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rush-the-stars · 1 day

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AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

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When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly.

But then he holds the food away from you.

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating.

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water.

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time.

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving.

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him.

He is rather pleased, though.

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it.

He laughs warmly, fondly.

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away.

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth.

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.”

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge.

The orange pops into your mouth.

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit.

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more.

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands.

You swallow the piece in your mouth.

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you.

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again.

You turn your face away from him. He sighs.

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.”

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.”

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.”

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.”

Stubbornly, you remain silent.

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears.

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.”

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve.

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.”

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way.

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?”

Suguru studies you for a moment.

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him.

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice.

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are.

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds.

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes.

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now.

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better.

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him.

He takes hold of you easily.

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick.

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter.

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay.

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man.

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight?

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch.

You seek friction and he denies you.

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again.

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?”

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.”

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat.

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest.

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.”

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning.

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body.

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers.

You glare up at him with glassy eyes.

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on.

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek.

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is.

You hold his gaze furiously.

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth.

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you.

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down.

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks.

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands.

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints.

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.)

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him.

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls.

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?”

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul.

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him.

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?”

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it.

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw.

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.”

Something inside of you snaps.

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you.

In an instant, you are back atop him.

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer.

He actually cries out in pain.

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist.

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have.

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt.

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him.

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again.

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared.

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest.

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance.

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him.

Not so pristine.

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him.

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.”

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.”

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.”

“Let me up,” you snap.

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks.

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more.

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard.

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you.

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.”

And for once, you don’t fight him.

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you.

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.”

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now.

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest.

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring.

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep.

***

Suguru wakes you at some point.

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing.

You whimper.

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?”

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash.

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.”

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this.

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.”

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy.

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more.

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind.

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light.

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.”

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.”

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too.

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?”

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings.

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard.

You ache.

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever.

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry.

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain.

Suguru lifts you into the bath.

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle.

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair.

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little.

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you.

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours.

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?”

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.”

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him.

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh.

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.”

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.”

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.”

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss.

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it.

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone.

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.”

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.”

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?”

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late.

The fever only worsens.

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day.

***

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you.

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began.

For once, you have shocked Suguru.

Enough that his lips part.

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant.

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds.

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve.

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit.

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?)

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed.

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp.

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind.

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—”

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him.

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together.

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.”

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers.

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously.

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought.

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face.

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again.

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you.

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask.

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin.

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin.

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.”

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.”

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting.

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough.

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse.

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.”

You curse this time.

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.”

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.”

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger.

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself.

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.”

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly.

You bite off a groan.

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.”

“Suguru—”

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you.

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?”

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child.

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.”

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration.

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?”

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so—

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving.

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns.

You force yourself to freeze, still panting.

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound.

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.”

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away.

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?” Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you?

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks.

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.”

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want.

You desire.

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast.

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—”

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob.

Your tears make him smile.

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?”

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you.

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly.

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl.

And then, “look at me.”

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless.

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.”

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable.

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry.

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?”

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching.

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.”

Without thinking, you obey him.

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief.

You cry out, clinging to him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.”

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible.

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.”

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself.

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.”

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—”

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.”

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss.

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.”

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.”

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat.

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly.

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted.

You sob.

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you.

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder.

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat.

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above.

Ice cold water pours on you.

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water.

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you.

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap.

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap.

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on.

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms.

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.”

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile.

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender.

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges.

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.”

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly.

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother.

You feel infinitely closer to him.

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can.

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even.

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks.

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?”

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest.

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.”

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him.

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now?

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his.

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again.

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep.

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth.

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner.

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.”

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again.

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place.

It’s like finally coming home.

#suguru getou x reader #getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru getou x you #getou x you #getou suguru x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #cw: omegaverse #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!

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rosyjuly · 1 year

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🌟🌟🌟 please?

i wasn't sure which part would please you my liege but you mentioned you liked the hotel room - door bit so! director's cut

He has to wait so long after knocking that he considers trying again, in case Mick’s napping or on the phone. mick is trying to make himself presentable as he expects his trainer or some haas personnel. But then he hears the door unlock and then Mick’s there, cast in the yellow overhead lights of the hallway, staring at him with wide, unfocused eyes. in this au heats/ruts are more predictable, that’s why he arranged his appointment for eight. the fight with seb, however, set him off: seb, all worked up, casually talking about mick’s knot and getting someone pregnant and just. caring a lot about whom mick sleeps with as if he was jealous… (dear reader, as you know, he was.)

“Seb?” he asks, incredulous. for a sec mick is like, am i seeing things now? that’s not a normal rut symptom. It’s fair that he didn’t expect Seb, not after how Seb chewed him out, and, well – it’s certainly unorthodox to show up unsolicited when you know the other is about to go into rut. that did not hold you back from doing it though, did it. stubborn man.

“Hey,” Seb says, offering a small smile. “Can I come in?” conflict management 10/10

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mick tells him. mick’s like, it’s not a good idea because i’ll be thinking about you the whole time anyways, and adding your scent into that mix is dangerous and even more inappropriate and it’ll just suck more that i can’t actually have you. He must want to keep his room free of another omega’s scent, Seb realizes with a flare of resentment. nope! He steps into Mick’s space and Mick steps back, keeping the distance between them; but now there’s enough space for Seb to cross the threshold and bully his way into the room. seb’s jealousy vs rational thinking: 2-0. not doing well today my man. Mick sighs and closes the door. He doesn’t lock it. he’s not going to lock an omega in a room with himself when he’s in rut. “Just for a minute, okay? Why are you here?”

