#“why do i feel cold without your body?”

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a no-known sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm such a great guy, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[kissylec]

TO THE PLACES WE'VE BEEN AND THE NIGHTS WE'VE HAD.

directed by love you goodbye...

pairing . . . rafe cameon x pogue!reader in which . . . the bonfire always has surprises, but you never thought that one of those surprises would be ending up in tannyhill with the kook prince warning .ᐟ . . . (18+) smut, alcohol consumption, curse words, enemies to lovers, tension, dirty talk, praise kink, making out, oral (f), unprotected sex (wrap it up), p in v, first time writing smut and english is not my first language, so please, bear with me w count . . . 1.5k (NO PROOFREAD) kissylec says . . . write this in 3 days and i dont really know if i like it or not. my frist time writing smut! im tweaking! thanks to @rafesheaven for the tips you gave me, i hope this is okay i love u. and thanks to @rafeysbabydoll for the idea of this first extra! i also love u. hope you guys like this 😭

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

YOU WERE DOING THIS FOR JJ, and you repeated that to yourself over and over again. the bonfire was the last thing on your mind after the day you'd had, having to put on makeup and get dressed made your head hurt and your feet felt tired just walking to the vanity. but everything went to shit in a short time, which you expected, but at least you had that slight glimmer of hope that it won't happen.

it all started when topper – because of course it was topper – started bothering sarah. your and your friends' irritation was instantly aired, creating a tense atmosphere that was not lost on anyone. and between john b complaining, jj trying to fight, and kiara trying to calm down everyone who came near, you couldn't take it anymore.

the overstimulation ate away at you to the point that you left without warning, a habit that was ingrained in you. the sound of voices grew farther away with each step you took, and the cold and salty breeze became more and more present. that's when you thought about the beach, and that maybe it would be a good idea to stop by there.

the sand on your feet felt colder than usual and the wind was a caress on your exposed skin. you took long, deep breaths, making circles in the palm of your left hand as you tried to maintain a calm that you were afraid would slip away. the sound of the sea was in the background, and a relaxation alien to you had found you. until.

you okay?

the thick, familiar voice startles you, causing you to bring a hand to your chest and open your eyes, your gaze traveling to the direction the voice came from.

rafe cameron.

"you scared the shit outta me," you say, your gaze traveling all over rafe's body. a bottle of alcohol in his hand, his brow furrowed. His curtain bangs were gone, replaced by a neat buzz cut, which made him look more... mature, older.

rafe continues to scowl, looking away from you. "yeah well, it's creepier when a girl stands next to you and closes her eyes and all that shit you were doing just now." his lips take a sip from what appears to be a bottle of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the water.

you just rolled your eyes, mimicking his action of looking away. you never gave rafe much importance, but your annoyance for him was no small thing. he was nothing sacred among pogues, as if his name were a curse. "i may be creepy but you're sad" you started saying. "drinking by yourself on the beach? not really a very fun activity."

rafe takes another long sip from the bottle, his muscles flexing as he raises his arm. “shouldn’t you be there?” he asks, still not looking at you.

rafe knew about you, not much, but he knew enough. he always insisted that you stood out from any friend sarah might have had, you were not overlooked, you always left a mark. you had that something that takes a person a while to figure out. you were different, and it sounds corny and repetitive, but you were, and rafe liked that.

for a split second you considered telling him why you left the bonfire, but you didn't. "i got bored," you said simply, feeling rafe turn his head and his eyes burn into your cheek. "what's your excuse?"

rafe swore his heart stopped for a second when you turned your head to make your first eye contact of the night, his lips felt dry but he didn't have the balls to lick them in front of you.

he just shrugged. "i don't want to be there" he says.

you slowly nod your head, your eyes locked on rafe's blue ones, who didn't seem to want to take his eyes off you. the sound of clothes rustling and him handing you the bottle of whiskey caught your attention, raising your eyebrows.

parting your lips you take the bottle, the contact with rafe’s fingers leaving a rough feeling on your skin. still looking into his eyes, you took an unexpectedly long sip, your throat burning instantly, making you grimace in disgust and drop the bottle. he couldn’t help but laugh.

“what was that?” he asks, following with his gaze as you spit the amber liquid into the sand.

“that shit is disgusting” you say, wiping your chin, which had dropped drops of the drink.

you shake your head, your eyes falling on his face. you allow yourself to analyze the small details, how his eyes close when he smiles, the occasional mark on his skin, his hand wrapped around most of the bottle as soon as you handed it back to him.

rafe parts his lips, you could see his eyes drop to his lap, as if he was hesitant. “i have more bottles in tannyhill, of… other things,” he says, hesitantly. "if you want."

your eyes widened, letting out a laugh you couldn’t control. “are you serious?” you said, your smile taken as mockery by rafe.

rafe frowns, his gaze going to you, making you erase your smile. a tension began to be felt between you two, that tension which anyone who was there could feel, that tension that makes your stomach hurt and your heart race.

