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pearlywritings · 8 months

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Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 2

pairings: Capitano, Kaveh, Tighnari, Zhongli x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort; hybrids, unwelcomed courting, kind of female objectification (all in Tighnari's part)

word count: 6.9k+ words

a/n: part 1 can be read here!

Capitano

Fast elegant fingers of a pianist run across the keys of black and white and the violins in the hands of other musicians are there to serve together with the chorus of beautiful voices, selected by Lady Columbina personally. The music infiltrates the souls of the nobles present, filling them with the sense of grandeur and glory, touching even their harsh unfeeling hearts.

The atmosphere of the gathering is gratifying, would’ve even been endearing if not for the stately figures of the Harbingers standing on both sides of the throne, where the Tsaritsa would've been seated had she not decided to refrain from attending it altogether. She has more important matters to take care of, and nine of her most loyal servants can definitely fill in her place on that yearly event.

Sure, this year it is more important since the two Harbingers are missing and the seats stay vacant - it's been the talk of the nation. Who is going to be nominated? Can it be influenced? Will they claim the names today?

Is the mysterious Commander, whose arrival became the topic of multiple speculations, be the one? A fierce warrior many heard of, but almost none saw face to face. The man was believed to be as powerful as the 11th Harbinger or maybe even the 10th! Having an army and an establishment of his own on the farthest line of the Snezhnayan border, he still is under the command of Lord Capitano, which makes it even harder to fish any more information than what is already known to the public.

"I only heard about him. He and his troops are protecting our borders from the monster's invasion in the North."

"Ew, who would've wanted to live in the North! It's much harsher than all the Snezhnaya."

"Shush, the Commander is wealthy and respectful, you can bear some cold."

"What do you imply?"

"The Commander is unmarried, there is no way he isn't, not with a life like this. But it can always be changed, and the woman he takes as wife would be one of the luckiest ones!"

"You are right… Maybe he is actually handsome. Maybe he'd be even willing to buy a whole mansion for his promised one and not take her with him to that awful place. Maybe…"

Maybe, maybe, maybe. It travels through the crowds like a storm in its wake, eventually reaching the Harbingers, who, for the first time after appearing and greeting the already arrived, stop resembling the statues. Eyes shift among the people and each other; some gazes hold interest, some - annoyance. Only Pantalone has an ever present smile on his face, fingers clasped in front of him and sapphire rings sparkle in the ballroom light.

"Looks like Capitano's estimated soldier caught everyone's attention. My, my, how curious and nosy the people can be…"

"I understand the curiosity though," admits Childe, arms crossed to prevent laying even a finger on his blade, that is resting on his hip. "This person sounds like an interesting specimen… I've heard of his talents in both strategy and tactics, and it seems like his strength is a legend. I'd love to spar with him."

"Oh you, thinking only about fights, young man," Pulcinella disapprovingly shakes his head and raises his cane to point in the gingerhead's direction. "I highly doubt our guest will have time to spare, considering the period of time concerning the stay that was mentioned in the letter we received."

"And I believe the majority of that time would be spent with Il Capitano, isn't it right?" Columbina's soft voice must be drowning in the music, but everyone hears her loud and clear.

"..." The Harbinger stays silent and nothing can be read from his body language since he is the only one remaining still in his place, his huge looming figure resembling one of the full-set armor nobles like putting in their halls as a part of interior. Except this one isn't empty.

"So much potential to become my test subject, to be perfected... Yet lost to the lands of Northern regions," Dottore huffs in disappointment, his sharp teeth peaking when he clicks his tongue. "Say, Pierro, can't things be rearranged? I'd happily have our dear border protector as my underling."

The silence between the nine suddenly becomes thick. There is something indescribably tense in the air and only Childe can't understand why some of his colleagues seem to be more interested in how the Captain would react and not the 1st of the Harbingers..

"You know why this can't be rearranged, Dottore," the stare of an icy blue eye would pin everyone to the ground, destroying their will and order to obey, though doing little to scare the Doctor. "And it was favored by the Tsaritsa herself."

The finality of the short statement makes the scientist back down from the proposition he's been bringing up every time the topic touches the Commander, yet ending up the same way as always - with an ultimate rejection.

Three heavy thuds make everyone in the room fall silent. Many heads turn to look at the ceremonial staff hitting the floor the last time and staying still in the hand of a tall, thoroughly dressed man.

"The protector of the Northern border, the glorified and esteemed warrior of Her Majesty Tsaritsa, The Commander has arrived," the master's of ceremonies voice carries like a thunderclap, cutting off the quite leisurely music the orchestra was playing for the dances and entertainment.

The rustle of note sheets is fleeting and not a moment later the musicians straighten in their seats, taking a deep breath. Trumpets boom in a spacious room and make nobles shiver in surprise, some especially susceptible women even lean on their partners for support. The choir and the violins join the triumphant song the brass instruments sing, signaling that the time has come.

Everyone holds their breath as the tall heavy doors leading to the ballroom are being pulled open. Everyone has their gaze glued to a slowly growing gap. Everyone keeps their eyes wide open, afraid that even one blink can cost them missing the legendary sight.

Everyone gasps.

The tall figure enters, posture straight and shoulders squared, confidence evident in every step. Black satin clothes are adorned with golden chains and intricate patterns. The white military coat stayed resting on the shoulders - showing off the position, the closeness to the Harbingers. And then there is the face - a scar crossing the left brow, calm bored eyes, not sparing anyone a glance, which do not fit the other female features of your face.

Yes, the Commander happens to be a woman.

Stopping by the steps leading to the throne, you bow - not kneel, bow, - holding your open palm by the heart and respectfully closing your eyes. Music stops.

“Greetings, my lords. Let Tsaritsa bless you and your mission.”

“Let Tsaritsa bless you and your service to her,” Pierro says, raising his hand. “Lift your head,” which you do, looking him right in the eyes, yet still holding your hand by the chest. “There is time for duties and there is time for entertainment. And tonight, given your rare visits to the capital, I suggest you enjoy the latter.”

“Much obliged, Lord Pierro.”

And with a wave of the older man’s hand, the orchestra starts a new composition, waking up the ones who were in a daze, reminding others they are here for drama.

And the first one to take action is the 11th Harbinger.

“Commander, Sir- I mean, Lady?” The gingerhead is the closest to you out of all his colleagues, having only to descend a few steps to be on your level. “I’ve heard a lot about you, many admirable things. How do you look at sparring?”

“Right in the middle of a ballroom? Quite positively, young man,” your lips twist in a half-smirk, baring a sharp pearly canine. “But I believe the nobles have already had enough shock to take and rumors to create. Maybe another time. Haven’t seen you before though. Are you new?”

“Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, Lady Commander.”

“Ma’am would be enough,” you click your tongue, glancing behind and noticing how slowly, but surely some of the aristocrats are inching towards you, clearly interested in conversation, Well, you are not. “On second thought, starting a duel right now and here doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”

“I’ve always known you are quite insane,” Arlechino butts her way in the conversation, giving you only a small nod as a greeting. You simply glance at her.

“For years I’ve been hearing of my insanity, think of something new,”

“How about, ‘the one who knows no limits’?” Pantalone’s smile is as dazzling as it’s fake and sometimes your hands are itching to strangle the man. Maybe even go all the way out and bite his head off. Literally.

“The only ones who know no limits are the wind and the stupidity. I’m neither. Who I am though,” your gaze travels higher, to the steps closest to the Tsaritsa’s throne, to there Pierro and the first three Harbingers are standing, “is a wife. And I’d like to have a dance with my husband.”

Not many heard your words, but the ones who did, gasp loudly, staring at you with wide eyes. Which get even wider when Il Capitano, a seemingly motionless statue before, turns in his place and, without a pause, steadily descends to you. Now, as you are standing so closely it becomes evident how obviously your outfits match. The chains, the patterns, even the precious stones - everything. Perhaps it is terrifyingly cute. Perhaps it's cutely terrifying.

“Husband,” your smile again, offering him your hand, which he immediately envelopes in his big clawed one.

“Wife,” is the first word the big figure rumbles for the evening, the void of its helmet staring at you. And that’s all you speak to each other, hearing the beginning of another melody and turning to join the dancing pairs.

“...What was that?” Childe voices what’s been plaguing the minds of the attendees. “First the Commander appears to be a woman, and now she is married to the Lord Il Capitano?” He glances at Pulcinella, who joins his side and decides to watch the pair that caused a commotion have their fun. “Do they not use their names?”

“They find no sense in them,” the Rooster answers just the last question. “And,” he lowers his voice and the ginger has to bend down to hear the next words, “I didn’t tell you that, but the Captain really loves calling her his wife. So be quite cautious while seeking a fight with her. You might end up impaled. By either of them.”

Kaveh

With a soft smile you watch a group of children merrily leaving their classroom, interrupting each other in attempts to tell everyone how exciting the lesson was. They do not forget to grin and wave at you, passing by, and you return the sentiment, contently observing their happy faces and sparkly eyes.

Every time this happens, a strange sense of fulfillment overtakes you - supporting and sponsoring Kaveh was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. The greatest architect of nowadays is offering his guidance to the young generation, teaching them everything about beauty and practicality, helping them to develop their own creative vision, and at the same time boosting the confidence of kids of all ages. And you couldn’t be prouder of him.

Him, who meticulously prepares for every single lesson. Him, who is oh-so-gentle with his words and precise in his speech. Him, who teaches both Sumeru citizens and people coming from abroad. Him, who is as passionate about it, as he is about his designing job, telling you every single detail of how the lessons went on your way home or over the dinner. Him, who is happy and who makes you happy too with that fact alone.

When the last kid leaves, marking the ending of the final class for today, you glance at the clock. Now Mister Meticulousness will need half an hour to tidy up the classroom and put all the tools away. Tomorrow is free from classes at his (he always corrects your as in the both of you) school, so you can collect your stuff as well - after all, being the manager of this establishment and Kaveh specifically requires your presence. You can be strict and unyielding whenever he can’t and this partnership proves to be successful every day.

Just as you are writing down some financial staff, there is a soft knock on the doorframe. Immediately lifting your eyes you hum, observing a very good-looking woman and a boy, shyly holding onto her hand.

“Hello, how can I help you?” With a quill laid on top of your accounting book, you stand and round the table, offering the two to step closer.

“Ah, hello, miss…” eyes with long, pretty lashes flit to the name tag attached to your clothes, “...Y/n. This is master Kaveh’s artistic school, am I correct?”

“Yes, you are. Are you here to sign your boy up for a class?” You offer her son a sweet smile and he answers you with a small lift of his lips.

“Mhm. You see, he is a big fan of master Kaveh and his works - can study the pictures of his designs taken by Kamera day and night.”

At that, the boy lowers his gaze and blushes a little, digging a hole in the ground with the tip of his shoe.

“Oh, really?” A gasp that escapes your chest is one of excitement. “That’s marvelous! I am sure your hopefully soon-to-be-teacher will be very interested in hearing your opinion of his works, young connoisseur,” he giggles, lifting his eyes at you again, and there you see undisguised delight. “Oh, but my bad, I didn’t ask your names…”

The woman’s lips bare two rows of perfectly white teeth as she smiles at you, introducing herself and her son.

“We are from Fontaine actually. But my parents wanted to spend some indefinite period of time in Sumeru for their health and we decided to join them. So while we are here, I thought I’d make my son’s dream come true.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you can’t help but admire her a little for that. “I can tell you first a little about our school, you’ll ask all the questions you need to, and then I’ll show you around. Kaveh should be done with cleaning by then, so there’s a big chance you’ll even talk to him personally.”

“Really!?” That’s the first time throughout your entire interaction when the boy opens his mouth and actually makes a sound. “Master Kaveh is here right now?”

“He is. But can’t promise a long conversation - there are still blueprints waiting for him back at home.

“Ah, right… He is the great architect after all,” the woman hums, staring to the side as if in thought. “Between the commissions he takes and this school he must be making good money. Not to mention so handsome…”

Oh… What a familiar tone, what a familiar look in those eyes. Suddenly that ounce of respect you felt for her disappears.

“Money is irrelevant to him as long as he reaches his goal,” is your restrained response.

“Ah, of course! Handsome, sweet, kind, good with kids and is not a snob. Sweety, you ought to charm him for me!” She pinches her son’s cheek. “Imagine Master Kaveh as your daddy!”

Oh Archons, again?

There is absolutely no doubt that the light of Kshahrewar is not only well-known and popular among kids, but is thirsted after by women. In a half of a year your school has been existing, there were numerous times when moms of little students made comments alike or some single females trying to schedule private sessions with the architect. What a sagacious decision it was to make group studying only, it saves you some drama, once the legal document is shown. Though there are exceptionally persistent examples…

But this time you pity the kid a little, because he genuinely seems to admire Kaveh. And his next words make you internally cheer for the little guy.

“Master Kaveh as my dad? But mom, I have a dad already,” the boy pouts, rubbing at the pinched cheek. You notice a red mark and two little crescent moons that her nails left on a tender skin. “I love him and don’t need another one.”

“Sweety, you just don’t understand how great it would be to have such a dad! Just trust my word-”

“Ahem, Madame, I kindly ask you to deal with your family affairs once you are out of here. As for the school - I am open for discussion.”

The displeased way she glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed, but you do not show it anyhow, calmly staring back at her, while your hand reaches up to your chest. As if finally remembering her initial reason for coming here with her son, the woman sighs and puts a palm on the boy’s shoulder.

“Of course, miss- I’m sorry I forgot your name…” And her eyes flit to the name tag again.

Momentarily the woman squints from the light reflecting on the metal, and when she blinks the bright spots away, there is a beautiful golden ring on your hand. The hand that is holding the flipped tiny plate with just two words engraved in it.

"Kaveh's wife"

With widened eyes she stares back at your sweetly polite smile. Not saying a word as if letting the notion sink in, you walk to the wall. Grabbing the backs of two chairs you drag them to your table so they could sit, and take your rightful place in front of them.

“If you are here for something aside from or instead of signing your son up for classes, I believe my name should be irrelevant to you. My status though,” you knock a nail twice on the badge, “must. So… what are you here for, Madame?”

The boy climbs onto his chair right away, while his mother tarries a little, still shocked by the revealed fact and your suddenly changed demeanor. She needs a couple more seconds to compose herself, but eventually she too sits down.

Despite what happened earlier, your conversation proves to be fruitful and fifteen minutes later you are showing around the school, sharing some additional information and answering every single of the kid’s questions.

When in the last room you find your husband, closing Mehrak and looking ready to leave, the boy lets out a gasp. The sound attracts the man’s attention, and he turns to the three of you with a soft smile.

“Oh, hello there, little guy!” The blond waves at him, breaking the blissful stupor of a child that immediately turns red and hides behind his mother. Surprised, Kaveh looks at you for explanation but, instead, takes notice of your name’s replacement. Oh wow, this again. What was the last time you did that? Two weeks ago?

“Ah, Master Kaveh!” The woman charmingly smiles, batting her lashes at him, which would’ve made you cringe had it never happened before. “You see, my son-”

“Pardon me, Madame, give me a moment,” the male softly interrupts her and reaches for a similar metal plate on his chest with his own name to flip it. It’s almost comical how sour the temptress’s face got in a second.

And there is what for. Now two words are proudly matching yours, engraved in an equally beautiful cursive to remind the world who the two of you become once stripped of your names.

Just his ”Y/n’s husband” to your “Kaveh’s wife”.

And like that one more kid takes part in your lovely school and one suitor less is after one of its founders.

Tighnari

With each passing day of your team’s research in the desert you found it harder and harder to control yourself. Some days you were even on the verge of clawing and biting, tail and ears twitching in annoyance and pupils turning into wild slits, making your hybrid nature more obvious.

Was it because of the research? No, it couldn’t be farther - your colleagues have been making so much progress, heeding your advice and following your lead. Was it the location perhaps? A little, but you learnt how to deal with heat and dryness. Was the process taking too much time? On the contrary, you are on your way home already, having finished the job 4 days earlier than you estimated in the beginning.

Then what on earth could possibly trigger you like this?

Well…

“Hey, forest foxy, want me to catch the Consecrated Flying Serpent for you?”

Ah yes, him.

Never again will you trust the higher ups at the Akademiya to sponsor your team with the bodyguards. Out of every possible candidate, your Herbad-titled colleague concluded that hiring five descendants of Valuka Shuna would be a marvelous idea.

“They are the desert kind - they’ll be good guides.” “Look how much stronger they are, they’ll definitely protect all of you.” “They are of the same kind as you, Y/n. Don’t you think it’ll be easier for you, as the leader, to have someone akin with you?”

No, it absolutely would not!

Desert fennec hybrids are different from the forest ones - and it’s not even the case of your green and their sandy brown fur or their more brutal physique against your more delicate one. It’s their character and world perception. You’ll never call them barbarians, but they really developed more of the animal nature than your kind did.

And from day one it was a pain in the butt.

One of your five new bodyguards was clearly the leader - he was bigger and broodier, with more scars littering his body, and his whole stance was screaming of a higher position. When you were introduced for the first time, something lit up in his grayish eyes, which were looking you over appreciatively. You ignored that, more focused on the discussion of the upcoming expedition and making sure the five were aware of what was required of them.

Luckily they were, and, admittedly, they did fulfill their task meticulously, proving to be great help. If only one of them wasn’t so diligent.

You lost count of how many times the leader tried to get into your personal space and you had to move away. Of the numerous invitations to hunt together. Of the endless displays of his strength and abilities. Of the many conversations you didn’t even try to eavesdrop on (they talked pretty loudly) around the topic of when will your shell be cracked and you’d accept the male’s courting attempts.

The answer was obvious, but he just never got it. Even when you called him for a serious conversation on the turning-into-an-issue matter.

“With all respect I must ask you to stop with whatever you’ve been doing to woo me. I have a husband.”

You still remember how he blinked at you dumbly, clear lack of understanding written on the sun-kissed face.

“...and?”

“The heck do you mean ‘and’?”

“Well, you don’t have a mate?”

It was your turn to stare at him speechless, ear twitching and tail curling closer to your legs. It was getting worse than just ridiculous.

“If we are speaking in such terms, then my husband is my mate. So, please-”

You nearly gasped when the male immediately leant closely, violating your personal space and practically stuffing his nose against your neck. Shocked by such lack of shame, you lost the ability to talk or move for a moment, gaping at him sniffing around and humming upon the discovery.

“You don’t wear anyone’s smell on you.”

You were not proud of yourself at that moment, but you absolutely lost it. Sharpened claws dug into his chest and with an angry snarl you pushed him back.

“Get away from me!”

You must’ve been a sight - canines bared and fingers twitching, ready to attack; fur standing on both your ears and tail, signaling your distress and eyes slitted in pure rage while directed at the man in front of you. The worst part? The idiot seemed to like it even more.

“What me and my partner do must be of no concern to you. I told you ‘no’ and I mean it.”

But bold of you was to assume he’d stop. Oh no, it’s gotten worse. Now he was actively calling you a ‘forest foxy’, absolutely abandoning your name and even trying to scent you. It was suffocating - the desert aridity was lighter in comparison to the male hybrid’s pheromones.

Never in all your academic practice have you wanted to return home so badly.

Fortunately, your colleagues quickly caught on to what was going on and always helped you to escape the unwanted interactions. Plus they were equally as mad as you were, because his individual scent irritated their human noses - and that was the main reason why you and Tighnari, both spending a lot of time around other people, did not practice it. Partly, you are sure, this whole situation was the reason for your earlier return - and you were grateful for their understanding.

However, your stubborn suitor did not dream of giving up. Killed desert animals were still offered to you, stories of his legendary battles with monsters were told for the hundredth time (even though no one was interested in listening at that point) and attempts to lure you with the musky smell once again made. Archons, and the green-furred fennec girls from your teens used to dream of that.

Maybe Lesser Lord Kusanali would be merciful and you’ll meet your husband somewhere on your way?

“Herbad Y/n!”

…wow, that was quick. Not Tighnari, but incredibly welcome too.

“Collei!” For the first time in days there is a reason for your soft smile. Which the young girl mirrors, waving at you from not so far away. You notice a couple more of the Forest Rangers at her side, and that sight alone makes you finally exhale in relief. You are so close to being home.

“Master is here too! Want me to get him?”

Oh, Dendro Archon, thank you.

“I’d really appreciate it, dear!” With a quick nod the green-haired apprentice disappears in the bushes, and you turn back to the scholars of your group. It’s time to abuse your power a little. “We are almost at the Devadaha Pool. Since all of you live in Sumeru City I hope you’ll excuse me for staying behind. As for you five,” your gaze moves to the bodyguards and it’s so hard not to rejoice - soon they’ll be just a memory, “I ask you to accompany the rest of my team to the Akademiya. Then you can consider your job done and be free. Keep the payment for the last three days that didn’t happen - think of it as a bonus for a good job.”

All but one eagerly nod and bid you farewell with wishes of getting home safely. And frankly speaking? You couldn’t care less for that one when you spot familiar and oh so dear big pointy ears with an intricate golden earring adorning one of them.

“Tighnari!” You didn’t want to sound so desperate, you really didn’t. But when those forest-like lovely eyes look in your direction, it becomes clear to you - the yearning has gotten unbearable.

“Y/n…” His smile is dazzling and the way his body immediately pushes to walk to you almost makes the memories of the last weeks’ events go away.

The key word - almost.

Someone grabs your elbow when you want to meet him halfway. Oh right, you already forgot about him.

“Let me go, you, imbecile!” And again you have to snarl and be rude, ripping your arm out of the strong hold and quickly darting into your husband’s embrace. The natural smell of the leaves, the flowers, the sweet and bitter concoctions he makes in his home laboratory, comfort you and your whole body goes nearly limp in his hold. It’s been weeks and you are tired of fighting with the brick wall - this time you want your lover to handle it for you.

“Y/n, my lotus, are you alright?” Gentle fingers comb through your hair and scratch at the base of your ears - a whole ass adult, that you are, wants to tear up. But you can only shake your head a no. “Has this man been bothering you?” This time it’s a yes. “I got you, dear.”

“So,” the browny green eyes sharpen upon staring at the cause of your current state, when it starts speaking, “you are that ‘husband’ the foxy has been talking about? I thought you’d be stronger. Or at least taller. Now I see that I was right and you really can’t be her mate.”

“Oh but I am. Not that we have to prove anything to a stranger. Y/n,” he carefully pries your face from his shoulder, caressing your cheek with a beanie pad, “let’s go home. You must be so-so tired.”

“I am, ‘nari. I am exhaus-”

“There’s no smell of you on her and vice versa,” the desert descendent of the Valuka Shuna seems to not be planning to stop. “Her neck is not marked. You let her wander by herself for weeks? And you keep calling her by the name. Her name should've stopped mattering once she became your mate!”

The hand around your waist tenses and you can feel the claws threatening to tear through the gloves he always wears. You don’t need to look at the face of your lover to know how pissed he is. And if Tighnari decides to attack him and tear his tongue out? You will not stop him.

“I am going to say it once and only once. She is not just a mate, she is my wife, by the Sumeru law and by the blessing of the Dendro Archon. And this fact must matter to you more than the case of her name. So fuck off and leave my wife alone. And if you don’t get it in a civil way - this woman is taken. And this territory is mine.”

With that, the Forest Watcher effortlessly lifts you in his arms and, holding you as if a precious bride, turns around to leave. You haven’t looked back once.

“You can’t imagine how much I missed being called your wife,” you quietly confess, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Especially after he didn’t listen when I said that I am.”

Tighnari hums sympathetically, leaning close to rub his nose against yours.

“Will it be okay then if today I address you as my wife only? When we join the other rangers, I mean.”

”...if you think I will be embarrassed - make it a whole week.”

With a soft chuckle your husband plants a kiss on your lips, sealing the deal and promising you tranquil days at last.

“As you wish, wife.”

Zhongli

"...and so Rex Lapis takes the form of a dragon, a majestic creature he was born as - the one of whom the fair maiden would never be scared of. Lady Guizhong's robes flutter in the tender wind traveling among the mountain peaks and caressing the earthly scales of the God's enormous body. His eyes, shiny as gold, gaze at her with an unfamiliar softness as she holds a gentle flower - a delicate gift from her lover, the one that proves that under all that armor is a stone heart capable of love. Heart that is beating for her."

To loud applause the Iron Tongue Tian bows his head, drawing the legend of the gods in love to its end. You cannot bring yourself to clap even politely, both hands on your lap, hidden under the table, twitching when a man beside you lets his gloved palms meet each other a couple of times.

It’s the second time you had to sit and endure the baloney from the very beginning to the very end, not to count all those times you overheard it in passing. From the moment you settled in the Liyue Harbor together with your husband, to live the rest of your incredibly long lives together among the humans, you've been painfully aware of their interpretation of Rex Lapis and his relationship with other immortal beings. Before that you rarely accompanied him during the walks, busy with helping Yakshas and other adepti protect the said humans to grant them a peaceful life - as immortal guardians grew fewer, every single one counted.

Never have you ever imagined that knowing so little of the citizens’ folklore would backfire so hard. It seems that people got somewhat bored listening to the stories of Liyue and Rex Lapis, no matter how many interpretations existed. Literature became more diverse in genres and romantic novels were on top of the list, so street narrators started losing their audience little by little. Before it could grow into something more drastic the new side of history was presented to the public - stories about love among immortals appeared and its freshness and uniqueness caught people’s attention immediately.

In their searches for new material, speakers dug through hundreds of volumes. The main interest was the Lord of Geo, of course. If you have a story of a presumably stone-hearted creature ever having fallen in love with someone - that’s pure gold! But who could you present as a love interest of the Archon? It must be someone very close to him and, obviously, no one is more well-known for that than the deceased Archon of Dust.

You sigh, reaching for your cup and declining Madam Ping’s offer to pour you some more tea - for an unclear reason the fellow adeptus joined you two tonight. You have thousands of years of life behind your existence, a soul hardened by constant battles, and mannerism as polished as a jade statue, yet for a moment you feel concerned that the woman would notice a pang of hurt in the smallest of your features.

Zhongli definitely noticed the first time. It was meant to be a date night - simple, but sweet, with the evening lights, delightful aroma of the finest tea and the tales pouring from skilled tongues reflecting the atmosphere of what your nation really is. However, the luck of the land of trades wasn’t on your side, as someone requested the “Guili legend” as they called it. At first you were confused. Then in disbelief, almost turning to look at your mate, with whom you were bonded long before he became allies with the ash-haired woman. In the end you felt something you thought was beyond you - bitterness.

When you left the restaurant, slowly walking back to your house, Zhongli’s fingers gently touched your elbow, asking for your attention.

“Does it bother you that much, my love?”

Bother you? Well… It does feel insulting when someone speaks of your husband having been in love with someone else, but mortals can’t possibly know the truth for many reasons.

“I can’t say it doesn’t,” you admitted calmly, stopping and turning fully to him. He did the same, gazing at you with a hint of worry in those golden eyes you loved so much. The ones, you knew, always looked only at you. “But it can’t be helped, right? There was a reason and mutual agreement why you, as Rex Lapis, made our union unknown to your people, and now, since you are “dead”? There is no one to tell our story. Don’t worry though,” you put a hand on top of his and smiled, when his other one was laid on top of yours in a gesture of comfort. “I can deal with it. I know you love going to the storyteller’s performances. I’ll just try to ignore what they say about you and Lady Guizhong.”

Sometimes Zhongli thinks he does not deserve you. Ever so patient and understanding, you always had your husband's best interest at heart. Marriage, however, in its basis is a form of a contract, and a good contract is all about both sides being equal in everything. And if you must know one thing about Rex Lapis - he never makes bad contracts.

When the audience calms down, the man decides to make his presence and intentions clear by raising a hand. From the corner of his eye he notices you slightly turning your head to glance at him, and he catches a glimpse of puzzlement in your gaze. He can't help but think how adorable you are, even if you deny it again and again, claiming that nothing can be adorable about a several millennia-old warrior. Maybe not, but his wife definitely is, and he thinks with a primordial pride igniting in his chest, that mating with you was the best decision his past self had ever made.

Reaching under the table he rests his free hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it in reassurance, offering you the warmth of himself, seeping through his glove. Just as your shoulders relax to his delight, the raised hand adorned with rings is finally noticed.

"Ah, Mr Zhongli! Such an honor to see a regular, especially someone as wise as yourself!" Iron Tongue Tian beams with a wide smile, closing his fan and focusing his full attention on the history connoisseur. "I doubt you have questions, given your vast knowledge, and I can't wait to hear what else you can add to this already heart-felt story."

You force your lips not to twitch, hiding behind the tea cup again. Suddenly it tastes bitter. But another squeeze your husband gives your hand doesn't let you dwell on it too much.

"You are correct, I do have some knowledge to offer. However, it might disappoint you, as it will completely destroy the story of the Geo Archon and the Archon of Dust."

The whispers ran through the crowd like a powerful wave, and you can see confusion written over every single face. But also, there is intrigue.

"I took it upon myself,” Zhongli however continues, “to invite Madame Ping to back up my story, as she was the witness to it," the elder woman - a well-known Adeptus that doesn't hide her existence among mortals - nods with a soft smile.

"I read this in legends a long time ago, but remembered only when the 'Guili legend' became popular. Rex Lapis indeed had a lover, however it was not Lady Guizhong," the gasps are almost deafening. Just as your quickened heartbeat.

And for the next hour the man by your side and the elderly-looking woman that joined you tonight proceed to tell the story of the adeptus, who was the first and only to ever bring the Geo Archon to his knees, to be worshiped like a goddess by his eyes, by his words, by his very heart. Of a warrior, whose fierce eyes and valiant nature made a dragon in Rex Lapis roar in delight. Of the woman, who entranced him with her beauty, caring soul and motherly attention directed to other adepti - Madame Ping adds with a laugh of how the two created a parent-like dynamic even before they became official (at that you find it so hard not to turn bashful).

They tell the legend of the silk flowers - the ones you might see everywhere in the vast lands of Liyue. How the Geo Archon personally asked the Dendro Archon for guidance to cultivate the tenderest of flowers, how he taught his people to make the delicate fabric out of it, but even then it couldn’t compare to the skin of his immortal mate.

They tell stories of how annoyed she was when the god turned into a dragon to fall asleep somewhere in the depths of the earth for years without telling her prior, and how he returned with the purest stones and metals and with his own hands forged the pair of matrimonial rings (yes, the ones wrapped around your fingers to this day).

Madame Ping fondly speaks of all those thousands of years of protection the said adeptus spent to make sure that her godly spouse’s people were safe and maybe just a tiny sliver of pride rushes through your heart at the public acknowledgement.

“But she wished not to be known,” the woman sighs and you know she glances at you reproachfully. Well-deserved, given the circumstances you are in right now. “Thus it’s not much of a surprise people made a mistake like that. Besides, you won’t find much information in written sources about her either way.”

“But she must have a name at least!” Someone from the fairly grown crowd exclaims.

“That she does,” Zhongli nods, lacing his fingers with yours under the table, lips tugging in a calm smile, when you squeeze his hand in return. “Though I am afraid it would be pointless to try and find out now - we wouldn’t want to disturb her mourning the departure of her husband, would we? After all, they must’ve loved each other so much.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” golden eyes are on you, catching yours, pulling you in, whispering for your soul and heart to get lost in them, “I can understand how this love was born and got to bloom. My wife showed me that.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #il capitano x reader #capitano x reader #capitano x fem!reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x fem!reader #tighnari x reader #tighnari x fem!reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x fem!reader #il capitano #capitano #kaveh #tighnari #zhongli #genshin impact fluff

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anisespice · 1 year

Text

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq!

two || three

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list.

pairing: various x gn!reader [ kags, akaashi, atsumu, kenma ]

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, mild objectification, mentions of cheating, cringe descriptions that aren’t 100% accurate lol

notes: based this off how my friend and i speculate about how the men in hq would be like in bed sooo it’s really just a little jokey joke, so have fun with her :] thinking of making more parts of this with other characters, lemme know what you guys think, and hope you enjoy!!

To be completely honest, KAGEYAMA wouldn’t know much about the list aside from maybe surface level stuff. He knew it was full of nonsensical speculations, nothing but weird projections put onto strangers by other strangers who found them attractive. It creeped him out a little, so that’s as far as he wished to know.

Plus, he had no reason to care about some dumb list—He had you.

“Have you seen this bullshit?!” Well, speak of the devil.

All the training in the world couldn’t have prepared his reflexes for the amount of whiplash you put him through in the span of ten seconds. There he was, minding his business in his dorm room, chilling with a volleyball, then BAM; he’s getting bum-rushed by his 5-foot-something significant other with smoke coming through their ears.

Good thing you had a key because the setter was certain you would’ve smashed right through his door by sheer force.

“Huh??” Frankly, you startled the poor man. The ball that was in the middle of being set toward the ceiling came barreling down on his face, causing him more disorientation. “See—ouch. See what?”

You stood there next to his bed, one hand on your hip while the other practically shoved your phone in his face. He squinted at the harsh light, but eventually his eyes adjusted enough to read the post. His lips formed a confused pout. “That stupid, horny hit-list? What about it?”

“What about it? Some bitch put you on there! Just listen to this garbage, ‘Tobio Kageyama. 6’2ft stoic, and mean Dom who’s pretty damn good with his hands. It’s obvious how much of a perfectionist he is, so be ready for some killer overstimulation. Probably won’t make any noise, and doesn’t know much about aftercare. Overall score: 6/10’. Are they deadass right now?”

Ah. Now he gets it.

He figured it was only a matter of time, homie was very much aware of his status around campus, not to mention being a looker to top it off. However, he figured being in a relationship would lessen his chances of him ending up on it, especially since you weren’t a secret or anything. Guess that list really had no morality after all. Who’d have thought?

“I mean, the audacity to put your name on it knowing damn well if anyone even tried it, I’d gorilla glue all their holes shut.” He snorted, face scrunching slightly at your unusual threat. But, something told him deep down you were being serious.

You continued ranting while pacing back and forth. “But not only that, they completely warped your entire sexual identity just because, what, you know how to mind your business and happen to have a RBF?”

“RBF?” He tilted his head, making you halt mid-rant to admire the adorable sight. How dare he? You were in the middle of seething, dammit.

“Resting Bitch Face.”

He frowned. “I don’t have that.”

“Tobio, you’re doing it right now.”