“I got you some food – I know you can get room service, but better safe than sorry, right?” Seb says, chuckling. ha-ha sebastian. he’s now trying to show that he’s A-okay with mick spending his rut with someone else. Mick doesn’t laugh. He crosses his arms and watches Seb. mick is bewildered but trying to stay collected. Seb sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I shouldn't have said all that,” he admits. “DAS is fine. I know you can manage yourself. I just – I worry.” = i just don’t understand why you wouldn’t ask me. but i can and should respect your decision, i've calmed down enough. (this was @prettydangrotten 's line btw ty my beautiful genius)

“Okay,” Mick nods. He licks his lips. He’s sweating, Seb realizes for the first time. “Okay, thanks. I appreciate you saying that. Is that all?” mick’s on a mission to get him out of that room asap. he doesn’t want to do anything rash, doesn’t want seb to think that he’s trying to take advantage of him.

Seb’s taken aback for a second, and then Mick is leaning over him to reach for the doorknob. Instinctively, Seb takes a deep breath but he can barely smell anything. But now with Mick bent close to him, he sees how flushed Mick is, the perspiration pearling at his hairline. babe he’s in rut!

“You must be on some hardcore blockers if I can’t smell you right now,” Seb says without meaning to. He reaches out to skim his fingers across Mick’s skin where he must’ve applied the blocker stick but Mick makes a noise, harsh and sudden, and the next second Seb’s pressed against the door. mick smells all the other people on him and he goes wild for a second – like seb’s his. why are other people getting their hands on him! There’s something soft between the crown of his head and the wood – Mick’s hand, he realizes, as it trails down to cup his nape. mick is protecting him :( even though he’s being a brute right now. Mick’s all but buried his face in his neck, taking shuddering breaths. he’s scenting seb - for all his hesitation about not wanting seb in his room he’s now desperately trying to seek out seb’s own fresh sweet scent, untouched by everyone else. His skin is scorching hot.

“You’re not going to make it until eight,” Seb says, reeling. His hands itch to reach up and cup Mick’s head, but he keeps them by his sides. he wants to pulls mick close and fist a hand in his hair and let mick scent him for real but he can’t - he is not here for that. “You’re fully in rut now, aren’t you?” good job my dearest sherlock holmes.

#i kept ADDING and ADDING but this is already so long wow #unfortunately i could do this to the whole fic #truly i'm a woman who loves to run her mouth #director's cut #you can still send me asks about this if you want because i would LOVE to speak some more lmao #a/b/o #sebmick #worked the blade

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iangallagherisadeadman · 20 days

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post-s11 Tami definitely gets tired of Lip and leaves him.

yes, I do like them as a couple, I think it is an interesting dynamic and that Tami is good for him honestly, even though they lived completely different lives and crash so many times because of it throughout the last seasons.

fact is Lip won't ever change and will keep making the same kind of mistakes and she will get fed up with it eventually. they'll go different ways, maybe keep a somewhat friendly relationship, and she will get a new partner and Lip will have a Sean kind of relationship with Fred: that kid is the most important thing in his whole life and he's constantly hunted by the fear of drinking again and hurting Fred.

#headcanon?#its not that i desire lip to be unhappy and unlovable i just feel like he wont get his happy ending living the way he is #making the decisions hes making treating people the way he does #i feel like he is going to mature by the power of love because of fred i truly believe that #also no fucking way hes going to be poor for the rest of his life hes a genius and a southside he will get up and fix this up #i like him as a mecanic but that one s11 scene that he saves that dude a lot of money in the computer doing a super simple thing #means to me hes not done with the whole engineer thing. he just will need lots of money and labs he used to have acess at college and doesn #anymore but he will do whats necessary and turn things around definitely #maybe he thinks he can pull this off without going back to college and eventually realises he cant and then has to try to pick up his credi #and finish somewhere near? i dont know i dont understand lots about US educational system #honestly my dream is for him to work for debbie so she could be his boss it would be his life karma and make her happy #but that would never happen unfortunately #lip gallagher #tami tamietti #fred gallagher #shameless #shameless us #og.#fic idea

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sluckythewizard · 27 days

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BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

#NO TAGS ON THIS ONE BC WELL. IM SHY. IM TAKING A BIG LEAP JUST BY ALLOWING U TO REBLOG THIS. IF IT BREAKS CONTAINMENT THATS UR FAULT.#i unfortunately suffer from the disease of 'i hate everything i write the day after i write it' BUT IM GETTING TREATED #I WILL NOT BE HAUNTED BY THIS WEAKNESS FOREVER. AND HEY LOOK THIS IS THE FIRST ACTUAL FIC BIT IVE EVER FINISHED..#ITS SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF!! AND BY JOBE I WILL BE PROUD EVEN IF I HATE IT.#i dont always need to be the one who likes my art bc i know Someone out there will always enjoy it.#and to that someone i say: omg thankyou i LOOOOVEE YOUUUUUU!!!!!#JUST DELETED A WHOLE RAMBLE I JUST HAD ABT NERVOUS DISCLAIMERS FOR MY ART BUT I DONT NEED EM!!#GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT. ANYWAY. so emizel and soda huh #THEYRE SO CUTE TOGEEHTERRRR TEEHEHEHEHEEEE they are the homies that kiss eachother goodnight like CMON #but uhh so hey your bestest friend in da world just got turned into a freaky creature thing that eats ppl #ieah yknowthe guy that u care about alot that u had to watch get bled out by another freaky creature thing in an alleyway #yeaaah and you were super hurt and weak and stupid and u couldnt do jack nor shit to help him #what was i talking about again. RIGHT so hes even cooler now bc he cant die n hes super strong n his arms can be knives. sometimes.#but also he can eat people now. and sometimes he cant stop himself from eating people. and thats kinda scary. but in a cool way.#but also in a disturbing way. but also in an interesting way?but also in a freaky way.the feelings ARE MIXED!!!ATLEAST I THINK THEY WOULD B #okay again i havnt listened to the suckening ina bit. so its been a minute since i absorbed their personalities. i could be misreading or #misremembering or misconstruing or mischaracterizing or WHATEVER. i think the confusion carries its intended effect #LOSING MY TRAIN O THOUGHT. anyway i love soda n emizel i hope they get locked in a saw trap together or somethign. for enrichment.#TALOS GRANT ME THE STRENGHT TO POST MY CREATIONS ON LINE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGHHH!!!!!!!