"did you really just ask me what you just ask me?" you asked, your eyebrows raising as you looked at him.

“what’s wrong with what i said?” rafe asks, his tone of voice harsher than he intended.

you frown, careful not to fumble with your words. “no, absolutely not.”

“why not?"

“because it’s you,” you simply reply, looking at him. “and i would never do anything with you.”

your words seemed to trigger something in rafe, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, as if he were studying you. you felt your pulse quicken, his jaw suddenly looked attractive, and his challenging eyes made your lower stomach feel warm.

"never, huh?"

those were the last words you could remember coming out of his mouth, because all you were focused right now, was him. on his tongue expertly moving between your wet folds, on how he flicked it against your clit. his fingers gripped your thighs to keep you from moving, the pressure was so strong that you knew there would be marks, but you didn't care.

you had tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes, your o-shaped lips letting out moan after moan, babbling every now and then as you felt his tongue fucking you as if it were the only thing he was useful for.

"prettiest cunt" he grunts against your center, placing open-mouthed kisses over your clit.

"fuck–rafe" was the only thing that could come out of your mouth.

you start to rub your pussy against him when you feel close, that delicious pressure in your pelvis growing as does the burning in your clit, your moans turning into soft cries, desperate to cum, and rafe notices it, but that wasn't going to happen.

his mouth leaving you, automatically going to the level of your face. his lips, chin and nose glistening with your arousal, his pupils dilated with pleasure, his breathing accelerated, all so sexy that you could have cum just from him.

before you could even protest he crashed your lips against his, moaning as you tasted yourself. your tongues danced deliciously, making everything more disgusting.

"wan' you to cum on my cock" rafe manages to say between kisses, and you never wondered when he took off his pants, but he did. "you're capable of doing that? huh?"

he wrapped his hand around his heavy cock, pumping it slowly, guiding his tip to your puffy and achy clit, teasing it, coating his length with your slick. "fuck–could you be any more fucking wet?"

the tip traveled to your center, gasping as it entered inch by inch to the brim, forcing you to take him all. your eyes rolled back in your head, feeling his cock caress your insides. you could swear you felt him kiss your cervix.

"so tight, all f'me, isn't that right?" rafe purrs against your ear, his hips moving almost instantly after filling you.

your brain blanked out, letting him handle you as he pleased, your legs on his shoulders as his pace quickened. “rafe,” you stammered, your eyes squeezing shut.

"grippin' me so tight, you gonna cum?" rafe murmurs condescendingly. "this sweet pussy gonna cum? huh?"

it was ridiculous, almost pathetic, but his words and the way your sweet spot was hit over and over again had you cumming on his cock, your back arching and a small cry came out. rafe groans, his face hiding in your neck, his cock twitching and painting your insides with his cum.

you felt kisses on your neck, the thrusts fading in rhythm, his hands caressing your sides. your eyes slowly opened, your lips dry as the light from the nightstand made its presence felt beside you.

then, and just then, it clicked.

"we can't do this again" was the first thing that left your lips.

but rafe had already taken you over. and there was no escape from that.

taglist . . . @lil-sparklqueen @pillowprincess4him @ihydeja @drewstarkeyslover @angelicameron @stylestarkey @frankoceanluvr11 @thepopcultureaddict @luvrclub @wtfisastiles @faephoria @maybankslover @yktayy9669 @bucksbvck @bee-43 @drewrry @harryzcherry @bsenpai @dreamybabbyy @ggyuslovie @magicalflowerstranger @wintercrows @rafeysbabydoll @starsval @maddiebaddie1 @mrsdrewstarkeyy @giouvarlakia @jjmaybankmylovee @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @sleepiibunniiii @lolasangelz @bananaminn @glitterandviolence13 @scream4mami @delayeddrabbles @niaunffical @ijustwanttoreadlols @ethanthequeefqueen @emmiesummers @arianagreenblattfanxx10 @vanessa-rafesgirl @kaiparkerwifes @enchante-starkey @drewsdirtyslut @hannieskzzz @dontknow3m @rafesdrew

© KISSYLEC. 2025 — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

[yandere-sins]

hii! i was wondering if you could write yandere aizawa x fem reader where she escapes for 10 days. When he finally gets her back, he gives her a punishment that lasts ten days. on the last day, he takes her out and shes so scared and timid. he washes her up and gives her food but she thinks he's messing with her.

thank you, you dont have to if you dont want to. ive never requested before so i dont know how to do this..

