidence than she felt. “We’re here to retrieve a golden apple.”

It was strange watching the Hesperides’ heads tilt in unison as if they were each an extension of the other. Voices lulled around them, soft and gentle, and the worry seeped from her very bones. Her hand fell from Luke’s. Something felt strangely at ease in her stomach despite their circumstances.

“You may try,” said the lead Hesperide. Her skin glimmered like marble in the moonlight. “Our dearest Ladon protects this tree with his life. He does not sleep. Every second of every day, he guards our gift from Gaea, the goddess Hera’s wedding gift. Do not think it will be easy to pass him.”

The Hesperides seemed to fade into the mist, then, their bodies becoming light and transparent as they slowly backed away until nothing was left but the faint singing swirling around them. The voices gave (y/n) a strange feeling, as though pulling her towards the tree.

“Who’s Ladon?” Beckendorf asked.

The three of them stood for a moment, watching the swirling mist.

“A dragon,” (y/n) said. “A big dragon.”

She could feel his presence, she realised. The heavy weight that had settled over them upon entering the Garden, it couldn’t be anything else. Even still, she could feel him through the ground, like an impending sense of death and doom. She’d had similar feelings before, an innate knowledge that the strawberry fields were close to wilting one year. Campers had called her crazy, but she knew. The earth knew.

And it knew now. She was horribly aware of the heaviness in her gut that surrounded the bright power of the apple tree. It could be nothing but Ladon.

“Any ideas, Luke?” she asked. “You’re our idea guy.”

He scoffed. “Since when? You’ve been dragging us around by our ears this entire quest.”

But he could see the nerves that she felt. He knew how strange this was for her, to feel so deeply worried about a quest. He knew something was wrong.

“I’ll get the apple,” he said, and his shoulders rose with confidence. His hand, the one that had held (y/n)’s moments ago, twitched just so. “I’m the fastest out of the three of us. You two, keep our friend distracted.”

There was a deep grumble at that moment, as if Ladon were making himself known. It shook the ground and the boughs of the tree trembled. Sweet-smelling apples tumbled into the mist.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to get the apples?” (y/n) asked. “You brought along a daughter of Demeter for a reason.”

He smiled softly at her. “That’s not the reason I brought you along.”

And, before either she or Beckendorf could protest his stupidity or question his statement, Luke’s glowing sword materialised in his hand and he was running into the mist.

The mist spread apart as his feet made contact, and (y/n)’s heart dropped. Beckendorf, one of the bravest demigods she had ever met despite his age, had a tremor in his hands as he pulled free his sword.

Within the mist was the largest monster (y/n) had ever seen. It was wrapped around the tree in a serpentine-like way, scales glimmering in the moonlight like molten copper and bronze. Massive claws sunk into the dirt surrounding the tree, at least the length of her forearm and as wide as Beckendorf’s. Every breath it released shook the branches of the tree as though caught in a gale.

The most horrifying part: the dragon had a hundred heads.

She had read about Ladon, had familiarised herself with the myths surrounding the Hesperides. Days before the quest, she and Luke had sat down at the canoe lake, poring over old history books that told the tale of Heracles and his Twelve Labours, one of which was the very quest they were being made to repeat. Luke had made a joke of it back then, unhappy with the quest he had been given and disbelieving that what they faced would be much of a threat.

But Ladon was no joke. It was an entirely different thing seeing drawings of the dragon and seeing him in real life. His hundred heads slithered through the air like snakes on the water, luminous yellow eyes watching the demigods with piqued interest.

Even Luke faltered.

A deep breath came from all two hundred of the dragon’s nostrils, washing over them in a hot, acidic wave. The smell alone was horrendous, like an old, decrepit sewer filled with rotting rats, and it had the hairs on her arms standing and her eyes burning.

She was worried that she may never be able to move again, frozen in place by the sheer might of Ladon, but when Luke turned to look at her, blood flooded into her veins again. He was counting on her. She wouldn’t let him down.