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rosesradio · 1 year

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does anyone want to make like a petition or something for thomas to donate at least part of the ad revenue on his sorting video to a trans charity? or at least put some kind of disclaimer in the video or in the description stating that he doesn’t support jkr, and maybe link some resources and/or charities to encourage donations? idk, it just sits weirdly with me that, upon checking the video a minute ago, there’s no alterations to how it was originally posted to address the bigotry of that franchise.

(especially considering he bought a bunch of merch for the video, which he makes a joke about, potentially encouraging his viewers to sort & buy merch for their houses as well)

#and most of the recent comments don't seem to care either :/#and see back like a year or so ago when i was still trying to be a fan and just support fan stuff i listened to this hp podcast--#and it was really nice that they used a good portion of their proceeds around pride month (and i think around j*r's birthday as well)--#to donate to trans charities to kind of counteract that bigotry #unfortunately i just can't listen anymore bc i'm sick of the whole thing #but the point is i feel like thomas isn't saying anything in the hopes of not addressing it?#and if he's really trying to make a 'safe space' and be 'open about feelings' and stuff like in his videos that's no way to go about it yk #i dunno #and yes on my pinned i say i don't want to harass any hp fans. but i also think those fans have a responsibility to voice--#their disagreement. and if they're in a situation like thomas's where they're continuously receiving ad revenue--#(idk how much for 6M views but i don't imagine it's like one of my paychecks :/)#then he should do what he can to try to counteract that bigotry #(not to mention he still has like every other video plus the patreon plus merch so it's not like i'm suggesting to rob him blind--)#wow look at these tags. if only i could write fic so easily #anyways #sanders sides #ts crit #ts criticism #ts critical

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rearranging-deck-chairs · 1 year

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13 was here

#dont care how dont care why #let me figure out where in her timeline this happens #has someone written this fic yet bc it should exist #theres space between sea devils and potd #there #now two options she can take yaz. not explain anything just like. take her here #12 is here for 3 weeks before clara and missy show up thats plenty of time #or she could go alone #i think i'd have her take yaz - not dan - but then also manage to go a little missing for a bit so she can talk to 12 alone #not tell him who she is but it wouldnt be hard to figure out #she lets him try on her coat he lets her play his guitar #maybe she can come to terms with the whole clara situation a little bit. the missy situation #and then a little later maybe she cant help it and introduces 12 to yaz yaz to 12 #and 12 looks at her like. are we just gonna do this again then. we're just doing it again #and shes like no we're not #but she cant say that obviously #but she Can be very forceful that this is Yaz My Friend Yaz #unfortunately missy and clara were also exactly that. that was like the entire thing. FriendsTM #so. this doesnt communicate to 12 what she wants it to. it does manage to crush yazs hopes a little more tho so 👍#no but like the setup here isperfect. they both think theyre about to die. they both have Complicated Entanglements #has someone written this yet

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chiropteracupola · 2 years

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Hi, could we please have an Archie Kennedy in "I Saw You Ghost" for the palette thing??

perhaps, sir, you have overstayed your welcome in this story

#em draws stuff #hornblower #archie kennedy #hm this very well could be an illustration to that fic I started to write and then took apart for parts #(general gist of that being archie's ghost haunting a book horatio inherits)#so if you're picking up on spooky (and perhaps torrington-esque) vibes those are there of a purpose #funnily enough I did this during my henry v screencapping rewatch and that is very archie-suitable #I could make a really unfortunate conspiracy board about that and hornblower as a whole but I Have The Strength Not To Do That #back on topic now. pointing at him. wow that little guy is so haunted and also a haunting in and of himself.#will not elaborate on this point he just Is That #one more note and that is that I was actually looking at references for once but Only during the parts in which I was ignoring falstaff #you know the deal around here

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teaandinanity · 6 months

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I understand, in theory, that people like different things in their fic, but I am consistently agog that people look at a story set in a cool fantasy world and say,

You know what would make this better? Removing the fantastical elements and adding More Capitalism.

#I have read and liked a few modern AUs #but I usually have to be dragged into them kicking and screaming #very much the bob's burgers 'but I'm gonna complain the whole time' meme #(in this case 'dragged' means 'an author I like and trust wrote it so I will try under protest')#(or 'someone whose taste I trust rec'd it')#people have tried to explain the appeal to me and I'm just like #'okay yes I live in reality but I HAVE to live here and reality has a sad lack of dragons'#'why would you remove the dragons'#'WHY would ANYONE remove dragons if there could instead - get this - BE DRAGONS'#I really do just need to add more things to my exclusions site skin #except that unfortunately for most of them there is at least ONE fic that I don't actually want to send to the shadow realm #including for one of my NOTPs tragically #cannot exclude it entirely or the cool fic goes away forever

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seagullcharmer · 2 months

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not me thinking abt writing fanfic for fae farm......