You did everything perfectly fine! Thank you for requesting one of my favs ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

You were a sight to behold.

Always, of course. Nothing and no one could come close to you, both physically and mentally. No one that he'd rather spend time with, listen to as you complained, and share a bed with despite your struggling to get some space away from him. All he ever did was protect you, support you, love you. Those thoughts had kept him awake every second you had been gone, the pain in his heart unbearable as he missed you, searching every nook and cranny to retrieve you from your escape.

The nights were dark, the days too busy. You were clever, so you would desperately try to prevent attention on you, whether it was getting into confrontations or even just showing your face on a street interview. Aizawa was almost proud you escaped, showing how intelligent you truly were if you wanted to. It should not have felt like pure luck when he finally stumbled across you, but it was. Days of being free had made you careless, and Aizawa couldn't even dislike that about you, either, because it made you two closer in the end, even if you hated it.

For ten days, he had punished you. Precisely the same time you had spent frolicking outside, hiding in sleazy hotels, and being too paranoid to enjoy the time away from him. It was a vacation, but judging by how frail and exhausted you looked when he finally spotted you, you didn't use it as much as you should have, given that ten days of pain and torment awaited you once you came home.

One day where he broke your fragile resistance by dragging you back, making you regret ever leaving until you swore you wouldn't do it anymore.

One day where he made you feel worthless and incapable, giving you better examples of what you should have done and how you could have properly escaped him, forcing you to repeat his lesson over and over.

One day spent in pain, making sure you'd remember your wrong-doings, where his scarf became a whip, and you had to count the strikes and tell him why you were wrong to leave.

One day without food and water, chained to a wall, soiling yourself and feeling all the pain from the prior day, all so Aizawa could make you believe you were dying so you'd cling to him on the next day.

One day resting on the couch, forcing you to eat, drink, and feel anything he ordered you too, chipping away on your self-preservation and ensuring you knew he was the one providing everything for you.

One day where he instilled the feeling of being helpless in you, waterboarding you in the tub when you were barely awake yet, so he could really ingrain the fear that he had power over you no matter what,

could care for you and hurt you at any given time.

One day, he took you outside to the scummiest part of the town, showing you that you were an easy target without his protection, letting the worst of the worst leer, grab, and hurt you until you pleaded and begged for him.

One day to let you sleep in the cold, dark basement, gagged and blindfolded, deprived of your senses, so your thoughts could finally focus on what was important—Aizawa.

On the last day, Aizawa took you out to a cafe, ordered your favorite dessert, and fed it to you, always waiting for you to willingly open your mouth. He took you home and undressed you, a sharp breath of his enough warning for you to stay still, and for a few hours, he merely spent his time taking care of you, brushing your hair properly, washing your body, treating your wounds, telling you he loved you and would always be with you.

There were only minor reactions from you. A bit of panic when the water sloshed too high, flinching when Aizawa touched your bruised arms, and a soft sigh as he massaged your scalp. You, clinging to his arm to make sure he'd not leave you in the same situation you had been in before, and you only hesitated for a second before opening your mouth and eating what he held out to you.

It was perfect.

Finally, Aizawa had you where he always wanted you. You wouldn't stray from his side, accepted his protection and closeness. There wasn't a hint of struggling when he took care of you, and you crawled into his arms willingly that night, resting your head on his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was how it was always meant to be. You were perfect—this relationship was.

So, to make sure you finally understood your place by his side, on day eleven, he started from the very beginning, every punishment more severe than on day one. And what a sight you were, bruised and battered, knowing very well what would happen the next day as you clung to his left leg after just three days of punishment. Looking up at your captor with your dull, tear-filled eyes, whispering, "I love you," like Aizawa had always wanted.

The scarf he used as a whip slid to the floor. Hearing these words, his heart burst with adoration and pride. Yes, you finally understood it! You finally relented your useless struggle and gave way to your true feelings! He was overcome by adoration as he hugged you tightly, your blood staining his clothes, the smell making him both happy and nauseous at the same time. It smelled like you, the very essence of you, and Aizawa loved it. You were a sight to behold, perfect both body and mind. Everything was finally as it should.

"I love you, too," he whispered, squeezing you tighter even though you whimpered from the pain. "I love you so much."

"But you lost your streak, let's start again. Don't cry, my love, I know you can do it."

[bakuchrome]

Habits

Satoru Gojo x reader

Sypnosis: After your breakup with Gojo Satoru, you struggle to fill the void he left behind.