Ladon expected a frontal assault. He was waiting for Luke to attack, watching like a predator on prey, but he did not expect the very tree he protected to act against him.

With a heave of energy, (y/n) stretched out her arm and watched as the tree’s trunk began to swell as if filling with liquid. Ladon’s serpentine body writhed around it, twisting as he moved to accommodate the growing tree. The branches above him shook, dipping towards the ground slowly. Too slowly.

The dragon seemed to realise what, or who, was causing the change, and snarled ferociously. It was at that moment that Beckendorf grabbed a ball of Celestial bronze from his belt and, with a strong arm and remarkably good aim, threw it at the beast.

An explosion of green ignited before them as the ball slammed into Ladon’s thick hide. The dragon roared, whether in pain or fury, and set its bright gaze on (y/n) and Beckendorf.

Fear coursed through her body. She could hardly breathe. The branches wavered, pausing the pursuit to the ground. Beckendorf launched another one of his Celestial bronze bombs.

A pity quest, that’s what this had been. But, maybe, it was more than that. Maybe this was Hermes’ punishment for Luke wanting more from his life. Maybe this was (y/n)’s consequence for falling so irrevocably in love with Luke - for feeling the way she did, she would have to follow him to impossible circumstances.

But none of them deserved it.

It was at that moment that Luke took his leap.

With speed befitting a child of Hermes, he leapt onto Ladon’s mighty body, feet finding purchase on his rough scales, and launched himself upwards towards the descending branches.

For a moment, there was hope. Even Heracles had not retrieved the apples by facing Ladon, but maybe Luke would. Perhaps Luke would succeed where Heracles had not. Pride swelled in her heart, coated her tongue like warm honey, and she almost smiled.

Copper-coloured claws flashed in the moonlight. A chorus of soft, harmonising voices swirled around them like mist.

Mistake, they sang. The boy has made a mistake.

There was a cry of pain so guttural that (y/n) felt it in her soul. Her feet were moving before she could truly comprehend what was happening. The grass tried to reach for her ankles, tried to stop her in her mission, but nothing could. Had a god stood before her, she would have found her way past them. Nothing could stop her, not even this dragon that caused such fear in her bones.

She reached Luke as Ladon wound around the tree tightly, snarling protectively. Something in the beast’s demeanour hinted at pain beneath the danger, and when she saw the gold blood pooling just a few feet away, she knew why.

A claw, one of Ladon’s, severed from the knuckle down lay strewn in the grass. The dragon hissed as Beckendorf snatched it up, hefting his sword as (y/n) pulled Luke away.

He was bleeding badly. A deep gash ran from the tip of his brow down to the corner of his mouth, somehow missing his eye but cutting just above and below. His skin was already becoming dangerously pale. Her hands were covered in blood. His blood. She was going to be sick.

“Hey,” she murmured, gently laying his head on her lap. Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Luke shuddered, eyes half-lidded and struggling to find something to focus on. “Are you -?”

“I’m fine,” she said. After a terrible moment, one that took far too long, she pulled free a small vial of nectar, wrapped tightly in old face-cloths to keep it from smashing in her bag. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking as she tried to unwrap it.

Beckendorf knelt beside her, claw at his side, and took the vial from her hands. She didn’t know how his hands could be so steady. She could hardly breathe. Not with Luke so injured, not with Ladon eyeing them hungrily.

He handed the vial back, and she propped Luke’s head up slightly. With a hiss of pain, she managed to open his mouth just enough to pour the small amount of nectar in. He swallowed with a struggle.

There was no telling how long it would take the nectar to work, but they couldn’t stay there under the watchful glare of Ladon, who looked ready to attack again. (y/n) took a trembling breath.

“Beckendorf,” she said, “are you able to carry him? At least until we can get out of this place. I can try - I can clean the wound when we’re safe.”

He nodded and hoisted Luke up into his arms, careful not to jostle his head too much.

She didn’t realise she had been crying until they stopped.