He huffed, looking away from you in defiance. His face was fine, he thought, a perfectly normal face indeed. A handsome face, he’d even say. Immediately picking up on his sourness, you chuckled softly before reaching over to cup his face and make him look at you. Kageyama instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist, his frown still apparent, but a little less heavy once it met your soft gaze. “Don’t be pouty.”

“I’m not…” he mumbled, cheeks squished under your palms. A small blush bloomed across the apples at your teasing giggle. “You’re the one that’s upset, not me. Why do you care if they misrepresented how I am in bed? Shouldn’t you be happy it’s inaccurate?”

Now it was your turn to huff, your bottom lip sticking out. Kageyama’s eyes honed in on its pillowy surface instantly, licking his own as he restrained himself; there’d be plenty of time for that later.

“I mean, yeah but…I don’t know. It just…feels icky knowing there are random people around campus theorizing about your dick size in the comments, or if you cry after an orgasm. The least they could’ve done was be a little accurate if they’re gonna cause us all this trouble.”

“Us? Pretty sure I’m the victim here. Who sucks at aftercare, apparently.” He scoffed, of which earned another giggle from you. “Besides, the only person I care about knowing any of that stuff is right here. They can take their 6/10 and fuck right off. I know my baby would rate me higher than that, right?”

You pursed your lips, avoiding eye contact as you playfully ignored his obvious bait for praise. Kageyama doesn’t take too kindly to that. He softly glared at you, arms tightening their hold around your waist and pulling you even closer to his toned chest.

“Oh, it’s like that, huh? That’s fine.”

Before you could register what happened, your boyfriend swept you up without struggle and gently tossed you onto his bed. “However, I will admit they were right about one thing.”

With a slight bounce, you couldn’t fight the delighted squeal as you watched him prowl towards you.

“Oh, really? And what’s that?”

He hummed softly, large hands traveling up your legs from the ankles all the way to your inner thighs before spreading them open to rest in between them. Finding home there for a brief moment, Kageyama practically smothered you under his gaze, attention once again zeroing in on your lips. He could feel his restraint dissipating, biting his own lip before slowly leaning down to place warm kisses against your skin. He left no spot unloved until he eventually stopped at your ear, his warm breath sending chills down your spine.

“I’m pretty damn good with my hands.”

Like Kageyama, AKAASHI didn’t care to know much about the list. He knows a good chunk of guys that ended up on it personally, and based on the conversations he’s heard them have it sounded like nothing but trouble.

And he was right to assume such.

One afternoon a few of his friends came barreling toward him during his break in between classes, each sporting various expressions that ranged from extreme determination (Bokuto) to absolute amusement (Kuroo), while the third looked as if they were brought there against their will (Kenma). Slowly, Akaashi lowered his sandwich with a sigh; so much for a peaceful lunch.

“AKAASHI.” Bokuto exclaimed, hands slamming down on the table to keep himself from nearly toppling the man. Akaashi flinched slightly at the volume, but before he could reprimand him, Bokuto grabbed him by his shoulders and looked him square in the eyes with grand intensity. “How could you be so selfish? I thought I raised you better than this, young man!”

The former setter gaped; that’s not at all what he was expecting to hear. It didn’t help when Kuroo started busting a lung, both hands on his knees as his hyena-esque laugh bounced off the walls of the canteen. Kenma side-eyed the business major before going back to playing some game on his phone, offering the ravenette a soft greeting, then helping himself to a chair.

Akaashi acknowledged the pudding-head with a small nod, sharp eyes redirecting back to his senior as he removed the rough hands from his shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you cheating on [_____]!”

Akaashi blinked. Then, like a switch, his eyes nearly popped out his head as he registered the spiker’s words.

“WHAT.”

Kuroo, after finally catching his breath, gave a hearty exhale as he placed a hand on Bo’s shoulder. “Way to rip off the bandaid, buddy. Thought we agreed to work our way up to that part.”

“Screw that! I demand answers! Can’t believe I’ve been friends with a no good, cheating scumbag, hmph.” Akaashi blanched at the harsh accusation, falling deeper and deeper into a state of pure shock.

“Wait, hold on—”

“Whoa there, let’s not jump to conclusions. The man hasn’t even gotten the chance to speak for himself. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for this whole thing.” Kuroo reasoned, but was obviously eating it up. Kenma lightly scoffed.

“You’re so full of shit.” He voiced, not even bothering to lift his gaze away from the game. Kuroo gasped dramatically at the dig, hand over his heart and everything. The former paid him no mind.

Akaashi abruptly stood. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on? I’m not cheating on [______], who’s spreading such a thing?”

Bokuto squinted. “Oya? Then how do you explain this?”

Like incriminating evidence being shown to a jury, the silver-haired tank pulled up the updated version of the list on his phone that was posted over an hour ago. Akaashi was still perplexed until he saw it. His name. Oh, god no.

Akaashi snatched the device to get a closer look just to make sure it wasn’t some sort of prank. To his dismay, the post was legit. Oh, god no.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

“Uh huh, busted your ass!” Bokuto snatched the phone back only for Kuroo to then take it from him. “Hey!”

Clearing his throat, the sly bastard began reading the caption. “‘Keiji Akaashi. 6’0ft tall, pretty boy with intelligent steel blue eyes. His mysterious nature and bored expression would automatically put him under the Dom category, but I can see right through him.’ Wow, they make you sound like some sort of experiment.”

“Don’t read that outloud!” Akaashi lunged forward, only to be stopped by a large hand in his face. “Omf-! Fohkuto-son!”

“What? Ashamed of yourself? You should be, traitor!”

Kuroo continued. “‘What many would believe to be the strong silent type, I believe there’s a sensitive side to him. That’s why I declare Keiji Akaashi to be a Switch with Sub-leaning tendencies, who’s not afraid to be vocal and would 100% let you peg him. 11/10. Would fuck again.’ Holy shit, this is gold.”

“Jesus Christ,” Akaashi felt like his entire face was on fire. This was like his worst nightmare come to life, and apparently now everyone on campus could participate in his misery. “This cannot be happening to me…”

“Oh, me, me, me. Is that really all you can say for yourself? What about [_____], huh? How do you think they’d feel after finding out their boyfriend is an unfaithful—”

“I DIDN’T CHEAT ON MY S/O, BOKUTO-SAN. That isn’t even the purpose of the list, you should know, you’re on it too!”

Bokuto gaped. “I am??”

Akaashi groaned, sinking back into his seat. His hands dragged across his face in distress, feeling as if he aged ten years from this mishap alone. But, Bokuto had a point—How were you feeling about all this? Had you seen it?

Luckily, he didn’t need to wonder for long.

“Keiji!”

He flinched, as did the two stooges hovering near him. Kenma was the only one to greet you normally while everyone else resembled deer in headlights; this immediately alarmed you. What you expected to be a surprise lunch with your boyfriend since your class let out early, now felt as if you just walked in on an intervention. After taking in the weird atmosphere, you eyed Akaashi with mild confusion. “Uh…is everything okay?”

“It’s all good, [_____]! Turns out my best friend isn’t a scumbag after all. Akaashi is definitely not cheating on you, so no harm done!”

You did a double-take in bewilderment; didn’t expect that. “O..kay?”

Bokuto looked so proud of his declaration, chest puffed out whilst Kuroo looked like he could barely hold it together. Your boyfriend clearly had seen better days, frown heavy as he glared at his seniors; all he wanted was to eat his goddamn sandwich.

Eventually, you decided to just take a seat next to him, pulling out your own food while the two former captains began bickering about who knows what. Kenma continued to play his game, happily taking the apple slices you graciously slid over to him as a boost. After you got situated, Akaashi instantly plopped his head right on your shoulder, desiring comfort from the emotional turmoil he just endured.

You kissed away the stress lines on his forehead before opening up your bento, already having an idea in mind as to what’s gotten him so deflated. But, you spared him any further humiliation—You planned to report that stupid post later anyways.

You chilled outside the locker rooms waiting for ATSUMU, upon his request to walk you back to the dorms after practice was over. You told him there was no need, that you’d be fine walking back on your own, but he insisted.

And you were so glad he did.

While you were waiting, you mindlessly scrolled on Twitter until a familiar username caught your attention; @/FckIt22. Everyone knew of the infamous ‘Horny Bucket List’ going around and boosting already inflated egos, speculating and even sometimes outing people of their most lewd fantasies with popular guys on campus. You couldn’t help but watch the drama unfold every time there’d be a new update to the list, eating it up whenever it’d be someone you knew, or someone you would’ve never guessed to be on it.

And to your surprise, after you refreshed the page, it was both. Your mouth was slightly ajar when a picture of your boyfriend’s boyish grin greeted you, in his volleyball jersey, soaked with sweat and hair pushed back from his forehead; looking like a full course meal.

Eagerly, you tapped in to read the thread attached to the image, intrigued to know what was said about Atsumu until…

“...The fuck?”

As quick as your excitement came, there it went. Right there, in big letters for the whole campus, no, the entire internet to see was your boyfriend’s face attached with someone else’s name. And not just any someone.

‘O S A M U M I Y A’

You didn’t know whether to laugh, or what. Could they’ve seriously not been bothered to make sure they had the right twin? And not only that, they mentioned you in the thread. Didn’t bother to @ you, though.

That only pissed you off even further.

‘Osamu Miya. 6’1ft of muscle and charm, whose insatiable appetite won’t be satisfied until he’s had your thighs wrapped around his face for an hour AT LEAST. Not the most expressive, but make no mistake that he’s the ultimate brat tamer; no doubt [______] could attest to that.’

“I know damn well they didn’t just…” You muttered in disbelief, shaking your head as you read on.

‘But, if you’re good, he mayyyy let you top. Don’t think for a second you’re in control tho. Unlike his brother, he’s got Dom energy for daysss. Doubt this man does anything but grunt and groan, but overall he still gets an 8/10. Yum ♡.’

Wow.

You weren’t expecting to see your future brother-in-law painted in this light today, but supposed there was a first for everything. To be fair, whomever ran the account sure knew how to sell a fantasy, but it didn’t excuse the lack of decorum they had. You felt a little disturbed, almost violated. One could only imagine how the twins would feel if they saw this…

“Hey there, stranger.” You jumped slightly at the sudden intrusion; speak of the devil. Atsumu wrapped his arms around your middle from behind, placed his chin on your shoulder, and gave a loving squeeze. “Ya ready?”

“Uh, yeah.” You quickly locked your phone.

A little too quick.

A small pout formed on his face. He immediately called you out. “What’re ya lookin’ at?”

“Hm?”

“Your phone, y’were lookin’ at something.” Noticing your shifty behavior, his grip around you loosened a little as he strained his neck to look you square in the face. It wasn’t long before a teasing grin spread across his. His eyebrows wiggled, “Ya lookin’ at porn?”

With a roll of your eyes, you lightly jabbed him in his bicep. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu. I was totally looking at porn. You got me.”

Atsumu shrugged, sporting an even bigger grin as he started to sway both of you. “Hey, no judgement here. But don’t forget ya got the real deal right here, darlin’. Whenever you need it, your lovely boyfriend will take care of ya. All’s ya gotta do is ask.”

He spun you around in his hold, and grabbed your hips. With low, tired eyes he stared deeply into your soul. His lopsided grin brought more damage to your already fluttering heart, not to mention his semi that was now pressed against your stomach; this man had been dying to have you in his arms for a while, it seemed. However, even with this sexual tension growing between the two of you...you just couldn’t help yourself.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Osamu.”

Immediately, his grin dropped. You did your best to remain stoic, but the absolute disgust that took over his face was just too good. Your body began to shake with laughter, small snickers escaping you as you bit your lip to hold it back. Atsumu was not amused.

“That joke wasn’t funny back in high school, [______], still ain’t funny now…”

“Oh, this is no joke. As of today, my boyfriend’s Osamu Miya, and apparently he’s my brat-tamer. Did you know that he won’t even let me top unless I’ve been good-?”

“Knock it off.” Atsumu glared, gently pinching your sides. You squirmed, but the teasing smile you had didn’t falter. “What’s gotten into ya? Tryin’ to get a rise outta me or somethin’?”

“Oh, you haven’t seen it yet?”

“Seen what?”

You unlocked your phone and showed him the thread. Atsumu held a look of utter confusion, squinting at it until it eventually registered what you were showing him. He’d heard about the list that circled around on campus, some of his friends and teammates used to brag, or complain about it to him when they ended up on it. At first, he found it entertaining…but now?

“THE FUCK?”

He snatched the phone out of your hands to get a closer look, catching on to what you’d originally been hiding from him in the beginning; Atsumu wished it had been porn.

“That’s what I said!” You laughed, incredulously. “The nerve of them to just mix the two of you up like that. And to add me into it without even bothering to tag me? Probably ‘cause they knew I’d call them out on their bullshit. Can you believe-”

“‘Unlike his brother, he’s got Dom energy for days’?? I totally have Dom energy! We’re fucking twins, why wouldn’t I? And ‘Samu ain’t no brat-tamer! If anythin’, he’s the goddamn brat.” Somewhere on campus, Osamu sneezed.

You stood there in bewilderment. That’s what he’s concerned about?

Crossing your arms, you watched him in astonishment. “So, you don’t care that they used your picture? Or the insinuation that I sleep with your brother?”

“‘Course I do! Ya think I like the idea of his filthy mouth being anywhere near you? And usin’ my picture to clickbait my supporters is just cheap. But nothin’ pisses me off more than anyone thinkin’ that bastard has better game than me. 8/10 my ass…”

You snorted. Why were you not surprised?

Taking a small step closer you grabbed his wrist and lowered it, bringing his attention away from the phone. Atsumu now wore a heavy pout, one that you couldn’t help but to kiss; so you did. With a free hand you reaching up to his nape and pulled him downward, capturing his lips. Catching him off guard, man nearly dropped your phone when your tongue slipped into his mouth. With a soft groan, Atsumu wrapped an arm around your waist as he tilted his head in response to your sudden affection, deepening the kiss as it instantly made his mind go blank.

You pulled away too soon for his liking, the blonde blindly chasing after you with his eyes still closed as a light chuckle escaped you. You thumbed at his bottom lip, wiping some of the spit left behind as he slowly opened his eyes. Atsumu’s honey-gaze seared right into you, the hunger from early returning as the semi he sported was now fully hard, thick and heavy as it pressed against your stomach—So fucking whipped, after just one kiss. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Gazing at him lovingly, your nails raked gently through his hair as he practically melted into you. For a moment, you thought he’d start purring.

“What do they know, huh? How about you take me to my dorm and remind me why Atsumu Miya, my lovely boyfriend, is the only one who takes good care of me. Then, we’ll put that account on blast afterwards, what d’you say?”

His boyish grin reappeared, leaning in to place his forehead on yours. “Thought you’d never ask.”

KENMA felt indifferent about the list. Nothing about it made sense to him, and he left it at that. It didn’t matter how many times his friends brought it up, or how many people whispered about it during lectures—He had no opinion on it.

“You’re not even a little curious?” Hinata asked.

“No. Not in the slightest.”

The two of them were chilling in the canteen, in the student gaming section, both occupied with their own respective poisons. While Hinata farmed pixelated fruit on his switch, Kenma battled npcs on the public-shared ps4. The copper-head talked on and on about trivial subjects since they’ve arrived, ranging from tough assignments he nearly failed to new moves he tried in volleyball, while the quieter of the two responded occasionally when he felt it necessary.

Hinata gasped, looking up from his game in genuine surprise. “Whoa, Bakayama said the exact same thing. You and him are probably one of the few guys I know who aren’t interested in knowing if they’re on the list. Well, you two and Suckyshima. And Sakusa-san...and...”

This went on for a good minute.

Kenma sighed, neutral expression not matching the rapid movement of his thumbs across the controller. “It’s just some dumb list. Not like it benefits anyone.”

“Sure it does! I heard it brought lots of people together,” Hinata paused, tilting his head as he hummed in thought. “Although, I also heard it split people up, too. And caused a lot of rumors…and got that one professor fired…”

Yet another minute, passed.

Kenma couldn’t help but snort, at least finding his rambling endearing enough to stomach yet another pointless conversation about that accursed list—Why people were so obsessed with it was beyond him.

“Sounds like a lot of drama. No thanks.”

There’s silence between the two of them, the sound effects from their games being the only thing filling the space. Kenma continued rapidly mashing buttons, tongue sticking out as he concentrated on the level. However, he couldn’t help but feel like they were being watched. They were in a public space, sure, but…something definitely felt off. Choosing to ignore it, he refocused on the game. Hinata just finished up harvesting his watermelons when he suddenly let out a teasing chuckle.

“I wonder if [______] checked.”

Kenma’s thumbs stop. His character was taking incredible amounts of damage, but none of it registered after the mere mention of your name; the pudding-head flushed red. After a moment, he regained composure and went back to smashing buttons, ignoring how slippery his hands just got.

“…Why would they do that?” He muttered.

Hinata shrugged, “Well, just because you’re not curious doesn’t mean they aren’t. Believe it or not, you’re a good looking guy, Kenma-san. And if there’s a fuck-list going around where my s/o might end up on it, I’d wanna be the first to know.”

Hm. Couldn’t argue with that. He always feared you’d end up on the list, but eventually realized it only catered to a certain demographic, mostly focused on the more sociable students, so he figured there was no other reason to care. It’d be a waste of time, Kenma knew for a fact there’d be no chance of him being on it, his outward appearance be damned.

He practically spent his first couple of semesters cooped up in his room, going to class, bare minimum socializing, streamed with his camera off, rinsed and repeated. He didn’t make many new friends during that time, and met you completely by happenstance during a late night cram session in the library; how in the fresh hell would anyone think about fucking him if he rarely gave other people the time of day?

Kenma kissed his teeth, “You’re being annoying.”

Hinata merely flashed a bright grin, leaning over to playfully poke him in the arm. “Don’t mind~!”

The dirty-blonde playfully swatted at the intruding hand, earning a bright laugh and another poke from the ginger just for shits n’ giggles, before he returned back to his video game. Unfortunately, the eyes around him didn’t falter, some being less obvious about it whilst others didn’t even try to hide their blatant staring. After a while it started to get uncomfortable, even Hinata couldn’t help getting concerned once he started to notice.

“Uh…is it just me, or are we drawing in a crowd?”

“I dunno. Maybe they’re just waiting for me to get off the game…” Kenma reasoned. But deep down, something told him that wasn’t the case at all.

After some time passed with the situation not getting any better, he decided to just call it a night. There was no point in trying to relax anymore with all those people pointing and whispering. As he began to leave the game, not bothering to save his progress, his phone buzzed. Immediately, Kenma knew it had to have been you—He kept everyone else on DND. When he unlocked his phone, though, the gamer was shocked to see the overwhelming amount of notifications on the screen, all from his closest friends, minus the one he’s currently with.

It appeared they’d been trying to get his attention for a while. You must’ve been the last resort, as your message urged him to meet at your place. He didn’t need to be told twice, grateful for this escape from the prying eyes of the random bystanders.

“I’m heading over to [_____]’s. Sorry to cut our time short.”

The ginger simply smiled. “It’s okay, know you don’t like crowds. See ya later, Kenma-san!”

Kenma curtly nodded, offering a tiny smile in gratitude. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made haste for the nearest exit, keeping his gaze locked on the ground until he made it outside. He could feel the eyes following him as he left, making a cold chill run down his spine. He couldn’t wait to get to your place.

When he eventually arrived, his knuckle barely grazed the door before it flew wide open, startling him a little. Before he even had time to catch his jumping heart, you pulled him into your embrace, making him tense up slightly until he soon melted into your familiar warmth. Sanctuary.

“I’m so sorry, Ken. You must be devastated.”

“Um, I’m fine...” he mumbled. Your arms only grew a little tighter around him, as if you were…shielding him? Eventually you pulled back just enough to look at him, searching his eyes for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Why would I be devastated?”

You blinked widely at him. “You mean you hadn’t seen it?”

He squinted, visibly confused, and your silence did little to calm his wariness. Another cold chill traveled down his spine, hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up as he struggled to figure out what this feeling meant. It wasn’t until after you gave a strained smile, sympathy swirling within your gaze, did it eventually hit him like a semi truck. The flooded messages, the suffocating stares, the whispers...It couldn’t be.

He slowly began to shake his head. “No...”

You exhaled. “Yes.”

‘Kenma Kozume. 5′6ft recluse with the mannerisms of a kitten. But don’t let his meek demeanor fool you—it’s always the quiet ones you need to look out for. Though his posture may appear questionable, we all know it’s because of the monster between his legs dragging him down, baggy clothes no doubt concealing an absolute masterpiece of toned skin for you to mark up. The effort he puts into playing video games, don’t expect the same amount in the bedroom. I believe Kenma to be a lazy Switch with Sub energy, who’ll spend most of the session on his back, but that’s okay. We stan a pillow prince. 9/10.’

He looked at your phone with mild disgust. “You’re fucking joking.”

“'fraid not. It was posted less than an hour ago, probably while you were gaming with Hinata. Kuroo was the first to see it, and sent it to the groupchat. That’s why I assumed you had seen it already. Dammit, I knew someone would notice how hot you were sooner or later. And here I thought I was doing a good job gate-keeping you. ”

“Don’t just say stuff like that out loud...” He flushed, tugging on your sleeve in mild embarrassment. After composing himself, Kenma let out an irritated exhale. “What a pain. Whatever, this’ll probably blow over by tomorrow. Someone else will be posted and they’ll forget all about me. Guess I’ll just keep an even lower profile until then. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Laying together on your Snorlax beanbag chair, Kenma turned on his stomach to bury himself in the plush cushion, wanting to forget this whole nightmare. But, you weren’t gonna let him wallow so easily. Tugging on the shoulder part of his sleeve to get his attention, Kenma groaned before tilting his head slightly to peek at you with one eye through the curtain of his hair.

“You don’t understand, Ken. Bitches practically froth at the mouth for the sexy, socially awkward, gamer-boy type with the messy hair and lax attitude. I would know, I am bitches!” He snickered softly, rolling his visible eye. “My point is, this most definitely will not blow over by tomorrow. Not when they’re already hooked on the fantasy of you.”

“Exactly, a fantasy.” He said, slightly muffled. Shifting to lay on his back, Kenma rested his arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. “Meaning they’ll never get to know the real thing, so eventually they’ll get bored. You shouldn’t work yourself up over this, kitten.”

“Yeah, but what if someone-”

Reaching over, Kenma gently flicked your forehead. With a soft yelp, you half-heartedly glared at him before going to retaliate with your own flick. He merely grinned, eyes full of mirth as he swiftly grabbed the hand and used it to pull you in closer. “They won’t. And even if they do, I'll just get Kuroo to tell one of his lame jokes to scare ‘em off. Problem solved.”

You lightly hit his arm, but still graced him with a laugh. Somewhere on campus, said rooster-head sneezed.

#🍁wasabi #hq #hq!#hq scenarios #hq smut #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #hq kageyama #hq akaashi #hq atsumu #hq kenma #the fuck-it list

9K notes · View notes

tarjapearce · 6 months

Text

Poppy Blue

Blue Jones! Miguel x Baby Doll! Reader.

Art by @marbipa on x

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Power play, choking kink, rough sex, mentions of abuse, preying, toxic and perverted behavior, implicit clandestine and illegal activities, lobotomy, dissociation, implicit depersonalization, objectification, hate sex, manhandling, violence, sub space. No Proofread.

Summary: Messy things ~ (I guess?) Miguel as Blue Jones from Sucker Punch.

A/N: Watched Sucker Punch last night and... yeah. Had to get this out of my system. ~ Another one for the Miguelverse ~

Masterlist

All it took was a bullet. Aimed at your assailant with no intentions of missing. Yet you did. You missed, failed terribly so. His chest was your goal, instead it went directly to his shoulder.

Projectile ripping and scorching skin, tissue and muscle in the go, earning a shaky and pained yelp. But it was the least he deserved after trying to be sneaky on your sister, that laid cold and bled out in the floor. She was no match for his knife and his blood thirst of the night. The rest was a blur.

And now, you were dragged down to the wet and dull greys walls of your future home. Lennox House. Or rather Lennox Asylum for the Mentally Ill.

Everything about the place screamed danger, everything about the people working in the monstrosity of place yelled I'm no better.

Barefoot, soaked in rain, holding your new uniform and gazing at the biggest man you've seen in you life, holding a bunch of keys while his eyes bore into you.

The way he stared made your skin crawl and it didn't help your clothes clung to your body. Arms braced the uniform closer to your chest, trying to cover it up. His eyes wandered to the man behind you, a police officer with three scratched lines into his face. You hadn't left him unscathed. Not when he tried to play rough with you back at your old home.

The man showed you around, place was as depressing as it was from the outside, but The Theater took the prize.

Girls your age dressed in gray, socializing in the area. And by socializing it'd mean to watch them either receive therapy with a polish beautiful woman named Vera Gorski, or watch them fight over the stupidest things. But who could blame them?

Some probably had enough time inside that had memorized the cracks in the wall, the scratches on the floor, the number of chewed gums underneath the table or how many dust particles were accumulated in the windows. Gray. Everything was gray and dull.

Even the voice of the men behind you talking about a price for your silence were tiresome and dry. Two thousand. That's what your memories were valued as. A number you now hated.

Corrupt pigs

The police officer gave you a gentle push forward as a nurse came to fetch you. The simple touch of that man made your skin revolt and slapped him hard across his wilting face, a scowl on your grimace that slowly turned into a smirk as the police officer tried to catch you, but you were being dragged away by two nurses into a life that would turn your head upside down and backwards, the many times it saw fit until you'd understand that you weren't in charge.

Until you'd understand your purpose.

Dance.

"If you don't dance, you have no purpose."

Madam Gorski murmured to you. Pretty, dangerous and aware of the many many situations revolving in the brothel. Cause in truth, the asylum was just an alibi and a frontage for the real deal. House Lennox. A house of pleasure.

Bets, drinks, sex, meds and a hell of a show to anyone that filled Miguel's pockets.

The main attraction? Girls that society deemed unfit to keep within her picky guts. Too into messy situations to keep the pretense around relatives. Too fucked up to function properly but good enough to mold and shape into something useful, and too tempting to break even further.

She mumbled while circling you, her dark eyes scrutinized you unabashedly, taking in everything her sight could reach. Pursing her pouty lips upon your body.

Pretty, scared, still holding a grip on reality while trying to swallow a really hard to deglute pill, and oh so perfect for a new purpose.

"We do not keep things in here that serve no purpose."

The collide of her cane on the floor was like a metronome, setting the pace to enter a forbidden place, somewhere that none could reach but you. Mind splitting in two, dissociating soul from conscience, leaving an empty, moving vessel behind. You were free for a moment. And now you wanted more, more of that place where your imagination ran rampant.

Where Gorski's words meant nothing, where the guards had no power, where you were allowed to break down and feel without second intentions or being frowned upon. But mainly, without Miguel’s preying gaze licking you raw while undressing your form with it.

But the clapping and praising brought you back to this reality. Red eyes fell upon you, studying, raking over your body upside down, stopping at your thighs to then go back to your flushed and breathless face.

Mr. O'Hara. Miguel 'Blue' O'Hara. The asylum guard, the key bearer, perverted pimp, and your new shadow.

Ever since that dance many things changed.

Even though you danced, duties in the asylum weren't to be neglected. If you said no, you'd get a visit to the hole.

If you didn't dance, you'd get a visit to the hole.

But if you didn't do things Miguel's way, you'd get a personal talk with him, and then a visit to the hole.

And those talks, surely weren't words.

Scrubbing the floors gave you the chance to listen a bit of everything. Girl's derangements, psychotic outbreaks, mumblings that were filled in with regret and many more flourishing emotions; the ever loud music from the cook, and the unceasing mewls and obscene noises coming from Miguel's office.

Some girls misbehaved on purpose, just to get a taste of him. Others did anything to draw his attention to them, specially in the dance floor. But you knew better to anger him.

Sure, pleasure came in hand with a high price. He wasn't good, he wasn't nice nor gentle, matter-of-factly some girls cried during their one on one sessions and the degradation only enhanced the tears.

Sick fuck.

Gorski's alarms flared up upon seeing belt marks on their legs and ass, bites in their inner thighs and bruises on their hips. Eyes a bit too gone and tired to actually work in anything. They might have spread the gossip around of Miguel fucking them, and even enjoyed it.

But the aftermath of it, said otherwise. And it was enough to keep you on check, but even so he was pulled to you like a magnet so strong you could see the refrain in his eyes every time he approached you.

Hands shaky, tongue rubbing and wetting his plump lips, a soft flush on his cheeks and pleading eyes. A silent 'Let me play too' cause he wasn't allowed to touch, or taste you. Instead, he'd use the girls willing to please him to take his anger out. Their bodies meant nothing, they meant nothing cause they weren't you.

They didn't have your body, they didn't have your sweet voice that distorted into moans and gasps that he'd kill to induce every time you danced, but above all, they didn't have your spark.

That little interaction with the police when you first arrived, had him folding on a bathroom, stroking himself to oblivion at the mere sound of your slaps.

Unbeknownst to you, you held so much power over him. Power he was set to dull, because he was the only one in control. Not even Gorski and her stupid polish methods to get in the rest's head. He ran the place and had it under control.

For how long though?

You wanted out. His little Poppy wanted out and surely would get everything to be free and leave him, forsake him in this damned place.

Anger flowed within his veins like molten lava upon remembering how other men looked at you, how other men wanted you. They'd possibly been imagining how good and tight your insides would feel cause the way you moved when you were up in the stage, was surreal. It was like another person took over.

But he, a sick fuck through and through, would want both. No. He'd have both. He craved and needed both, even better when you were dressed in such things that only added more dry bones to his needy fire.

Fucking lucky of them to feel you and be a your second skin. Even that stupid and everything but innocent uniform you were to dress every day, stirring up enough to let him take a peek of your panties, or the stockings underneath that remained etched on your supple thighs he'd often fantasize in getting lost between.

He just had to wait for you to misbehave. But sadly you didn't seem keen into breaking the rules. He'd wait.

---

"Stormy, come."

Vera called another girl. Whoever gave their names either knew them too well or picked random words in a go. Gorski too engrossed into her lessons to notice you had been dragged away by other guards under Miguel's petition.

Had you forgotten about something? No. Surely not. Last week's chores were fulfilled completely, the bathrooms were clean, the kitchen's dishes turn were washed up, and so were the floors. Your wrists sore, a reminder to ask for a new brush.

And-

Shit.

Fuck.

The laundry.

Some dancers had ran out of stockings, lingerie, and some sheets from the brothel needed to be replaced ASAP.

But you, Poppy, as Vera had called you and it stuck with the rest ever since, had trouble. Just cause you had forgotten about the damn laundry.

Miguel's formidable frame came into view, he was on a call, lying on how well someone's daughter was doing after a lobotomy. How they didn't have to worry about her anymore.

Your stomach felt sick and your heart leaped on your chest once he ended up the call. The guards had been long gone, leaving you with your shadow alone.

If honest, you knew Miguel either followed or kept you watched under hawk's eyes. Time stopped as soon as he turned to face you.

Pupils wide blown as soon as you came into his sight.

"My sweet, sweet Poppy."

He inhaled deeply and clasped his hands together before his face. An uncontainable smirk morphed into a light titter.

"You've been a bad girl, princesa."

His hands slamming on the table before him made you jolt and blink at his sudden mood shift.

"We..." He wetted his lips as he came behind you, "We were counting on you, Mi cielo. But... you failed us. Failed me."

A gulp as his breath fanned over the crook of your neck.

"You see..." His big and long fingers brushing your hair away from the right side of your head joint, "Now I gotta improvise something for the next show. "

"I'm sorry, I forgot-"

His hand took a hold of your neck and the contact made him growl. Warm, smooth, feeling every heartbeat underneath his big and calloused palms.

Lips dangerously close to your ear, breathing and panting as he pulled you closer to him, your back colliding against his torso and abdomen.

"Shh"

He hushed while taking a big whiff off you. A mix of soap, perfume and cigarettes. His hand squeezed tighter, earning a lovely and sweet yelp from you as he pushed you against his desk.

Your eyes widened in surprise upon feeling the hardening cock in between the slot of your thighs, poking, begging to be released and finally take you.

"You remind me of someone. Too bad she lost her spark."

His hand riled the skirt of your uniform up, passing up some layers of extra clothing, your underwear and stockings. Hand plunged inside to finally allowing his fingers to have a sample of your flesh.

"But I'm keeping yours alight, sweetheart."

His cock twitched when he found your clit. Fingers dexterous and peeling the outer folds away to give a gentle rub before you closed your legs almost instantly. A little delaid reaction, your brain was still processing it.

You went completely still when he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips. He sucked them off with hunger, groaning and trembling at the taste.

"Por Dios, preciosa..."

You tried to pry his hand out of your neck but the struggle made his breathings more labored and needy as he humped and ground against you from behind. Letting his tip to speak volumes at how hard and wanton he was. How bad you made him react. How much power you had over him.

Of course.

The idea of having him subdued to you assaulted your mind. Pressuring you into pleading, just like your clit that clenched and twitched upon having his tip rubbing in a slow yet firm strokes.

His hands went back inside your panties, searching for the nub of nerves that had you melting. Tongue skimming at the tender skin of your neck.

Just as he was about to bury a finger knuckle deep, the ever annoying voice of Vera urging Miguel from outside the door, asking for you. Her dear and lovely Poppy.

"Chingada madre" (Fucking shit)

He sighed with an exasperated growl and looked at the door.

"The fuck you want?!"

"I need Poppy on the practice. Now."

Where was the shocking baton when he needed it the most?

For once, you were relieved to know that you didn't go unnoticed under Gorski's watch. She protected the girls in her own way.

Knees trembled as he kept the hand inside. A little miscalculation had you whimpering while his fingers remained trapped in your flesh. His eyes snapped back on you with a smirk.

A hand clasped on top of your mouth, suffocating any moans as he worked his fingers between your pussy. Touching and prodding at the forbidden flesh, a moan vibrated through his hand with a high pitched Hmm

"I'll get her to you right away!"

Miguel yelled while working his fingers harder and faster, alternating between rubbing and fucking your hole with them.

"Spread your legs wider, pretty baby" The husk of his voice made you close your eyes and hips hump ever shyly at his hands. Gaining as much friction as possible.

"Miguel, I need her now."