Master List

You don’t remember when you started drinking every night. Maybe it was right after he left. Maybe it was the first time you woke up alone in a bed too big for just you. Maybe it was when you realized his absence wasn’t a bad dream— it was real.

The club’s music pounds in your ears, loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. The bass rattles your ribs as your body moves without thinking, hands gripping a stranger’s shoulders, lips brushing against someone who isn’t him.

Their hands touch you, but they don’t feel like his. Their warmth doesn’t seep into your skin the way Gojo’s used to.

You laugh— too loud, too forced. Your body is a ghost of itself, dancing on autopilot, pretending. It’s easier this way. If you drink enough, dance enough, let enough people whisper sweet nothings in your ear, maybe you’ll forget him.

Maybe you’ll forget the way he used to hold you like you were his entire world.

Your apartment is a mess. Empty bottles on the counter, takeout boxes stacked on the table. You haven’t cooked in weeks. Haven’t slept in your bed since the last time he was in it.

You sit on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, scrolling through your phone with bleary eyes.

Satoru: Did you eat today?

Satoru: You really shouldn’t be drinking so much.

Satoru: I saw you at the club last night.

Satoru: Please stop doing this to yourself.

Your fingers tremble over the screen. You don’t reply.

Gojo is the strongest. He could destroy mountains, crush curses, change the world. But he couldn’t love you the way you needed. He couldn’t be yours in the way you wanted.

He still tries to take care of you, even from afar. But you don’t need his pity.

You throw your phone across the room. It clatters against the wall, but it doesn’t break. You wish it would. You wish something would.

Because if something shatters, maybe it’ll feel the way your heart does.

You see him everywhere.

On the street, in passing cars, in the reflection of a store window. Every time your heart jumps, only to crash when you realize it isn’t him.

But then, one night— it is.

You’re outside a club, leaning against the cold brick wall, head spinning from too many drinks. You close your eyes for a second, and when you open them, there he is.

Gojo Satoru.

Standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking at you like you’re something fragile. His usual grin is missing, replaced by something unreadable.

You laugh, but it sounds empty. “What, are you following me now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His white hair glows under the streetlights, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. “You’re killing yourself like this.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you care?”

“Don’t do that.” His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it. “Don’t act like I don’t.”

You take a step toward him, heat rising in your chest. “Then why did you leave?”

Silence. A car drives by, headlights casting shadows across his face.

“You know why,” he finally says.

You do. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.

You reach for him without thinking. Your fingers brush against the sleeve of his coat, but before you can grab hold— he steps back.

It’s a small movement. Barely noticeable. But it feels like a knife to your ribs.

“Go home, y/n,” he says. And then he turns and walks away.

You watch him go, breath hitching, throat burning.

The cold air bites at your skin. But inside, you’re already frozen.

You should move on.

You should let go.

But instead, you find yourself at his door.

You don’t remember leaving the club, don’t remember the taxi ride. You only know that when you look up, you’re standing in front of the place that used to be yours.

You hesitate. Knock once. Twice.

Footsteps. Then the door creaks open.

Gojo stares at you, surprised, before his expression shifts into something pained. “y/n—”

You don’t let him finish. You step inside, pushing against him, arms wrapping around his torso. His scent— clean linen, mint, something undeniably him— fills your senses.

“Just one more time,” you whisper. “Please.”

He exhales shakily. You expect him to push you away. To tell you this is a bad idea.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his arms close around you, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

That night, you lose yourself in him. In the way his hands trace your skin, the way his lips move against yours like he’s starving. Like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

But when morning comes, you wake up alone.

His side of the bed is empty. Cold.

There’s no note, no message, no trace of him except for the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin.

You close your eyes, swallowing the sob rising in your throat.

You should have known.

Gojo Satoru was never meant to stay.

You wake up that evening and do it all over again.

Another drink. Another stranger’s arms. Another attempt to forget.

But no matter how many drinks you have, no matter how many people you kiss—

They’re not him.

And they never will be.

[bambiiezs]

18+ ahead

Currently thinking about how Nagumo would be a very teasing dom, I mean look how he jokes constantly and lies. Tbh he might be a toxic ex too if I'm being honest. But not like, evil or anything. He just only wants you to be with him. He's very obsessed with you. I mean who would ever leave him, he's tall, fine asf, tatted like a chipotle bag. (I need him)

The only reason you’d ever consider leaving Nagumo would be his jealousy—his suffocating, possessive need to have you all to himself. He doesn’t just dislike you having guy friends; he forbids it. He’ll joke about it, flash that cocky grin, but the moment you actually test his patience? Oh, he’s reminding you exactly who you belong to.