#libra.txt #fortunately i am not the only one out there #just checked ao3 and there are. 11 fics in the fandom #unfortunately i think i am the only one who knows argyle's nb.#anyway just me having fun bc you can technically date all the romance-able characters at once #(you can only marry one though)#and so sometimes i just like daydreaming abt my character (leaf) and their polycule........#bc it's also just fun imagining them interacting with each other!#we're not given a whole lot for any of the characters #but argyle and jack are implied to be friends (they often sit together at the inn and argyle talks about jack on one of your dates)#but like..... the possibilities......#pyria&rita would be a GREAT friendship!!!!!#pepper/jack (teehee) would be fun and sweet!!!! they both have anxiety disorders but jack could show her around spooky woods #and she could teach him foraging tricks!#also pepper&nessa. since pepper has some pretty rough anxiety and paranoia #nessa stays calm and level headed. the dog to pepper's cheetah #and pyria&argyle! or nhamashal&galan!#galan studied in sagnow and nhamashal loves talking abt the schools and clubs in mercitania! they could share stories!#i really do like galan. they're sweet #also the only one who actually shows any interest in farming #i mean jack kiiinda does i guess. but he comes from a logging family so it's different? idk #but also pepper/nhamashal sounds SO FUN. to me #he's kind of snooty and has 'refined taste' i think it says #and while pepper is very outdoorsy she ALSO has a taste for good quality food #he'd be like 'ew dirt how can you stand to be like this' and she'd be like 'well just wait until you try my cooking'#and he would be forever changed <3 #also this is purely headcanon but i think pyria and nhamashal would Not get along #until they find out the other has some of the same hobbies (you can find either of them painting in different places around town)#and pyria would find herself begrudgingly appreciating his poetry #also nhamashal&argyle is very endearing to me

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koushuwu · 1 year

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i am so horny for ryou and kuramochi i am not well

#i trying to finish this kazuya piece and these two fuckers #and haru unfortunately #are fogging up my brain #not that i'm complaining #i'm into it #but the sooner i finish this kazuya fic #maybe i could do that whole best friend 'mochi thing that happened in my head yesterday.#i WILL finish the kazuya fic today #i have decided #and i'm gonna do it!#(don't hate me if i don't though)#» spicy #» confidential

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liesonthefloordramatically · 1 year

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reread linear time is fake while eating dinner (to distract myself from grading despair); god that fic frickin’ slaps; truly custom-made for me by me

#Queenie actually says something on this blog #parallelism palooza: the journey #is it my most read fic? no. do 75-80% of my commenters mysteriously disappear after chapter 2 or 3? yes.#but I do love it with my whole heart :')#also I was absolutely correct to characterize Jotaro's predominant emotion as a new faculty member as fatigue. that's real #I wish that I could just pass out at my desk sometimes but unfortunately I am even more incapable of sleeping than Jotaro is

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aroaessidhe · 2 years

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2022 reads // twitter thread

The Facts and Legends of Callie Catwell

YA contemporary about an ace girl who realises her feelings for her best friend when said best friend realises she's a lesbian

also she maybe saw a monster in the lake, and searches for it in an attempt to avoid her life problems

#The Facts and Legends of Callie Catwell #aroaessidhe 2022 reads #i enjoyed this actually!#well i probably had low expectations just bc of the cover lol. it's just as good as any other tradpub ya contemporary i've read #the monster is like. barely a thing. like it's very much just a quirky element that hardly has anything to do with the story other than a th #thematic bookend lol. so like not necessarily a spec-fic/supernatural/etc book rec #i would say it's def pretty simple and light hearted aside from some elements (moment of attempted sa friend's stepdad abusing him her dad'#like aside from particular moments or themes everything else is very light #i liked that there wasn't really a love triangle or any hard feelings re: the girl that asked her best friend out #like it was literally just that she asked her out and they kissed a few times but then mei realised she had feelings for callie #unfortunately i cannot read a lesbian friends to lovers yearning story without having be*ujes feelings.....#i think the whole thing with her staying with the dude who is like. terrible. was a bit weird. like you can see the in-text justification of #it; self-hatred self-destruction (not self hatred about her asexulaity as much as just in general)#but i felt like he could have been less of an objectively terrible piece of shit with no redeeming qualities #like if there was some nuance there it might have been more believable #anyway thats me thoughts #asexual books

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satorena · 27 days

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❛ UNPROFESSIONALISM ! ❜

⟡ content warnings. explicit content. foul language. ceo!satoru. secretary!reader. mentioned past flings. fondlīng. fīngerīng. afab!reader. p in v. unprotected. brēēding. squīrtīng. gojo satoru is his own damn warning. 4.9k.

⟡ serena's note. oh if y’all knew the lengths i went thru just to post this damn fic. . .

“ugh, this is such a painnn!”

“the sooner you finish your paperwork, the sooner you’re off, sir.” you sigh, arms crossed over your chest. you’re used to your boss’ childish antics by now, having worked side by side with him for nearly a year. you check the time on your watch, “work ended about half an hour ago— you might want to hurry up.”

“but y/n!” he drags out your name, voice all whiny and pitched in a telltale manner. he pushes himself off away from his desk, chair rolling back from the impact as he lolls his head back. “this shit is sooo lame. didn’t i hire nanamin to take care of the boring stuff? how come he isn’t here handling this god forsaken load of terrorizing agony?!”

you click your tongue, clutching tighter at the clipboard in your hold. you wonder if he’d been dropped on the head as a child, his lack of self-awareness so painful it makes you reconsider if the check at the end of the week is ever worth it. “he’s scheduled the week off to keep his wife and newborn in check. he signed off about a month ago.”

he snaps his head up so quickly, you’re positive he’s gotten whiplash. gojo blinks at you through big blue eyes and snowy lashes, a dumbfounded look on his face. he lifts his index to scratch at the corner of his lips, and cocks his head to the side, “ahh. . . ‘s that right? wait— nanamin’s a dad?!”

you feel the vein in your head inevitably tick.