He grumbled under his breath while moving his hands faster. The wet smooch and sucking squelch had him humping against your panties, breaths agitated, muttering something you could only decipher as filth in spanish, your hands clenched onto him, tightly fisted on his clothes.

Just a bit more

He heard Vera cursing in her native tongue as he prodded his fingers inside, toying with your opening. Stretching and fucking it at his likings.

"You fucking little slut"

He tittered while rubbing furiously in your clit. A bit too rough that had you bucking and trembling in his arms. If his hands made you quiver and melt he couldn't wait to see what his cock could do. You drenched his fingers.

Said fingers were cleaned up again by his mouth with a droopy and pleasure drunk face.

Despite having your legs shaky, he held you by the hips, and forced you to grab onto his desk. His hands quickly fumbled with his pants and boxers, pulling his cock out.

He stroked a couple of times, tip susceptible to stimulation. He pulled the panties aside, your stockings the only barrier between you and his erection. The flimsy layer of clothes instantly adhered to your soaked skin, He pushed in between your thighs, rubbing his cock back and forth with slow thrust against your pussy. His hot length brushed against the already engorged and sensitive nub.

The tightness of your warm thighs smooshed together created the perfect friction hole for him without actually penetrating you. So close and yet so far of that forbidden territory. Soft mewls and whimpers came out your mouth, too enraptured in feeling than verbalizing your pleasure.

He also needed his toys. Specially his favorite. Stockings were thoroughly soaked the more he pushed his cock in and out. Labia clothed and slicked parted to feel his shallow moves. He used you as his fleshlight, his hips smacking yours. His chest rumbled with animalistic and low growls.

His hands were clumsy as the pleasure turned overwhelming, you could see the flushed tip of him peeking out your thighs, the urge of tasting him turned bigger the faster he went. You were trying so hard to keep it as quiet as possible.

"Wished I was inside you, don't you?"

You gasped as he purposely angled his tip in your dripping hole. A shivering breath was all he received.

He took you by your chin and squeezed

"Don't you?!"

"Y-Yes!"

"Yes, what?!"

"Yes, sir."

Jesus fucking Christ.

He pushed in deeper in your cunt, his cock pushed a bit of the stockings inside as he doused it with his cum, unable to hold back any longer, marking you.

You had never heard a man pant and wheeze like that before. So deep, raspy, needy, cradling you tighter, anchoring to you as he shook his orgasm out.

"Fuck- Ay Dios, fuckfuck-"

He slurred while engulfing your frame against the table. Breathings matching his erratic ones.

Your skin between supple thighs felt clammy and sticky. Black stockings ruined completely by the white and wet patch of his scent.

Hot breath fanned over your neck.

"Can't wait to feel the real de-"

The door banged.

"Boss! We need you!"

The guards and Vera had proposed to fuck around with him cause his patience had been tested many times.

Your steps marching away from him snapped him out of his thoughts, He blinked and held you by the wrist, pulling you once more to him to kiss you.

Your first kiss in years. Soft but needy and filled in with a promise to fulfill later.

Now that he had a taste, there was none to stop him. He'd take his favorite toy and go home.

----

Freedom was taken away from you, right before your eyes. Forsaken by your so called friends, marooned by the crew you had gathered within the depths of despair. Your hope had given them a chance at surviving, your courage had transformed you into a fucked up sisterhood, but it was their greed that made you the ultimate sacrifice to their success.

You could only watch while thrashing your way out, but the more you fought, the more guards came to you, but one in particular pulled you out of the mess like a feather. But you didn't stop fighting. Not even when your tabs were in absolute zero probabilities of winning, not when Miguel dragged you inside manhandling your crying form like a ragdoll.

Scratches, fists and other punches didn't move him in the slightest. His grip tightened once you both were locked up in his office once more. He tossed you on the floor.

"Why... Why did you want to leave?"

His tone menacing yet hurt.

The idea of you almost slipping away from him had sent him in a berserk mode that unleashed hellbent through the asylum. Just to find you and when he did, he wanted nothing but hurt you, just the way you've hurt him.

Wasn't his attention enough? , wasn't him being lenient on you and your chores enough? Wasn't he enough?

"WHY?!"

You were too dumbfounded to process his question. Too marked with shame at your failure and rage to pay him attention, and that alone sent him grabbing you by the neck and crash you against a vanity. Tossing everything above it to the floor.

Your back collided against the now shattered mirror, you yelped but still managed to slap him and that made him groan and nod frantically.

Yes

One of his hands was more than enough to hold your both arms as he positioned between your thighs, pressing further against you.

"You don't like me, Poppy? Why?"

"Let me go!"

His hand squeezed your neck tightly, cutting all air for a minute while he kissed you. Sloppy, angry and so full with lust and rage. It gave you no time to react while his other hand tore the panties from underneath your skirt.

You kept slapping him, but that only enticed him to spread you further

"Love that fucking spark on you, preciosa."

He then thrashed you against the table sending a painful jolt through your body, It made you still for a moment.

"No! No! Don't-" his eyes widened in panic, "Don't lose it. Please-"

"No" You panted, "Just found it" A flower vase was smashed in his forehead. And that granted you freedom from his hands as you fell on the floor, gasping for air and crawling away from him.

Heavy steps echoed, trailing dangerously after you. Miguel took you by the ankle and dragged you towards him.

"No!"

He hissed and pulled you upwards, like a statuette, and slammed your torso against the desk you had been clenching onto. All air knocked out your lungs.

A hand passed over his buckle and removed in a swift motion his belt in one go. The sight of your pussy peeking underneath the ruffles of your skirt made a smile that didn't reach his eyes to appear.

He quickly got the belt around your neck, your hands instantly pried, or at least tried to pry it away, scratching yourself in the process. The smell of copper filled in the air, the vase had broke the skin of his forehead.

"You fucking ungrateful bitch!"

He secured the belt tighter and you wheezed, hands flailed to get a hold of him. Fingers already prodding and toying with your cunt, to his surprise, the struggle and fight turned you on, knowing that a man wanted you so badly that would do anything to have you, and you denying such power had you soaked.

Specially when the man in question was this 6'9" cell guard that wanted nothing but to wreck you, destroy you the way you had destroyed his fucked up illusions.

"All I did for you, everything I did meant shit for you-"

He rasped before slapping your butt with such force it stung and left a red imprint on the now reddening flesh.

"I didn't... a-ask you for shit!"

He grunted at your broken words as he pulled the makeshift leash backwards, separated your legs and pulled out his cock once more.

"There we go, baby"

"Y-You're so pathetic-"

Words died in your throat as he slid inch by inch inside. The intrusion made you sob a feeble whimper, it burned and hurt, but in a way you weren't expecting and you liked it.

"Me? Pathetic? Ay muñeca, is not me whose gonna beg me to stop" He pulled your face towards him and kissed you once more, "You won't even remember your name once I'm done with you."

He buried to the hilt as he watched your expression. Troubled yet blissful. A little grip was loosened as he felt you were about to speak again.

"You talk too much shit-."

Part of you regretted said words, cause he smashed your head in the desk and dug his fingers around your hips.

"Is that so?"

Nothing had you prepared for the assailing onslaught of his hips. Fucking was a measly word compared to what he actually was doing to your poor and snug cunt.

It wasn't slapping, his hips thwacked yours with such force you were sure your cervix would be bruised and your legs wouldn't walk properly for the next few days, but as it hurt, it felt good. Too good for your own comfort. Specially when propped a leg ontop of a stool for more leverage to ruin you deeper.

A garbled moan came out your lips, before gritting your teeth together and shaking your head vehemently. He laughed in between deep growls and moans.

"Am I dulling that spark, muñeca?"

Your body lurched forwards, pussy drenched him with every remorseless push he delivered. Eyes struggling to keep on the front, but it was unavoidable to have them rolling back as your jaw slacked open.

High pitched wails rumbled out of your gaping mouth, permeating the once silent room. Two of his fingers slid in your mouth, hot breath colliding against them. They hooked forcing your mouth to keep open.

The desk shook under your weight, the room filled in with moans so sweet and delicious, unlike the many that had been under him.

You were experiencing first hand the danger. Miguel wasn't nice, he wasn't gentle. The latter made an emphasis on its own as he pulled the belt impossibly tighter. A gurgling and rasping noise came from your throat. He wasn't squeezing anymore, he was choking you.

And Dios mio, you were sure you'd die. But dying sounded way too much of a reward than staying in this awful place.

"Yes"

You hissed in between butchered pants and wheezing mewls. Mind set in welcoming the reaper as air was still cut out of your lungs. Legs too weak to keep on their own. Dizziness fogging your mind, fire engulfing your body, Your cunt slurped him in, wetness no longer an issue since he slid and out so easily.

The only indicator you still had consciousness was the little pathetic cries you did as his hips plowed you with a new intensity you didn't know possible.

He had been whispering the filthiest things into your ear, a couple of degrading words you couldn't quite hear, too busy being cock drunk and slipping in and out of consciousness.

Your torso and arms laid in between his arms and the desk, his upper body keeping you still as his hips did the whole assault. His face too snatched in a myriad of things.

Pride cause he finally got to have you and proved you wrong, lust cause you felt just like he had imagined, anger because of your previous words. He was the one that was rawing you into oblivion, had your brain turned upside down, not Gorski, and had you cumming with such an intensity it was overwhelming and too much for your brain to digest.

Too much.

The choking had your brain's fuse in a shortcut, shutting itself off for what it felt like forever, until he spilled himself inside. Renovating your walls white.

Hot cum spurted and not a single drop was wasted as he made sure you kept it inside.

His hulking figure trembled, torn in between subtle and violent spasms that shook him to his very core and raged pants that sent a shiver down your sore spine.

He finally had you and you were his. He wasn't letting you go. Not when he was about to give you a new purpose.

Being his.

---

Everything that he thought good and right blurred. Eyes filled in with tears at your state. Gone. Gone from this world, gone from him, the spark had vanished.

How this happened?

His mind raked through the memories, trying to find the right moment everything went to shit.

He signed a paper. A lobotomy authorization in your behalf.

No!, no!.

"Come back" He pleaded while kissing you and squeezing his hands on the joint of your head and shoulders, to pry something out of you. But nothing came.

The spark had been lost.

And so were you.

"Please, muñeca"

He sobbed and cradled you in his arms, but there was no push, no retaliation, nothing. Only a lovely vessel of his love.

You were gone. For real.

He had been so naive to believe that fucking you senseless meant to have you. He had been such a fool to fall for such a simple thing as that.

And now he had lost you. His own hand brought his demise. Guards and Gorski dragged him out, his hand latched on to you, but even your skin felt different.

"Poppy!"

He yelled but you didn't answer. Just watched him with a look that shattered his heart.

You were free. Free and far far away.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel smut #spiderman 2099 smut #sucker punch #t writes✨#one shot #Miguelverse

1K notes · View notes

tonixe · 5 months

Text

✿ good girl

`` a/n: this fic is inspired by princessbellecerise and sugerapplefairy, low-key reader being a little cute bimbo is living rent-free in my head like omg, like it's living in my brain.

warning: misogynistic coriolanus, smut, objectification, dumbification, creampie, spanking, bathroom sex, groping, kitchen sex, reader being a housewife, reader being a stupid little bimbo + nymphet.

pairing: coriolanus x bimbo!reader

word counter: 1.2k

ਏਓ ` Imagine being coriolanus stupid bimbo wife, it is easy to be with him. He gives you a stress-free, lavish life with money, expensive things, and jewelry. It was an easy choice for Coriolanus to pick you, you were attractive, with perfect curves sculpting on your petite body and dreamy tits propping up on your chest. It was easy to control your little empty head, he controlled what you do, money, and everything making sure your being a good little girl.

ਏਓ ` A good little housewife for him, you cook, clean for him, and wearing a cute light dress, and no panties or a bra underneath because you knew coriolanus hated not having easy access to you. Every time coriolanus came home, you were always awake, running a bath for him, but what would always happen would be him fucking you in the tub, soap suds covering your body. Your hands holding the sides of the bathtub, as he abused your cunt, mewls rolling off your tongue.

ਏਓ ` When coriolanus is stressed, you would always know what to do, taking his cock down your throat making you gag, tears pricking your waterline, moaning out. His hands force you down the shaft of his cock, facefucking you. Rolling your tongue at the tip of his cock, your lips bitten up, your mascara smudging your blushy cheeks, making eye contact with him as you took him whole.

ਏਓ ` he loves either making you swallow his cum or giving you a facial, his cock spurring cum onto your little cute face and your perky chest. On your knees like a whore for him, coated in his warm hot cum.

ਏਓ ` He loves groping your chest when he stressed, his rough hands twisting your delicate nubs making you squirm from his touch, clenching around nothing. Even fingering you, he enjoys dumbing you down, it stroked his ego. Your little screams and yelps, boosting his ego.

ਏਓ ` Your little play doll for him to change, shape, and form. He programs you to do things he wants, and you just nod your head at his words though you don't understand them, just giving him a smile on your lips. A sexual object for him to put his cock in and breed, as he spreads your legs apart, your delicate fingers already spreading your pussylips for him, ready to take his cock inside of you. Biting your lip, rolling your eyes as he plunges into you. Harsh comments slipped out of his mouth like 'Slut', 'whore' or 'Bitch' as he harshly fucked you, almost making you bleed.

ਏਓ ` When he's working on important papers for work, you would be his cocksleeve, his cock stuffed into your wet cunt. Slopping sounds coming from you, as he did his work. His cock bulging in your stomach, squirming around. Your cheeks being flushed, and your lips bitten up, all red. Your nipples poked out from the light fabric of the dress, whines coming out from your mouth and him just ignoring you as you tried to move but everytime he would purposely smack his pelvis into you, making you jolt.

ਏਓ ` Coriolanus loves to see his bimbo wife all dolled up in lingerie or short-dressed, making sure to order a bunch for you and giving you an extra amount of money to buy the special lingerie he likes. Bunch of reds, pink, and whites. All lacy, with bows, ribbons, some tights, and garters. Your body lying down on the bed, all dressed up for him to just ruin you.

ਏਓ ` Imagine being in the kitchen, making dinner for him and his hands just all over you, his lips on your neck, and him grinding on your ass. It was super hard for you to stay focused, trying to make him stop but you knew he wouldn't just for you to bend over, your dress flipped and fucked raw, his cock slipping in and out of you, your face on the cold porcelain counter.

ਏਓ ` He loves to edge you, slapping his cock onto your clit, watching you as you writhe being desperate to be filled.

ਏਓ ` He loves to punish you for stupid things just to emphasize his control over you, making sure you crawl on all fours, in your cami dress, while he sits on a red velvety couch, as you crawl to him looking up at him, with a sad expression, tears dripping down on your cheeks. You felt guilt about what you did, though you didn't know it yourself. Laying on your stomach, bent over on his lap. Your body was almost bare, just a light dress covering you. As he spanks you, your body jolts from the pain, fat tears dripping from your eyes, his hands slapping the plush of your ass. Your whines falling deaf on his ears.

ਏਓ ` When Coriolanus fucks he loves pulling by your hair, forcing you up as he plunges into you further, doggy style, his cock kissing your cervix deliciously. His finger slipped into your mouth, gagging your moans, being forced to breathe through your nose, his cock snapping into you.

ਏਓ `Coriolanus always track your cycle, making sure to cum into you a lot when your ovulating, so you'll be pumped with his warm cum burrowing into you further. He would love to see your stomach filled with cum, awaiting a baby. Your breast filled with milk, and your belly all round and big, even if you were pregnant he would still fuck you, just more gently, but still hard.

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tojipie · 6 months

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I love your prison bf toji series so much!! Also, in the newest installment of the series Toji says that Shiu has had a crush on the reader for a while? I’d love to see how this crush developed, how Toji found out and how Shiu dealt with his feelings!!

ughhhhgghgg i love this prompt so much :(( bless your heart you’re a genius <3

prison bf toji series linked here <3

context ! -> fic takes place very early on in reader and toji’s relationship. this is pre-prison and at a point where he hasn’t introduced him to his men yet :D hopefully this makes sense !

content: fem reader, brief piv smut, mentions of incarceration, objectification of reader by stranger, fluff, they make up dw ! jealousy, angst, unrequited love

purple hickeys bloom across your chest as toji makes his way from shoulder to shoulder, pinching bouts of delicate skin between his teeth while length ruts into you.

the drag of his cock is delicious, hitting that special spot at just the right angle from the way he has you laid out on the couch, both legs thrown over his shoulder with your head propped up on a cushion.

toji was always like this after securing a deal at work, soft, sensual, taking his time with your body as an act of celebration. half-empty glasses of champagne still lie on the coffee table where you’d left them, leaving rings of cool sweat on the glass surface.

“gonna cum,” he groans, pulling away from your neck with a pop and blowing cool air against the saliva-soaked hickey. you squirm at the stimulation, throwing your head back as your high creeps up on you t— was that a key in the door?

toji pulls out of you with unmatched speed, reaching for a couch cushion to shield his manhood. he rucks a throw blanket over your body with a string of curses, using his massive build to hide the silhouette of your body from view.

“what’d i tell you about waltzing into my fucking house?” your boyfriend yells, staring down the suit-clad stranger with a look that screams blood-lust.

the smile that breaks out on the man’s face is nothing short of filthy, eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat

“awww didya get us a hooker boss-man?” he sneers, cigarette hanging from his lips. “could’ve waited till i showed up to start but i’m down for whatever.” he laughs, gingerly placing a pristine briefcase on the coffee table before taking your discarded bottle of champagne as a parting gift.

“don’t have too much fun, alright?” he teases, stepping out the door as quickly as he’d come in.

the two of you are speechless for several minutes, looking back and forth between each other, the door he didn’t even bother to close, and the mystery briefcase you’re not sure you want to see opened.

toji sits up with a string of curses, stalking over to kick the door shut with a sigh.

“that’s.. shiu,” he mumbles, clearly embarrassed.

you sit up from your spot on the couch, letting the blanket guarding your modesty slip down to your waist. toji settles down on the opposite side of the couch, arms outstretched to let you climb onto his naked form.

“handles money,” he clarifies, tracing abstract shapes onto your spine. “my cut from today is in the case.”

“do you trust him?”

he nods, resting his head in the crook of your neck with a sigh.

you figure that’s all you need to know.

˚ ✧ ──────────────────────

the apology shiu gives you the next time you meet goes on for ten minutes. variations of “fuck i didn’t know” and “i’m so so sorry i really am” spill from his lips while he bows at your feet, forehead firmly pressed to the wood floor of your dining room.

toji sits at the head of the table, shoveling bites of dinner into his mouth in between heart laughs.

“mmf— tell her again i don’t think she heard ya.”

the truth is you’d kind of forgotten about your boyfriend's right hand after the incident was over. was the hooker comment uncalled for? sure, but judging by the saturated fear in the suit-clad man’s eyes you figure toji had done something to set him straight.

plus you’d both gone two more rounds after the initial embarrassment had died down, making up for the little roadblock on your path to an orgasm.

“it’s okay, promise,” you say quietly, not entirely sure what to say at this point. the suit-clad man stands again, bowing to both of you with a sigh.

“now give her our little present,” toji says, stalking over with his arms crossed.

a sealed bottle of champagne— the same kind he’d so graciously swiped from your home— is placed in the palm of your hands before you’re able to question either of them.

you shoot the other man a greatful smile, and shiu realizes he quite likes the feeling of your soft hand shaking his.

˚ ✧ ──────────────────────

toji’s annual new year party was a sight to behold. alcohol, dancers, and booming music was the typical atmosphere, though the event had taken a complete turn once you’d entered the picture.

gone were the days of loose dollar bills and stray panties littering the floor, the smell of sex and smoke in the air.

in were the days of… a modest bar and fancy catering, much to his men’s dismay.

toji didn’t quite know how to throw a party that could be deemed “professional” but he figured not having strippers at the house might’ve been a step in the right direction. some of the guys even brought their wives this time, fun right?

and so, toji sits toward the back of the room, watching you socialize with a drink in hand, his best friend beside him.

tension hangs in the air as both men watch you from afar. one with pride, the other with longing.

“do you want her?”

“… what?”

toji doesn’t elaborate on the cryptic question, peering at his friend over the rim of his glass.

shiu pauses, downing the rest of his drink as he thinks of what to say. a warm hand settles on the meat of his shoulder, letting him know it’s ok.

“yeah man, i do,” he admits, too ashamed to look up from the floor.

greed. the word that’d graced toji’s knuckles since the day he turned 19. black ink needled into a canvas of tan skin, bleeding into the rest of the tattoos like water flowing upstream.

it fit him perfectly. it did then, and it does now. toji always gets what he wants, regardless of how other people feel. a man overcome by what he believes he deserves.

the hug he’s pulled into isn't filled with malice. the threat of violence isn’t there, unlike the time toji had taken him by the collar and threatened to gut him like a fish over the comments shiu had made the first time he met you.

this hug is.. soft. inviting. an embrace that tells him “it’s okay, i trust you.” the fact that toji hasn’t bashed his nose into his skull is a telltale sign that there’s no fault in feeling the way he does, so long as he doesn’t act on it.

shiu truly doesn’t know what to say other than yes, he does want you. he wants you to be the one he comes home to each night, he wants your soft skin on his, wants to spoil you and make you smile.

you were kind, attentive, shy at times. the complete opposite of toji and his brutish demeanor. a flower cradled in the hand of a dragon.

but you weren’t his, and you never would be. not when toji had been the one to sweep you off your feet, securing a place for himself in your heart that shiu could never fill.

and that was ok. he was here for his job, not you. shiu was fine with you being oblivious to his feelings, in fact, it was better that way for the three of you.

that’s exactly why he breaks away from the hug as you pad over to their table, shooting you both an apologetic smile before heading over to the bar. as long as he’d still be able to catch a glimpse of you every now and then, he’d live.

edit: forgot abt the taglist oopsies 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies @wheredidmycrowngo @unknownspecies @ushygushybaby @ebiharachan @hoshigray @crazychaoticizzy @denypipa @watyousayin @tempest1art @sakuraryomen01 @kariito-art @vkeyy @mxtokko @inumakiiz @rosieee491 @loveme-b4by @suguxo @namjoonsbuspass @tojis-luver @complexivelovely @dancingwithdeities @sunflwrsugar @catvader101 @ktsgrl @princessos-blog @4ut0p5y @swiftsongs-mp3 @mycocoapuffs @adrenepinephrine @na0koz @suguscape @jaswonder3 @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @getousrep @jeannieboys @darkstarlight82 @freebananabeard @vivian-555 @kentokaze @subarusuguru @aroxwq @i-literally-cant-with-this @emikokomura @moonriseoverkyoto

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iwaasfairy · 8 months

Text

┌─ “ ! „ CHALKBOARD AND NAILS

tw. noncon, yandere, dumbification, objectification, daddy kink, some degradation, some praise, threats, brief mention of murder and blood, hair pulling, forced oral wordcount. 4.5k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @totalleelee ♡♡♡ here you are my loVE!!! happy late birthday to your friend as well, and I really hope you guys enjoy it! I always like getting to write new characters and Nanami was definitely a fun one. I had to make the fic longer bc I wanted moreEeeeee but yea i just really really hope you enjoy it, and thank you again a miLLIOn for commIng me iM so sO HONOUREDDD

nanami kento x fem!reader

You should think about what you’re doing. Lying upside down off the couch with your eyes big and long, distracting lashes and your hair hanging; casting playful shadows on the floor when you move. His couch. He’d like to believe you’re doing it on purpose -hell, most people would probably be inclined to- when you’ve got that coy, little smile on your face and your shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of skin above your pants.

He would assume if you had ever dared to come onto him in any way. But you haven’t, and so he can’t, not when you remain the perfectly sweet, kind, respectful graduate they hired only a few years ago— and it makes him too aware of you.

Nanami’s not the prim and proper bootlicker Gojo jokes he looks like; so among the other sorcerers, it isn’t even too illogical that you would cling to him a little. A kouhai dumped on his doorstep when the higher-ups decided to employ them fresh out of school. If it were anyone else, he would’ve complained until the choice was overruled. But you’re not anyone else. He can’t even lie about the fact that he’s grown quite the attachment to you.

Your bubbly, engaged energy and blueberry scented shampoo and cheap coffee in styrofoam cups that you always, always forget to throw away at the end of the day. Your chattering that rings through his brain before he goes to sleep and the way you talk and talk and talk when he won’t. You’re the exact opposite of an enigma, because that would require that you left him with some mysteries, and you don’t have the ability to keep your mouth shut. He hates how easy you wind him around your little finger, and he hates that he hates it.

Nanami’s not a dependant guy- and it seems to be your goal to prove him so fucking wrong.

“Why wouldn’t that be possible? I mean, it’d be hard if suddenly a curse shows up and you’re called up in the middle of the night and have to rush to work, and our rates of serious injury are pretty high. But I think I could make it work! Y’know, communication is key and all that.” Your pretty lips shine as you ramble on. You prop your head onto one arm, and turn over so your leg is basically straddling his furniture. “Have you ever dated a non-sorcerer while you’ve been a grade one, Nanamin?”

He lets out a slow exhale, and shifts his gaze back from the lines of your throat to his book so you don’t catch him looking. “No.”

“Not once? In like twelve years?” You raise a brow like you’ve suddenly discovered he’s some ancient fossil dug up from the canal.

“I prefer not to leave my partners for weeks on end with no explanation because the sorcerer world forbids it— so no. And I didn’t graduate twelve years ago, brat.” With the spine of the book he taps your nose, before getting up from the chair to join you on the couch. The few drinks have been abandoned as you finally let the blood back out of your head and wobble like a deer, blinking too slowly. Even now, you’re pretty. Prettier than he wants you to be, taking in the soft slope of your nose and the pillowy lips and your stupid flush on your face. Brat is right.

“I think I’ll do it,” you declare after a few seconds, and rest your head back into the couch with a pout. “I get lonely. And most sorcerers have giant egos.” He’s not sure if it takes him aback -can’t place the emotion that washes over him a few inches at a time- but he finds himself watching the side of your face a little too tightly. The cogs turn in his head and send some uncomfortable cold to gather in the pit of his stomach. Your lashes flutter and some wetness lines your waterline, and he can tell that you mean it. It isn’t the alcohol, he knows you better than enough.

When you look up at him, your faces are only a few inches apart— soft breaths filling the narrow space between. Has he ever told you he loves you? He’s not a man of too many words, that’s always been more your style than his— so probably not. But he does. So much it carves a gaping hole in his chest upon impact. He doesn’t have to say anything to see the way your eyes flutter shyly with the near perfect closeness. As your silence hangs as the room disappears, his hand twitching on his thigh. Aren’t you partly his like he’s yours? That’s how it should work. It’s the only logical course of action, and so he can’t help but lean in.

You’re just too shy to say anything- right? You wouldn’t hang out with him so much if you didn’t, wouldn’t trust and touch him, or confide in him so much if you didn’t. His heart burns in his chest the closer you seem to get. But before he can finish up the gap, you giggle and back away. “Wow! Hey, we almost kissed.” Your voice is a higher pitch than normal, but still rambly. Fuck. “I didn’t expect you to be so close when I looked up,” your nose and cheeks are burning hot, “you scared me, Nanamin~”

You stand from the couch instead, and lean towards him with that little smile that drives him crazy at night. “Senpai, it’s clearly time for me to go home. I’m getting sloppy.” You are. And as much as he wants to use that as an excuse to grab you by your waist and pull you into his lap, it wouldn’t do any good. Not when you’re too busy running your mouth to understand the consequences. He loves you, but you’re one infuriating little runt. You run your hand through his hair like it’s an intrusive thought, spilling loose locks onto his forehead, and then you smack your lips. “Will you see me to the door at least?”

For not the first time, he blames your loose lips for making it so hard for him.

You’re entirely different outside the four walls of his apartment.

It’s a coincidence that he finds himself across the street as he spots you walking under the streetlights with a little jump in your step. You look a different sort of formidable— clinging to the arm of some plain fucking loser that is so very clearly drooling all over you. It’s almost pathetic how easily swayed the guy is, as you bat your lashes and smile at him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, it rings a little familiar, but common sense and logic get pushed down a little under the feeling of anger that he feels bubbling up in him.

Not at you— though he told you he didn’t think it a good idea, you’ve always been a bit dense. In need of protection. It isn’t an option, and Nanami’s responsible for you. He looks out for you. This fucking loser though, is oblivious about anything but the skin your dress is showing off. In the brief few moments he gets to spot you walking off towards your street, that much becomes clear. You love making it hard for him. You’re basically magnetic, dragging him along from whatever chore he was doing to follow behind patiently, getting more and more agitated.

See, Nanami has thought quite often about what he is, and isn’t. You forced him to think it over whenever he found his mind wandering back to you each time it had the chance, squeezing around his cock and whining out your dramatics into his mouth. In his imagination, he’s easy to wrap up into a neat bow. With a begrudgingly growing interest each time you landed on his couch, or trailed behind him like a puppy at work. It’s because of all that introspection that he decided he isn’t a good do-er. He does good, and he is perfectly adequate at doing it too. But he doesn’t do it for the praise of it.

Nanami isn’t a hero. He isn’t a vigilante.

He’s a simple guy with simple wants: you. So there’s only one reason that crystalizes in his mind as he finds himself walking a good distance behind this fucking loser that you’re blinking stars up at. It isn’t a noble one. Just that every fiber in him aches to grab the guy by the back of his neck and kick his head like a soccer ball. You wouldn’t like that much, but he still wants to do it.

You’re beaming and chattering along like you do at such a pace that you don’t even notice that he’s started to follow behind. Hell, you barely even acknowledge a passerby to move out of the way. You’re totally zoned in to your doe-eyed, little fantasies— even as the distance gets closer and closer, and he’s walking down the now familiar streets towards your apartment. And as much as he wants to blame you, he can't. Not really. It’s not like he didn’t know what a sweet little cheerleader you were when you were prancing around his office with the shortest skirts known to man and a coquettish blink of your long lashes. But it’s different when it’s some two-bit, middle aged non-sorcerer with a five o’clock shadow.

It’s different when it isn’t him. Even you must know that. You must feel it.

The sky’s darkening as your conversation goes from enthusiastic to clearly flirty, letting your giggle ring out down the lane— as he makes up the last bit of distance. The guy’s probably musty breath reaching you as he swings his arm over your shoulder, as he pulls you close. As he fills your head with all kinds of promises that he definitely won’t actually meet as soon as he gets your pretty hands around his cock. He knows it, and he knows that even your innocent, sweet personality would take a hit if that happened. You wouldn’t be able to perform well at work, and maybe even your relationship with Nanami would suffer if you got your heart broken.

There’s a very clear path before him that ends right where you’re walking up the steps towards your door, and those pretty lips form words he can’t focus on. He walks up to the door, and only now do you glance behind you and your pretty eyes go curiously wide at him. “Nanami?” You’re so fucking cute. But that stupid fucking arm around your shoulders is in his way. It blocks you from view, and ruins the sight. It’s a bother. There’s only the faintest hints of jealousy and rage left in his veins - when he gives you a quick nod, then turns towards the guy who’s now got an awfully dumb expression on his face. It reminds him a little of a curse, blank and narrowed and disturbed. He feels eerily calm, really. It’s a simple problem with a simple solution, isn’t it.

“What are you doing here-” you start to say, before you stumble back.

Blood splatters all over, and with an awfully easy motion that stupid head rolls and drops to the floor. It’s quick, and there’s a few seconds where he waits for the resistance. The uncomfortable feeling of guilt. But it doesn’t come—

Until your shaky hand clutches almost painfully onto his shirt, pinching him. “H- Nanamin. What the hell do you think you’re doing? What did you-” You gasp, breaking off into a choked cry when your eyes take in the sight before you, before squeezing your eyes shut entirely and starting to shake harder. “What’s- why?! What did you do? Why did you do that?! I can’t- I can’t even- what- why?!”

You shove him aside, and his foot lands in the mess as you fumble sticking the key into the lock— too shaky to control your own extremities well. But your mouth still hasn’t stopped running. “Stay away! Go away! You’re- I- hick- I don’t wanna look!” You finally manage to get the key turned by the time the tears are making your cheeks entirely shiny, snot running and lip wobbly like a five year old— and sink down into a crouch to start sobbing it out into your arm. “You just killed a-an-” You can’t even make it halfway through without breaking out into another squeak. “F-for no reason. I invited him here- seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Your face doesn’t come up again for breath until he grabs you by the arm to help you up, and you shove at him again, almost yelling this time. “No, no, no no no! Leave me alone!” This little scene you’re making is gonna attract attention, you know. “Leave me alone, I want to go in!” Before the situation can get out of hand, he pushes your door open enough to toss you inside, and the body after you. There’s a muffled little whimper from you when it lands with a thump on your floor. But as soon as he closes the door, the surge of adrenaline calms.

He just has to explain it to you, give him a minute.

“I don’t wanna- I don’t-”

For some reason, the entire situation winded him, and his beating heart bangs loudly in his chest. He drops his weapon aside and kicks off his shoes, and goes to you— where you’re cocooned in your own arms, knees to your chest. “Hey, it’s-”

“Leave me alone!” you squeak, knocking his hands away from you, only briefly looking up. “Go. Hck- go away!” You’re crying so much that your eyes are red and your cheeks puffy. But he still grabs you by your arms and hauls you up into his chest, ignoring the way you make yourself dead weight. Brat. He wants to say it, but he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t be too happy to hear it at this very moment. It’s not like he blames you. He’s always tried to shield you from the more gruesome parts of the occupation as much as possible. Of course you’d be upset. “Nanamin~” you whine.

“Shhh, just calm down. It’s all good now.” His heart still beats so loud. Maybe he was angrier than he first imagined. He carries you -much to your dismay, if your sniveling cries are anything to go off- out of the hall and into your bedroom. Where it smells of perfume and girly body lotion, and so overwhelmingly like you it takes him aback a little. You’re still crying, and still talking- but he does his best to drown it out in favor of explaining. See, he’s always been such a sucker for you. Swallowing down the slight rasp in his voice, he allows you to drop back into your bed, and looks down at you. You’re still pretty even with your eyes clenched closed, and crying like a baby. “There, ‘s okay.”