And God forbid he finds out you’ve been with someone else.

The night had been perfect. A nice dinner, laughter, the thrill of something new. But the moment you step into your apartment and flick on the lights, that perfection shatters.

He’s already there.

Nagumo sits lazily on your couch, legs spread like he owns the place—like he owns you. His sharp eyes flicker over your body, taking in every inch of you in that dress you thought you’d worn for someone else. But the way he looks at you now, like a predator cornering his prey, makes your stomach tighten.

Your heart stutters, but you force yourself to stand tall. “The fuck are you doing here, Yoichi? I told you to stay away from me.”

He doesn’t respond—not with words, at least. Instead, he rises slowly, his movements deliberate, controlled. The sound of his boots against your floor echoes in the silence as he makes his way to your kitchen. He reaches into the cabinet like he’s done it a hundred times before, pulling out your favorite bottle of red wine. Without asking, he pours himself a glass, taking a slow sip. His eyes never leave you.

Then, he chuckles. A low, amused sound that sends a shiver up your spine. He leans back against the counter, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Your words are so cruel, love. Have you already forgotten me? Lost all those feelings so easily?” He tilts his head, pouting—mocking.

He’s not sad. Not even close.

He’s entertained. Amused by your defiance. Because in his mind, this isn’t over. You were his, and he doesn’t let go that easily.

"Why are you here?” you demand, voice laced with frustration.

He takes a step closer, then stops—his sharp eyes studying you with quiet intensity. Your gaze falters, avoiding his, but he doesn’t let you escape. A single finger hooks beneath your chin, tilting your face upward until your eyes meet his.

“Look at me with those pretty eyes, will you?” His voice is low, almost coaxing. But there’s something darker lurking beneath. “Tell me, why are you trying to leave me? Why are you trying to give away what’s mine?”

Before you can protest, your back meets the cold surface of the wall. His knee slots between your legs, spreading them just enough to steal the breath from your lips. You let out a soft whimper, hands pressing against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. He never does.

And that’s how you ended up here—face buried in your pillows, muffling your moans as Nagumo fucks you from behind, his name tumbling from your lips like a desperate prayer. His thrusts are brutal, relentless—every roll of his hips aimed to break you apart, his thick tip slamming into that spot that makes your vision blur. He’s ruthless. He always is.

You’re completely at his mercy—just how you like it.

He leans in, breath hot against your ear. “You like that, mama? Like when I fuck you like this?” His voice drips with smug satisfaction. “Of course you do. You’re dripping, creaming all over me.”

His fingers tighten around your hips, pulling you back to meet each deep, punishing thrust.

“Tell me,” he growls, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. “Who makes you feel this good? Who always fucks you just right?”

Your voice trembles, barely above a gasp.

“Y-Yoichi…!”

"That's right baby, Nagumo yoichi.. and don't you fucking forget."

[jungshookz]

taehyung’s gotten really beefy and y/n feels like a hormonal teenager 

➺ pairing; roommate!taehyung x roommate!y/n 

➺ genre; roomie!taehyungiverse!! honk honk humour!! a little sprinkle of smut because it would be illegal to write about beefy taehyung and not talk about his bulging biceps WOOF WOOF y/n is a lucky girl i need himbo gymrat taehyung so bad 

➺ wordcount; 2.5k

➺ summary; over the last few weeks, taehyung’s noticed that you’ve been particularly jittery and nervous around him and he can’t figure out why… after one of his usual morning workouts, he decides to finally confront you about it and your answer is more than satisfying to him. 

➺ what to expect; “wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; hey daddy (daddy’s home) — usher 

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

you’re not sure when taehyung decided to go on a new health journey, but it feels like you’ve blinked and watched your boyfriend go from just some handsome guy that you’re in love with to this muscular, gym-crazy man who loves protein shakes and asking for extra chicken at chipotle (who you’re still very much in love with, let’s be clear that nothing’s changed about that) and suddenly has the ability to do like 100 pull-ups without getting tired 

“ugh, fuck-“ taehyung grunts as he does his last push up (this is his fourth set, so technically he just did 300 pushups with no problem), getting up from the ground and twisting his upper body from side to side before putting his phone in between his lips, peeling his damp wife-beater tank off and tossing it on the ground 

lately he’s been working out in the morning before starting his day and it’s honestly been such a great change — he feels super pumped for the day ahead and completely reinvigorated 

and getting his workout done in the morning means he doesn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day! 