Beckendorf set Luke down on a soft patch of grass beyond the Garden, and (y/n) tucked her jacket underneath his head. The nectar seemed to be working, albeit slowly. Some colour was returning to his skin, but it was hard to see under all of the blood.

“You’re okay,” she murmured again, but she wasn’t sure who she was telling. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands.

She grabbed one of the face-cloths the vial of nectar had been wrapped in, soaking it in water from her water bottle, and slowly brought it to Luke’s face.

His eyes seemed to have some ability to focus now, watching her beneath a glaze of pain. It tore her soul in half to see him in pain, wincing as she gently dabbed the blood from his cheek. Her fingers were stained. His cheek was, too.

“I’m going to keep watch,” said Beckendorf. “Those Hesperides gave me a bad feeling.”

(y/n) nodded, watching for a moment as he trudged a few feet away, just out of earshot, but her focus soon returned to Luke. She tried not to think too much about how his hand was gripping her knee as she cleaned the rest of the blood.

“Is the nectar working?” she asked when she saw his eyes drooping. “What does it taste like?”

His gaze found hers, warm and cloudy. A pained smile fought its way onto his lips despite the slowly-healing scar on his cheek. She could see the skin trying to sew itself back together with the aid of the nectar.

“That smoothie you made a few months back with the - with the camp’s strawberries,” he uttered. “And whatever those green leaves were.”

She found herself smiling despite the red coating her hands. “Mint. And it was that good, huh? Last I checked, nectar for you tasted like that weird concoction of Coke and Sprite you liked so much.”

For a moment, his eyes grew distant before refocusing on her face. They flickered over her features as if seeing them for the first time. His hand felt awfully warm on her knee.

“Anything you make is better,” he said.

“Is that so?” She brushed his hair back from his face softly, cleaning the last bits of blood.

His skin was still stitching itself back together, but the nectar seemed to have stopped the bleeding. Second by second, blood flooded back into his face, giving him the colour that seemed to have been leached from his skin.

He nodded, his smile seeming as though it pained him less. His hand slipped from her knee, coming up to wrap itself around hers. The cloth fell from her fingers and onto the grass. Her fingers were still wet, though in the dim light she couldn’t tell if it was from water or lingering blood. She didn’t have the stomach to find out.

“You said you didn’t bring me on this quest because of my mother,” she said cautiously. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “So why did you?”

A soft squeeze of her hand. “This wasn’t a quest I wanted to do without you,” he said. “I like having you by my side. You give me strength.”

She was sure he could feel her pulse beating rapidly in her fingers, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t need to. It was entirely likely that he was able to read her mind, he knew her so well. And she was okay with that.

“You’re stupid, you know,” she said, but her voice wavered.

“Stupidly brave?” he suggested. “Stupidly handsome? Stupidly charming?”

“I’m supposed to be supporting you right now,” she grumbled. “Not the other way around.”

His cocky grin was back and her heart fluttered. “Which one is it?”

“Which what?”

“Stupidly brave, handsome, or charming?”

All three, she thought. All three and so much more.

“Stupidly stupid,” she decided.

Her thumb grazed his cheekbone, the one without the scar, and a shiver ran through his body. His hand tightened on hers and his smile softened into something more personal. It was the kind of smile she would have leapt into Tartarus to ensure its permanence on his lips. Soft and kind and reserved just for her. If she'd been standing, her knees would have buckled.

“You give me strength, too,” she murmured.

A sliver of hair slipped in front of her eyes, and moments later, Luke’s free hand was there, gently brushing it away. His eyes sparkled. They seemed clearer now, less agonised.

The events of the last hour - gods, it had felt like much longer - came crashing back onto her at his touch, asphyxiating and terrifying. Overwhelming guilt filled her veins and arteries with terrible speed, sapping all the strength from her bones. Her fingers trembled once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her throat felt suddenly raw. “If I’d done a better job distracting Ladon, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt.”