He runs his thumb along your eyes, then settles down next to you on the plush mattress. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Listen-”

“How can I -hck- listen?!” You’re quick to turn your face away from him, and wrap your arms around yourself a bit tighter— probably unaware of the distracting way you push up your tits that way in that little implication of a dress. Really, Nanami swallows, you can obviously do much better than that loser that’s probably staining your carpet at the entrance. Your lip wobbles again, before you suck it into your mouth. “I don’t know what- or how- but that isn’t okay, Nanamin. I just-”

So again, he tries to get your attention, this time by grabbing your arm. “Just listen. I did it for you- if this was anyone else I wouldn’t have been so pressed.” It’s true. No one is a priority like you are. “I had to.”

“What are you talking about? How- is killing someone- oh god, there’s a dead guy in my house, Nanamin! I don’t k- what am I gonna do? Why would you-”

“I’m trying to tell you something.” His voice is lower and sharper this time, and your eyes finally shoot open to look at him. But it isn't that adoring little look you normally have, and somehow that pisses him off too. You really need to have everything spelled out for you, huh. He loves you though, really, he genuinely, genuinely does. As more than just an equal— if he could, he’d give you everything. He just doesn’t know how to say it, staring back at the wobbly tears on your face. “I love you,” is what ends up coming out, and then a breath.

And he’d say more if you weren’t such a talker.

Your face goes a little distant for a few seconds, before you shake your head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I will tell you, if you just-”

“I can’t accept that, senpai! You can’t just go around and kill-”

“I was protecting you!”

“From what?!” Before you even give him a chance, a real one, you start righting yourself on the bed and run a hand under your nose. And you stare at him with such disbelief and broken trust that it makes him feel a little dizzy. He doesn’t know exactly how he imagined himself spilling his guts, but it wasn’t like this. “You need to leave. And I need to contact someone from the higher ups to- take care of- I don’t even know,” you sob, “I don’t know how any of this goes. That’s so messed up, Kento.” That’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his first name. Scolding him for a choice he made purely for you. He did this for you. “You need to-”

He can’t let the first time end this way.

“Stop talking.”

“Stop talking?” You echo back to him, and glare, also getting up off the bed and farther away from him— and he can’t help but follow. “What did you think was gonna happen? That I wasn’t going to say anything?” As he gets up with you, you walk back a step, and your eyes flick back and forth between him and the door a few times. But he chases, and you jump in surprise when your back meets the wall, effectively trapping you between the wall and him. “I- Nanami-”

“Kento.”

You barely blink as you take a sharp intake of air, and then hold your hands up to his chest to keep some space between you two. “Look- just- we can talk about this, but I can’t just ignore that there’s a dead body in my house, Kento.” He’s really sick of you talking. You’re lucky he loves your voice so much, because if it was anyone else, he wouldn’t stand for it. Whatever you see in his expression must have you worried, because that slight defiance that remains gets awfully feeble when he reaches for you this time. “You’re scaring me. Please, just- hck- just back up. Let me process this, and then we can talk.”

“No, all your talking just gets in the way.” Your eyes go wide and a wave of heat washes over your features, making you look even more attractive. If he can’t tell you, he’ll just show you. You’ve got it all fucking wrong. What he feels for you is true love. Before you can go on another mad ramble, he grabs you and drags you back to bed, as gently as he can while having his hand screwed tight around your wrist. He wouldn’t ever actually hurt you. As you land on the bed, he holds you down— watching as you open your mouth to talk. But you can’t, because he’s already shoved two fingers between your lips and feels the way your hot, wet tongue squirms as he pushes them down your throat. “There, that’s better.”

Still you’re trying to talk, it’s almost funny. You whine around his fingers and gag when you can’t, breathing his name into an uncomfortable moan that just turns him on. You try to pull your head away, but you can’t. “You’re a lot sweeter when you’re not running your mouth sometimes, baby.” He can’t help it, it just comes out. He likes you so much, and you just look so cute gagging on his fingers and grabbing his sleeve like you’re not sure whether or not to pull or push. Tears start welling up along your waterline when he runs his fingertips over your soft, pink tongue. And his cock twitches in his pants.

That’s the good part, see. Even with all this fighting, you two still get along so well. You make him a better man when he’s around you. At least, in theory. He’s not crazy, he knows that holding you down and making you choke on his fingers isn’t really the best course of action -but you left him no choice- and he’s better off finishing what he started. “If you shut up,” he draws his fingers out of your mouth to start unzipping his pants, “I’ll let you breathe. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you won’t want to talk again.” It’s all up to you, pretty girl. Simple cause and effect. You take one sharp breath as you try to get out from under his weight, but there’s really nowhere you can go.

So you do what you do best, and whine. “Nanami~” It’s a baby-ish little whimper that makes him name sound so fucking good. But still. He grabs your face to squish your cheeks, and stares down at you with such intensity that you keep your cries in.

“It’s Kento.” His voice is a low, soft rumble. He wonder if it gives away the way his body feels right now, standing above you while his cock strains against his pants. They’re getting too tight to be comfortable. “Or daddy- you like that better? Say it.” You shake your head into his grip -but your ears start glowing another color brighter, almost like he’s caught you in a lie. Of course you do. You and him are made to be together. You let out another little squeak before he lets go of you to start undoing his pants.

That apparently seems to be too much, because suddenly you’re trying to get up as you speak. “No, no, I’m not-” You’re trapped when he forces you back down and now yanks your head back by your hair, making you cry again. “Ow, please senpai— I like you, I really do- but I can’t- I- hang on.” The heat crawls up his neck to his ears watching your eyes go big as the belt falls and his pants go down his thighs. You really do look good on your fucking knees.

“I told you to stop yapping, didn’t I?” He asks in return, and finishes sliding his boxers down, kicking them aside. Then he pulls your face towards his cock and watches as you whine. “Open up for daddy. There’s only one thing your mouth’s good for.” You’re so easy to hold in place, and it sends unimaginable gratification through his body when your little tongue comes out for him. You’re really such a brat, making everything so fucking hard for him.

You open your mouth enough for him to start pushing inside at just the slightest yank of your hair, making you whine and whimper as you shuffle around between his legs. Your hands come to rest on his thighs, but that doesn’t hold him from sliding the hot head of his cock as far as he can into your mouth right away. You look amazing drooling all over his cock, choking when he starts to move with the most patient moves he can manage. It’s not easy to do much of anything except rock himself on your soft tongue and feel your whining go down his shaft and balls. “There, now you’re making yourself useful. That’s what you do best, hm, fucking brat?”

“Agh, fuck- that’s- such a soft little mouth.” You make him feel heavenly, and by the way you’re shifting down there on the floor -trying and failing to get the friction you want- you’re also feeling it. He can tell by the way you blink up at him so slow, swallowing around him and letting that pretty voice out in the cutest, little moans. Just for him. Only ever for him. “You’re so lucky you’re this fucking cute,” he ends up rasping out, before letting you finally pull back to breathe when you start jittering. “Say something smart again, brat.”

“Agh, daddy,” you sob, drool spilling down your chin, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He can tell you are. Your big eyes glossy and cheeks hot, you try to get up from the floor, and he yanks you up to turn you over instead. Your little dress rides up too easily, giving the rest of the way when he shoves it up your back. It’s almost embarrassing to see how wet you are, lacy panties soaked all the way through and peeled too easily aside to reveal that needy pussy. And you don’t even deny it, just shiver when he runs his finger up and down your slicked up cunt. “Please.”

He’s such a sucker for you, fuck. It’s almost like you know it. “My little cock slut, look at that. You’re dripping down your thighs, brat.” He spits on your center once before lining up and sliding in, and watching as your little pussy stretches around his cock with some effort— as you let out a lewd, almost desperate whine. “Fuck.” And Nanami hoists himself over you to start fucking into you, hips meeting your ass as he bottoms out, as you open your legs further to let him in. Your back half hangs pathetically over the end of the bed as he fucks into your tight, hot -so fucking hot and wet and beaming- pussy and his balls clap against you. You feel so good it’s hard to hear anything over his own heartbeat hammering wildly against his ribs.

“Daddy feel good inside?”

“Mhm, agh-yea.”

You too, baby. Nothing in the world feels as good as letting your pussy swallow and suck him in deeper, like you’re trying to hold him in that impossibly hot, blissful clutch forever. He can’t even hear much of your whining and moaning and pitiful struggle, but you probably haven’t stopped. You don’t even have the energy to close your mouth, trying to push back to meet his thrusts more even as he bumps against the end of your pussy— and his one hand is squeezed around your neck. But you look pretty this way. You look useful.

“Tell me how much you like me.”“So~ much, so much, fuck. I’m gonna cum, Kento. Daddy.” Your mouth’s still running when he snakes his hand underneath you to start rubbing at your puffy clit, and feels the way his own body starts to tighten when your walls clench wildly around him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I want you to cum too, want to feel it- I wanna have you deep inside me forever, ah, ah. Oh, you feel so good, fuck.” It’s almost ironic when he thinks about it. How much he likes you running your mouth like this, begging for more. It’s poetic.

#nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #tw.noncon #tw.murder #tw.blood #tw.dark content #tw.yandere #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.nanami

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rottiens · 2 months

Text

PRETTY IN THE DARK | GETŌ SUGURU

✮ tags. . noncon, vampire getō x human fem reader, blood, objectification, 18+ mdni. divider creds: cafekitsune. | WC: 2.3K

✮ about. . in your desire to protect your family, you end up making a deal with the devil.

He is sitting in the dining room when you enter the room. Your body doesn't react with a shrug of muscles as it was usual to do every time you encountered him wandering around as if he owned your apartment, but your heartbeat detonates as if someone has pushed you from behind and you plummet into the void.

Shadows take over every corner of your place as if this were their and Suguru's home and not yours. You breathe, exhaling the fright that has frozen your veins and move towards the switch blindly, sliding your fingers along the wall until you manage to make light.

Suguru squints his eyes being struck by the ace of light. He is sitting in one of the chairs with his elbows on the small wooden table, he has a half bun tying part of his hair up, the rest of the black hair falls down his back perfectly. The turtleneck sweater is new, it makes him look more elegant and you almost laugh at how formal he looks.

"I wasn't expecting you today," you say approaching, dropping the keys of the apartment on the table surface. You want to tell him he's quite the dramatist for setting this scene for you, the waiting in the dark in your apartment god knows what for so long, the absence of light, the black clothes… you wonder how long he's lasted waiting there for you, if he's gone through your kitchen, if he's rummaged through your clothes.

His clear eyes scan your face as if reading what you're thinking, then he notices the paper bags you drop next to your keys before answering. "I thought I'd stop by for a snack" He replies with a mocking tone.

"What's this?" you reach out to grab the glass bottle in front of him. Inside a red, almost black liquid swirls amusedly as you move it back and forth in search of something to give you a clue as to what it might be and you pray it's not what you're thinking.

"Beet juice." The confession makes you scrunch up your face in distaste. Okay, it wasn't what you were thinking but this doesn't make it any less gross. "It's good for the red blood cells."

You squint to examine it better. Was he giving you a gift? Was that what he meant? The vampire who had threatened to kill your family if you didn't feed him your blood?

"I'm not going to drink it." You set the bottle down on the table with a thud.

"You will. I need you to be healthy." There it is, the reason. You should have known better.

Suguru pulls his hands away from his face that drop his jaw, invisible hands squeeze your chest at the sight of him again, it was a strange feeling having him erase your memory after feeding on you to make you forget details about him that you don't need to know, just in case you decide to expose him to the church. So seeing him always makes you feel uneasy, he is handsome, his small eyes are intimidating and the whole aura around him makes you feel tiny.

"Shall we get this over with?" you raise an eyebrow looking to put an end to an encounter that shouldn't be any longer than necessary. You move the sleeve of your sweater up revealing your right wrist which begins to heal, at the juncture are two dots on your skin, around them the flesh takes on a yellowish color.

Suguru gets up from his seat and without taking his eyes off you sits on the chair next to you. His fingers take your hand gently, without wasting time he brings it to his mouth and his lips brush against your skin causing you to tingle, he breathes in your scent, breathes in the essence of your skin with his eyes closed.

"Stand up," he suddenly orders.

You move against the wall, trembling with fear and anticipation. Suguru is in front of you taking up all the space that allows you to see the rest of the room, your gaze riveted on the silver cross hanging from his neck and you snort at the irony.

With his finger he lifts your chin and makes you look at him, you want to run away, but you force yourself to be brave by chewing on the bottom of your cheek.

"You don’t have to compelled me." Suguru raises an eyebrow, questioningly. "I'm not going to scream."

Surprise marks the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth in a brief smile. "You want to feel the pain?"

You shake your head before pulling your face away from his finger yanking back. "I just want to know what it feels like." You feel guilty. A bitter cocktail rises in your stomach, you think it's unfair to have to be protecting your family without knowing exactly how you do it, what happens before, during or after. You feel guilty for not feeling pain.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he speaks softly. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut ignoring the hotness that suddenly chokes you.

Instead of answering you reach out your hand, you hear him chuckle softly and when you sense him lowering your hand back to its place you turn hurriedly to look for him, wondering why. The hope that he is going to let you go today crosses in front of you.

"I want from the vein in your neck."

You swallow. Suguru can't disguise staring at your throat and how it rises and falls. Wordlessly you push down on the fabric of the sweater collar and let him see the vein pulsing rapidly thanks to your racing heart.

Suguru moves closer to you, his teeth grazing you as if testing how fast he can break the skin. Then, he deposits a kiss that makes you clench your lips to keep from moaning, his tongue glides in wet circles that that warm the area and your body trembles.

"Hold still."

Is all you hear before suguru opens his mouth in an inhuman way and sinks his long fangs into your neck, the pain making you moan involuntarily. His fangs are sharp needles that sink into the flesh and pierce until they leave two holes just enough for blood to spill out of the vein. The piercing pain stops, instead you feel his soft lips sucking like he's giving a hickey.

"It hurts…" you whimper.

The sounds of your blood gurgling in his mouth deafens you, you drop your eyelids as he pushes your head further to the side in an awkward position so he has the space to go deeper and chase the spilling crimson stream.

A hand-shaped snake crawls up your navel, searches for the button of your pants and in seconds undoes it to find your panties. Suguru stops feeding to speak in your ear.

"I'm going to make you feel better." His voice is almost unrecognizable, less friendly, deeper and more terrifying. "I'm going to keep feeding on you and you're going to cum on my long fingers."

You don't even respond. You can't complain because of the way your hands lose feeling and your knees buckle. Suguru goes back to sucking as the pad of his cold fingers push your pussy lips wide open and squeeze your clit back and forth almost in a lazy way. You squint harder to imagine that you're not there, that you're somewhere else and this isn't happening. Because what kind of person would you be if you felt pleasure because this creature, who every week comes to feed on you, is making you feel good?

He slips a finger easily inside you masking the pain in your neck with pleasure. Suguru pushes it in as if searching for something, then adds another finger and a louder moan tears your throat. Suguru pauses to lay his forehead on your throat, giving one last lick to the open wound that slowly stops bleeding and just lies there enjoying his long fingers parting your wet pussy.

"You taste so good when you're aroused," he growls, thrusting slowly. "I can hardly stop myself."

His fingers increase the intensity of his strokes, massaging your pussy in an erotic back-and-forth, scissoring his fingers and thumb touching your clit. It doesn't take your body long to reach orgasm, shattering you to pieces and making the lack of blood make you feel dizzy. Helpless and weak, you cling to his sweater, intoxicated in the peculiar perfume that envelops him until you begin to see black and everything becomes one big swirl that makes you fall into a deep sleep.

. . . When you wake up you are in your bed, lying on your back with one of your plush blankets covering your legs. You try to sit up but your body aches, especially your neck. You bring your fingers to where the wound should be but find the soft fabric of one of your scarves wrapped around your neck.

"Was I too rough?" This time, your body does react by curling up on the mattress. You pull your legs up to the level of your chest and search for the voice that burst into your room.

You find him as a long figure standing at the edge of the bed looking down at you from above. Did he care? Clearly not, because his mischievous-looking smile tells you otherwise.

You begin to tremble as he approaches, your gaze following him as you watch him come closer to you. The bed sinks with his weight, he reaches for one of your arms hugging your knees and pulls it towards him, Suguru brings the back of your hand to his mouth and leaves a kiss there, and the scene is so intimate that it feels awkward to you.

His body sensation is not icy cold as it normally is, his warm hands mimic the warmth of an ordinary man and you have a theory that it is due to the temperature change your fresh blood briefly carries in him, this only lasts a couple of minutes after all.

You wonder what he's doing, what he's playing at. Your heart leaps out of your chest the moment Suguru starts a path of kisses from your palm to your wrist, your blood turns icy cold after he stops on your wrist, you stutter his name, you think he's going to bite you again but what he does instead takes you by surprise.

Suguru gives you a long lick, the taste of your body cream diluted in the day's sweat soaks his tongue, then he closes his lips around the area and makes a hickey. Red, small, and when he pulls away to contemplate his creation it almost looks like the shape of a map. He crawls from your skin reluctantly and looks at you between heavy lashes, there's lust in his gaze mixed with hunger and desire and you hate yourself for the way your body reacts, your nipples harden and your pussy gets wet for him again.

"What-"

"No one touches my property." Your eyes widen. "This should carry a message to whoever you're fucking, unless of course, you wish me to show up in person to your job."

You reeked of man perfume and it made him want to throw up. He didn't want to smell someone else's scent on you when he was feeding.

"That's not of your business," you spit with a boiling face and a flutter in your stomach, tugging at your hand to escape the trap it had fallen into but it's only in vain because his strength is triple yours and you don't move an inch. "Our deal is just my blood."

"Perhaps," suguru murmurs, flashing you in a brief smile just the tips of the fangs that a moment ago were digging into you. "But it will be your fault when I bring their head as an offering along with another bottle of beet juice."

You struggle to hold back tears of helplessness. He grins again and his teeth cut through the darkness, you clear your throat to fight back and say it's not fair however Suguru gets up before you can.

Gracefully, he gives a brief tour of the room. You are embarrassed that he finds it in this state, books on your bed, shoes out of place and clothes on the floor. You were in a rush this morning, you were going to be late and you prioritized time over tidying your safe space as you rummaged through your uniform shirt.

He removes the hair tie that grips his mane and lets it fall all the way down his back like a dark waterfall as he looks down at the jeans on the floor, on top of it is a pair of light pink panties that he observes undisguised. As if every move is planned he ties all his hair back into a high ponytail, the movements causes the black sweater to ride up his abdomen revealing a wink of toasted skin, with a line of hair revealing itself at the edges of his pants and rising blurred to his belly button.

"How are you feeling?" He asks suddenly, dropping his arms to either side.

"Do you even care?" you reply curtly, looking down at his feet. You glance up at him in time to see him smirk, clearly amused by your attitude.

Suguru moves towards you again and you wonder when you will stop feeling not enough in his presence. He sits at your feet, puts his hand to his mouth and bites down hard. Your body squirms at the action, raw fear showing on your wrinkled nose and furrowed brow.

"Drink," he says reaching out, droplets of blood slipping onto your favorite blanket.

"No."

"It's not a request, sweetheart." You don't understand what he intends by this but you don't seek to make him angry either, so you lean down and wrap your lips around his skin to finally suck the blood that spurts out of him.

The taste of iron is so strong it's unbearable. Your mouth fills with saliva and your stomach knots warning you with rejecting what you are drinking, you want to move away but his hand is behind the back of your neck pulling you closer to him and preventing your escape.

"Keep sucking. Your wound will heal faster that way."

You blink faster pushing away the tears that peek out, you close your eyes tightly becoming oblivious to what you are doing, his fingers pampering your hair as if you were a pet. Stroking you gently.

"Swallow. That's a good girl."

#cw noncon #cw objectification #wr #geto drabbles #jjk drabbles #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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wonysugar · 3 months

Text

angel | jang wonyoung

synopsis : she was convinced everything you did was to seduce her.

pairing : wonyoung x 6thmember!femreader

genre : smut

tags : noncon, degradation, manipulation, gaslighting, objectification, wonyoung is genuinely a creep, blood mentioned, scratching, physical and verbal abuse, choking, slight mentions of tribbing, fingering, slight nipple play, just plain suffering tbh, death threats, ‘good girl’, ‘slut’

!! warnings : this is like. PURE noncon so please please please read with caution and please for the love of god read the tags before continuing :(( !!

word count : 2.1k

a/n : okay i know i made the poll yesterday and all but look i had ideas and here they are I HOPE YOU LIKE IT this was so interesting to write cause this is SOOOO OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE AND LIKE?? idk it was a nice experience i hope you like itfkendn

also you know the drill THIS IS NOT OKAY NOR IS IT HEALTHY DON’T DO THIS IRL BITCHES CONSENT IS KEY YALL😭🙏🙏do not give tea to someone who doesn’t want tea CAUSE THEY DON’T WANT ITT IT’S SIMPLE

god, finally.

you sat on the corner of your mattress, still carefully drying your wet dripping hair with the fluffy towel that belonged to you. after a shower like that? you felt refreshed, you felt good and oh did you feel so ready to just pass out on your bed at that moment. that was until you remembered that you couldn’t; since you had to wait for wonyoung, your dorm mate, to come back from the mall with yujin— or, wherever the hell they were at this hour. her dumbass forgot to bring the keys with her, so you’d have to stay awake to be able to open the door for her.

grabbing your phone, you checked the time. it read 12:37 am, which then lead you to text her, very politely yelling at her through SMS to hurry the fuck home before turning it off again and plugging in the charger.

what a hassle, you thought, groaning. you were fucking exhausted and were practically dying to get some amount of rest, especially after such a long day of non-ending schedules.

mentally sucking it up and shrugging it off, you put the towel aside and laid down on your back, grabbing your phone yet again as an attempt to cure the ongrowing boredom and impatience inside you; maybe instagram reels would make the time go by faster.

indeed, before you knew it, you were startled by a quiet knock at the door. feeling immediate relief, you quickly got up and rushed to open it, already thinking about the amazing night of sleep you were gonna get afterwards.

“any second later and i would’ve left you outside, wonyoung.” you complained as soon as you turned the knob, immediately greeted by her face. you particularly noticed her expression switch to one of slight guilt as she giggled nervously.

you also observed how she stared at you, as per usual.

“sorry, angel.” she apologized, looking up and down at your entire body, seemingly distraught by the sight of your naked thighs, before walking in and continuing. “we just got so caught up in conversation that we ended up just walking around for hours, i hope i didn’t keep you waiting for too long, though.” she scratched the back of her neck, still staring at you, this time more so focused on your chest.

here’s the thing, you loved wonyoung. she was one of your closest friends, that was undeniable. but for some reason, sometimes whenever you’d talk to her.. she’d have a certain look. the same look that she’d give you whenever you’re wearing a somewhat revealing outfit, or doing quite literally anything, for that matter. it always made you feel uneasy, it made your skin crawl. you’d never tell her, though; she was a sweetheart, and you knew that her last intention would be to ever make you uncomfortable.

right now was one of those moments, though, and her staring was getting overwhelming.

more overwhelming than usual.

subtly trying to brush it off, you responded, “it’s— it’s fine. just, please bring the keys next time?”

she simply nodded before apologizing again, clearly aware of her mistake and swearing to never commit it again. that gave you the permission you needed to finally get ready for bed. whilst you were doing that, she was changing into her comfier clothes and also getting ready to sleep as she threw occasional warm smiles at you.

until she squinted at you.

“man, you look pretty tired, y/n. did you sleep early yesterday?” she asked with a worried tone, afraid that you maybe weren’t getting enough sleep.

you waved your hand around, “yeah, i did. today just wore me the fuck out really, but oh well.” you cut the conversation short, heading straight towards your bed. “goodnight wonyoung—“ but before you could do so, you felt her hand grab your wrist.

tightly.

“wait but— don’t you wanna cuddle like we usually do?” she asked, her mouth formed into a small pout.

and there went that stare. again.

“wony i’m sorry, i’m really tired and—“

“come on, please. i missed you.” she insisted, her grip on your wrist getting tighter as she kept her unsettling gaze on yours.

your tired brain didn’t seem to register that, however, since you didn't even think about saying no.

i mean, she seemed pretty insistent on cuddling that night, so who were you to even say no? either way, you were gonna fall asleep immediately, so did it really matter if she was cuddling you or not?

you groaned dramatically, then signaled for her to lay on the other side of the bed. her eyes immediately lighting up, she rushed to jump on that side of the bed.

it didn’t take long at all for you guys to finally be settled in bed and you particularly thrived in finally feeling the warmth of your weighted blanket against your cold skin. she, on the other hand, just seemed to be happy to be there with you, considering the grip she had on you was quite strong for like, literally no reason.

after telling each other goodnight, you expected to doze off immediately, but you couldn’t. you felt bizarre, you didn’t feel like yourself at that moment. every single ounce of exhaustion left your body and it was like insomnia just kicked in for no reason whatsoever.

frustrated, you tried to sleep. that’s when you heard her breathing heavily… very heavily. her inhales and exhales were loud and violent and you felt them on your neck, since she was especially close to it. you would’ve shrugged it off,

if you didn’t feel her hands moving a lot more than usual.

“wonyoung?”

you felt her shift before hearing her hum, indicating you to keep going.

“you feeling okay?? you’re.. you’re breathing quite heavily.” was what you asked, somewhat concerned. “plus, you’re like, grabbing me—“

“sorry.” she responded immediately, “you just— you smell good, is all. i saw your hair was wet, you took a shower, right? you used the body lotion i gave you, right?”

you nodded reluctantly, somewhat weirded out by her behavior tonight, to which she hummed again.

“i knew you’d like it, it’s so soft and sweet,” she leaned in closer to your neck, sniffing it closer, “just like you, angel.”

what the fuck was actually wrong with her that night??

getting even more weirded out with each second that passed, you were about to let out a hesitant ‘thanks’ but got cut off by the sensation of her slowly sliding her hand up your pajama shirt as she kept sniffing you.

woah.

woah woah woah???

“wonyoung— what the fuck—“

“you smell so fucking good baby. fuck— so good. you used that body lotion just so i would notice, hm? i know you did.” she whispered into your ear, smelling your hair in the process as her other hand went down to your crotch.

triggering your fight or flight, you tried pushing her off of you slightly, but she simply wouldn’t budge.

wonyoung had always been taller than you by a long shot.

your own breathing getting heavier, you were starting to get progressively worried. why was she keeping you in place, why was she smelling you like this?? why the fuck was she acting weird???

“wonyoung get off of me—“

“god your smell.”

she just kept mumbling that same sentence as she sniffed you all over, gently putting her hand on your neck to keep you secure, making you squirm under her whilst you’re trying to break free from her tight grasp.

in a state of panic, “you’re scaring me wony stop it please—“

“stop moving or i swear to god i’ll fucking kill you.” was all she said back, it was dark, but not dark enough to where you couldn’t see her staring at you with that look again. you were shaking by this point, but you obeyed. you stopped moving, in fear of what she was actually going to do to you.

“look at you, being a fucking slut and putting on the body lotion i gave you, always wearing these outfits around me, and you seriously expect me not to do this shit? god, you probably sounded so good washing up too—” she rubbed your inners thighs with her free hand before adding on,

“what do you want me to do when your ass is out in front of me all the time, y/n? i tried to be nice and do it only when you’re sleeping, but answering the door at midnight in booty shorts and tshirt this tight? baby, you’re asking me to fuck you.” her hand still reaching down to your thighs and squeezing them, hard enough for her acrylic nails to dig in slightly as you winced in pain.

you tried speaking up, but words wouldn’t come out.

you could only stare at her, tears quickly welling up your eyes.

“oh angel, don’t cry..” she pouted, quickly taking that same hand she used to hurt you and wiping your tears with it. you could only flinch “i’m so sorry baby, i— i just can’t help it. you look so good and smell so good and—“ she slid her hand up your shirt and quickly went under your bra, playing with the nipple for a few moments almost immediately as she breathed in more of your pheromones before exhaling sharply yet again. “fuck y/n your tits—“

“—i’ll be quick, okay? i promise it’ll be fine, i’ll be sooo quick.”

wonyoung very quickly slid her hand back down your crotch as she forcefully kissed you, tightening her grip on your neck whenever you weren’t giving her enough tongue. “come on baby, work for it, i know you want this.”

you didn’t. you didn’t want it.

her fingers slipping under your shorts and onto your panties, she rubbed circles around your wet clit through the fabric of them, closing her eyes in euphoria when she heard your choked up moan.

“shit.. look at you, being all wet for me. i knew you’ve always wanted me to do this to you. hm? come on, say it.”

“l-let go off me—“

her nails dug into your neck once more, making you whimper. “shut. the fuck. up.” she whispered, “i guess bitches like you shouldn’t be allowed to speak up, huh. that’s fine, we’ll have you be a stupid puppy instead, okay? you can do that, right?”

you only cried out in front of her, clit still being stimulated from her long and cold fingers. her disturbing gaze piercing through yours, her pretty face exhibiting the ugliest thoughts she had about you.

“i said, nod, bitch.”

and so, you nodded. eagerly, at that. of course you did, with the amount of strength this girl was putting on her grip, you needed to obey her every word.

even if you had abundant tears rolling down your face.

“you’re so pretty like this.” she breathed out, before kissing you then pulling back away, “you’re getting me so fucking wet y/n.”

then, she gradually reaches into your underwear and puts her hands on your naked cunt, rubbing the slit and feeling how wet it is. in response to that, she laughed.

she laughed in your face.

but before you could even process anything, however, she already had two of her fingers buried deep inside your pussy, already curling in all of the right places.

and that’s when you remembered the fact that she had acrylic nails on.

“w-wonyoung— take them out take them out it h-hurts wonyoung it hurts p-please—“

“i don’t give a shit. you’re gonna be a good fucking girl and take it. you know what’ll happen if you don’t, don’t you?”

she pumped and curled her fingers in and out, watching you as your facial expressions changed with each movement she made, smiling and mocking you.

and that went for what felt like hours.

until she decided she had enough of you crying and begging for her to stop. she believed that it was, in her words, ‘her turn to feel good’ now.

so she took off her own clothes and rubbed her dripping pussy onto your own, her hand digging into your neck if you moved in a way she didn’t like.

her words rang in your head, things like “y-you’re so fucking selfish y/n, it’s usually so much better, whenever you’re sound a-asleep peacefully— oh my god.”

it didn’t take long for her to cum, since seeing you sob so prettily made her so unbelievably aroused. and when she did, she just went back to cuddling you. as if you weren’t bleeding from your nose, thighs and neck. as if you weren’t in pain, she just went back to cuddling you.

and you just had to silently cry in her arms. those were the only ones you could do that in at that moment.

#smut #kpop gg #female reader #ive smut #jang wonyoung x y/n #jang wonyoung #jang wonyoung x female reader #jang wonyoung ive #jang wonyoung smut #ive jang wonyoung #smut ive #wonyoung ive smut #wonyoung ive #wonyoung #ive wonyoung #wonyoung smut #wonyoung x female reader

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rendaze · 1 year

Text

work on you (m)

+ featuring ... manager!taehyung x idol!reader

+ summary ... when your manager, kim taehyung, decides to avoid you after a massage turned sexual, you are determined to kill two birds with one stone: get him to talk to you again by fucking him.

+ genre ... smut, fluff

+ wordcount ... 12k

+ warnings ... fem!reader, possessive/jealous!taehyung, dom!taehyung, perv!taehyung, brat!reader, a lot of dirty talk, orgasm denial, objectification, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, cumplay, cum swallowing, exhibitionism, public fingering,

For much of the night, Kim Taehyung is quiet. He rests on the crème couch, cat eyes observing you through the mirror. Outside, pink skies fade to indigo and crickets popcorn beneath the underbrush; the pattering of your feet against the practice room floor accompanies it. It has been hours since workers have clocked out and the last buses have run, but he knows this.

Your manager of two years is not known for the saccharine politeness of his peers nor the pedantic nature of his seniors. Instead, he is blunt. Reserved. An intrinsic part of your life whom you’d grown reliant on as winter faded to summer and back again.

His diligence is not due to principle but rather habit – if it wasn’t for you, he would be watching cable, cigarette ash tainting work clothes he was too tired to change out of. Instead, he waits—regardless of overtime—to drive you to your apartment where he bids you a weary ‘bye’ only to pick you up three hours later. He doesn’t need to, but he does. A habit.

But as entangled as your lives have grown, he has always kept a distance; hence your intrigue when he approaches you post-practice where he would have ignored you altogether.

“You look tired,” he says in the disinterested tone you’d come to expect.

He studies you through the floor-length mirrors as you spread your legs in a stretch. You had been shy once, all too aware of how little your leggings left to the imagination, but Taehyung’s blank stares had assuaged those thoughts long ago.

You admit, his ignorance bothers you. He is there, but he is not, with all the presence of drapery that sways only when a window is ajar.

“I’m fine,” you say – and you are, for the most part. “Just a little sore.”

“Where does it hurt?”

You dismiss his verbosity as a sign of your own palpable fatigue. “No, it’s just that my shoulders feel like shit.”

“Do you need help?” His fingers flutter before your face. “I could give you a massage.”

As the sole target of his scoldings, the notion of such a Samaritan action is laughable. “Oh, really? You?”

“Why not?” Cherry-tinted lips twitch. “Can’t have your body breaking down on me before your comeback.”

His tongue pokes his cheek and he cracks his knuckles; the sound draws you to the length of his fingers, callused and long. The kind meant to caress piano keys or draw pleasure from a crooning lover. You think of those hands on you, enkindling a different type of satisfaction.

You are pulled to face the mirror as he stands behind you. “Like this,” he says, the ball of his wrist gliding against your upper back. His hands are rough as he kneads, tugging and pressing on the skin as he would dough, a harshness that should hurt but doesn’t. He moves closer, his pulsing heat a reminder of his proximity.

Sandalwood, you realize. That’s what he smells like.

You breathe it in as if the rest of him would follow. Once, twice. Then exhale as he finds a particular knot between your shoulders.

“Your muscles are so tight,” he says, with all the wispy quality of a fever dream.

It’s wanton to clench at such an innocent usage of the word but you do, thighs rubbing against each other in pursuit of friction.

The siren song of his whisper dallies close to your ear’s cusp. “You’ve really been overworking yourself. I guess this is sort of my fault, huh?” He heaves a great sigh. “It’s only right that I make up for it then.”

You nod, unable to part your lips for fear of the sounds that would surface. Had you always been so weak, you wonder, the tickle of his breath inches from your neck enough to compose your compliance. Comets of ideas, bad and worse, streak past your musings. You pluck one, entertaining the thought of grinding against his length until it hardens between your ass.