he went for a run around the neighbourhood early this morning, and then came home to finish off with some calisthenics 

and now he’s gonna do a little cool-down stretch and hit the shower

he hums to himself as he adjusts his wired earbuds, usher’s hey daddy (daddy’s home) making him bop his head — maybe it’s a little douchey of him to be listening to this song while he’s working out but he can’t help that it’s a good ass song 

he slips his phone into the back pocket of his grey sweatpants before reaching for the bottle of water, twisting the cap off and lifting the bottle to chug half of it down 

“…good lord.” you mutter to yourself, staring at your boyfriend shamelessly from the kitchen as your jaw goes slack 

oh yeah — you’re here, too, by the way 

you’ve been here the whole time

you watched him do all 300 pushups and you counted 

and now your coffee is cold because you can’t multitask and you couldn’t focus on gawking at your boyfriend and drinking your coffee at the same time 

taehyung didn’t notice when you slipped past him earlier to head to the kitchen (and honestly, you didn’t want to bother him mid-workout because you know that you hate it when people interrupt your flow) and you’re pretty sure he still hasn’t noticed you, but you’re fine with that because you’d rather he be unaware of your presence than know that you’ve been creeping on him for the last twenty minutes or so 

you don’t mean to stare, you really don’t, but… how can you not stare at him in his shirtless, sweaty glory like that?

your mouth goes dry and you swallow thickly when he turns around, his back muscles flexing slightly 

and since when did he have such bulging veins in his biceps?! 

your eyes trail down the wide expanse of his glistening back and you immediately get flashbacks from the other night when you had your nails digging into his shoulder blades, your hands sliding down to his lower back as he pushed himself into- 

“good morning, sexy-“ you’re snapped out of your thoughts when tae delivers a slap to your bare ass as he passes by and you immediately grip onto your mug harder, letting out a nervous chuckle, “you’re finally up!”

“yeah, i-“ your voice cracks and you clear your throat before shrugging, reaching down to pull your shirt down a little to cover your ass, “it’s whatever, i’m cool.” your brows immediately furrow in confusion at your own words 

…what?

what are you even saying? 

see, something else you’ve noticed that’s happened since taehyung decided that he wanted to go on a run every morning at 5am and come home completely JACKED is that you’ve started feeling nervous around him and you have no idea why 

the both of you have been together for five years (and seven months) and somehow you’ve reverted to some lovestruck teenager who giggles at everything

in fact, you feel like how you felt when you first met taehyung when he came to see you about your open roommate application — very intimidated by how handsome he was and hoping that he thought you were cool enough to hang out with 

“did you want some of my smoothie, baby? i can already tell this batch might have a little more than usual…” taehyung hums, his tongue poking out from in between his lips as he measures out his double chocolate protein powder, dumping two full scoops into the blender, “could you get the blueberries from the freezer for me?” 

“smoothie?” you clear your throat, nodding and setting your mug down, “uh, yeah! blueberries.” you turn around, pulling the freezer drawer open and pulling out the large ziploc of frozen blueberries before shaking your head to yourself to snap out of your funk 

smoothie? uh, yeah, blueberries! you mock yourself internally — you are literally incapable of forming full sentences, it feels like you’ve got a bunch of marbles rolling around in your mouth 

and he needs to put a shirt on or something because he’s starting to get those toned v-lines that taper down nicely when he wears his sweatpants low on his hips 

you didn’t even know those muscles existed 

“so did you want some? it’s okay if you don’t, i guess i could drink it all, the extra protein will be good-“

“uh, yeah! i’ll have some.” you nod, setting your mug down and turning to get a cup for yourself 

taehyung turns the blender on and the kitchen is immediately filled with the obnoxious, grating sound of ZZzhzhhZHHZHHHHHhHhZHzh but you’re actually glad the space between you is being filled up with that 

otherwise you’d have to make conversation with him 

and in your current state, you are completely helpless 

you watch as he reaches up to slick his damp hair back, leaning back a little to check and make sure all the ingredients are being blended up nice and smooth  

it just feels like he’s moving in slow-motion and you… you… 

see you just lost your train of thought 

THAT’S how bad it’s been 

taehyung glances up at you briefly from where he’s standing at the opposite end of the kitchen island, noticing that you’ve seemed to space out again 

he has no idea what your deal has been for the last couple of weeks — he doesn’t think anything is necessarily wrong between the two of you, and if there’s a problem he knows you’re more than capable of bringing it up with him and talking it out 

but at the same time, something is wrong because you’ve been unusually quiet and every time he tries to make conversation it feels like you don’t know how to speak like a normal human being 

like earlier when he said good morning and that you were finally up and you responded with “it’s whatever, i’m cool”

it’s whatever, i’m cool

what the hell was that?! 

or the other night when he asked you if you wanted to join him in the shower and you let out the most nervous, high-pitched laugh before practically sprinting away to the kitchen and saying something about needing to wash the dishes 

…is it him? are you not physically attracted to him anymore? 

that can’t be it, either… you guys had sex the other night and you were very vocal (you guys actually got a noise complaint from a neighbour but he never told you because he knew you’d be embarrassed and never want to have sex ever again, and to be honest, he’s just planning on putting his hand over your mouth the next time you fuck — easy fix!) 