“sir,” you let out an exhausted sigh, completely baffled by his ineptitude. he must purposely choose to do this to you, there’s simply no other explanation. “we attended his wife’s baby shower a few months ago—the one you mistook for a bachelor party and had me escorting the escorts back home.” you lift your pointer finger, brows cinched as the memory burns into your mind. he tilts his head to the side, affirming the idea of his cluelessness even more.

you raised a second finger, “we showed up to the hospital to congratulate them on their baby— and you got them that ridiculous cutout board of yourself that sings when you press on the—”

“the button on my dick, yeah!” gojo cackles as if it’s the funniest story ever, as if you hadn’t need to dump a bucket of water on the cutout figure to get it to shut up before he could get his company sued for emotional distress.

you huff, the stressful reminder of that unfortunate day having you anxiously tugging at the hem of your skirt, “yep. that’s the one.” between the baby’s obnoxious cries and exaggerated mecha-gojo moans, you’d rather not think about that encounter.

“and this whole time i figured she was his sister,” gojo snorts, wiping a faux tear from the corner of his eye. he sighs when his laughter dies down, and pulls him chair back into his desk. “man, his wife’s a babe. guess that explains why she looked at me all crazy when i called her fine the other day.”

“you sure that’s the only reason?” you mutter under your breath, the insult flowing off your tongue so naturally that you couldn’t help stopping it, even if you wanted to. that man was all kinds of deranged, his ego and head much bigger than it needed to be.

“ouch, that’s mean, doll.” gojo pouts, clutching at the material of his blazer above his heart. the back of his free hand lands on his forehead as he dramatically leans back into his seat. his eyelids shut tightly, “you’re wounding me. ‘m too young to die. i can’t go on like this— tell my mother i loved her. sign off my will for me, wouldya? make sure to terrorize nanamin some more. oh, and empty out all my search histories. wouldn’t wanna ruin my reputation. and get rid of my porn magazines beneath my bed. ‘ve got some pretty nasty stuff there. and check up on my kid every now and then. and—”

“alright, alright. i apologize.” you cut his rambling off before it spiralled into something far worse. there’s a full headache throbbing at your temple, your feet ache from your heels, and your stomach rumbles in hunger. you’re ready to go home now, but that won’t be possible unless your big man baby of a boss finishes up his task. “i’m sure you’ve a very suitable man. many would be grateful to have you. my apologies, sir.”

he peeks through an eye, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. his beaten-puppy look is quickly replaced by one you know far too well now— the look he gets after beating his rival company in terms of stock. the look he gets after successfully shitting on his higher ups. the look he gets after getting you to cum on his fingers after a long day— you’ve stroked his ego. “i’ve trained you well, princess. always flattering me, ohh, however did i get so lucky?”

whatever have you done to get so unlucky? “time’s ticking, sir. you can’t afford to pick up megumi late from practice again.”

“nanamin’s wife might be a babe, but you’re a gem, y’know?” your boss entirely ignores you, leaning his elbow onto the pile of work he’s now completely erased from his existence. he leans his cheek into his palm, fingertips tapping at the side of his head. “one helluva girl. i mean it— i really lucked out with ya.”

you cross your leg over the other, shifting your hips over the suede material of his couch. you recognize the sultry undertone to his voice, and your clear your throat, “is that so?”

gojo chuckles, flashing you all thirty two teeth, “i mean it’s not everyday you find a woman with your patience. god, you must be in love with me or something.”

you roll your eyes, despite the small smile that creeps up on your lips, “that’s certainly not why i stayed,” which wasn’t entirely true, but it’s not as if you haven’t inflated his ego enough today. “you may be a handful but your pockets sure are generous.”

“wouldn’t kill you to make a guy feel good about himself from time to time, ya know?” he fiddled the black pen between his fingers, twirling the object from knuckle to knuckle. he pauses when you don’t answer, noticing you noticing his finger movements. and so he proceeds with a smirk, “you’re always so tense all the time. . . tell me, when’s the last time you’ve been properly fucked?”

you nearly lose the grip on your clipboard at his audacity, the question throwing you off guard. though, you quickly keep composure— a fierce facade that’s always labelled you as the calm and collected kind. though, you’re doubtful it worked against your own boss.

“that’s an unprofessional question, sir.” you grit through teeth, nails scratching at the wooden back of your board. highly hypocritical of yourself, as you’re absolutely no better than he is— having already opened a window of no return that fateful night you accepted his invite to come inside his home.

“pretty sure we’re past unprofessionalism.” he pushes himself off of his desk, rising to his feet. your eyes trail his movements, from the index finger that hooks at his tie to loosen the knot, to the cock of his head to the side that has his hair bouncing, to the sound of expensive shoes clicking with every stride closer to you.

his presence can be oddly intimidating at times— you’ve noticed while working with him for a while. there’re moments like whenever he steps up on a podium in front of thousands of people, or when the elevator doors slide open and presents him to the building. despite his childish antics, he exudes an aura so enchanting that serves as reminder of that at the end of the day, he’s the boss.

you swallow, eyes following his lean figure until he stops right before you. it’s hard to read him in moments like these, when he’s so unlike himself (or maybe finally truly himself). his hands sit in the pockets of his slacks, legs parted enough to entrap your own legs between his, as he tilts his head forward. his irises darken behind tinted shades, bangs curtaining the raise of an eyebrow.