You instantly berate yourself though your underwear moistens still.

Your manager. He’s your manager. A person of whom your mortification would be parried, and your chagrin discarded. Such constant proximity would be unbearable if awkward, and Taehyung, as curt as he is, means too much to you to be cast aside due to your own lack of restraint.

Stood before a mirror, there is nothing else to focus on but the reflected image of him behind you. There’s no particular difference in his wardrobe today: a beige cardigan, dark jeans, and pale sneakers, reminiscent of a History major, art connoisseur, or both. Curled obsidian hair drapes along the curve of his eyes, eyes focused on his ministrations against your back. One would expect a more formal way of dress, but considering that most of his job revolves around following your schedule all day there’s no reason to.

He grins when he catches you staring.

You scoff, face burning. “What?”

“Don’t you think you’ll feel better if I massage you while you’re lying down?”

His hands rub your bare arms, coaxing a reply out of your quiet contemplation. You hesitate – not out of wariness, but rather embarrassment that he may find a swift reply too eager. Though he is not one to heartlessly poke fun at another, you attempt as casual a shrug as your nerves can handle.

He leads you by a gentle grip on your wrist to the spacious couch opposite where you’d been standing. The same couch he spends most of his time on while waiting for your practices to end.

He motions for you to flip over and lie down on your stomach with a swirl of his finger. The action combined with your obedience is almost dog-like, but you are so deeply entrenched in his spell that if he told you to bark you would.

Face planted into a pillow, you can hear his shuffling as he kneels atop you outside your thighs. He rubs circles against your shoulders, leaning forward to whisper: “Feels good?”

Below, your core aches like the starved, demanding sustenance.

“Sure,” you say, settling on the least innocuous of words. “You’re like… strangely good at this.”

“Good enough to switch careers? I don’t think the pay would be as good, though.”

“I wouldn’t be there either, so that would suck. For you.”

There’s a playful frown in his tone. “Oh, yes, because how could I ever go about my day-to-day life without you in it?”

He’s joking but you do wonder what he does outside of managing you. If he has hobbies, passions, friends… or a significant other he does this to. To be candid, the thought irks you.

“Are you sore anywhere else?” he asks, having focused on your shoulders.

You respond with a breathless ‘yes’, turning your head to meet his gaze. “My lower back.”

His fingers are a paradox of frigid and warm as he grazes your neck, making his way down your spine, then shoulders, then upper arms. He sits astride your ass, touch gliding against the exposed skin below your top. He digs into your muscles as if trying to see what is buried beneath them.

He’s never touched you so purposefully before.

He’s never done much of any of this before.

Talking. Touching. Tempting.

“Is it cool if I lift your shirt?” he asks. “It’s getting in the way.”

Your breath hitches, your heart races, and somewhere outside the company building the horn of a taxi startles you out of reverie.

“Go ahead.” You nod, helping him help you out of the shirt.

He’s clinical as he folds it and places it on the hardwood flooring. He doesn’t look at your bra—a gray, sporty number—and avoids touching the fabric as he continues.

A few blissful minutes pass when he says that he has an idea.

He gets up, walks to your bag, and (without needing to ask) locates the lotion you keep in a pouch. Settling back down, his crotch nestles between the warmth of your ass. The plastic pump splashes white cream onto your back which he massages into the skin.

“Does that feel better?” he asks, hands gliding across the exposed flesh. It smells like nectar on his hands and feels like ambrosia against your skin. His touch is overwhelming, every caress casting electricity straight to your lower stomach.

“My abdomen hurts too.” The words are a muffled whisper against the throw pillow your face is buried in.

“Then, turn over,” he says, as if it’s that simple. Perhaps, to him it is. Perhaps, this is all in your head, that lightning-charged static in the air.

He moves up, allowing space for you to roll over.

When he sits down his crotch directly presses against your clothed cunt.

His pinky rests against your chest, moving with the sound of your breathing. It slips slightly beneath the stretch of fabric, poking the flesh. You hold your breath until you can’t– until your lungs demand air as much as your body demands his.

You hold his wrist. “Is my bra getting in the way too?”

His adam's apple bobs, pretty eyes flickering between you and your concealed chest. “A bit,” he shrugs, sliding another finger beneath the underwire.

Your voice is raspy, the way one sounds when in thirst. “Then you should remove it.”

He moves with the grace of a caught deer, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Your back arches, allowing his hand to slip underneath and unclip it. He slides the straps down your arms, inch by inch, giving you time to say no. You don’t, not able to even fathom the thought of doing so.

He drinks in your chest and the erect nipples standing in the centers of them with dilated pupils and hooded eyes. You imagine that he thinks you’re gorgeous, that it takes all of his will-power not to ravage you on that couch as beasts often do. It is that need to be made into poetry under his gaze that you push your chest upward, seeking his warmth.

He stills your squirming with a hand to your sternum. “Don’t move,” he says, a command you heed the moment it leaves his lips.

The rough pads of his fingers graze your hips then stomach before resting beneath the cusp of your chest. You are hyper-aware of every movement, every stutter, every pulse – if only so that you don’t miss that cataclysmic moment when his hands finally cup the flesh that hides your stampeding heart.

He grips you carefully, digging moon-shaped indents on your skin. Your nipples rest within the crevice of his outstretched fingers, surrounded yet untouched.

“This isn’t a good angle.” He pouts, looking around before finding the tossed pillows. Your back is moved into an arch as he tucks one of them beneath the small of your back, causing your chest to jut out from where you lay. He grins, satisfied.

His hands go back to your chest, working from the outside in circular motions, avoiding your nipples. He then reaches for the lotion bottle, pumping more of the white cream onto you.

“Do you like this?” He asks, fingers dragging around your slippery tits.

“Yeah, it feels really good.”

“Really good, huh?” He laughs when your body jerks at his finger brushing against your nipple. “How about this? Are you sensitive here?”

You groan when he pinches the bud. “What do you think?”

“No one’s giving them enough attention, huh?”

To your embarrassment, you whine when he moves his hands away.

“Shh, you don’t want to be caught getting special treatment from your manager, do you? Unless… that’s the sort of thing you’re into?” He laughs, eyes blown out as he watches you panic. You’ve never seen that look on him before.

“What the hell are you talking about, you dick?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lower lip in an attempt to quell his laughter. If you weren’t insanely horny at the moment then you would’ve been better able to appreciate the rarity of such a display of emotion. “You’re just being really cute right now acting all shy when all I’m doing is giving you a massage. You said you were tired, so I’m helping you.” He squeezes your tits. “That’s part of my job, isn’t it?”

You scoff. “You mean this is you being a pervert. I can feel your definitely average-sized cock hard as hell against me.”

Taehyung gasps as if that was the most insulting thing he’d ever heard. “Okay, three things: one, I’m not a pervert; two, my cock is definitely not average; and three, if you want me to stop then tell me and we can pretend that this never happened. Or, you know, if the pretending fails then we could just die from the inescapable awkwardness. That’d be fine too.”

Trust that he was only ever talkative when he wanted to bother you. You roll your eyes, mumbling: “Well, I didn’t say that…”

His gaze meets yours, dark and tempting. “Then what do you want from your poor, overworked manager?”

You answer by moving his hand back to your chest. “Nothing much,” you say coyly, though what you mean is ‘everything’.

His nails scratch tight circles around each bud, teasing you. He watches your wide-eyed desperation with amusement, alternating between fanning his fingers over the points and holding them between his slippery fingers, squeezing them until they slip out of his grip.

He blows phantom winds against the mounds, hardening them into stalactites. He rocks against you, hips against hips, crotch against crotch, stimulating your clit through the sheer fabric of your leggings. You whine and pant with every motion.

“You’re so noisy. Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The word leaves you before you can fake nonchalance.

“Then be a good girl and focus on my service.”

Though he’d always been the strict type, you weren’t one to be so obedient: to follow his every command, bend at his will, become a pliable figure; to crave escape through the form of mindlessness. Between his periodic seeking of consent and cautious eyes, you feel safe, safe to drown in his touch and never resurface. You know, even then, that despite the blasé way you were both treating this moment, it was one that neither of you could take back.

He scoots backwards from where he sat on your thighs, moving your feet over his lap. From this angle, he is sure to notice the wet outline of your labia through your leggings.

The soles of your feet are a slight vermillion from having danced barefoot for the past three hours, and he briefly rubs them before moving upwards, to your ankles, your knees, your thighs. It is with an anxious draw of breath that you await his touch at your most sensitive center.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “As long as you keep doing it.”

“I’m going to need a specific place, sweetheart.”

Head tossed back, you whine. “Just- Come on, Taehyung.”

He kneads your outer thighs, scarcely exerting pressure. “Is this what you want?”

“Please. There. Touch me there. It hurts.”

He chuckles beneath his breath. “Poor baby. I’m sorry, but I don't know where ‘there’ is. Oh, I have an idea. How about you show it to me?” He moves to give you enough space. “Come on, show me where and how you want to be touched.”

You, the rational you, would have been unable to process the erotic words coming from your manager’s lips. These are the whispers you’d conjured in daydreams with not even the hope of being subject. But you aren’t the rational you. The you beneath Taehyung is someone else entirely, someone caught in a dream without desire to wake.

Your hands crawl to the waistband of your leggings but hesitate at the breach.

“Don’t be shy. I know how you like to play with your little cunt in hotel showers, even though you know I’m waiting outside the door, subject to hearing your pretty moans. I’ve always wondered how you pleasured yourself, if you liked to finger your sopping hole until you passed out or if you preferred to press the stream of a shower head against your clit.”

Whilst your right hand sneaks its way into your underwear, your left slaps to your lips, rushed to suppress a gasp. “Are you actually trying to kill me? Have some fucking decorum. And what do you mean you heard me?”

“Decorum? I’m not the one touching myself where anyone could walk in and catch me.”

You didn’t even realize when you’d started the teasing motions, fingers caressing your outer labia.

You scoff. “You’re acting like you weren’t salivating over my tits a few minutes ago.”

“Is that what you want? Me salivating over your tits?”

His hair, like strands of inky silk, drape over eyes that refuse to part from your gaze. He is warm where he touches you, cold where he doesn’t, and temperate only when he mouths against your skin, marking you, in some invisible way, as his own. Your gasp echoes in that cave-like room, his lips an inferno keeping you sane. He nibbles at your breasts, teeth tugging at the perked tips. His spit dribbles down your flesh.

“So soft. I’ve always wondered what you taste like.” His mumbles vibrate against your skin.

You press tight circles against your clit at the same pace as Taehyung’s tongue against your nipples. The sounds, wet and sticky, are loud to an embarrassing degree.

“Baby, look at you. At this rate you’re going to dirty the couch, and then who’s gonna have to clean it? Maybe if I’m too tired I’ll have you lick it spotless instead.”

You push a finger inside, curling the digit with a gasp.

“Interesting.” He grins. “So, you do like it when I treat you like this. I knew it.”

“You talk way too much when you’re horny.”

“Only because it’s you,” he says. “You turn me into an absolute mess.”

“Is that why you only talk to me when you want to scold me?” It’s a childish question. His attention wasn’t yours to have, a fact you’ve grown well-acquainted to.

“Because I knew something like this–” he licks your neck “–was inevitable, and that it’d be my fault. Though… I’m starting to think you’re the type that likes to be scolded.”

His face is inches from yours. The span of a butterfly’s wings, or a fallen autumn leaf. You prop yourself up with the arm that isn’t beneath your leggings, breaching the gap ever so slowly. “So, you imagined it, then? Something like this happening?”

“It usually went a little different.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d already be fucking you, for starters. And I’d probably initiate it with something less lame than ‘offering a massage’.” He notices your slowing hand and laughs. “Tired, already? You really are such a princess. Do you want me to do it for you?”

You nod, though you should have known nothing ever came easy with Kim Taehyung.

His fingers creep up your legs before squeezing your thighs open. Between, a wet spot darkens the fabric, and he notices it with a smugness that annoys you. He moves your arm away before palming your wet cunt from outside your leggings. The touch is electrifying yet not nearly enough to sate you. As if sensing your dissatisfaction, he slips his hand beneath the cloth, directly touching your clit.

He sloppily plays with your juices, spreading them around your pussy. Deeming you wet enough, he sinks a finger into your warmth. The squelch sound is inescapable as he begins a moderate pace. You squeeze your eyes tight enough for your world to burst into starlight, flecks of shimmery white floating across your vision.

He lifts his hand to your face, and you could smell your moisture before you saw it, viscous strands hanging between his fingers. “Look at this,” he says. “They’re soaking wet.”

Without thought, you take his fingers into your mouth, rolling your tongue around the digits. You’d never tasted yourself before. It’s more sour than you imagined, but not as bad as one would expect.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises. “What’re you making that face for? Do you want more?”

You release his fingers. “Fuck, please just touch me.”

He leans over you, nibbling at your ear before whispering: “Too bad.”

All too abruptly, he startles you by clapping his hands and standing up. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “To… fuck?”

He laughs, glancing at his watch. “As much as I would love that, I’m still your manager. And you have to be awake by eight,” he explains with a normalcy unsuited for your half-clothed, aroused state.

“Are we really not going to even talk about-”

He tosses you your shirt and bra.

“Thanks…” You don the clothes in haste. “And for the massage. Though, it was missing one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“An orgasm,” you deadpan.

“Well, there’s always the option of getting me fired, though I’d prefer to keep my livelihood sustained, thanks.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” you joke. “And here I was thinking you’d risk it all for me.”

“I’d risk a lot of things for you, but definitely not if seeing you around everyday was at stake.”

A grin forms on his tinted lips as he turns before you can gather your words. The door slams shut behind his harried exit and you are left, alone.

Several suns have set and risen, and on the eighth turning you decide you’d had enough of his boyish disregard. You recall being eight, blithe with even the gentle breeze lifting autumn leaves into tangerine storms. Boys at that age were difficult, if they weren’t picking at you they were ignoring you altogether, huddled into little clubs of their own. Every attempt at breaching their sanctified playground circles result in them scurrying in all directions, like mice caught lurking in a kitchen. Taehyung didn’t seem much different.

When he picked you up on the morning after that first intimacy, he had nary a word to say. Even a glance too many had his ears reddening and shoulders curling in, as if it were possible to shrink himself small enough to be unseen. He, who’d eat in his car if he weren’t eating with you, found himself talking to the other staff, if only to avoid your confrontation disposition as he knew you were loath to interrupt an uninvited conversation.

Prior to the current state of tension, you’d jokingly asked him to guess what your astrological sign was. His immediate guess was Taurus. As your manager, he was the one most subjected to your stubbornness, your unwillingness to give up if only to prove a point. But you—impatient, tired you—were reaching your limit.

Yes, you were stubborn, but you hadn’t realized how his obstination could rival your own. And more than your missing and wanting of him, the question of ‘why’ burned trails along your musings. Why? Why was he avoiding you when: one, he’d been the one to initiate the tryst; two, during the moment, he’d joked of things being too awkward (and surely joking about things being awkward meant that things weren’t awkward enough to not be joked about); and three, he had acted as if everything was fine until that dreadful morning after, when he picked you up from your apartment (as he always did) except with not a word to say or a glance to spare.

Yes, indeed, you were stubborn. It was how you’d gotten this far in such a consuming career, but you were sure that you’d have given up at this point – he was just a man after all, and you had other problems of greater consequence. However, there was one thing stopping you from ceasing the pursuit.

Alone in your apartment, you are unafraid of moaning or indulging in the characteristic sticky sound of masturbation. That wetness spurs you into speed. A rush to completion. It is more out of necessity than pleasure, and the pace of your fingers exhibit that. You don’t bother fingering yourself, finding the notion too tiring. Instead, your focus is on your clit and massaging tight circles against the protective skin covering it.

You’ve become an expert of your own body, having so few sexual partners over the years. The risk of dating was high for idols, and you’d found that the few times you had risked it it was never sex worth losing one’s career for.

You know how much pressure to apply against the nub, teasing yourself at the edge long enough to draw out the pleasure. Your other hand lazily drapes across your chest, softly gliding across the skin just as Taehyung had that week before.

You’d be quite the fool to not notice how he coughs into his fist, ears red, when he notices your staring, or the subtle ways he checks you out when he thinks you aren’t looking (that much, at least, hasn’t changed).

By this point, you’d masturbated to him and that moment on the couch one too many times.

When you cum it is not as satisfying as it should be. It is but a relief of pressure rather than a gateway to ecstasy. There’s something missing, though to question what it is would be a benign pursuit for you already know the answer.

It is then, winded and shaking, that you come to the conclusion you’d been dreading.

You need to fuck Kim Taehyung… and then you’d figure out it why it is that your heart aches so.

The car’s hum permeates the air and settles on your skin unpleasantly, as if trapping you in its needly weight. Suffocating. There is no better word for it.

When his eyes flicker from the road to you, it is even worse. You hate that he looks good: styled hair, pressed clothes, expensive cologne. But what you hate most is that you don’t see any of it. Instead there is the image of him above you, cock sliding in as if nothing could fit better.

It isn’t silent from a lack of trying, but after the hundredth attempt at conversation you’d grown tired.

He has not regarded you once despite you wearing his favorite outfit (a favoritism you’d deduced when he glanced at you one too many when you’d last worn it). The corduroy atop his thighs becomes his handkerchief, more to wipe sweaty palms against than a piece of clothing.

When he makes a sharp right turn, your hand on the center console knocks against his.

He jumps but plays it off, turning off the blinker and pressing closer to the door than he had been.

You sigh. “Do I have some infectious disease I should know about? That’d be pretty bad for my career.”

He blinks at you, catches himself staring, then turns back to the road.

“No,” he answers plainly.

“You aren’t even gonna berate me for sleeping in this morning?” Tired from last night’s self-ministrations, you slept through your alarms, leaving him waiting in the car for over an hour. On a normal day, he would’ve spent the entire trip either glaring at you or complaining. He did neither.

“You must’ve been tired,” he said.

“Remember what happened last time I was sore and tired?”

He sucks a breath between his teeth, gives you an incredulous look of shock, then proceeds to pretend as if you’d said nothing.

In a series of losses, you consider that a win.

Emboldened, you lean across the controls and press your hand on his thigh, your face so dangerously close to his that you could smell the mintiness of his aftershave. You’d always liked the cleanliness in which he prided himself on. Smoking, he’d always joked, was his only flaw. When stressed, he had a tendency to hit a few sticks more than usual. It didn’t take a genius to surmise the reason as to why, despite the sun’s low place in the sky, you could smell that more-than-few on him. You were both figuratively and literally bad for his health.

He sneaks a glance down your chest, cleavage revealed by the low cut of your top. He’d always been so fond of your breasts, those soft curves of flesh that he spent so much time fondling when he had the chance to. He gulps before looking away.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, coyly. His grip on the wheel twitches as he contemplates removing your hand from his thigh but thinks otherwise, perhaps rationalizing that touching your hand in order to remove it was also a bad move in his plan to pretend you were but a figment of a mind tortured to want what it shouldn’t have.

The main road close to the company building appears before you, a heavy strip of crowded cars anxious to make it in time to their corporate rat living.

You glance downwards. “Did I make you hard?”

He makes a choking sound, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel because the answer is yes, you had. The stiff texture of his pants only heightens the image of his cock struggling beneath, forming a tent you have to look away from lest it distract you from your mission. “I have to focus on driving.”

A pointed look is thrown his way as you gesture towards the windscreen. “We’re going to be stuck in this traffic for probably more than twenty minutes,” you say, untucking his button-up from his pants. Your hands press against his toned stomach, making a home beneath his shirt. “Aren’t you bored?”

“Out of the two of us, I don’t think I’m the bored one.” He turns to face you, putting his hand atop yours. “Did you really like it that much? Me touching you? I’m starting to think that your excuse this morning was a lie. You were probably just playing with yourself, am I wrong?”

“Half wrong,” you grin. “I wasn’t fucking myself this morning.” You press your lips against his ear, chest against his shoulder. “I was fucking myself last night.”

He curses, head thrown back at the notion. “Has anyone ever told you how blunt you are?”

“You do,” you say. “Constantly.”

“That’s because you are.”

“Then what does that make you?”

“A horny fuck, who, by some stroke of luck, got paired to work for an idol that’s somehow even more depraved.”

Though you laugh, relief surges through you at the familiarity of his bantering. “Define ‘depraved’.”

He pushes your hand to his waistband. “This,” he says, as if it is some grotesque and beautiful thing. “How badly I want you.”

You unzip his pants and untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s larger than you’d expected; long yet girthy. You run a finger down the appendage, catching on the prominent veins.

“God,” he hisses at the contact. “You’ve been such a slut recently, it was only a matter of time before you did this, huh? Touching my cock where anyone could see.”

The flesh of him is soft and warm beneath your fingertips. You squeeze the head then trail down to the base, cupping his balls.

He’s beautiful when he moans. His head tosses back, curls cascading over shut eyes as he attempts to move away from the pleasure all the while begging for you not to stop. A beautiful paradox, and you its orchestrator.

“Right there,” he groans. “Rub the head just like that.”

His commands are hypnotic in a way you deign to follow.

“Shit, you’re such a sub, aren’t you? You do everything I ask you to if it means you get a nice, thick cock.”

Despite your forwardness, you lacked much experience regarding the kinkier side of sex, though not from lack of trying. Perhaps it was the consequence of a homogenous industry where every individual was fearful in the face of social ruin if word got out that they were participant in this or that.

“Maybe, I am.” You shrug. “But right now–” you squeeze his cock “–you’re in my hands. And you only get to cum when I say you can.”

With that, you take your hands off him. The look in his eyes is almost comical, as if you’d divorced him, taken custody of his three children, and set his house ablaze.

“Fuck. I was close,” he pleads. “Please don’t do this. I need to cum. Please.”

“You sound so pretty when you whine but that isn’t good enough.” You pout. “You need to promise that you’ll stop being awkward around me.”

“Shit, fine, I’m sorry, okay? I just didn’t want to make things more weird than they already are.”

“See, I want to make things weird between us. So there’s really nothing for you to worry about.”

“You seriously don’t understand how much I think about fucking you on a daily basis. I wasn’t even purposely trying to ignore you, it’s just-” He runs a hand through his hair. “Whenever I see you I…” You wait for him to find his words only for him to say something entirely unexpected. “...Can I cum in your mouth?”

You snort. “Nope, you don’t deserve that.”

“Aw, man. This car was just deep cleaned.”

“C’mon, Taehyung, cum on your dashboard like a big boy.”

You continue your ministrations, tightening your fist around his length as you stroke him faster and faster. “You know you wanna cum for me, don’t you? Tae’s precious little idol.”

His reaction to the nickname you’d heard his colleagues call him was not missed by you.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “Say that again.”

“What? Tae?”

His cock twitches. “I don’t know why, but I really like it when you say my name.”

You lean in to whisper. “Then I’ll make sure to scream it when you inevitably fuck me.”

His eyes blink white, head slamming into the headrest. His cock twitches, then releases. You try to catch most of the mess in your hands but some escape onto his shirt and, unfortunately for him, his dashboard.

“You know what you’re doing, hm? My little slut. Made me cum so fast, baby.” He condescendingly pats your head as you help him wipe down the few strings of cum that misaimed.

“Far shooter, huh?”

“Shut up,” he huffs. “What about you? With how much you’ve been chasing after me, you must’ve wanted me that bad.” He nips at your ear. “Let me touch you.”

You feel his teeth drag against your skin, from your nape to your collarbone. You’re aware of the brush of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the way he is pressed so close against you. Across the console, he reaches to slip his hand beneath the band of your bottoms. It is a familiar motion, reminiscent of what happened on the couch that night.

He wastes little time as his finger glides into you with an embarrassing squelch. You feel the rough pad rub against your g-spot, amazed at the swiftness in which he’d found it. Your walls tighten around him when he inserts a second then third digit.

“You’re so fucking tight. I want to bury my cock into this slutty hole so badly, you don’t even know,” he groans into your neck. His hand roughly paws at your chest. In want of more, he lifts your shirt, baring your chest to the traffic. “Thank god for tinted windows.”

He pinches your nipples, tugging them until they’ve extended farther than you’ve ever tried to. “My perfect little fuckdoll. My good fucking slut. All for me– only for me.” Hand confined in the tightness of your trousers, every motion caused his palm to slap against your skin, perfectly blending pleasure and pain.

He continues to rapidly finger you until you feel that telltale drop in the bottom of your stomach. He holds you as you cum, body shaking in the small space of the passenger’s seat. The fledgling feeling in your gut erupts with the incandescent sparks of some other foreign emotion. You wonder if it is happiness, or perhaps some remnant of lust. But then he looks at you—eyes soft as he caresses your hair, trailing fingers to your nape—and you think that it is the beginning of something else entirely.

“You good?” His voice is faint as he pulls you to face him. His flickering gaze searches your expression for some sign of hesitation or regret of which you have none.

“Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Same here.” He smiles. “Don’t blame me though if you have a hard time during practice.”

You punch his shoulder with a chuckle, serenity descending upon you in the afterglow of a cause of stress meeting its resolution.

After lunch you see a carton of orange juice sitting innocently on that couch, a small sticky-note attached to it. In clean handwriting, it read: ‘a peace offering’.

You laugh, stabbing the plastic straw into the carton.

You’d take it.

Kim Taehyung has always thought your beauty was the kind that accompanied devastation; attractive in a way that halted his breath and stymied his heart. Perhaps a bit too much for his sanity and his cock, which has been rubbed raw to the thought of you one too many times. You are much too pretty for his own good, and it has grown increasingly difficult to be around you without wanting to fuck you against every surface imaginable.

It’s made worse by the mask of nymph-like innocence that you wear around him, wearing those tight leggings and parading your pretty pussy for everyone to see. He knows you aren’t his. Knows it with all the confidence of blue skies and steady lakes, but there are times, strenuous times, where it is difficult to control the possessive nature he is chained by. When his co-workers mention how sexy you are in your latest comeback teasers he simply clenches his fists and stays quiet lest said fists pummel their faces. He isn’t a violent man by any means (and definitely wouldn’t stand a chance in a real fight, because, as his friends have said, he’d never do anything that could potentially ruin his pretty face) but he entertains the thought as a way to keep sane when forced to listen to their ramblings.

When he has to stand behind you during fansigns, he can’t help the bitter feeling that rises in his gut when you hold hands with fans he knows could never know you in the same intimacy that he does. When they talk about how much they love you, an indignant voice in his head fights back: do they know about all the pretty little lingerie you keep in the back of your closet? Do they know about how bad you are at hiding your moans when you play with your pretty pussy in hotel showers knowing that he’s waiting for you outside? Do they know the soft texture of your tits and the way your eyes roll back when he plays with your nipples just right?

It’s an irrational sort of jealousy, but he’s learned to bear it as part of the occupation. There are times, however, where it is much more arduous a task, such as the massage of last week and the car ride of yesterday.

The feeling is not one he is fond of; how at odds his desire to ruin you is with his one to have you ruin him. Such had been a constant in the past year. Blame proximity or his lowered standards of human decency after having worked with only the most heinous people in the industry – you were kind, even when you needn’t be, even when you shouldn’t have been. And it ached somewhere beneath his chest that you thought him deserving of it.

He knows such feelings are ones not meant for him to have, but he has long since been past the denial that it was only but a physical sort of affection. However, even with your initiation of yesterday’s tryst, he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in you in a manner less carnal; his gaze lustful as you prepare for a livestream.

You glance at him once as if sensing the shift in the air before you press ‘start’.

As your manager, he has to be in the room for most of your activities, even the boring ones – but he can think of a few ways to make it less so. For him and you.

You greet your fans with a laugh that is akin to sunlight bursting through foliage. “Of course I missed you guys, it’s why I’m doing this live right now.”

Your company-issued phone, to read and answer comments, is slid across the table with a note meant only for you: ‘Want to play a game, good girl?’

Though your eyes widen, you type your reply in the guise of looking through your fans’ messages, ever the professional. Your glance towards his phone is pointed and when he checks it he sees the notification of your text. ‘I don’t know what you’re planning, you horny fuck, but if you think I’m losing in any game then you’re on.’

There is little ceremony in how he drops to his knees to move underneath, cautious to keep silent. The table tall enough to situate himself. Oh, how he wishes he could see your reaction. He focuses on your voice: the hesitation in which you resume speaking; the hitch in your breath as he spreads your legs; the tremble in your tone as he places his hands on your thighs.

The sight of you beneath is lewd. Your underwear, a simple cotton gray piece, is already soaked. He’d always loved the color gray, especially because of how obvious it made wetness appear.

He allowed himself a moment to appreciate everything about you. The softness of your thighs. The stretch marks on your hips. The dotted marks that lined your legs. His nose grazes your knee, breathing in the saltiness of your sweat. How badly he wants to eat you up. To wholly consume you and spit you out in broken pieces, forced to crawl back to him in order to be fixed. It’s a horrible thought, he’s well aware, but he can’t help but be fixated on the idea that you might want that as well.

Your skin is as silken as he remembers, but touching it feels utterly different, stark raving mad; he leans into that sentiment, urgent in his need to pull you closer and kiss your thigh harder, desperately starved for something he could not yet name.

He imagines it difficult for you to read through the comments let alone reply to them when his hands are caressing your waist and playing with the garter of your underwear. Blood rushes to his cock at the sighs you release every time he teasingly dips his fingers past the fabric. You’re so pretty and perfect for him, his little slut.

Phone in hand, he sends: ‘Your pussy’s so wet for me already, baby. Do you want me to eat you out?’

It’s easy to surmise when you receive it, a light gasp disrupting your sentence.

He struggles to hold his laughter when your consent is given through a grab of his hair and a shove towards your crotch. Satisfied with your enthusiasm, his lips caress you above the fabric, catching against your clit but not wanting to give you what you want. Not yet.

He teases you for ten minutes, licking up and down your clothed cunt until the fabric is fully darkened – only then does he push it aside to expose your pussy lips to him completely. Having tested the patience of both you and him, he wastes little time in capturing your clit between his lips, suctioning onto it whilst swirling his tongue.

You spread your legs wider to give more access, allowing him to move from your clit to your tight hole, slowly edging his tongue inside it. Building up the pace, he begins fucking you with it whilst rubbing your clit with two fingers in quick circular motions.

He gathers his spit around his finger before pushing the moisture into you. You lewdly clench around the digit, sucking him deeper into your depths, just as he thought you would. You’re always so good for him. He could just picture your humiliated face as he slaps his cock around your cheeks, wiping your tears and his cum around your skin. He knows you’re a pretty crier, and he’s never wanted anything more than to see those tears be caused by him.

Another finger is pushed in. Then a third. But he knows you can take it – knows that you’d be able to take everything he gives you.

When your thighs begin to stiffen and you clench around his fingers—the tell-tale sign that you’re close to completion—he stops.

He shoots off another text. ‘What a horny fucking slut, getting fingered in front of her fans like this. I wonder what they’d think if they knew how you were really like. Just a pliant little bitch who’s always ready to slut herself out at her manager’s every whim. Don’t tell me you think you deserve to cum just because you want to?’

Above, he can hear your sardonic chuckles as your knuckles wrap against the table in obvious frustration.

“I know this was a short one, but I have to go practice. I’m sorry for leaving you guys hanging,” you say with blatant venom, kicking his shoulder beneath the table. “Bye!”

He pinches your thigh in retaliation.

Before you can kick him again, he stills your leg with a firm grip.

Accepting your loss with a sigh, you rush to turn the live off, gaping at him when emerges from where he’d knelt. “What was that for?”

He grins, gums showing. “Revenge for what happened in the car. I was scolded by upper management for bringing you late, y’know?”

You punch his shoulder. “At least I let you cum… asshole. This is the second time you’ve blue-balled me.”

“Good thing I prepared this, then.” In his hand is another carton of orange juice. “Peace offering?”

“If a thousand won juice is your form of a white flag then I must say you’re quite stingy.”

“Hey, you’re the rich one in our relationship.”

“Oh, so we have a relationship now?”

His smile drops slightly as he rubs his nape. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.” Though you’re smiling, your eyes are serious, searching his for an answer that he knows he’s not yet ready to give. “I-”

He grabs your hand and places the carton in your grasp. “I’ll get you two orange juices next time, alright?”

‘Next time’, he thinks. It’s the closest thing to an answer he can give you.

The establishment of your newfound ‘relationship’ was one suffused with clandestine trysts in storage rooms and cars, and yet it had never gone past touching and tasting as if it were an unspoken rule. You sensed it in the hesitancy upon which he laid kisses across your neck and jaw, never moving upwards. There was a fragility to his movements that gave you pause as time went on and words left unspoken remained so. Taehyung was gentle even when he called you his whore, and what began as ways to relieve each others’ stress led to hours spent in the afterglow talking about anything under the weather.

What you appreciated most (even more than the times he’d go down on you for hours) were the rare glimpses into his thoughts when he’d let his guard down. His rants about how his friends sucked ass at gaming, him bringing the new mechanical keyboard he’d splurged on just to show off to you his custom-made keys, him quitting smoking when you nagged about the smell and how he subsequently would complain to you about withdrawals before having you suck him off to relieve his other urges.

You wanted to lurk upon every crevice of his mind, know every secret he held close, and you know he craved it just the same. You each felt the devastation of fear, hesitation; you shared moments lovely and small, sat beneath midnight stars in the back of his car, insignificant in the face of endlessness. A month in each other’s company and you’d grown to understand that you wanted more from him than carnality.

It is why it is no surprise to you to find his glare pointed towards the man you’re flirting with. In an effort to leave practice early to meet with friends, your hand lingers on your instructor’s arm, pleading desperation alongside a promise to work twice as hard the next day. Men are easy that way, and the next thing you know he gives you permission with a nod.

…And on the other hand, there are men like Taehyung.

“You really think you’re getting out of it that easily?”

You point at the emptied room. “Seems so.”

He scoffs with crossed arms, the definition of intimidation with his bangs casting shadows across his eyes. “You’ve been getting out of breath too quickly during dry runs.”

“I’ve been getting exercise through other means, don’t worry.” Your eyebrows wiggle.

“I’m sure your newly developed neck and hand muscles will help after hours of performing.”

“I think you’re just jealous,” you say.

His laugh is hollow, forced from the depths of some aching thing. “And why would I feel that?”