“okay, what’s wrong with you?” taehyung asks as soon as he turns the blender off, and you look up from the counter with wide eyes, “you’ve been so jittery with me for the last few weeks and i cannot figure out why, for the life of me. if you’re up to something shady, you might as well tell me now and-“

“what?” your eyelashes flutter in surprise and you let out a snort, his crazy accusation immediately sobering you up, “i promise you i am not up to anything shady, in fact, i’m kind of offended you even had that thought-“

“oh, thank god. you’re speaking like a normal human being, i finally fixed you-“ taehyung sighs, blowing a puff of air out as he pops the blender lid off, dipping his finger into the smoothie before bringing it up to his lips for a taste

“you have got to be kidding me.” you murmur to yourself, watching as some of the smoothie drips from his finger onto his toned abdomen

he swipes it off before sucking it off his finger with a satisfied hum

“you’re a freak!”  you blurt out, “oh my god, you are such a freak and it’s like you do these things that i feel like are on purpose but-“

“what are you talking about??” 

“i’m talking about- i just-“ you stumble over your words, letting out a groan when you find yourself being unable to form a sentence again

you pause for a second, shaking your head before composing yourself and painting a nice, pleasant smile on your face, “you… you… are you… are you aware of how ripped you’ve become?” 

“what?” taehyung laughs in disbelief, his eyes flickering off to the side, “i mean… i know i’ve definitely bulked up a little, i wouldn’t say i’m ripped-“

“you have no idea how hard it is to not throw myself at you every single second of every single day — i mean, i love you and i’m attracted to you no matter what you look like but there’s just something so satisfying about biting into your firm, firm bicep,” you make your way over to taehyung before jabbing a finger into his arm, “like, are you telling me this is all muscle?!”

“i mean-“ taehyung looks down before flexing his arm, making his bicep pop out, “yeah, i guess so. wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?” 

“you have been walking around all shirtless and sweaty with grey goddamn sweatpants so low on your hips that you’re basically naked, this is not on me!” you gawk, eyes widening when taehyung suddenly rounds the corner to get closer to you, “what are you- what are you doing?”

“nothing! we’re having a conversation, aren’t we?” the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk as he continues walking you back until you’ve found yourself bumped up against the counter, your hands immediately fumbling to grip onto the edges to keep balanced, “oh, what’s wrong, baby? do i make you nervous?” he coos, using his pointer finger to raise your chin and forcing you to look at him before setting both his hands down on the counter and effectively trapping you in 

“you-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face getting hotter (again, not sure why because you’ve been dating this man for five years, but maybe it’s a good sign that after all this time you still get super hot and bothered being around him — the spark is still very much alive!), “you don’t make me nervous, that’s ridiculous.” 

“oh, don’t i?” taehyung tilts his head, sliding a finger up the side of your bare thigh and smiling to himself when he feels goosebumps starting to prickle at your skin, “you know, it’s funny that you’re scolding me for walking around shirtless in my own home when you’re the one constantly walking around in skimpy little g-strings. how do you think i feel, having to keep myself from bending you over every single surface in this apartment and just pushing your panties to the side?” he asks, voice light as he uses his pinky to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes  

“i imagine you probably feel… not… good…” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your chin raised in an attempt to appear as calm and collected as possible

“you don’t have to be nervous around me, honey,” taehyung leans down, and you’re as still as can be when he brushes his lips over yours before starting to plant light kisses along your jaw, “you know i love you and for the record, i think you’re incredibly sexy all the time…” he takes your hand and places it on his firm abdomen before sliding it down, and your thighs squeeze together upon feeling the ridges of his abs 

and maybe now isn’t a good time to be thinking this but you can’t help but feel good about the fact that taehyung still thinks you’re sexy — it’s giving you the little ego boost you’ve been needing and- I NEED TO SUCK HIS DICK

okay JESUS 

your eyes shoot open at the sudden uncharacteristically graphic intrusive thought and you immediately push taehyung away from you, keeping him at arm’s length 

“wh- what’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “did i say someth-“

“i need to suck your dick.” you interrupt, staring at him with a neutral expression on your face

“what?” he lets out a laugh, “i mean, yes, obviously i want that but-“

“you need to be quiet now.” 

taehyung swallows thickly when he watches you drop to the ground in front of him, staring at him in a way he’s never seen before 

oh, jesus.