Luke’s eyes were dark for a moment, swirling with something she couldn’t identify, but they softened seconds later. His hand rested on her cheek, warm and comforting, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at his eyes now.

“This is not your fault,” he said, and his voice was remarkably strong. “This is the gods’ fault. It’s my father’s fault. But it is not your fault.”

She tried to believe him, truly she did, but looking at the fresh scar on his face, even having been almost entirely healed with nectar, had her heart heavy in her chest.

He knew this. Gods, he knew her every thought. His hand slipped from hers, cupping her other cheek and tilting her head so that she would look at him properly. There was a flush to his cheeks now - good, it meant he was getting better.

“My father did this,” he insisted. “You hear me? This was not you. And, gods, believe me when I say that I’m glad it was me that went for the apples and not you. I couldn’t live with myself if you got injured.”

But you did, she wanted to say - no, scream. How do I live with that?

“I’m okay,” he said softly, cautiously, as if talking to a child who had just woken from a nightmare. “I’m okay.”

His hand fell from her face, taking hers in its grip once more, and placed her fingers on the newly formed scar.

She jerked back, terrified that the sensation would cause him more pain, but he just gave her that smile again, the one that made her knees feel like jelly, and pressed her fingers to it once more. Already, the skin was raised and slightly twisted, accommodating for the injury. She could faintly feel his pulse beneath his skin, slow and infuriatingly steady.

“It doesn't hurt,” he promised. His voice was so reassuring that she could feel it in her bones, and she was half-convinced he was secretly a child of Aphrodite, blessed with charmspeak. “I’m okay because of you.”

Her throat was achy. “And Beckendorf.”

He gave a small laugh. “And Beckendorf. But mainly you. You’ve given me strength.”

It was then that the world itself seemed to stop. He was leaning upwards, bringing her face close to his, and his lips brushed hers so softly that she feared she may have been dreaming the entire encounter.

She could taste the faint remnants of metallic blood, though it was easily brushed aside. Luke’s lips were slightly wind-chapped but she found herself uncaring when they slotted perfectly against hers.

This kiss was something she had been waiting years for, and it was better than she could have ever dreamed. The feeling of his hands on her, his lips against hers, it was something that could not be replicated in a dream, like flying for the first time and feeling the clouds beneath your fingers.

It was addictive, more so than the stupid apples that had caused Luke such pain, and she found herself wanting more. It was an effort to pull away from him, but eventually, she did. Beckendorf was only a few feet away and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. It would make for an awkward journey home.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Luke murmured.

Finally, there was a smile tugging on her lips again. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting.”

It took another hour or so before Luke was well enough to get moving. The dark trails gave all of them a bad feeling, and (y/n) wasn’t able to shake the almost hypnotic choral voices of the Hesperides until they were out of the State Park. Luke was shaky on his feet for a little while but his strength was returning.

And with it came anger.

Not anger at (y/n) or Beckendorf, no. He still smiled at them as usual, fingers entwined with (y/n)’s so tightly it was as though he was afraid she would slip away. Jokes still slipped past his lips despite the events of the evening.

But he was filled with fiery rage. It was hidden, but (y/n) could read him like a book. She had seen the inklings of it throughout the previous days of their quest, had seen it more clearly while she was cleaning the blood from his face - this anger, though, was pure. Harder to mask.

He had already been furious with his quest, a detail he had tried to keep hidden from her. He hated the idea of repeating history and the fact that this quest was simply made to satiate him, to prevent him from growing restless at camp and questioning the authority of the gods.

This was a breaking point.

It became clearer the more time passed. As the days and weeks went by, he would hold her hand like a lifeline and kiss her so softly it felt as though she was dreaming, but the anger never left. It ate away at him, dimming his smiles and reducing any respect he had left for the gods until there was nothing left but a shadow of what had once been there.

The scar never faded. It became a reminder of what he believed to be the gods’ failure. His failure.

He was still her Luke. The Luke she had known and loved since she was thirteen. She was just terrified of what he might become.

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