“unprofessional?” he repeats, and your eyes narrow at him, subconsciously gripping at your board tighter. it’s the only thing that you seem to have control over, since it clearly wouldn’t be this conversation. “you mean like that time i had you creamin’ all over my fingers in the back of my car? or unprofessional like that time you bent over my desk and came all over my face? or was it that night when i had to tie your hands together to keep you from runnin’ away?”

your gaze flickers away from his, the heat of embarrassment creeping from your neck all the way to your face. he wasn’t wrong— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in closer to kiss you instead of pushing him away.

“we’re still at work.” you quip, the last bit of resolve tattering away the longer you feel his eyes on you. your roll your ankle nervously, thighs tightening against another.

“work ended half an hour ago sweetheart, remember?” he reminds you, voice as taunting as ever, and you sure as hell don’t need to see him to know he’s smirking. right side of his lips pulled with a moon crescent dimple on the side— he’s making fun of you. “forgettin’ already? can’t have my adorable secretary so overwhelmed that it’s meltin’ her brain. that should be my dick’s doing only, of course.”

you click your tongue, eyes casting back up to stare him dead in the eye. naturally, he’s already meeting your own, with the same damn smirk you’d predicted, “you have paperwork to finish, sir. better get on that quickly.”

“oh?” he laughs at your command, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rest at his hips. he runs his tongue against the top row of his teeth, and you hate the way your mind instantly travels back to days prior when you’d once had that same tongue working in and out of you.

he hums in faux thought, tapping his index against his chin. his lips fall into a pout before instantly stretching back to its default state, his infamous smile, “i suppose you’re right. come help me finish then, hmm? teamwork makes the dream work.”

you’re skeptical— you know him too well, but you’d rather divert the focus of attention from you to those papers. anything to prevent your mind from wandering off further into endless unprofessional possibilities. “lead the way, boss.”

he curtsies dramatically as you rise to your feet, stomping over to his desk. you notice he’s got shit done, and you’ll most likely be here for a minute. and so, you stand next to the chair he’d abandoned and pick up the pen, waiting for him to sit so you both could get started.

only you should’ve known you’d fallen right into his trap the minute you agreed to his ridiculous offer. you feel him pressed up behind you, lurking over your shoulder to study whatever you had going on. he’s unreasonably tall, frame so large it has you feeling frail in his presence, and his cologne so strong you feel it already clouding your judgement.

damn it all.

clicking your tongue, you tilt your head to the side to narrow your eyes, “well? are you not going to sit?”

gojo blinks at you, “how come? i enjoy the view here much better anyway.”

you roll your eyes, before turning back to his desk. he was a complete idiot if he thought you hadn’t already anticipated his next moves. the more your wrist flexes, mumbling the words you read on your sheets as you write them down, the more you felt him. you could feel the back of your thighs meeting the from of his, you could feel his bulge rubbing at your ass, you could feel his warm breath fanning at the slope of your neck.

damn it all.

“sales have risen to a—ahhn!” your pen falters in your grip, scribbling on the white sheet as it hits the desk. your eyelids shut close, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as a warm mouth kisses at that sensitive spot behind your ear. your palm lays flat against the surface of the table, side by side with gojo’s, body tensing as his mouth trails down lower.

“oh you bastard,” you mutter, shaky hand attempting to grab the pen in an unsteady hold. his chuckle rumbles deep from his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your back. you’re determined to stand your ground, despite the urge to push your hips back into him. he may have soft lips and an annoyingly hot voice, but you would not falter— no matter the moisture of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

you think you have it set in stone, the pen in your hold— albeit unsteady— despite his large hand creeping up your thigh. every trail of his touch leaves an electrifying feeling, and you’re sure he’s noticed your trembling knees if the way he subtly slid his leg in between yours to keep you steady said anything.

it’s when you’re ready to scribble out your mistake to replace it that he decides to plunge his canines to your jugular. the moan that erupts from you is squeaky, your hand clutching tightly at the pen as your back arches into his chest from the painful pleasure.

gojo nibbles and sucks at your skin, running his tongue over the throbbing area to soothe the pain, fingers trailing closer to your now aching core. you’re positive your skirt has now hiked up with how much your hips are pushing back into his, head lolled forward.

“aweee, what’s the matter sweetheart? ‘s too much for you already?” gojo coos, sultry voice sending chills from the shell of your ear down to your core, finally slipping his hand inside of your skirt. his fingertips brush at your clothed clit, the material of your thong shamefully damp in arousal. you huff, nails scratching at his desktop when his index and middle finger rub painfully slow circles at your clit. “but we’ve barely done anything? tsk, can’t afford slowing the company down because you’re too distracted to focus.”

your thighs and arms threaten to give out, body heating with lust and desire. you want to say you hate this, that this is against your typical work ethics, to tell him to fuck off and do the work himself. but the focus on your pussy really has you melting puddle, bottom lip tugged on to suppress any louder sounds to escape.

“y-you’re the worst.” you complain, though it fades into another moan when he pushes his thigh up in between your legs. you’re internally thankful, because had this gone any further, you’re certain you would’ve sunken to the floor.

“love you too, pretty girl.” he presses a kiss at your jaw, fingers pushing past your panties. fuck any resolve you’d held onto— you chuck the pen far away, planting both palms down as you allowed him to take control. every rub of his fingers at your clit had you dripping down his thigh, to where your hips shifted and rolled down his leg, dragging out that blissful heat in your gut.

“givin’ up already? y’didn’t put much of a fight this time, can’t say i’m a disappointed.” his free hand grips at your thigh and trails up to your hips, resting at your flesh to guide you down his leg. he’s all too enthralled by your sensitivity, gaze zeroed in on your expressions— from the slackness at your jaw to the way your brows furrow.