“Because you like me but you don’t want to admit it,” you say with a shrug. “And you use the whole ‘manager and idol’ thing as an excuse when really you’re just a pussy.”

There is little he can do to hinder the shocked guffaw that parts his lips at your blunt observation. “Confident, are we?”

“Very, actually.”

He shakes his head but smiles in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?”

“A lot of things, I hope.” You wrap your hands around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

“I thought you had somewhere to be.” His nose brushes against your neck, the warmth of his breath scattering goosebumps across your skin.

“My friends can wait,” you say. “I can bless them with the honor of my presence in another hour or two.”

“Oh, am I supposed to be honored that you’re choosing to spend time with me, then?”

“Don’t you know how charitable I am even if you can be kind of a dick sometimes. Or, well, all the time. But that’s just semantics.”

He hums in response, arms around your waist tightening.

“You never answered my question,” you remind him.

His brow raises. “And you never answered mine: do you really think I’m going to just let you play hooky?”

“Well, I was hoping to offer you something a little more fun than watching me exercise.” You trail your hand down his arm, nails scratching along his veins.

“Oh,” he scoffs. “Is that the same thing you were offering him?”

“I’m yours, aren’t I?”

He tilts your chin upwards. “You wanna be my object tonight, baby? Is that what you’re saying?” Taehyung tended to be all bark but no bite, but the embers lit beneath his pupils indicated that this time would be different.

“Is that even a question?” you reply.

You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, only to be met with: “Then do fifty jumping jacks. Now.”

“You’re joking, but I thought-”

“Objects aren’t supposed to think. They just do as they’re commanded... Or so your favorite erotic novel alpha males always say.”

You give him a pointed look. “Yeah, the key word being ‘erotic novel’, not ‘workout manual’.”

He holds his hands up beside his head in defense, making a face. “I’m doing this for you. And besides…” He takes a step towards you, caressing your chest. “We can always multitask.”

You groan but comply, though the feeling of doing that specific exercise is tantalizingly embarrassing when he’s watching you so closely.

“Sweating already?” He moves to stand behind you, observing from the mirror. “Let me help you.”

He stills your movement to reach around and unzip your hoodie, pulling the sleeves off your arms. Underneath, you’re only wearing a flimsy white shirt coated with sweat, leaving it transparent enough for Taehyung to see your red sports bra.

He presses his mouth to your ear and whispers, “Did I say you were finished, slut?” He laughs. “Don’t look surprised. What else could you be with your tits bouncing everywhere. The fact that you can’t even comprehend what I’m saying is just proving my point.”

You almost regret sharing with him your favorite romance books. Almost. If only because of the way your knees buckle at his degradation.

You continue the motions and Taehyung does little to disguise how he watches your chest as it bounces with every jump. With your arms outstretched, there is nothing to cover the jiggling weight.

Neither of you are keeping count but after two minutes he ceases your movement with a firm “stop”.

“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Want to play another one? I’ll reach into your panties and if you’re wet, you’ll be my personal little slut. Are you willing to take that bet, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you say without further thought, and his hands dip into your leggings and past your underwear. You already know the answer, have known it since the moment he’d walked into the room with his heavy gaze on your body.

“Oh, you’re soaking, baby,” he purrs into your neck, his fingers caressing your folds but not applying the direct pressure that your humping hips seek. “Does your pussy like the thought of being owned by me?”

His hands still with the promise of moving only when you reply. “Yes,” you cry. “I want to be your personal… I want to be your personal slut. Just please… Touch me.”

“You think you deserve to be touched for your pleasure? Are you forgetting what you’re supposed to be doing right now?”

He retracts his hand but you rush to grip his wrist. “Tae, please. I need it so bad.”

“Need what, baby?” he coos, ever softened when you use his nickname.

“I need you to finger me. To make me cum.”

To your surprise he complies, shoving two into your snatch. His fingers scissor you, stretching you out. He pushes another in, all three pushing in and out of you, making disgusting and lewd sounds.

“Aren’t idols supposed to be pure and innocent? I’m ruining you, aren’t I, slut? What would your precious fans think if they knew you liked being a whore for your manager? They’d probably lose all respect for you. Your latest stage outfit was a pretty little number too. Probably had all your fans jerking their little dicks off to your fancams. I just know if I searched your name up the first thing I’d see is some asshole doing a cum tribute to you.” He laughs. “Too bad for them they’ll never know just how tight and wet your pussy is, because I own it now, right?”

“You’ve always owned me– Fuck!” You yelp when Taehyung bites your neck. Your makeup artists were definitely going to have a hard time covering that up. “I love the way you control me so easily.”

“If you weren’t such a brat all the time it’d be a lot easier.” The speed in which his fingers met your g-spot increased. “You always seemed so uptight. Did you ever expect that you’d get played around with by your manager? The other staff members would love to know that you’re into this kinky shit. Especially your fans. Everyone’s always talking about how sexy you are but I bet you know that, don’t you? You thrive on it – want everyone to jerk off to you.”

To your dismay, he pulls out. “You were complaining about your sore throat earlier, weren’t you? I know a good solution for that.”

He tugs you by the back of your neck, moving you closer to his crotch. He pulls down the zipper, releasing the familiar length of his cock. You run your hands from the tip to his balls as if driven by pure instinct, wrought only with the need for proximity. Taking the head into your mouth, you slowly begin to swallow him until it reaches your throat. As he’d taught you, you let him deepthroat for a bit before releasing him with a gasp for air.

Patting your head, he encourages you to keep going. “What a perfect fleshlight. Born to suck cock.”

It is an all-consuming task, leaving room for little else in your mind as you make sure to avoid your teeth from scraping him as well taking note of when to suction and when to draw him deeper into your throat.

He groans with every ministration. “Doing so good for me, baby. Always my perfect slut, so good at taking dick. It’s like you were meant for it. Meant to have your throat pussy be my cum dump. At this point, this should be your job.” You look up and meet his eyes, a twinkling obsidian shade. “Ready for your medicine?”

He grabs the back of your head and takes control of the pace, roughly fucking himself with your throat. His moans grow louder, taking full advantage of the sound-proof nature of the room. You could clearly hear the sounds of your choking, spit drooling down the sides of your mouth as you struggle to keep with his rhythm. The scent of his cock sends you into overdrive, and, though you’re already wet, you feel yourself gush beneath, your pussy clinging to your underwear.

You know well enough, from his pretty groans and tightening grip, that he was about to cum.

“There you go, pretty girl. Your favorite meal. Drink it all up like the depraved cum dump you are.”

You swallow, and gasp, and swallow again. His cum, sticky and bitter, lingers in the back of your throat as you choke for a decent breath of air. It shoots into your mouth, spilling all over your tongue and lips, dripping down the sides. You gag at the taste, coughing up the creamy fluids onto the floor. Your hands tighten on his thighs, struggling to steady your lightheaded self. When he releases your hair from his grasp, you stumble back onto his crotch, heaving breaths against his softening cock.

His thumb wipes sweat from your forehead. “What are you doing, baby?” He grabs the top of your head, forcing you to look into his eyes as tears stream down yours. “That isn’t what sluts do, and I thought we already established that that’s all you are. Objects listen to their owners, don’t they?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you whine, not really apologetic when you know that he knows that cum isn’t exactly your favorite flavor.

He tugs at your hair, lifting you back onto your knees. “You’re acting like I care about what dumb little brats like you want – I don’t. Lick my cum off the floor. Now.” He grins. “And don’t forget that you got some on my boots, too.”

You hesitate, eyeing the strings of white that decorate the wooden panels and the black of his shoes.

“Consider this as punishment for trying to skip out on your exercises.” He crosses his arms, looking down at you with an unimpressed countenance. “So, now, be a good girl and lick my fucking cum off the floor.”

You move your face to the ground and give it kitten licks similar to how you liked to tease Taehyung’s cock. The taste is salty, and you shudder to wonder when the floor was last cleaned. You look up, hoping that that act of obedience is enough to quell his thirst for domination over you. It isn’t.

“I said, clean it up,” he hisses. “Do I really have to grab the back of your head for this? Yeah?” He pushes your head to stay close to the floor. “Don’t just stay there like a stupid bitch. Open your fucking mouth, let me see that tongue. Yeah… There we go, baby.”

You do as he says, collecting his spilt cum.

“All of it,” he groans, watching you debase yourself for his entertainment. “The boots, too.”

You move towards his feet that are impatiently tapping against the floor. Your tongue hesitantly drops out of your mouth, trying to touch as little of it as possible.

Unexpectedly, he presses his shoe against your lips, causing you to deeply lick the length of it in surprise. “You’re not doing a thorough enough job, slut. Don’t disappoint me.”

Once you’ve deemed it spotless you look up to face him. “Is that good enough, your highness?”

He snorts, helping you stand up after having knelt for the better half of an hour. “You mean, was that good enough for you to finally cum?” He reaches between your legs to smack your sensitive pussy, aiming for your swollen clit. “Still want more, baby?”

You nod, whimpering in pain at the unexpected hit.

“Sluts are always horny, aren’t they? Since I’m so good to you, I’ll let you hump against my boot to relieve yourself.”

“Oh, fuck you-”

He grabs you by the chin, tugging you to his face. “Don’t try to hide that you’re an insatiable slut now. I know exactly who you are and what you want. And I know that what you want is to be humiliated like this. Now be a good bitch and fuck yourself on my shoe.”

What’s more humiliating is the speed in which you position yourself below him as you slowly squat down until your crotch brushes against the hard tip. Your hands grip his trousers as you begin humping his boot. You struggle to find enough stimulation, still wearing your underwear and leggings. “Tae,” you whine. “It’s not enough.”

Frustration makes way for pleasure when Taehyung angles his foot up just right. Your moans are relentless now as you buck your hips wildly without rhyme or reason. You are simply a vessel controlled by pleasure, exactly as he wants you.

“Yeah, rub your clit against my shoe like the well-trained slut that you are.” He spits on your face, the fluid dripping down your nose and onto your lips. “You know that I don’t care about your pleasure, right? You’re just an entertaining toy to me. Who owns you?”

“You,” you whine. “You own me, Tae.”

“Then cum, baby.”

Your orgasm is an all-consuming force that possesses your body. It starts at your stomach, that incendiary pulse, before you feel it between your thighs. You can tell that you’ve lost all bodily control by the numbness in your hands and feet and how one second you are humping Taehyung’s shoe and the next you’re laying flat on the ground, his figure towering over you.

Your pussy is still attached to his shoe, and, as if it is an unconscious desire, you continue to move against it until your senses return, reminding you of the pain that overstimulation causes.

He kneels down and lifts his hand, and you aren’t sure what he’s doing until you feel his fingers brush against your cheek, gently wiping away a tear. “You did so well for me, today.”

Rivers trail down your face as you shake your head with what was left of your strength. “I need more.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

You meet his gaze. “Tae, I want you to kiss me.”

He blinks, gulps, and stutters, “What?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

Despite everything you’d done together you’d still yet to share that one intimate act. Perhaps because doing so would make everything feel so much more real.

You caress the side of his face, watching as he watches you, hesitant to make the first move. The silent anticipation weighs upon you like honey, dense yet saccharine, and you slowly move closer and closer until you feel his breath on your skin. His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and back.

“You can kiss me already, you know,” he mutters.

“I’m not the one scared of my feelings,” you say. “I can wait for you as long as it takes.”

And so he does.

When you kiss it simply feels right. His head tilts as you deepen it, licking his bottom lip. Your hands run through his hair, the perm he’d kept when you complimented it one too many times. You kiss him until his bottom lip swells and he kisses you until your mouth is numb. He wrestles your top over you, kissing down your arms before meeting back at your mouth.

There are touches that feel like beginnings and touches that feel like endings, but this one felt so awfully far from either, tucked perfectly between as if whispering of times past and times present. It feels like comfort, his hand on your neck, a grip so gentle that the promise of it was what had you gasping for breath. It is new yet familiar all the same, and when he kisses you harder—pressed against you as if in fear of letting go—you kiss him back with all the same intensity.

When you break apart, he steadies himself with hands wrapped around your waist, hair covering his face as he looks down with astonished laughter. You think that he is gorgeous in a way that makes your heart ache, but it is when he looks up, noticing your admiration, that your breath catches.

You collide once more and there are no more questions, no more waiting.

He lifts his shirt off and tosses it to the side before draping his body across the length of your own. Though the floor is hard against your back, you’re distracted by the rigidity of his muscles pressed against you.

“Do you have a condom?” you remind him.

He curses, standing up. He almost trips over himself in his rush to his bag, rummaging through it for the plastic wrapper. He makes a victorious sound when he finds it, holding it above his head. “Got it!”

You laugh into your hand. “Hurry up, you loser.”

He gets back on top of you, pressing kisses around your face. He kicks off his pants until he’s as naked as you are before positioning himself above your hole.

“Is this okay?” He rubs the head of his cock against your clit.

“More than okay,” you say.

The heat of him sliding into your pussy sparks kindles in your gut. He’s rough yet gentle. Too fast yet too slow. A paradox of sensations encapsulated by the longing gaze in his eyes and the torturous grip he has on your nipples.

He pulls out until only the tip is in before slamming his hips against yours, balls smacking your ass with a clapping sound. He repeats the motion until you’re drooling, rocking back and forth.

“You feel so good,” he moans, moving to grip your tiger-striped thighs. He lowers you until he’s buried balls deep into your warmth, and you can feel his hard length spasming as he adjusts to the tightness. “Feels so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. No one compares to you, baby.”

Despite the thin layer of protection you can feel every vein rub against the soft walls of your cavern. It deliciously fills you up until you’re delirious, drowning in the feeling.

“How many cocks have you had before me?”

“Two.” A friend and a boyfriend – neither of which mattered when the only cock you could think of was Taehyung’s.

“What I would give to have been the one to take your virginity.” He sighs. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck the memory of them out of you.”

His hips begin to thrust into you with a pace you can barely comprehend. The head of his cock reaches so deep, much farther than any cock or toy has ever gone. He pushes into you as if you were a pussy pocket crafted for his pleasure, holding your thighs to your chest in a mating press.

Your breath hitches with every upwards thrust as you struggle to speak. Words swim in your head, a thousand lines of ink dotting across pages like stars that twinkle in and out of existence, unable to catch them before they disappear.

He bites the lobe of your ear, tugging it. His hands caress the entirety of your body with wild abandon, struck with the need to feel you – to ensure that you are really the one beneath him. You, the gravitas of which he orbits.

When you begin twitching underneath him he focuses on hitting your g-spot, lessening the speed. He pulls out then slams back in, repeating it over and over and over. He taps your clit in rapid succession, occasionally rubbing before landing a hard smack against the nub. His other hand goes to your neck, applying pressure to the sides of it. Your mind goes blank. Your legs go numb. Then somewhere between your legs you feel it.

The orgasm is euphoric. You thrash in his hold, the pleasure all too much for your mind and body to take. The feeling is everywhere.

“That’s it, baby.” His thrusts begin to lose rhythm as he chases his own release in wild abandon. “So good for me. Mine. All mine.”

He cums into the condom with one final jerk, burying himself as deep into you as he could. The overstimulation is just enough to not be too painful as he stays inside you for a few moments more, barely able to pull himself out of your warmth.

His eyes are blown wide as he flops to the ground beside you, tying then tossing the condom to the side. “That was…”

“I can’t believe we waited that long to fuck.” The punch you land on his shoulder is weak.

He carries your limp body to the couch he’d massaged you on that fateful month before and gently lays your head against a cushion. Brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead, he places a kiss on your temple. It’s gentle.

“How are you feeling?” He slips beside you until you’re laying side by side and nudges his nose against your shoulder like a cat seeking attention. “Was I too much?”

“No, it was really good, trust me.” Try as you did, there weren’t words in your vocabulary that could sufficiently explain what you had just experienced.

His eyes flicker the length of figure as if attempting to convince himself that he, indeed, had not accidentally fucked your body to the point of destruction. He pouts but sighs, taking your word for it.

Abashed in the afterglow, he asks once more, “You know I didn’t mean most of what I said, right?”

“Most?” You grin. “So what did you say that you did mean?”

“I’m sure I called you pretty once or twice,” he grumbles, burying his face in your neck.

“You already know that I like it,” you assured him. “You’re always so good to me, Tae.”

His eyes soften as he laughs, the melody of it soothing. “It’s because it’s you. And I like you.”

“If I had known that the way to get you to admit your feelings for me was to fuck you then I would’ve done it ages ago.”

There’s a long pause as he composes himself. His hair tickles your neck, his arm a gentle weight around your stomach, and you feel the warmth of skin not your own.

“Shut up.” His ears are red as he flicks your forehead with faux nonchalance. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

Dizzy in the moment, you reach up to cup his face and kiss him. He meets your lips with a gentle eagerness, trailing his fingertips across your chest and along the grooves of your collarbones.

“I like you, too,” you say. “But I also really, really hate you. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.”

He laughs, pecking your shoulder. “Good thing I’m here to massage you then.”

thank u for reading!! <3 if u liked it let me know ! : ✉

#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fic #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #bts scenarios #bts x reader #taehyung x y/n

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joonberriess · 1 year

Text

h o m i e h o p p e r

p a i r i n g : JK, HSK, NJ x reader

g e n r e : college au.

t a g s : homie hopping (the title duhhh), bang chan makes an appearance as your bf, he’s being cucked, vaginal sex, blow jobs, cunnilingus, sex tapes, sexual objectification (on reader), dirty talk, degradation, hook-ups, voyeurism, reader is really pretty (she’s a sweetie pls), poly!relationship undertones, chan refuses to even believe the rumors, sexual innuendos and jokes, the boys are assHOLES, low-key toxic, joon and them are fuckin mean, car sex, chan's POV, surprise for u at the end, chan goes thru it a lot, everyone is bad here LMAO

w o r d c o u n t : 6.3 k

s u m m a r y : the rumors weren’t true… or were they?

When Chan first heard the rumors he was absolutely furious, how could anyone ever talk about someone like that? Never mind that, WHY would anyone talk about his girlfriend point blank period. It pissed him off that anyone he talked to always had to bring you up with the same damn question over and over again.

“Oh you’re dating now? I thought she was fucking Jungkook?”

“I heard Namjoon and her hooked up at the party last night, is that true?”

“No way dude, you’re going out with Seok’s girl? He was telling me the other night how he and Joon took turns.”

Sure he knew you got around a lot but he didn’t care that was your business, the more important thing was you were with him now and he was sure you weren’t capable of cheating. How could you? Not when you were the sweetest thing on this earth, you wouldn’t even harm a fly let alone think about being unfaithful. Chan learned to ignore the comments thrown at him, he knew you better than anyone else.

You seemed to be very popular, often attracting attention left and right because of your nice personality and your pretty face. Chan honestly felt like he had lucked out with you, you liked some things he liked, you shared some hobbies, and you listened to a few genres Chan liked. He was stuck in the honeymoon phase and he never wanted to wake up from it.

Chan however did find it a bit weird how..touchy and friendly his housemates seemed to be you. Yes he did know about the rumors of you and his housemates but he kind of didn’t believe them to be true. Maybe they were exaggerating? His housemates didn’t seem to say anything about the situation so maybe people had it all mixed up.. Right?

He starts observing how you interact with them whenever you come over. His eyes are watchful as you greet Hoseok at the door with a sweet smile on your face and a handful of cookies you baked. Chan stares at the seemingly innocent interaction, only getting up to intervene when he sees something odd.

“Hi Seokie,” you softly smile, “I baked some cookies for everyone, Channie told me you guys have been really stressed out from exams ‘n stuff.”

Hoseok grins, “Well aren’t you a sweetheart? Isn’t Chan so lucky to have someone like you? I mean your cookies aren’t the only sweet thing I like to eat.” He shoots a wink and reaches down to grab one, biting into it with a pleased hum.

You reach up to gently wipe the corner of Hoseok’s lips with your thumb, “Thank you sweetheart.” Hoseok slowly licks his lips.

Chan watches in pure silence, a little put off about the strange show of affection he’s seeing. “Okay Seok, me ‘n y/n are gonna head off now, you remember it’s movie night don’t you baby?” He gently pulls you by your waist to his side, wanting you as far away from Hoseok as possible.

“Oh yes! We’re gonna have a Scream marathon!” You excitedly buzz, “Bye Seokie,” you wave and let Chan guide you up the stairs with a possessive hand laid over your back. Chan glances one last time at Hoseok, finding him staring very intently, specifically your ass which sits so perfectly in your leggings. Hoseok actually fucking winks at him as Chan disappears upstairs.

The second time he realizes things aren’t right is the morning after you stay the night, no one is home except for Namjoon. Chan wakes up to a note on his nightstand telling him you’re downstairs making breakfast. The little hearts you drew make his heart flutter as he sleepily smiles and rolls out of bed.

As he makes his way down and around the corner he can hear those cute little giggles of yours. Reality shatters the moment and snaps him out of his daze when he hears Namjoon’s deep baritone voice.

Namjoon…?

Chan curiously peeks into the kitchen only to find you standing there in his oversized shirt he gave you the night before. If memory served him correctly, you went to bed in his shirt and with ONLY panties underneath.. His eyes widened, shocked to see Namjoon standing directly behind you pressed so closely as he opened the cabinet to reach for something high up on the shelf.

“Careful now shortie, don’t want you falling and hurting yourself.” Namjoon lazily smirks, passing the bowls you had asked him for, “Especially with you bouncing all over the place.” He hums, reaching down to smack your ass as he walks over to the fridge.

You voice your complaints with an angry pout, turning to say something when you see Chan. “Channie! You’re up, I made some pancakes and a fruit bowl.” You cheerfully say, “Sit, sit I’m just about to finish,” you say.

“You good there Channie?” Namjoon draws out with a tiny smirk, leaning up against the fridge with his arms crossed. “You look like you just saw a ghost or something.” His eyes briefly break contact to trail after you when you pass by him.

Chan nods, “I’m good,” he shoots you a tiny smile before looking back at Namjoon blankly, “all good.”

Something is definitely wrong by the third time he realizes there’s more than what meets the eye. It’s what people have to say about Jungkook when the little bubble he’s been cooped up in finally bursts. Chan doesn’t wanna hear it but he knows his brain will be nagging about it later on if he doesn’t clear things up once and for all.

“Jungkook? You mean the footballer you live with?” Hyunjin raises a brow in confusion, “Why do you wanna know about him and your girlfriend? Unless you’re like into that sorta stuff man.”

Chan sighs in exasperation, “No I’m not trying to say anything right now, I’m curious that’s all. Jungkook’s never mentioned any girl before and I’m wondering if he and y/n had history together or some shit, that’s all.”

Hyunjin has this look on his face like he doesn’t truly believe it, but lucky for Chan he doesn’t comment about it. “I heard a couple of things. Two semesters ago someone caught Jeon in his car fucking someone, no one was sure who it was but we all had a feeling it had to be y/n because he posted a like selfie with some girl’s hand in the frame and then y/n posted a pic of her inside someone’s car, it looked like JK’s so we all knew it was them two.” He shrugs.

“Ohh really?” Chan nods slowly, now that he thinks about it Jungkook did mention once or twice of a girl he was fucking on the low, said something about her being “the best piece of ass” he’s ever gotten. Thinking about it now makes Chan’s stomach curl in disgust and other unpleasant feelings.

“Yeah, but that was ages ago man you don’t really have anything to worry about now.” With that Chan’s left alone to wallow in his own thoughts.

The girl he’s been with for the past two months really fucked his friends before she landed on him.. He can’t exactly say he’s happy with the idea but if nothing was going on right now, he was fine. The past was past, you were with him now and nothing was going to change that fact.

He hopes.

Chan doesn’t think about it as much as he did before, if anything it’s long forgotten because he rather focus on the present rather than the past. He got over it and made peace with the idea of nothing going on. He blamed it on his damn insecurities.

For about two weeks Chan is in pure bliss with you. Your little dates carry on and surprisingly the comments people made died down. Hell he didn’t notice any weird shit on behalf of his other housemates who seemed to barely be at home whenever Chan brought you over. Seeing this as an opportunity he brings you with him one night, knowing that the guys were out for the night.

Things lead to another and pretty soon you’re both getting down and dirty in his sheets, closed away in the privacy of his bedroom. The perks? You could be as loud as you wanted, and Chan didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing you two go at it through the paper thin walls.

Chan had you laid back on the comforter, thighs wrapped around his midsection and hips a little elevated to strike that spongy spot that drove you crazy all the time. Your head was thrown back on the pillow with your eyes shut in bliss and lips formed in a tiny ‘o’ as moans and whimpers left you.

“C-Chan,” you mewled out, desperately clawing and twisting at the sheets, “so good.” Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering open to stare up at him.

Chan groans under his breath and re-adjusts his grip on your hips, getting a good grip as he plows into your squelching pussy. The sounds of his balls smacking against your ass ring in his ears, the bed creaks audibly against the wooden floor of his bedroom. The sounds were so filthy they were porn worthy.

“Fuck, you gonna cum baby?” He murmurs darkly, face twisting in pleasure as he feels you cunt clench down tightly around his shaft, making his cock throb weakly in response. “Can feel your little pussy gettin’ tighter and tighter for me.”

You moaned lewdly at his words and nod frantically, “Gonna cum–oooh..! R-Right there..!” You writhe on the bed, hips pushing up and squirming around so much you almost slip off his cock.

“Go ahead baby,” Chan moans, “cum on my cock.” He pants heavily, leaning down to smother you in a passionate kiss as his pace speeds up.

You wrap your arms around his neck with a loud moan, teetering on the edge of an orgasm. Chan can feel you getting close, and right before he can reach down to rub at your swollen nub he hears the door click open and Jungkook’s loud laughter.

“Chan, you gotta check this shit out–” Jungkook looks up and his eyes widen, “Holy fuck man, my bad.” He laughs harder.

Any pleasure Chan was feeling moments prior is now gone, he feels his cock even soften from the sound of Jungkook entering. He quickly throws a blanket over your naked form, glad he had been too impatient to take his boxers off. “Jungkook–” he sighs, “Can you step out? Not fucking cool,” he shoots a glare at Jungkook, making sure to cover your smaller frame with his own body.

“Sure, Channie,” Jungkook mocks, “whatever you say.” He turns to walk back out, turning his head over his shoulder to shoot you a smirk, “So you wear lace now?” Chan’s face burns with both anger and embarrassment after Jungkook pointed out the panties set lying on his floor nearby the door. “Don’t get ya panties in a twist, I’m goin’.” Jungkook shuts the door behind him.

A long sigh leaves Chan and he turns to look over at you apologetically, “I forgot to lock the door dammit.” He rubs his face in frustration, irritated that he was reminded of the shit he didn’t want to be thinking about.

“It’s okay Channie,” you sit up, sheets around your body as you gently smooch his cheek, “I still enjoyed tonight with you.” You smile softly.

“Yeah… I did too,” Chan smiles back, trying not to look too dejected.

He confronts Jungkook a few days later. He’s sitting in the living room waiting for Jungkook to come home. He had sent a message and Jungkook simply replied that he’d be home in a few.

“You wanted to talk?” Jungkook says, tossing the keys into a bowl by the door as he sets his drink down, “What’s up?” He grunts, kicking his shoes off and going to sit in the living room across from Chan.

Chan notes the faint sweat on Jungkook’s face, shirt rolled up at the sleeves to show off his defined muscles which made the older look more intimidating. “The other night, you need to knock and I mean it Kook because you don’t know if I’m changing or y/n is not decent or anything and I don’t want shit to happen between us because what happened was fucking inappropriate and I didn’t like that shit. At all.” He folds his arms across his chest with a glare.

Jungkook hums, “Okay.”

“Okay? Is that all?” Chan raises a brow.

Jungkook shrugs, “You wanna know something Chan?” He says calmly and sits with his arms spread over the back of the couch, manspreading with a nonchalant attitude. “With a beautiful ass like that I wouldn’t dream of gatekeeping it from the entire world, I mean, it’s always a good feeling to show the others what they wished they had. So congrats on your win, not everyday someone lands a girl like y/n.”

“Jungkook what the fuck are you on?” Chan frowns.

“Nothing, I’m just being honest with you. I could care less if you’re feeling threatened by me or the guys. I see the way it kills you on the inside hearing all the shit they say about your precious y/n. Does that piss you off Channie? Thinking about how she fucked the three of us before she got to you?” He tilts his head to the side with mischief twinkling in his eyes.

Chan doesn’t think he can reply without having an outburst of some sort, he’s getting more pissed by the second. Any more of Jungkook’s crude talking and Chan thinks he’s going to explode from the anger…and he does NOT want to be the one to fight Jungkook, has anyone seen him in the gym?

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret,” Jungkook smirks, taking a seat next to Chan, “there isn’t nothing about y/n that we haven’t seen already, so the next time you fuck her in the house, remember I once had my dick in there too.” He grins, “Tell her throat I said hi,” he chuckles quietly, getting off of the sofa and disappearing up the stairs.

Chan sits there with a blank stare, fists clenched tightly in his lap as he tries to control his breathing. In, out, in, out. He slumps in his seat, arm thrown over his face as he grumbles. That didn’t go as fucking planned, if anything Jungkook bitched him out without even having to try!

“Fuck,” he sighs longly, he decides he can’t wallow in self pity and rises off the couch.

Right as he steps outside of the house his phone buzzes. Curiously he unlocks his phone and opens the messages (which conveniently was from Jungkook). A thumbnail of a video sits innocently in the chat, Chan’s stomach drops because he knows what this is. His hands shake as he presses on the video.

Jungkook was a really nice guy, he teased you a lot and was a bit cocky but it added to his charms. You meet through a mutual friend, who you feel sorry for because her plans to hook up with Jungkook seemed to fly out the window the moment he lays eyes on you. Jungkook makes it painfully obvious that the only person he was taking home was going to be you.

He fucked you so good you couldn’t even feel your legs afterwards, it was ten out of ten and you could see yourself coming back again. It turned into a little dick appointment situation, meeting up whenever either one of you wanted to fuck. Whether it be in the morning of afternoon or dead in the night it didn’t matter, somehow you guys always ended up fucking.

You felt comfortable enough with him to post about it without exactly letting anyone know it was Jungkook you were fucking. Jungkook did the same, often asking to record and take pictures while he was hitting it from the back or balls deep inside of you.

One night you will never forget is when Jungkook decides to record you in his car, the video itself is about forty minutes long, and that’s what he decided to capture (your fucking went on much longer than that). The first scene is shot with his phone propped up on the dashboard, facing the driver's seat.

You’re sitting in his lap grinding and rocking your hips in tiny circles around his throbbing wet cock. Jungkook had his arms wrapped tightly around your back as he held you close to him while you fucked yourself silly on his cock. Loud whimpers and little “uh’s” escaped your lips. The sound of your wet pussy drooling over his cock and the back of your thighs smacking into him resonated throughout the whole car.

Jungkook had one hand buried in your hair, gripping it tightly as he yanked your head back while you rode him. His eyes flickered past your shoulder and into the camera as he smirked darkly, toying with his lip ring while you frantically moved your hips.

“Mmm..! Ooh, right there,” you pant out in pleasure, eyes stinging from the pleasure and pleasant ache you feel from him yanking on your hair. Your hips slow down and swivel in small circles so you can feel his thick cock rub up against your walls in a delicious angle that has you seeing stars.

Jungkook focuses his attention right back to you and grunts softly, “There you go, good girl.” He uses his other hand to grip your hip as he helps you grind in smooth circles on his cock. “Shit,” he sighs, relaxing into the seat and letting his head roll back on the headrest.

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck, you hide yourself away in the crook of his neck and desperately roll your hips. Soft little moans and needy whines leave you every so often, the windows of the car have fogged up by now and the music playing from the radio is merely background noise.

Everytime you push your hips back you feel the soaked material of Jungkook’s sweats given that he hadn’t bothered with slipping them past his thighs. You shiver pleasantly when his hot breath hovers over your hardened nipples. He encloses one of the sensitive buds in his mouth, suckling gently and rolling his tongue around.

“Mmm..!” You arch your back even more, desperately chasing after the pleasure erupting in your chest area. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind you pushing your soft tits in his face as he merely buries himself away in your chest while you ride him like your life depends on it.

After getting you to cum a couple of times he moves you two to the backseat. He’s holding his phone above you and recording the way your ass smacks against his hips. There’s a much louder slapping sound since he’s in control of the pace now, he wants you to feel this fucking for days to come.

“Greedy little thing you are, can’t seem to get enough of my cock can you?” Jungkook pants softly while slapping his hips against you, “Not gonna answer? Did I fuck you stupid already baby? Answer me,” he slaps your ass, “go on, tell me how good your ‘Jungkookie’ fucks you.” He grins, his laughter coming out breathless and dazed.

“ ‘s not enough, want it more–deeper, harder.” You gasp out, hands resting above you on the window to keep you grounded while he fucked your brains out, “Can feel it so deep inside,” you breathily moan, eyes slipping shut as his cock bumps into that spongy senstive spot inside of you, “mmmm–there–wanna cum again.” Your lips part, face scrunching cutely in pleasure as your body begins to go slack.

Jungkook softly moans and aims the camera down where you’re both connected. He increases the speed of his thrusts and angles his hips to keep hitting your sweet spot. He feels your pussy tighten and pulse around his cock, sending small shivers down his spine.

“Look up for me baby, say hi to the camera,” Jungkook licks his lips.

You tilt your head up with hooded and dazed eyes, moans tumbling from your lips and a little bit of drool slipping out the corner of your lips. Your breath hitches quietly, pouty lips parting once more as the noises you make increase in pitch. “There you go, show everyone what a slut you are for cock,” he smirks and reaches down with his tattooed hand to grab your chin and face you towards him.

“Oh fuck! Yes, yes..!” Chan sits there in his car with his jaw dropped, watching the now shaky video as Jungkook presumably fucks you into next week with how hard he’s going. Bitter humiliation sits in the pits of his belly.

Over the next few weeks Chan distances himself from everything really. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look at you now knowing the shit that happened with Jungkook. It was one thing to sit and listen to all these people talk about you two but it was a whole different story seeing it on video. Truly crushed his dignity and maybe his ego.

You of course had asked him if anything was wrong but Chan said the same thing, “No babe, just tired and burnt out from school stuff I got going.” And you bought it everytime. He felt bad yes but at the same time he felt like he just needed a little bit of space, he didn’t want to take his anger out on you because you didn’t deserve any of that.