“just h-hurry up already,” you grit, eyelashes fluttering as your eyelids lift. your gaze meets his instantly, and gulp at the hungry look in his eyes. his skin is already flushed pink, lips parted as he pants heavily. “you’re no—ngh, better than i am, dickhead.”

“well aren’t ya damn mouthy,” gojo acknowledged, though clearly unbothered, as his fingers pinch at that bundle of nerve. you gasp, cunt clenching as it leaks more of your essence down on him. your head drops back against his shoulder, the slope of your back curving as you grip onto the closest thing in your vicinity— the hem of his blazer. “hm, whatever happened to my obedient secretary? always so polite and respectful, don’t tell me i haven’t trained you enough?”

“m-maybe you haven’t,” you pant, chest heaving as you feel his fingertips teasing the entrance of your folds. they’re slow movements, applying just enough pressure to ignite the spark in your guts but not enough to leave you wanting more. “can’t even do your damn j-job right and you call yourself boss? hah, wonder if mister geto would have this issue— fuuuck!”

“low fuckin’ blow, sweets.” gojo chuckles darkly, now two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. he wastes no time to plunge himself inside, knuckles rubbing at your velvety walls. you clamp down on his digits, desperate to keep him in for the sake of that orgasm you craved. “and here i was ready to put this pretty pussy in my mouth. you’re dickless for a few days and catch an attitude wimme? that’s cold, baby.”

“dickless?” you cock a brow, teeth gritting as you focus all your energy left on delivering your next line. he always got so cocky whenever he had a slight advantage. “a-according to who—ooh, god, shit!”

“ooh god, shit!” gojo mocks you, a third finger now joining the others. he scissors your cunt open, the slick of your arousal simplifying the slide in. you’re dripping down to his palm, so wet despite the front you’re putting up. he knows you love it whenever he angles his fingers at this angle, the one that has you knees weak and ready to fold. “face it sweets, i’m the only one who treats this pussy the way it deserves. see how well she responds to me?”

and you wish you could negate or deny him, but unfortunately, you both know he’s correct. he’s only got his fingers inside of you and you’re already at your limit. your hips eagerly chase his fingers whenever he pulls out just to thrust them back in, the pad of his thumb drawing infinity signs at your clit. your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, knot in your tummy tightening from the stimulation.

“nghhh, ‘m gonna cum,” your hand slides down the slope of his forearm till where his wrist begins. you claw at the bone, clutching and grabbing at him eagerly. damn him and his damned fingers— driving you to mush with all six inches. “more, hah, need more— gimme more!”

“manners, pretty baby.” gojo coos at your ear, despite upping his pace. his hands reach all the right spots, pussy desperate to hold out to his fingers as they fuck your cunt open, soaking the digits in your slick. “c’mon girl, what’s the magic word? i know you’ve got it in you.”

“p-please! pleasepleaseplease—” you’re cut off by your own gasp as the dam in your stomach finally breaks. you leak on his fingers, squirting your juices as your muscles convulse, walls entrapping him in. your back arches away from him and you grasp at anything in your reach, your mouth gaped. you’re cussing like a sailor, vision blacked out beneath your eye lids as your hips twitch and stutter against gojo’s ruthless pace.

your high washes down, as you lose feeling in your limbs, falling face down to the desk. your skin is moist with heat, mouth parted as drool coats the abandoned paperwork beneath you. your body twitches with oversensitivity, thighs quaking as your last few spurts spray all over gojo’s thigh.

“don’t tell me you’re all worn out from a little foreplay?” your boss teases, his free hand delivering a blow onto your ass cheek. it recoils as you jolt, snivelling like a baby. you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, slacks falling next and pooling at his ankles. the next few moments happen in a blur, but sooner than you’d realized, you’d been turned onto your back with your legs propped over his shoulders and your folds were being played with again, the overstimulation having your toes curling in your heels.

“anddd there we go,” gojo strokes at his bricked cock, your essence serving as lube to coat his dick. he drags his fist from the base of his shaft to the tip, both your fluids and his pre cum mixture softening the jerk. “you fuckin’ water park. jeez, maybe i should plug this tiny cunt to prevent any further leakage, yeah?”

“fucking hurry already!” you don’t whine, or so you hope, though the grip of your legs at the back of his neck does tighten. with your skirt hiked up and your panties pushed to the side, gojo has a clear view of your twitching pussy, a hole designated intentionally just for him. he can already feel the cum in his balls ready to burst and fill your womb.

“and back to mouthy she goes,” he chuckles, using the leverage of his hand at his cock to slap his dick at your folds. the impact causes you to whimper, your hands clutching at the border of the desk. you wish you could wipe that smirk off his face, but fuck if the way he didn’t rub himself against you arouse you in ways that would surely haunt you after the orgasmic high faded away.

“take a deep breath for me baby, kay?” gojo instructs, thumb brushing over the skin above your hip bone, and before you’re able to retaliate, he slides in his dick.

his length is nothing to scoff at, and although you’ve already dealt with it in the past, all that prepping he’d done earlier seemed in vain. he bottoms out quickly, balls deep into you cunt. both your moans blend in harmony, overlapping one another as you settle with the aching stretch. your pussy clenches around his cock uncontrollably, both eager to push and pull him away.

“shittttt,” he whines throatily despite the huge grin on his lips. the flush pampering his skin has gotten significantly deeper, pale brows furrowed to the centre of his forehead. his hands grip at your plush thighs, fingers digging deep into your skin, surely enough to leave bruises. the bastard— he knew you’d be forced to wear your own slacks tomorrow to avoid suspicions.