Things back at the house seemed tense, Jungkook looked smug whenever he saw Chan and well, Chan didn’t have the energy to fight over shit like this. One would see it as him accepting that he was a bitch but Chan thought about it differently. Sure he felt extremely disrespected but what else could he do? He can’t reverse time and change the past.

Namjoon hadn’t bothered to comment much (the most he offered was “shit’s childish”) and Hoseok well he kind of tried to play mediator of the situation. He would make some jokes here and there to ease the tension in the room but Jungkook didn’t care. Jungkook was the most relaxed, and it irked Chan to no end how nonchalant he was about this, like if he didn’t show someone a video of him pounding their girlfriend.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hoseok hums, shooting him that bright little smile he always gave everyone. “You’ve been oddly quiet for weeks now Chan.”

Chan looks at the elder with a quiet hum, “Nothing much Seok, just have a lot on my mind right now. And if you’re wondering, no I'm not upset with Jungkook or anything so you can rest easy. There won’t be a fight or anything like that.” He throws his head back and lets it hang off the couch, a long sigh escaping.

“Your face says otherwise.” Hoseok smirks.

“Listen, I don’t mean this in a bad way or anything but I’d appreciate it if you a) stop bringing this up about Jungkook and b) knock whatever weird fucking obsession you have with my girlfriend off. It’s fucking weird that you guys talk about her, make these smart ass comments, and eye fuck her when I’m right there. I get it, you guys fucked in the past but we’re in a relationship and I’d very much like for you to respect it.” He glares back, not realizing his voice rose with every word he spoke.

Hoseok stares at him for a few minutes with no expression on his face, and Chan at first thinks he fucked up but then the unexpected happens. The fucker laughs. He watches Hoseok throw his head back, shoulders shaking as he slaps his knee a couple of times.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Chan grits his teeth.

“Damn ‘Channie’ I thought you were better than this, you should feel happy she chose to be with you. You’re the mannnn,” he playfully hits Chan on the side, “I mean, she tastes as good as she looks.” He licks his lips, staring into Chan’s eyes unapologetically. “Does she still wear those pink panties of hers? You know which ones, little white bow and lacey trim…”

Chan knows exactly which ones he’s referring to. His fists clench in his lap tightly, he silently rages in his spot but it doesn't deter Hoseok. “I bet she still holds your head down right when she’s about to cum,” his voice drops to a husky whisper, “does this little thing with her hips, practically smothering you with her pussy.” Chan snaps his head towards Hoseok, watching as the usually playful man taunts and teases him.

“Oh I bet she does.” He grins, “Funny…she used to do the same with me.” He gets up and walks away with no other words. Chan stares ahead at the wall with a blank look and a fiery anger running through his veins.

Hoseok was buried between your soft thighs, licking and sucking at your swollen clit with his fingers buried knuckle deep inside of your sopping wet pussy. Moans and whimpers tumbled freely from your lips, your head was thrown back with your lips parted and expression twisted into one of pure pleasure and bliss.

His fingers felt so good, stretching and filling your pussy to the brim. He stroked over your g-spot repeatedly, pairing his strokes with powerful sucks on your clit. It only had you dripping even more, thighs shaky and pussy leaking even more for him. “Seok,” you whimper, squirming around and lifting your hips as if you were offering your pussy up on a silver platter.

Hoseok took the bait, happily slurping away with his eyes closed as if he were in pleasure just being there between your soft thighs. Your cunt pulsed around his fingers, the pleasure sat hot in the pits of your belly. Hoseok was hellbent on getting you to gush because he wouldn’t let up on your g-spot.

“Fuck,” he softly pants against your soft pussy, “listen to you, absolutely fuckin’ soaked around my fingers.” He grins licking his lips, “You gonna squirt around my fingers like a good girl?”

His fingers start moving rapidly, the squelching noises get louder and tiny bits of slick spurt out from the sides of his fingers as he fucks them in and out. Your mouth falls open, you’re breathless as you weakly grip the bed sheets tightly. “Seok..!”

“That’s it, cum on my fingers and make a mess for me baby, gonna have you suck ‘em clean for me. ‘s what good girls do, isn’t that right?” He grins.

“Y-Yes..!” You gasp out.

Hoseok goes back down to take your clit in his mouth again, sucking harder than before. It sends a tremor down your spine and you cry out weakly, pussy squirting around his fingers. He moans for extra measure, causing you to weakly moan out for him to stop because it was getting to be too much.

“Good girl,” he pulls back and lifts his wet fingers, “now clean ‘em.”

Chan feels like he could fucking explode any minute now, everyone is walking around on eggshells in the damn house and of course Hoseok and Jungkook will stick together. Chan isn’t so sure about where Namjoon stands in all of this but he’s pretty certain he’ll side with his two friends on this one. Chan doesn’t care anymore, in fact he was already planning on leaving.

Call him a coward but he wasn’t going to waste his breath fighting, hell he wasn’t even sure y/n gave a shit about what was going on. Sometimes it made him feel like there was something he wasn’t seeing. Like this was some sort of test or a sick joke on their end, and as much as he didn’t wanna think about the possibility of you also playing sick games with him it was hard.

He hadn’t had much time to sit and talk with Namjoon given that there was tension in the house but Chan was pretty surprised to see Namjoon at home for once. These days it seemed like he was out more often to avoid the conflicts at home. It was even more surprising when Namjoon spoke to him.

“What’s up with you?” Namjoon nods his head at him, “Feels like we haven’t talked in a hot minute.”

Chan shrugs, “Been busy with work, school, you know how it is.” He replies back, busying himself with going through the fridge for his gatorade.

“You know this shit’s childish,” there it was, leave it to Namjoon to be the one to address the elephant in the room, “whatever the hell you got goin with Kook and Seok is gonna blow over pretty soon. I’m only saying this in case you guys hash it out in the yard and beat eachother up over something stupid.” He shrugs.

“And what would you classify as stupid? How is me calling them out for their weird ass behavior childish. No, you see I’m not stupid enough to fight over it but don’t you fucking think maybe I should speak up about it? It’s my fucking girlfriend we’re talking about, of course you would see me in the wrong because they’re your fucking friends.” He slams the fridge door a little harder then he intended to.

Namjoon raises a brow, “And what you gonna do about it?” He stands, rounding the table like a predator with narrowed eyes and an intense gaze, “Listen, the reality here is your girl fucked everyone in this house, simple as that. She’s been on Jungkook’s dick, Hoseok’s and mine. And if I fucking wanted to I’d have her hanging off my dick right here and right now in front of your face. And you wouldn’t do anything about it because you’re a little bitch who gets cucked in front of your damn face.” He stands in front of Chan now, staring down at him with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

Chan glares back, but Namjoon sets a hand on his shoulder, “Do me a favor and get some air, I can’t guarantee you things will be pretty if you stay. Unless you want me to show you just how well she takes my cock.”

You pull back from his cock with a low pop, tongue swirling and collecting the beads of precum around his tip. Namjoon’s grip tightens in your hair, cock weakly throbbing because the head of his cock was a sensitive area for him. You cheekily dig your tongue into his slit to get a reaction out of him.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps out, hips jumping once more in surprise, “just like that..” He moans.

You take his cock into your mouth once more and start bobbing your head. You use your hands to twist and stroke his shaft. His moans rise in volume as the hand in your hair starts guiding you up and down his cock. Your eyes water occasionally from the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Take it like a good girl baby, gonna cum down your throat.. You gonna swallow like a good girl?” He rasps out. You eagerly nod and reach down to cup his balls, massaging them gently while you try to suck the soul out of him.

Namjoon’s hips stutter in their movements when he gets closer to coming undone. He groans louder and holds your head still to fuck up into your mouth. “Fuck, fuck.” He moans out as he throws his head back. You feel his cock twitch and throb in your mouth and you cheekily moan to cause vibrations.

He comes undone, cum spilling down your throat, “Fuckkkkk,” he whispers out, “so good for me baby..” he strokes over your head and keeps your head down until he’s done coming. “Go on and clean the mess you made, I don’t want to see not one drop go to waste.”

Chan heads straight over to your place. On the way he tries to calm himself down but everytime he thinks about the conversation earlier he ends up heated all over again. “Fuck!” Chan yells in anger as he hits the steering wheel angrily.

“Chan?” Your sweet voice interrupts his thoughts, “I was asking if you wanted me to order some pizza and we can go pick it up?” You rub his back gently, comforting even, “Is everything okay?”

Chan shakes his head with a long sigh, burying his face in his hands as he looks over at you, “Some shit happened earlier but I’m fine now,” he waves you off, “call, call, I’m gonna use the restroom real quick.” He murmurs and gets up.

He felt even more pathetic that he couldn’t talk to you about what he was going through. Then again what could you do? You weren’t even their friends so it wasn’t like you could waltz in there and tell them off or something. You didn’t have a clue what was happening inside the house since Chan wasn’t bringing you around.

Chan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “You got this.” He whispered and freshened up a bit before heading back out to you.

“Channie, I ordered the pizza, it’s gonna be ready in about fifteen minutes or so I think.” You say from inside the kitchen where you’re pouring him a glass of water, “Here sit, sit, you look really tense and stuff.”

“Thanks baby,” He smiles softly, all tension leaving his body since he couldn’t really stay mad around you. “How was your day?”

You shrug cutely, “Nothing too special since I went to class and after I just worked on my paper with Jungkook.”

Chan pauses, “Jungkook?” when you nod he speaks again, “Why?”

“We have the same class.” You reply softly.

Chan grips the cup a bit tighter, “No.. I mean why are you hanging around him? I told you it made me uncomfortable that you hang out with him when I’m not around.” He’s about to pop a fucking vessel with how angry he is.

You look unfazed, “Jungkook and I are friends,” you simply say, “I didn’t realize you were on such bad terms with him or something? Did anything happen for you to not like him?”

“Did anything happen?! Oh I don’t know y/n I’ve been fucking getting ganged up on by him and the guys, they’re all telling me what a hot piece of ass I got as a girlfriend! You think that’s something to get angry over? Are you gonna fucking sit there and tell me not to worry because you’re just friends?” He blows up.

Your lips part in surprise, eyes widening in awe as you listen to him rant angrily. “I tolerated enough when it came to them and you, I get it you all fucked and you fucking liked so what?! What the hell do you want me to do about it? Give you a fucking cookie and say good job?!”

His chest rises up and down in anger as he comes down from the rush. He stares down at you with pleading eyes, he wants you to say something. Anything. He just wants to put everything past him now.. Your lips part and you go to say something when he suddenly hears clapping behind you. “What the.” Chan frowns.

He looks over your shoulder and his heart drops to his ass. Jungkook comes out with a smug little smile on his lips as he takes a seat on the coffee table next to where you’re standing. “What a show you put on,” Jungkook whistles in amusement as he slithers an arm around your legs and tugs you closer to him, “didn’t know it had you bothered like that.”

“y/n what the fuck is going on?” Chan seethes, “Why the fuck is he here? Are you cheating on me with him, is that it?”

You stare at him with those sweet little puppy eyes of yours, pout forming on your lips as you gently reach over to caress Jungkook’s hair, sending Chan into a state of disbelief. “No, I’m not cheating on you. I thought you would have noticed by now, seems like you don’t pay enough attention.”

“Notice what?” He grits his teeth.

Jungkook chuckles, “Why do you think people call her Hoseok’s girl? Or my girl? Or Joon’s?” He sits back with a smug smirk, “I know you noticed how friendly we all were with each other. Listen, Chan buddy, if you ever thought you had y/n you were dead wrong. You see we love our baby, and if she says she wants to fuck you then she’s gonna fuck you simple as that. We’ve always let our girl have her fun because at the end of the day she comes back to us.” He grins.

You hum softly, “It’s fair game Channie, I do what I want but I’m still theirs. Joonie and the boys like to mess around with the guys though.. Surprised you lasted this long.”

It dawns on him this was all a sick game between the four of you. Chan stares in horror and disbelief, “You guys are fucking psychos..” He whispers.

“We’ll see you around… Channie.” Jungkook smirks.

Chan turns to you but you’re more focused on brushing Jungkook’s hair, “Pity Kookie, I actually liked this one.” You murmur softly without offering a single glance at Chan.

Chan fucking hates his life.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @sxtaep ( for u bby )

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts hoseok #bts jungkook #jung hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #namjoon smut #bts namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader

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saionjeans · 1 month

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so i read part one of after the revolution. touga and saionji both being art dealers who contend with the notion of prioritizing art, ethics, or profit is really great way to concisely communicate the tensions in utena regarding the inherent violence of framing as it relates to objectification through the gaze, and how objectification leads to dehumanization leads to abuse as a mode of control. here are some key panels that communicate these ideas most explicitly:

it’s really interesting that while touga argues for art to take priority over the ethics of how that art is produced, saionji finds that notion outright reprehensible and admonishes touga for thinking that way. it’s funny to consider, because they’re both so awful, but yes, technically, saionji is nonetheless far more principled than touga.

touga takes a relativist approach to the morality of abuse, including the sexual abuse of children, claiming that there is no concrete morality that dictates whether or not an act is wrong, and thus the legacy of the artist must remain in the public consciousness for future generations to evaluate on their own terms. it’s not an unreasonable argument, but it’s also clearly obfuscating his own relationship to such a dynamic, as someone who wants to minimize the pain of his own suffering to position himself as stronger and more powerful than he is. by diminishing the impact of child sexual abuse through defending the right of the artist (ie, akio), touga is diminishing his own trauma for the sake of defending the value of art.

but saionji is also an art dealer, also operates within this framework, even as he resists it. which is obvious, because that’s his established modus operandi: ruthlessly critiquing the system that he participates in and even benefits from. saionji thinks that the enabling of csa is “a betrayal of life itself,” but touga considers it a crucial facet in the process of “immortalizing art,” or, in other words, achieving eternity.

then utena appears, and she grants touga the power to revolutionize the world, or, in other words, extinguish akio’s ghost once and for all. once touga defeats akio with utena’s help, akio’s prized painting (a nude of anthy he painted) transforms into a painting of her and anthy embracing (and fully clothed). the idea of achieving immortality through art, or attaining absolute power and control through exploitation, is flawed. paradigms can be overthrown through active resistance to hegemonic norms. neither touga’s approach that all art must be approached through a relativist lens, nor saionji’s approach that bad people should never have their art platformed on ethical grounds, is entirely correct. while saionji’s principles (that csa is always wrong and must always be condemned) is not incorrect, there is also a third approach, that is actively underwriting, complicating, and shifting the dominant narrative, which can only be done by facing it head on, as utena does.

when akio comes back as a ghost (for the second time) to attempt to possess his painting of anthy titled revolution (which is great because he then says “i will let no one take my revolution!!”), saionji jumps in front of his sword to save touga. the extent to which saionji is actually injured is unclear (it’s utena, so blood isn’t actually a byproduct of stab wounds), but the sentiment remains. touga helps saionji to his feet, and they lean on each other while touga says “that’s what it means to have the power to revolutionize the world.”

saionji jumping in front of akio’s sword for touga is essentially a parallel to utena taking the swords of hatred for anthy, although the parallel roles of anthy and touga are less explicit here (although as previously stated, his defensiveness when it comes to the matter of csa is nonetheless telling). it’s basically a conclusion to touga’s claim that “true friendship is for fools,” as he offers his true friendship, tender and unbidden, to saionji, and saionji, in turn, who literally drew a sword on him at one point in the comic (valid btw), jumps in front of another sword for touga’s sake.

the role of art in this story is thus fascinating as it connects more to the role of paintings in adolescence, whereas photography is the primary vehicle used to communicate this tension of framing in the show proper. the painting of anthy is a signification of the violence done to her, and both its revolutionary potential as utena actively rewrites it, and the conversation surrounding exploitative art as approached by touga and saionji, is actually a really interesting way to summarize these key thematic tensions, while also actively developing (and perhaps even resolving) the conflict between touga and saionji, who do blatantly function as counterparts to utena and anthy, for better or for worse.

#after the revolution #u #analysis #manalysis #touga #saionji #akio #utena #anthy #utenanthy #had to put that last panel in there simply bc it so gay that is has to be seen to be believed #also. DID saionji get stabbed??? like… they’re going to the hospital …????#also why do they live in NEW YORK #GO AWAY WE DONT WANT YOU HERE!!!!!

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tonixe · 5 months

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FAME

A/N: Ideas are blooming out of nowhere, low-key this is a lot to unpack, make sure to read the warning and if your uncomfortable, don't read it, I hope you guys having a blessed day today, xoxo, there might be a part two.

WARNING: p in the v, penetration, unprotected sex, coercion, abuse of power, cheating, objectification, misogyny, reader being a sex symbol, abuse drugs, mentions of alcohol/drinking, abuse, non-con to dub-con, drugging, usage of cigarettes, Viewer discretion is advised...

PAIRING: President!coriolanus x singer!reader

WORD COUNTER: 4.0k

Fame is a word that represents many things: dream coming true,, all-the-world luxury opening up, money funneling up, and all the reasons to climb up to the top of the food chain. Becoming the apex predator, a name..NOBODY can wipe off, you're initially written on a golden star, your name carved into history, your identity being remembered.

The recognition of your voice, your face, your personality being known to a single name, all of your greatness tied together into one body, one soul, something that doesn't grow on trees. It was fame you desired, that your heart yearned for putting all your time, and energy into a puzzle that fits into the right corner of your life. You wanted to live forever, you wanted to fly up join the ones who inspired and gave you the drive to work, you wanted to make it, make it to that heaven.

People looking at you, you wanted them to cry in desperation to get your attention, you wanted them to remember your name for history, into textbooks something that can never go away so easily, carved into people's brains...that what you dreamed of, lights flashing in your eyes, the glaring hurting you bit of bit, but this what you worked for to be recognize by the ones above, holding onto a golden trophy you won by yourself, you felt like you made it. On a stage, a platform, where the camera flashed you. Your image being printed on the news, your appearance being broadcasted to the media, fans screaming your name from the outside, important people looking at you, impressed. This was your moment, you learned how to fly, and you worked for it. Your identity being secured into history...they have to remember, but...why weren't you not happy, not secure.

Growing out of the district scum, becoming a household name, rising up to the Capitol, and earning identity there...now you sat at the vanity looking at the mirror before one of your shows, one of the makeup artists painting your lips in a rouge color, your e/c eyes looking into the mirror. You would always dream of this moment coming to life, your mother braiding your hair, humming one of your childhood songs. She, herself wanted to be a singer but couldn't because of her status and pregnancy, though living in the district..you had a wonderful home, one that wasn't broken, but one in a broken society, where people in the district were given the name of disgust by the highly 'elevated' individuals in the Capitol.

You wanted to leave, bring your family, and give them a home they deserved as much as you. You hated the district and hated you had an up-bringing there.

A flash of nostalgia ran through your mind being interrupted by a tech, "Y/N, 30 minutes before showtime" You listened to the announcement, flickering your eyes away from the staffer, and you raised your hands up, stopping the makeup artist from moving her brush. "Could you leave the room?" you said, listening to the footsteps receding away from you.

You took out a flask, screwed the lid open, and taking a swig of the bitter liquid, the burning and painful sensation coursing down your throat. Your chest heaving, putting your hands on the vanity table gripping the table, closing your eyes, biting down on your lip. Anxiety bubbling in your chest, looking up at yourself in the mirror, it felt like a million things running through your mind. You manage to slip away from the thought by the knocks on the door, turning your head at the sound, the door clicking open..."Y/N, 5 minutes to Showtime" One of the staffers said, giving yourself one last look, getting up from the vanity, fixing up your hair. The clicks of your heels on the porcelain tiles, tech staffers giving you a mic, and earpiece, as your makeup team fixes up your face and hair, finish up the last touches.

You were ridden with anxiety, butterflies flying in your stomach with every step you took, each leading you closer to the stage, where important people stood, you were going to sing to for celebration of the 15th hunger games, you took breaths in between your steps, fuck..you really need a cigarette.

Listening to your cue, smoothing your off-the-shoulder red velvet dress. "You're up," one of the techs said, tapping your shoulder, slipping you away from your head, as you nodded and cleared your throat. Walking onto the stage, you felt eyes on you..everywhere, setting yourself behind the microphone stand, closing your eyes, as the music started playing, the melody of the piano, the keys bringing in the familiar tune, as the band began to play following the notes of the leading piano.

Your hands on the microphone. Feeling the heat of the stage light hitting your form, making you wince.

Formation of words slipping from your lips as it became a symphony into the song, your voice dancing with the delicate notes of the piano.

The angelic voice coming from your lips, the words slipping out of your mouth, enchanting the audience. The feeling of anxiety leaving your system, as you pour your heart into the piece, every note you hit brings you relax, flickering your eyes open, glancing to the audience staring at your elevated form. The orchestra of people, filled with important and big shots in the Capitol, staring at you, enchanted with your voice, your eyes following up.

To the balcony, as you felt the end of the song, your eyes looking at the familiar figure on the balcony boxes, your eyes slightly widen as you made eye contact with the gentleman...Coriolanus Snow, the president of Panem. You felt your heart drop at the figure, feeling your vocal cords stretching as you hit a high note finishing the song, you maintained eye contact. as the band played the outro, with your voice leading off,

Finally notes ending it off, as you heard a rain of applause ringing to your ears, looking at the President of Panem raising his hands and clapping for you..you bowed down, your head turning up, giving a glance up at the President.

Walking off the stage backstage, "Fuck, give me a cigarette, now!" you exclaimed, as one of the assistants gave you a box, putting a stick on your lips, as she gives you a lighter, igniting up the end of the cigarette. Blowing a cloud of smoke through your nose, walking down to your stage room combing your hair, trying to relieve your stress, sitting down on the vanity chair. Placing the cancer stick between your lips, leaning in the seat..."You were breathtaking out there" You immediately turned your head to the voice, Coriolanus walked in, closing the door, his hands in his pockets.

"Mr. President" You stood up from the chair, pushing your dress, and smashing the burning cigarette in the ashtray. "You don't need to stand up," He stated, you felt butterflies in your stomach. You didn't want to sit back down since you were afraid to disrespect the leader of the nation. You heard his footsteps inching closer to you, "Where did you learn to sing like that?" He asked, circling around your figure. You would have never dreamt for this to happen to you, "My mother taught me" You answered shortly, your eyes lingering on your hand. "I bet your mother was a gorgeous singer as you" He responded, glancing at you, you giggled at the comment, "She was.." you responded,

He watches your facial expression saddened, "Looks like you and me have something in common...already" he lightly chuckles, walking to the bar cart, your eyes following him hesitantly, glancing at your hands. "Drink?" He offers, you nod. His fingers circled the opening of the cup, taking out two cups and placing in on the counter of the table, pouring the mahogany liquid into the cups. Taking the liquid-filled cups and offering the cup to you, as you took the glass.

The cool cup touched your palm, "Cheers" He said, lifting the cup towards you, gesturing a cheer. Lifting your glass slightly before taking a sip of the mahogany liquid.

Smiling to yourself as you drank, glancing up at the gentleman. "If I can ask..why are you visiting me, President" You held the cup slightly tighter, "I wanted to offer you something," He said, his body moving closer to you. He saw as your eyes lit up in excitement, making him chuckle at the sight, his hands lifting your chin up slightly, his fingers caressing your cheek, your lips parting looking up at his crystal blue eyes.

"I need you to use that pretty voice of yours at a ceremony I'm hosting" He tilts your head to the side, admiring your face your eyes to your nose and lips, "You'll be of course paid in full, and suitable one indeed..so you won't have to use that pretty head" he brushes a strand of hair over your ear, "So..what do you think?" He said, withdrawing his hands away from you. You felt your heart pumping, as you thought about it, not wanting to take too long, but you nodded at his words, "Good, I'll send letters and updates on it" He finishes, before he finishes the whiskey in his cup till it was gone, putting the glass down. Taking your hand and leaving a kiss on the back of your hand, "But for now..I'll have to take my leave" He said, you took your hand away from him. Your eyes followed him, you couldn't formulate any words to him but nodded as he gave you a final look goodbye. The click of the door leads you into reality.

Putting your hand on your heart, feeling it beating against your chest.

Time slipped by..days to months

You got the letters, reading them in your penthouse resigning in Capitol. Some of them weren't just business but Coriolanus writing to you. His words made you smile, though from the short time you met him, but you were grateful he came to you.

Under his influence made you thrive, your fame, and notoriety spreading...

Playing with your hair as you read every single word on the page. You did follow out with his words, performing once again at one of his parties.. fixing up your hair, puffing your hair up, and turning yourself in the mirror, at the red satin dress Coriolanus gifted you. Smoothing the fabric out near your stomach, looking at yourself in the mirror. Hearing footsteps coming into the room, as you turned, relaxing at the sight of Coriolanus.

He was wearing his signature suit, a bloody red suit with a white tucked-in shirt. In his hand was a bouquet of red roses, "For you" He gave you the bouquet of roses, holding them to your chest. "Thank you" you smiled at him, as you smelt the roses, glancing at him. A smirk painted on his lips, his hands lifting your head, "Make sure you use that pretty voice of yours, my dove..." He whispered as you felt his hands on your waist, making your cheeks flushed.

Though you never had the time to learn more about Coriolanus, your heart yearned for him, the more he talked and sent letters to you. You never really thought about how he was touchy with you, though you enjoyed it...you always felt anxious when your with him.

You hear your name being called, as you place the bouquet of roses in one of the staffer's arms, telling them to put them in a vase for you, glancing at Coriolanus form, as you smile at him. Your heels clicking onto the tile, walking down to the stage, your ears listening to the rain of applause as you walk to the mic. Your stomach was filled with butterflies but you looked to the side, and your eyes caught the sight of Coriolanus smiling at you. Your eyes flickered from him, as you smiled.

You opened your lips, familiar angelic notes coming out of your lips. Singing your emotion out as it sympathizes with the melody, holding the mic as your voice leads to the chorus. Your eyes sparkle in the spotlight, singing your heart out into a simple melody, enchanting as it was, given by the audience's eyes staring at you. Something that you made you sweat and have butterflies swirling in your stomach, anxious assume you bit by bit, but it was always washed away when you thought of the rewarding end you were going to get.

Word slipping from you, pouring your soul and heart out to the listening audience, as they watched you, leading into the interlude and to the climax, your voice projecting to the audience as you sang the last parts as the piano lead off with your voice. The rain of applauses, the sound of clapping made you smile as you bow down, the spotlight never leaving you. Your heart was still pounding but you smile through it. Walking from the stage to the backstage, being greeted by Coriolanus, "You were heavenly" He whispered to you, you relaxed, smiling at him. "Thank you" you felt your cheeks warming up at his praise.

His hands dancing on your waist, leaning towards you, "Let's get out of here" He whispers to you, taking your hand into his, "W-wait, don't you have to stay here, President.." You stuttered, "I have a more important thing to do" He whispered in your ear, hearing a smirk in his voice as he took your hand.

Leading you out of the theatre, feeling the wind through your hair, parting your lips at the night sky, the stars sparkling in the dark sky. As he led you to the chauffeur, opening the car door for as you enter, the door clicking besides you as he got onto the left side of the car. He said the chauffeur something that you couldn't decipher. You felt yourself sweating and your heart quicken the slight tension in the air, as you felt the car moving. You didn't know how to react or what to do, your eyes darting everywhere expect him, glancing at him, his eyes glance at you, you looked away from him. You felt his hand touching your thigh, feeling him slightly gripping it. "Are you scared?" You felt your throat getting dry, your eyes looking everywhere expect his, his fingers grazing underneath your upper thigh, your eyes darting to his hand, before him. "No.." you respond.

"If your aren't..why are you afraid of me?" He mutter, "I-i just never been in this situation before" You cleared your throat, a awkward giggles leaving your throat, putting your hand over his hand.

"So...your a virgin?" He said, you are frozen in your seat, words unable to leave your lips, hesitantly nodding at him, giggling at his comment. "So, you still have your thorns...untouched, innocent, unripe " His body inching closer to you, "Funny how Panem sex symbol, is a virgin isn't it?" He chuckled, and you reluctantly laughed with him, naive as you were, you did know what would happen if you followed him. Needless to say, your heart was thumping, feeling the car stopping as the chauffeur said something. "We're here" He muttered, you felt thankful for that moment in time, his hands withdrawing from you, as you both got out of the car.

Your eyes looked at the new environment you were in, the manor was huge, something that only existed with old money, and it was beautiful with the pillar adoring the house. He chuckled with your eyes exploring the house, "Follow" He ordered, as you obeyed, following him inside. The Peacekeepers guarding the manor opened the big door and you both walked into a more beautiful interior.

"It's gorgeous" Your looked up at the chandelier glittering in the lights, "I'm glad you like it" He smiled at you, his footsteps receding from you, as you followed him further into the manor, everything was captivating, something you would only find at the capitol. You were taken from your thought by his words, as he spoke out to you...you realized where he took you, the parlor. You immediately sat on the sofa, it was comfortable and soft, "Drink?" he offered, his luxurious leather shoes on the delicate tile, "Sure" you nodded, your eyes lingering on your hands in your lap, "What type?" He asked, "Anything" You quickly answered, and you deep inhaled and exhaled through your nose. "Have you tried Bourbon?" He asked you heard the glass on the wooden counter.

"No, never bourbon..I'm more of a Jack Daniels girl" You awkwardly giggled, and he poured the caramel liquid into the short glasses, your eyes dawdling on your hands. Before you heard his footstep coming closer to you, offering you a glass, you took it. "Thank you" you smiled, the cool caramel liquid swishing in the glass, looking at him, gesturing a 'cheers', you nodded, looking at the liquid before consuming the liquid till nothing was in the glass. The liquid was sweet, and bitter due the its alcoholic nature but was satisfying. "It's really good" You put your hand on your lip, smiling, a smirk on his lips, "I told you," He said, as he sipped the liquid.

"It's sweet, like vanilla" You beamed, he nodded at your words, your angelic voice dripping from your lips, feeling a buzzing noise in your ear, everything moving slowly around you. Your vision blurring, "Y-yeah" your words slurred, your eyes getting heavy. Blinking, before closing your eyes as you felt everything go black,

Your eyes fluttered open, your body was frozen.. you couldn't feel your legs, fingers, or moving your head. You felt cold, bare...lewd sounds engulfing your ears. Your eyes darted to the ceiling, parting your lips, you heard grunts coming near you.

Your irises slowly look forth, you felt cold, ice cold... your heart dropping at the scene. A half-naked Coriolanus on you, his hands groping every part of exposed skin. Your dress was ripped, the one he gifted you. Your boob spilled out, displayed for him, his dick dragging into you. You were frozen still.

You wanted to scream, cry, but only hoarse noises escaping your throat, tears escaping your eyes slipping away staining your cheek. Your awakening wasn't unnoticed by Coriolanus, "You awake" Your eyes stared at his form, forcing himself inside of you. Sweat dripped off his forehead as his hands touched your skin, it felt like stabs everywhere. Betrayal settled in, it was quite naive of you, letting a man you never had the chance for yourself to know, allowing the intimate touches on your body.

You got the hint, but you ignored them purposely, maybe it was a warning for him to stop or continue..you didn't know what to think. The act of being vulnerable in front of him was a mistake, his moans and groans snapping you out of thought. You felt bile rising in your throat, you wanted to vomit, throw up, cry...but you could merely just listen and stare at the atrocities being committed. It hurt everywhere hurts, "Fuck, you feel so good around me" he groans, a sickening smirk on his lips..." please" you manage to force out from your throat, you felt tears pricking up on your waterline.

He laughed at your simple words, "please what?" he sneered, "stop" You had some type of hope in you... your lack of formulating sentence made him laugh pitifully, "Sorry my dove, it's just an exchange, company policy" his fingers caressing your cheek, as you stared in disbelief at his words. Whether you were angry, shocked, or sad, you didn't know what to believe or to know or to do. You just laid there taking the bit of pain, of his assault. "Why... I-I never asked for anything,, Corio" you sniffled, you purposely let the nickname slip, hoping it made him have a little humanity still left inside of him to stop, his hands gripping onto your waist, making you groan in pain, "I gave you everything, without my influence, your just be a lowly singer in Capitol born to be overshadowed by other more talented people, more younger, more pretty.., better than that lowly voice you from with..." He reduced you to tears, the more he talked, wet tears dripping from your eyes, he laughed.

He was mocking you.

"Did you just think, people just liked your voice... I thought you knew better than that...your looks pays off for your lack of personality" He kept on talking, and you hoped he would just stop and shut up, but the little words coming from him, made you cry.

"Besides...just be a good girl, and take it, will you..." He murmured.

His haunting groans and moans left his lips, staring into blankness. You wanted to hate the assault, but the agonizing pain turns into pleasure due to your discontent. The blooming sensation made you moan, and you arched your back in bliss, "I told you...you would bend into my touch" he whispered, nestling his head in the curve of your neck, his lips marking kisses from your neck to your collarbone, "Your take me so well" He smirks...

Time drifted away from you, you wanted to forget what happened between you and Coriolanus, but he wouldn't allow it, he still sent letters and gifts to your home... every time you looked at the address you felt like vomiting, crying, screaming. You still performed, you couldn't allow some fling to prevent you from maintaining what is important to you, your career. But months passed, and you stared at yourself in the mirror, you were visibly getting bigger, around your abdomen area. When Coriolanus demanded your presence you would obey and go, and it would always lead to intimacy...but now you are in his bed once again, stripped bare. His hands danced around your collarbone as you sat in his lap, his fingers playing with your hair, leaving kisses against your skin.

You felt like you were caged, with only yourself to talk to, though you already knew, beforehand. But you never felt so alone when your accompanied by Coriolanus, you debated on telling him the news, or keeping it to yourself but he was bound to know. He has eyes and ears around the Capitol, the districts, and all over Panem, you had no safe opinion left.

"Coriolanus.." He stopped mid-way, his eyes staring at you, yours forward. "I'm pregnant" the words slipped out of your throat, "It's yours" you finished, finally looking him in the eye...he didn't move or react, it made you scared, before he smiled, marking a kiss on your shoulder. "You would be a good mother" His hands shifted from your collarbone to your stomach, rubbing it gently. You didn't know how to feel, part of you didn't want any of it, forced by the pregnancy and burden of having a child you didn't want.

You were scared of confessing to him, leaning to his touch, you felt yourself being vulnerable around him, "Will, we marry?" Your eyes flickered to his, before he took your hand into his palm, rubbing your ring finger, "What would you prefer, a ruby or diamond" He said playfully, "Whatever you think is perfect for me" You replied, your eyes shifting from him to the color stained window, it was snowing. You felt his lips on your neck, nuzzling his head in the crevice of your neck.

TIME

It passed, the ring on your finger...your eyes hazy, looking at yourself in the mirror, you felt humiliated in yourself. White dust stained on your nose, feeling the light of your feet, pleased with the drug taking its effect. You were wearing your wedding dress, it was white, lacy, and poofy. Dried tears smudging your cheeks, you really hated yourself, a white veil hiding from the mirror...you desired to drink yourself away in alcohol, the only thing you could do, but due to Coriolanus surveillance he wouldn't allow it, not the mother of his child to harm herself or the baby, he made sure to hide everything that could possibly harm you or the child. Sending you away in your shared chambers, where you sulked and waited for him.

Your legs moving under your weight, a random man who was supposed to be your father, holding your arm. Leading down the aisle, superficial people around you, examining you, staring... judgment on their faces.

You're used to it, as the gentleman left you before your future husband, Coriolanus. You strolled up the stairs, your eyes locking with Coriolanus, who gave you a smile. His hands taking yours, your eyes lifted to his, before the priest said some words that you blurred out, staring at Coriolanus. The only one that stuck with you was, "You may kiss the bride" He said, Coriolanus flipping the veil, revealing your face, as he kissed you, you closed your eyes.

Hearing applause from the audience withdraws from his lips. "You'll be a wonderful wife" He fixed your veil, rubbing your hands.

You just nodded and smiled, knowingly signing yourself to him, throwing the key, and selling yourself, your soul, your rights, and your body to him alone..you wished to just rewind time and never lock eyes with him in the theatre.

The mere thought made you tear up, as tears managed to escape..and Coriolanus came to your rescue and wiped them away.

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xxsabitoxx · 2 years

Text

JJK Characters & Their Kinks

Characters: Itadori, Megumi, Nobara, Maki, Inumaki, Yuta, Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna

Warnings: all characters are of age in this context

A/N: sometimes I forget I can also write Headcanons lol, here is my first round of JJK smut headcanons! I’ll make a part two with more characters if anyone is interested

Itadori

This boy is definitely a sub — much to Sukuna’s dismay

Bondage — he likes when he is tied or restrained

Sensory play — blind fold him, put ear plugs in, anything that will keep him guessing to what is coming next

Pet names + praising

But he also enjoys the opposite, so name calling & degradation

Thigh grinding — this goes both ways

Gets excited by the idea of doing it in somewhat public locations

He definitely enjoys accidentally turning you on / turning himself on. Like when cuddling for example

He’s ready to try whatever you are interested in

Megumi

He’s a Dom that won’t admit he’s actually a switch

Loves being in control — so bondage, handcuffs, gags. Anything that gives him power over you

He’s into degrading you, his praise must be earned

Hates the idea of doing anything risky in public

Likes to use toys

Choking. That’s all Imma say

Absolutely had a breeding kink

Megumi is absolutely a sadist. He wants to see you crying

Gets satisfaction out of knowing he is your first time.

Nobara

Definitely a switch but it depends on her partner

Likes master / pet dynamics

Collars are a personal favorite

She’s pretty sadistic as well, she likes seeing her partner beg, whine and cry

Definitely likes to edge & call her partner names while she does it

Also likes punishing. If you do one thing to piss her off don’t expect to get off that night

Loves doing things in public, more so to you. Like making you wear a vibrator in public

She doesn’t like blindfold, she likes seeing you get teary eyed depending on what she’s doing

Breast / nipple torture & marking

Maki

Absolutely a dom and there is no other option

Though she does like the idea of someone attempting to dominate her

Super sarcastic and loves to degrade

Instead of edging, she’s into overstimulation. She wants to see her partner crying and screaming her name

She likes knife play

Huge fan of leaving marks, she’d like everyone to know what she did to you

Mommy kink

She loves to be worshiped, she wants you on you knees praising and pleasuring her

Face sitting — this goes both ways

Inumaki

He’ll be whatever you prefer. He’s more of a sub though. It’s because of his curse technique, it’s just easier for you to do what you want.

Bondage, it goes either way. He’d love to be tied up and restrained but he also loves seeing you that way

Praise is a huge thing for Inumaki

Spitting…that’s all I’ll say

Marking & scratching are big turn ons

I’m not sure if this counts as a kink but… creampies

Low key possessive & gets off to you trying to make him jealous

Overstimulation & edging. Depends on his mood

Oral, he has a fascination with it. Especially when he is giving it.

Yuta

He gives switch vibes, he’ll be whatever you desire

Somnophilia — with your consent of course

Choking — goes both ways

Pet names and praising. If you want him to mean and degrading, it takes a lot of convincing

Slow, intimate sex & creampies speak to his soul

Spanking & Gags as minor punishments, he can’t bring himself to hurt you

On the contrary, he loves biting and leaving bruises

Temperature play either with ice or hot wax

Doing it in semi public places — like a closet or someone’s guest room for example

Gojo

He’s a Dom & a pleaser at that

He is into whatever you are into

He loves body worship — both giving and receiving

Getting head is this man’s personal favorite pass time

Breeding kink but uses protection to avoid the consequences

Bondage & blindfolds — shocking to no one lmao

Rough sex is his personal favorite. He wants to see you shaking, whimpering & begging

Objectification & dumbification

Cuckholding, he enjoys seeing you with other people cause he knows you’ll always come back for more

Nanami

Dom & there is really no changing that in his mind

Master / pet , sir or daddy kink

Bondage — but it’s more so using his tie to bind your wrists together

BDSM — I’m talking paddles, whips, he loves seeing you completely marked and bruised by him

This goes hand in hand with him being a sadist

Humiliation

Edging until you are crying, sometimes you don’t even get to come

Breast / nipple torture

Creampies & breeding kink

Sukuna

Dom whether you want him to be or not

Breeding kinks with the risks & consequences

Possessive, obsessively so. Scratches and bruises give him satisfaction

Sadist 100% — as well as humiliation

CNC — I’m not elaborating

Master / slave along with dumbification — he wants you 24/7 with no complaints

Orgasm Control & edging

Exhibitionism — Itadori is essentially watching you regardless

Knife play + blood play — again, I’m not gonna elaborate

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #itadori yuji smut #fushiguro megumi smut #kugisaki nobara smut #gojo smut #nanami smut #toji smut #inumaki smut #maki smut #sukuna smut #yuta okkotsu smut #xxsabitoxx’s work!

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flowerandblood · 8 months

Text

The Pearl and the Sapphire Epilogue

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, oral sex, kissing, sexual tension, trauma ]

[description: As a representative of a large family-owned gemstone business, Aemond is attending a major jewellery event where jewellery makers from all over the world are exhibiting. One of them is the Baratheon family. Aemond is tasked with focusing on attracting new customers, but his attention is diverted by the youngest daughter of the eminent maker Borros Baratheon. Slow burn, bitchy, possessive and obsessive Aemond, lots of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request + my sweet @valeskafics)]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in modern times. The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Baratheon House + Vhagar

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He couldn't help the strange kind of satisfaction he felt as he packed her suitcase into his car. She was only going to stay for the weekend, casually, to explore the city - at least that's what they told her father, even though they could tell Borros didn't believe them.

However, he noticed a change in him after his visit to the therapist. He thought that Borros considered his gesture to be an expression of true affection towards his daughter.

He didn't dare ask him if he was going to go to another appointment, and he wasn't going to tell him yet that he was supposed to talk to his therapist remotely in a week and continue their conversation.

Even though what he was talking about was difficult for him and he felt ashamed, on the other hand he finally felt relief. Whoever this man was, he was able to accurately assess the reasons for his behavior, justifying his theories with mechanisms that he was only now beginning to notice in himself.

He didn't feel judged either.

The thought that he did some things unconsciously, trying to fill the emptiness and deficiencies he felt in himself, made him look differently at what he had done in the past, what he was looking for in Alys.

The need for closeness without emotional involvement to avoid being hurt, objectification of oneself and the other person to maintain an appropriate distance.

It all made sense.

His therapist asked him what he felt when he first saw his friend and why, what he thought about her.

He was ashamed to admit that she had aroused his desire from the very beginning, but there was something about her that attracted him for other reasons - some kind of warmth, understanding, tenderness, sensitivity and joy.

The doctor said that it was interesting that he called her right away his friend and not, as is usual in such vague physical relationships, his lover, acquaintance or colleague. He said that friendship is a stronger foundation that is based on trust and mutual care.

He realized then that returning to his city scared him so much not because of what awaited him there, but because she wouldn't be with him. That he won't be able to sleep again, he'll start smoking huge amounts of cigarettes again, he'll lock himself in his apartment again.

He wanted more than sex.

He wanted her to stay with him, at least for a while.

He wanted her to know that he cared.

She agreed to spend the weekend with him very willingly, and for the next few days her face showed only joy and excitement. They both had increasing difficulty not touching each other during the day, and one afternoon he simply took her on her desk in her workshop even though Borros and Royce were working in the room next door.

It was Friday afternoon when they reached his apartment. He threw the keys on the shelf in the hall, Vhagar immediately ran happily to the corner where she always lay, waiting for him to put her bed back there. He heard her giggle behind him.

"Someone's homesick." She said, amused. He hummed at her words and nodded. Even though Vhagar tended to avoid strangers, in her case she was more understanding, allowing her to be walked on a leash.

He noticed that Vhagar was showing some kind of care towards her. Every time she made a louder sound or made a sudden movement, his dog would run up to her to see what was happening. Vhagar sniffed her then and only came back to lie down next to him after she had licked her hand, making sure nothing had happened to her.

Vhagar had been with him since childhood. She was his gift of comfort from his mother after losing his eye and one of the best things that ever happened to him.

She laid with him as a puppy and licked his face when he cried all night long. It didn't matter to her whether he was ugly or beautiful, whether he had a scar or not.

Sometimes he thought with pain that he had received more tenderness from her than from his own father.

He wasn't prepared for the fact that he would return with someone from his trip, so he had to prepare a shelf for her clothes and make some space on his desk for her laptop so that she could also work if necessary.

Alys never stayed with him for a few days because he didn't want to. He couldn't rest or concentrate around her, so she usually went to her apartment after breakfast. This time, however, he felt excited.

"I'll have to go shopping because I don't have anything in the fridge. If you have specific requests for dinner, just tell me." He said calmly, unpacking his suitcase next to her as she was just putting her clothes on the shelf in his closet that he had prepared for her. She pursed her lips at his words.

"You don't have to cook for me, we can order something." She said hesitantly, as if she was afraid that he was only saying it out of courtesy.

"Do you think I'm so inept that I can't cook a good dinner?" He murmured, glaring at her, and she swallowed softly.

"We just came back from a long trip, you don't have to..."

"...I want to. Just tell me what."

It ended up that they both liked spaghetti bolognese, so they decided that there was no point in trying to prepare something more fancy. He told her to make herself comfortable while he went shopping and bought everything.

When he returned, he saw her sitting on the floor next to Vhagar's bed, stroking her head, Vhagar lying with her eyes closed and purring loudly, moving her paws in delight. Something about this sight, warm and happy, captivated him.

His apartment suddenly didn't seem so cold.

When they heard him, they both got up, and Vhagar ran over to smell the nets he had brought. He placed them on the kitchen counter and started unpacking the products one by one.

“Can I help you?” He heard a soft, pleasant voice behind him and smiled to himself.

So this is what it could have looked like?

They ate dinner together, drinking glasses of semi-sweet red wine that he had bought, very similar to one she had ordered at the hotel.

He couldn't get over how easy it was to talk to her. Even though he usually didn't like long discussions with Alys, which were tiring for him, the conversation with her flowed spontaneously, unforced.

"My father developed Alzheimer's symptoms very quickly, but I'm not sure if he paid me much attention before that anyway. My mother was more of his caregiver than a wife, and my grandfather sensed an opportunity in this marriage. He convinced her when she was 18 that he and she will benefit from this, just as their company will gain gemstones for half free." He shrugged and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She looked at her empty plate thoughtfully while sitting cross-legged in a chair, her hands involuntarily playing with the fabric of her sweatpants that she had changed into for her own comfort.

"It's terrible. You know... my dad had a hard time after my mother's death. She was 34 years old when she was diagnosed with a malignant tumor. Back then, there were no medical treatments as reliable as they are now. Me, Royce and Cassandra tried for years to convince him to undergo therapy because he couldn't cope with it. He often became furious and was verbally aggressive." She said, speaking more to herself than to him, and he swallowed softly, tapping his finger on the counter, remembering Borros' words.

I realized that what I poured into my therapist, I had previously poured into my children.

He saw her suddenly shift in her seat, looking at him uncertainly. He felt uncomfortable as he sensed what she wanted to ask.

"And have you…have you thought about talking to someone?" She asked, deliberately avoiding the words "therapist" and "therapy" so as not to scare or frustrate him. He looked to the side as he grabbed his glass, taking a deep sip of wine from it.

"I have a remote interview with a therapist recommended by your father next week." He said indifferently, not looking at her, involuntarily feeling ashamed and tense at the thought.

He never asked anyone for help and didn't like to admit it. He was missing one eye and people took pity on him anyway, against his will. She moved suddenly, the disbelief and joy on her face surprising him.

"Really? That's great, I'm so happy! I know it must have cost you a lot." She said, lowering her eyes, glancing at him uncertainly after a moment. They both looked at each other in silence.

"So...where will I sleep?" She asked, and he smiled in amusement at how she tried to pretend she didn't know what he was planning, wanting to get any words out of him to confirm her suspicions.

"Together with me, in my bed, as we have been for the last week. Doesn't this solution suit you?" He asked with a hint of mockery, drinking everything that left in his glass, he saw her blush and look down.

“It suits me.” She mumbled quietly.

"We can see if it suits you." He said nonchalantly, getting up from his chair, she gave him a surprised look, setting her glass on the table. "Let's make sure my bed is comfortable."

No more than ten minutes had passed and the two of them were lying naked in his bedroom behind the closed door, wanting to make sure Vhagar wouldn't interrupt them hearing their disturbing, loud noises.

Now that they were no longer in her house, he wanted to hear her.

He assured himself of this pleasure by sinking with delight between her thighs, she smelled of soap and perfume after the short shower they had taken a moment earlier, tired and hot after the journey.

His tongue slipped tentatively between her folds, teasing her with just the tip of his tongue, and she whimpered, leaning back, sensitive to his slightest movements.

"That's right. I want to hear you, baby. I want to hear how good you feel." He hummed, his hot breath enveloping her womanhood, the tip of his nose teasing her clit, making her sigh loudly, her hands tightening in his hair.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled, completely helpless, at his mercy, his hands gripping tightly on the soft skin of her thighs, preventing her from escaping.

"– it's okay – I will take care of you –" He whispered, his tongue aggressively pushing into her hot core, causing a loud, surprised moan to escape her throat, her thighs quivering in his hands, trying to escape.

He listened with satisfaction as her sounds became louder and more pathetic with the increasing intensity of his tongue movements, he got to know her body well enough to know where he should touch her to give her the greatest pleasure.

He pulled away from her and she squealed softly, looking at him with almost pain and accusation in her eyes. He smirked with satisfaction at the sight, his hand running lightly over her entrance, all wet and sticky with her moisture and his saliva.

"Do you want me to stay or sleep on the couch?" He asked gently, softly, his thumb began to press her clit with smooth, confident circular movements. She sobbed at his words, the pleasure numbing her so much that it was difficult for her to form a complete sentence.

"– no – please – stay –" She muttered, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. A shiver ran through him at this sudden, innocent, tender gesture, his cock throbbed hard, all swollen. He involuntarily licked his lips at her words.

"– you don't sound convinced – you seem uncomfortable with me –" He hummed with mock regret, his middle finger sliding deep into her hot, fleshy core, her head tilted back in a helpless moan.

"– please –" She mumbled and he sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"– what a messy little girl – so desperate to come, huh? –" He chuckled, leaning over her again, hearing her weak "mhm".

"– how could I fucking say no to you? –" He panted, aroused by the sight of her in complete disarray, craving only his attention, just his touch.

His tongue slipped deep inside her right away, his nose pressed against her clit. He heard her cry at the sudden stimulation, the tip of his tongue began to deliberately tease her sweet spot hidden inside her.

"– Aemond – oh, God –" She mewled, leaning back, finally reaching her fulfillment, her body convulsing beneath him. He licked her through her orgasm, cleaning her with his tongue of everything that flowed from her, satisfied by the intensity of her pleasure.

He licked his lips and rose on his knees when he felt that she had calmed down a bit. He positioned himself between her thighs, wanting to move on to his own fulfillment and just slide inside her, but she placed a hand on his chest, pushing him away a bit.

"I can try to please you in a similar way if you want." She said after a moment, embarrassed, lowering her eyes as if she couldn't bear to see his reaction.

He blinked, both aroused and terrified by her proposal, remembering what she had told him about in the hotel.

"You don't have to, I know it's uncomfortable for you. I just want to feel you, little one." He purred, leaning over her and placing a long, lingering kiss on her lips, letting her taste herself as he guided the tip of his cock to her entrance.

He shuddered when he felt her hand squeeze his length timidly, the pleasure rushed through him and he stopped mid-movement. He wanted to say something but she raised herself and kissed him, closing his mouth.

For a moment he simply moved his hips in rhythm with her hand, panting against her lips, their kisses loud, sticky, hot. She broke away from him after a moment, looking at him with warm, sleepy gaze.

"Let me take care of you." She whispered softly and he swallowed hard, feeling his cock throb hard at her words in her hand. He slowly lay on his back and she raised herself a little, looking shyly at his face. He involuntarily touched her cheek with his fingertips.

"I don't expect that from you. I don't want to hurt you." He said softly, his voice quavering slightly at his last words. She smiled at his words, as if that was exactly what she needed to hear right now, and kissed his hand.

"I know. That's why I want to try. But you have to close your eyes." She said pleadingly and he sighed heavily.

He didn't want to miss this view, but he decided to respect her request and did what she asked. He felt his heart pounding as he heard the mattress creak next to him, her body settling between his thighs.

He flinched when she brushed her lips against the inside of his thigh, feeling embarrassed by this delicate, intimate gesture, his hand involuntarily reached out to her and stroked her hair. He pursed his lips as he felt her fingers timidly grab his throbbing, swollen manhood.

He couldn't help but open his eyes immediately as he felt her lips kiss his sensitive skin, a pitiful, quiet moan escaping his throat, a sound that had never escaped his lips before.

The sight of her leaning over him, her lips trailing over his cock, her hot breath against his skin made him involuntarily breathe faster, his trembling hand involuntarily caressing her hair.

He was afraid to say anything for fear of scaring or distracting her, so he just stared at her with his heart pounding.

He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned again, louder this time, as he felt the tip of her tongue slide upwards over him, just teasing him, as if she wanted to taste him.

"– fuck –" Slipped out of his mouth when she did it again, he wanted to just grab her face and sink into her mouth, watch his cock disappear down her throat.

But he knew that would hurt her, that he would only scare her, that he would be no better than Cregan, whom he despised so much.

He saw her look up at him and immediately blushed, pursing her lips, ashamed of what she was doing. He caressed her face, looking at her with slightly parted lips.

"– don't stop – feels so fuckin good, little one – let me look at you –" He murmured in a low, shaky voice, and she nodded, swallowing loudly.

He sighed and tilted his head back as her tongue moved more confidently along his length, all the way to his tip, her hand gripped him tighter at his base and began massaging him again with confident, slow movements.

He felt like his cock was about to explode with desire.

"– God – have mercy, little one –" He gasped, trying not to force her to open her mouth.

She blinked at him in surprise, pursing her lips in satisfaction at the state she could get him into.

Normally he would be embarrassed and insecure, but now, with her, he wanted to be vulnerable, wanted her to take care of him, wanted her to make him feel good.

He inhaled loudly when he saw her point his tip at her pink, full, wet lips, parting them slightly, putting him into her mouth as if she wanted to taste a lollipop. He groaned involuntarily as he felt her lips tighten on him, his cock throbbing hard.

"– fuck – fuck –" He panted loudly, his whole body tense, his hands gripping her hair with the last of his strength refraining from sudden, strong thrusts that would have pushed him deeper into her throat.

"– breathe through your nose –" He muttered, seeing that she swallowed hard, obviously struggling with this new sensation herself. He heard her inhale loudly and relax, as if his advice had actually helped her.

He couldn't stop the low sounds of pleasure that escaped from his throat as she slided him deeper into her mouth, pulling him out with the soft click of her saliva, her hand firmly gripping his base.

He couldn't help himself, his hips began to move slowly inside her mouth, holding her by her hair, not letting her escape.

"– fuck, can you bear it if I speed up a little? – it feels so fuckin good, baby, please –" He panted helplessly and she nodded with difficulty. He groaned loudly as his length hit the back of her throat, she gasped loudly and almost choked, so he slowed down again.

"– I know – I know, baby, please –" He mumbled, feeling that he was on the verge of fulfillment, the sight of her with his cock in her mouth seemed so perverse and pornographic that his hands were shaking.

He groaned embarrassingly loudly as he felt her speed up at his words, allowing him to reach for her throat, squeezing him tighter with her hand, his orgasm approaching terrifyingly fast.

"– fuck – m' gonna – god, swallow as much as you can –" He choked out with difficulty and opened his mouth wide, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt that he simply cummed inside her mouth, his cock throbbing painfully hard.

She almost choked in surprise, swallowing some of his release with difficulty, a trickle of his semen flowing out the corner of her mouth.

He looked at the sight, at her beautiful, warm, innocent face filled with his manhood and his seed, and he thought that he had never seen anything like it before in his life. Alys' mouth could do wonders, but she had never made him come as hard as he did now.

He pulled out of her quickly, panting loudly, taking her into his arms, holding her to his chest like a small child. She was breathing quickly, her whole body was shaking, tears of exertion on her face.

"– are you okay, little one? – look at me –" He whispered, lifting her chin, wiping the remnants of his semen from the corner of her mouth, looking straight into her eyes, her gaze blurry, scared, and warm at the same time. "– did I hurt you? –"

She shook her head and he breathed softly, kissing her forehead with a loud click.

"– it felt so good, baby – I never came so fuckin hard just from suckin –" He murmured delightedly, stroking her hair, his lips placing a tender kiss on the top of her head again and again.

He realized that he had never behaved like this towards Alys after sex.

He had never felt such a need for tenderness and closeness, for reassurance that everything was fine with her, that she felt safe.

He sighed softly as she snuggled into him, exhaling loudly as if in relief, a sleepy, proud smile on her face.

"– should I do this more often? –" She asked in such an innocent tone that he chuckled at her words, hugging her naked body.

"– I'm afraid that now that I know what your sweet lips are capable of, I will use them more often –" He hummed softly, and she snuggled closer to him, which was answered by another long kiss on her forehead.

He didn't know it could be like this.

He didn't know he was capable of such caring.

The next day they ate breakfast together and then he went to the gym. In the meantime, his grandfather called him, demanding that he finally show up at the company even though it was Saturday.

Embarrassed, he had to call her and ask her for a favor. He was grateful that she had promised to take Vhagar for a walk while he was gone and make something for dinner in the meantime.

Almost as if they were together.

Almost.

When he entered their company's building, he was greeted by surprised, uncertain looks from his employees. He thought with frustration that everyone thought he had escaped, that he had admitted defeat and disappeared with his tail between his legs.

His grandfather was talking to one of the office managers, but when he saw him, he immediately stopped the discussion and moved towards him.

"Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my calls?" He asked irritably and he looked at him dispassionately.

"I needed a break and I see that the company didn't go bankrupt without me." He said coldly, his grandfather snorted at his words.

"If you're suggesting that the company can cope without you, then yes. We're at war, and you disappear and probably fuck some girl again..."

"I'm going back to college."

Otto looked at him in surprise, and after a moment he put his hands behind him, sighing heavily, as if he was searching for the last of his patience.

"I thought we were done with this topic. History is not a course that will help you find a job, it's just your whim." He said as if he were explaining to a child why he couldn't eat candy before dinner.

Aemond looked at him indifferently. He thought, looking at him, how surprised he was at the emptiness he felt standing in front of him compared to what he felt for the girl he had only known for a month.

He felt ashamed at the thought that she aroused more affection in him than his own family, and he wondered if he was the reason for it. However, one thing said by his therapist just before leaving gave him no peace.

"Children who receive too little attention from their parents assume that the problem lies in them, because the parent as a role model cannot be fallible. We base our values on their behavior, so the child must be missing something, the child must prove that he is worth their attention, work for it. However, when these children become adults and realize that their efforts have not been effective, they are left with an unfounded sense of failure because they failed to meet expectations, while wasting their lives trying to be who they thought their parents wanted them to be."

He felt a coldness in his chest and sadness at the thought of how accurately those words described him.

Only with her he could relax and rest.

She expected nothing from him.

She just wanted to be with him.

He felt like an intruder in his own company. People thought he was a pathetic moron who for years had not noticed that his lover had been reporting him to the press.

This whole time he pretended that he didn't hear his workers talking about his mummy issues, that he was probably crying like a baby in front of her or begging her to let him come.

He was surprised to find that these words no longer moved him.

He felt no frustration or anger. He thought he didn't care about these people or their opinions. He realized that he had never respected them or himself.

Until he saw her then, during the show.

She and her family were not like them. They did not prey on their clients, nor did they flaunt their wealth at large banquets.

Being in their house he felt warm, every corner and room was filled with their photos and family souvenirs, wood and old furniture everywhere, creaking panels under his feet.

He thought painfully that he would rather go back there with her and live with them. Go back to college and start his life again. He wasn't an idiot, he saved most of his wealth and salary on deposit.

He had a lot of savings, he could simply quit, competing companies would welcome him with open arms. But he knew who he would become in the eyes of his family.

Traitor.

"From what I know, thanks to your wise decision, Rhaenyra decides who stays in the company and who doesn't. Is that why you called me? I have better things to do." He said, frustrated, that he was wasting time he could have spent with her when she was leaving in literally a few days. His grandfather snorted at his words.

"I don't recognize you. I once thought you had ambition, but I see you're just a spoiled little brat like your older brother. You never..."

"Aemond. Can we talk in my office?"

Rhaenyra asked, standing in the hall with her briefcase, her blond hair tied in an elegant bun, wearing a white, feminine granite. Aemond pursed his lips and nodded, moving around his grandfather, ignoring his concerned look.

Rhaenyra invited him to the office that once belonged to his father and sat in his chair. He looked at it tense, feeling it was wrong, but he couldn't help it.

He sat on the other side of the desk, looking beyond the large glass wall that was also a window straight to the other skyscrapers surrounding them. Rhaenyra cleared her throat.

"I heard you worked remotely for a week and took a little vacation." She began calmly, and he felt his hand involuntarily tighten into a fist.

"Yes. I decided that I devoted enough time to this company and not enough time to myself." He hissed, wondering if she would fire him for his words, saying that she would find ten people much more committed than him to replace him. She was silent for a moment.

"You did the right thing. I know that the last time has been exceptionally difficult for you and I want you to know that I appreciate your commitment and experience. I know that we have had many differences in the past, but I want you to understand that you can rest as much as you need while working outside the office until all customer matters are resolved."

Aemond didn't know how he felt about what he heard. He was frustrated, he didn't want mercy from the woman who had done him such harm, who had shown him no sympathy when he suffered as a child because of an accident that her own son had caused.

So what if Luke cried and he didn't? That Luke was younger and he was older?

He was the one who lost an eye, who was disfigured for the rest of his life.

He was the one who had fucked up head and had to go to a therapist, reveal himself to strangers to start living a normal life. And she graciously told him that the job he had worked hard for so many years would be waiting for him?

He returned to his apartment and flinched when he smelled food, for a moment thinking about all this he forgot that he was not alone.

He closed the door behind him, trying to shoo away Vhagar, who was jumping on him with joy after several hours of separation.

He walked into the living room and saw her bustling around his kitchenette, apparently baking chicken legs and potatoes in the oven. She turned to him and waved at him, a wide smile on her face.

"Hi! What did they want from you at work?" She asked suddenly, and he wondered who she was to him to answer such a question.

He didn't know why his mood suddenly changed.

An hour at the company was enough for him to go back to his state from a few weeks ago when he was sitting smoking a cigarette on his balcony.

"Nothing." He replied dryly, briefly, not wanting to talk or think about it.

She blinked and pursed her lips, immediately feeling that something had happened, that something had changed.

She lowered her eyes and nodded, returning to the oven as if she understood that they were strangers and she had no right to expect more from him than he was willing to give.

He immediately felt remorse.

He looked at her, at her lips, at her eyes, at her grimace as she stood sideways to him, pretending to check if the meat was already cooked, trying not to show how much she wanted to cry, how much he hurt her with his behavior.

He slowly approached her from behind and grabbed her hair gently, running his fingers through it, brushing it off her shoulders only to lean down and kiss the bare skin of her neck.

"It's hard for me to speak about it." He whispered painedly into her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. He felt her warm hands on his arms, stroking him soothingly.

"I want to go home." She said softly and he froze. He felt his heart begin to beat rapidly, the air stuck in his throat as he swallowed with difficulty.

"Why?" He mumbled in terror, his whole body screaming at him not to let her go.

He had the impression that he would die in moment the door closed behind her.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I can't be your friend and a lover, a friend with benefits, I don't know what it's called today." She whispered with difficulty, wiping away the tears that began to flow down her face with her fingers, her whole body trembling with convulsions. "I know you didn't promise me anything, but I can't go on like this. I think it'll be better if I go home."

He felt like he had been silent for too long, his head was aching, his heart felt like it had stopped, his nose was pressed into her hair.

"No." He said quietly, coldly, terrifyingly. He felt her swallow thickly and sniff, her hand stroking his fingers as if to soften his response.

"Please. Please, let me go." She whispered imploringly in a hoarse, trembling voice, and he pursed his lips, feeling as if his whole body was shaking.

"I can't. Please...I...fuck!" He cursed loudly, hugging her painfully tight, burying his nose in her hair, her pleasant scent filling his lungs.

"That's not what I want. I just... I've only just started figuring it out in my head. It's so fucking hard. But I know that what I feel for you is something more, something more than I've ever felt for anyone." He spoke quickly, as if he felt that he had literally seconds, that he would really lose her, that he would never see her again.

"I think about it constantly. About what's next. With me. With you. With us. I think about crazy things, you can think I'm a fucking idiot, I don't care. I was thinking about selling this apartment and buying a house in suburbs, smaller but similar to yours, for you and for me. We would create a large workshop for you, you would have everything you need there. I would work more remotely, only with regular clients, I would only do what I have to do. I would continue therapy, I would try to be a better person. To make it all up to you.” He whispered in a trembling voice, feeling like a little child again, begging his parent not to reject him and knowing once again that he would fail.

That he would be alone.

He felt her breathing calm down, but she remained silent. He swallowed loudly as she turned to face him, her eyes wide, full of fear and something else he couldn't describe.

"Are you really thinking about it?" She asked quietly, uncertainly, her face red with tears.

She thought he was just saying it to keep her from leaving.

He swallowed loudly at the thought.

"Yes." He whispered in shame, pressing his lips tightly together.

He gasped as she suddenly embraced him and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her soft cheek into his T-shirt. He immediately tangled his fingers in her hair, his face pressed to the top of her head.

"I want to be with you. I think only about you. I want only you. Please." She whispered in a shaky voice and he sobbed softly at her words, feeling the overwhelming relief flow through his body as his lips began to kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her nose.

"Me too. God, me too." He gasped as if he was just now realizing, as if it was only now dawning on him that he had fallen in love with her the moment he saw her dancing with her brother.

He wasn't sure he'd ever had sex like this before, panting so loudly, shuddering so much, kissing so deeply, so shamelessly, so hungrily. His cock throbbed hard inside her every time their tongues touched and licked, his thrusts intense, fast, violent.

Their hands gripped their naked, sweaty bodies and hair, holding each other as close as possible, her bare breasts pressed against his chest, her legs entwined around his waist.

"– my beloved –" She breathed into his mouth and he groaned lowly, picking up the pace, her words sending a shiver down his spine.

"– say that again – please – m' fuckin need it –" He mumbled between dance of their tongues, teeth and lips, her fingers tightening on his buttocks, helping him push himself deeper into her with each thrust.

"– my beloved, sweet men – so good to me –" She cooed, and he felt that what she was saying was bringing him dangerously close to fulfillment.

Even though he wanted to wait for her, he felt that he needed it like never before, to finally find relief and fulfillment in knowing that he loved her and was loved.

"– m' gonna cum, okay? – please –" He exhaled, his hands clenched tightly on the soft skin of her thighs, moving his hips with loud, wet slaps, fucking her with all his might, his eyebrows arched as if in pain.

"– it's okay, baby –" She whispered softly, and he came suddenly, hard, with an almost animalistic, painful groan, surprised by the intensity of the sensation, her lips never leaving his throughout his high.

"– that's it – so good –" She hummed with warm contentment and he sighed at her words, purring lowly as he collapsed onto her helplessly, his cock still throbbing inside her hot interior.

He laid like that for a moment, letting her stroke his hair, knowing that she wouldn't rush him or judge him, that she would be patient with him, that she would understand.

A few long minutes passed before he started moving inside her again, turning with her on his side, placing her thigh on his hip, his length beginning to swell and throb inside her again. She mewled at the feeling, burying her face into his sweaty chest, her walls clenching on him tightly.

"– it's okay, little one – gonna take care of you now –" He murmured, his hand sliding between her thighs, massaging her clit in circular motions, he felt her whole body shudder.

These caresses alone were enough for her to come after a while with a long, surprised moan, seeking refuge in his arms, falling and rising on his cock. When he felt that her orgasm had passed, even though he was completely hard again, he didn't move inside her.

He just wanted to feel her.

They both embraced, running their fingers over their naked, hot bodies, he felt her soft lips press against his chest from time to time, placing a tender kiss on it. He kissed her hair, feeling it, then pressed his cheek against her head, exhaling softly.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days." He whispered the vows the bride and groom exchanged in church, and she swallowed loudly, hugging him tightly in surprise. She was silent for a moment, as if she didn't know what to say.

"...I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days." She whispered, her voice trembling, and he smiled involuntarily, closing his eyes.

He felt at peace.

_____

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