“no fuckin’ way ‘m already set to bust— hah, fuck, what in the magical pussy is this?” gojo groans, snowy hair bouncing with his head thrown back. the tighter you grip at his cock, the tighter he grips at your thighs and the deeper his breaths are.

you push yourself up to your elbows, giggling at the irony of the situation. “already huh? so it wasn’t the liquor’s fault last time.” surely you were no better, entirely stimulated and body excreting all kinds of fluids from all over, but the ball was now in your court, and you planned on taking advantage. “s-should’ve known.”

naturally, he doesn’t rise to your bait, instead moving his hips away from yours, slowly dragging his cock out until the only part left in your cunt is his pink tip. “don’t make me make you eat your words, sweets.”

you raise your hand and rest it right above his pelvis, eyes set straight on his. you’re both clearly eager and ready to go, but you still had your dignity to uphold. you drag your palm upwards his torso, nails trailing up his button-up top teasingly before clutching at his tie. with the strength left in you, you yank him down and closer to you.

the shift in position stirs his dick in your cunt, knees now pressed closer to your chest. he hovers over you, a newfound look in his eyes you aren’t ready to divulge into—he was a very expressive man after all. both your lips ghosts one over another, breaths hot and mingling. you feel fuzzy, all senses fucked but collectively drawing at a same conclusion: wanting him to fuck your brains out on this desk.

“fuckin’ hell that was sexy.” it almost comes off a whisper, his tone breathless as his eyes bare deep into your. you feel the warmth of his hands fading away in favour to cup at your waist.

you tilt your head to the side, nose grazing against his. your fingers fiddle with the hem of his tie, despite never breaking the eye contact. “you gonna rock my world now?”

nothing more has to be said as he engulfs your mouth into his, knocking the wind out of you. his tongue explores the warm cave of your mouth, no inch left untouched. you moan and kiss him back just as eagerly, sliding the hand from his neck tie to his nape. your fingers thread through his soft locks, nails scratching his scalp and tugging at the roots.

he whimpers pathetically, the pain sending courses of arousal straight to his dick as his hips slam right back against yours. his thrust is rough and deep— leaving you gasping, as he takes the opportunity to kiss you even deeper while simultaneously working on his strokes.

the curve of his cock reaches even deeper than his fingers could manage, rubbing at your gummy walls and stretching them even wider. the sounds of your bodies connecting, your skins slapping, both your fluids mixing— everything felt so wanton, so filthy. he was everywhere, so far in your stomach you swear you could feel him in your throat.

the stretch of his cock at your pussy sent a fiery feeling spreading towards all of your limbs. the squelching of your pussy tightening and clenching at his dick filling the room. he soon picked up his pace, railing into you with every fibre in his body, loving the way your body bounced up in reaction to his thrusts.

“s-shit, oh fuck— don’t stop, ngh, right there!” you begged, throwing your head back against the hard surface. you’d given up on trying to keep your eyes open, the intensity of his dick ramming into your guts so fierce, you’d never felt anything like it.

he takes a sharp inhale of breath, followed by a whiny exhale. you were driving him insane, your sloppy cunt greedily clamping on his dick as if it were its lifeline. “suckin’ me in so tight, shitttt baby, ‘s like you want me to fill this perfect pussy full of my nut.” he dives his tongue deeper into your mouth for extra measure. you’re in a turmoil of multiple emotions at once but you kiss him back— until your lips feel tender and your mouth tastes of his breath.

he was annoyingly intoxicating, whether you wanted to admit it or not. your body spoke every word you were ashamed to say, responding with his own almost too perfectly.

when he slips his thumb to toy at your clit, your toes curl in your shoes and you’re accustomed to the oncoming feeling all too well, nails clawing at his skin. your words come out all fumbled mixed with tongue and drool, “s-satoru, i— ‘m gonna, don’t you stop— fuck ‘s too much— hnng!” you pull away just slightly, eyes all dazed as they roll to the back of your skull.

“shit, oh shit, me too,” he swipes at the drool dribbling past your mouth. from there, he plants more kisses at your skin, nibbling at every inch of you. he’s rutting like a madman, pace unforgiving as he focuses on that same spot that has you mindless. he finds you prettiest when you’re this way— all obedient for him. “my pretty girl— where do i— fuck, where—”

“inside.” as if you’d wanted to kill him, just as quick the word left your lips, he emptied his balls in your cunt. he sobs, his orgasm wracking over his entire body as he slams and fills your pussy full of him. the mixture of sounds is downright sinful, and whether it’d been the focus on your clit or his inhumane stamina, you soon met your similar end.

you cream on his dick once more, legs trembling as your second orgasm washes over you. your mind gone dumb, you do nothing but lay as you take the pounding inflicted on your worn out pussy. with each stroke you see stars, breasts juggling at the match of his pace. it’s damn near painful, but in the best enjoyable way. you feel yourself getting fuller by the second as you spray more of your arousal onto him.

the high eventually comes down for you both, the room reeking of sex. you’re both panting heavily, muscles twitching from overexertion. you couldn’t recall the last time you’d been fucked to the point of a momentary blackout— but you’d be damned if you’d ever let him know. he was too busy crying over your cunt anyways.

after a moment of silence, “. . .shit.”

“what?” you hum tiredly, rubbing the back of your hand to your tired hands. god, you could barely muster enough energy to do just that. what did this man eat?

he skips a few beats, before sheepishly chuckling, the hand that’d once been tracing patterns at the skin of your thighs now moving to your side. your gaze follows his movements, and it’s only when he retracts his hand does your heart sink to your chest.

“we definitely fucked these papers up.”

. . . shit.

io baby.. if you ever end up reading this i did it :c

#stargirl★rena.#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n

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