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

“tae-“ you whimper, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he presses himself into you, a shaky breath slipping past his lips when he feels you clench up around him, “a-agh…” 

“jesus, your pussy always feels so good…” he mutters under his breath, looking down to watch himself pull out slightly before pushing back in all the way, smiling to himself when you whimper and ask him to please, please fuck me-

(needless to say, you guys ended up with another noise complaint. whoops.) 

🎙️ ask taehyung for the recipe to his 70g protein smoothie (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series like this!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!) 

[pleasuretrade]

😱😱😱trade???? also eagerly awaiting demo derby!!

trade! the working title of my fic where bucky gets hurt at the stalag and its not going well and gale has to do some... problem solving....... .. .. in order to get medical supplies

here's a snippet :) before things get dubious

warning for uhhh period typical gender roles

Gale lifted his head to find John twitching restlessly in his sleep. The glow of light that had lined his features earlier now glinted off beads of sweat on his brow. Shit. When Gale brought his hand to John’s forehead he found it burning.

 Sleeping lightly like he always did, John cracked his eyes open at the touch. The look on his face said he already knew. “Little warm,” he offered quietly.

“Yeah, I’d say you’re a little goddamn warm,” Gale mumbled, moving his hand across John’s forehead like it might feel less worrisome an inch to the right.

“I’ll be fine in the morning,” John said, slipping a hand out from his pile of blankets and clothes to thumb at Gale’s chin.

 Gale wished he wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t touch Gale like he loved to be touched, especially not when he was rightfully scared or angry. It was too good at placating him, too good at soothing him like a dumb animal. What if he wasn’t fine in the morning? What if it got all sorts of bad and Gale was asleep, unaware? “I’ll watch from here. Make sure,” Gale said, putting on all of the surety he could.

“No you won’t, Major, you’ll freeze your balls to the chair.” John was smiling at least. That was good. What wasn’t good was bickering like a couple of loonies while everyone else was trying to get some sleep. John must have seen that on Gale’s face, because he wordlessly pulled at Gale’s arm, coaxing him up onto the bed with him.

They didn’t really both fit under the covers, but John was so warm it was like lying pressed up against his own private furnace, better than blankets. They didn’t really even fit in the bunk, as big as they both were, so Gale perched as close to the edge as he could. Like this—worried, uncomfortable—Gale could almost ignore the shimmering heat in his belly. Almost. Even in the cold, they’d only shared a bed twice before. It scared Gale just as much as it thrilled him. If Gale got to sleep, and maybe even if he didn’t, there was a chance John would wake up to him trying to hide a hard dick, and that would be awful even if John wasn’t sick with a bullet in his leg. Adjusting the blankets around them, feeling John's forehead again, Gale tried not to think about it.

“You’d make a good wife,” John whispered, and Gale could see his irritating grin through the darkness.

”Why am I the wife?”

”Good at takin’ care of my sorry ass.” John shifted further under the covers. “‘Sides, have you seen you? You’re pretty.”

 Gale’s abdomen clenched. If anyone else had said it, Gale might have given them what for. But John had said it without a thought, like it was a plain fact, like he didn’t mean anything by it other than what he said. It crept across Gale’s entire body, physical. “Well, you’d make a terrible husband,” he whispered back.

[pascalislove]

ANGEL: SALESMAN X FEM!READER -PART 3

Summary: She was an angel and she should be his.

The train station was cold that night, with the night breeze blowing through the half-empty platforms. Y/N rubbed her cold hands against her cheap coat as she looked at the terminal clock. Her train would still take a while to arrive, which only added to his anxiety.

Her had spent the entire afternoon trying to find a solution to her problem: a huge debt that seemed impossible to pay,and all because of she's brother's fault . The bank had rejected her, her boss at the bookstore couldn't advance her salary, and her older sister still didn't know anything about the situation. I didn't want to worry her.

She sighed in frustration, kicking a pebble on the ground.

—Damn…

I had no way out.

—Financial problems?

The male voice behind her made her jump. She turned quickly and saw him: an elegant man in a dark suit, with a black briefcase in one hand and a mysterious smile on his lips.

He was tall, with a sharp and attractive face, but what caught the most attention were his eyes. Eyes that studied her with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something that made her feel vulnerable without understanding why.

—¿Excuse me? —Y/N frowned.

The man tilted his head slightly, without erasing his smile.

—You seem to be worried about money. I usually have a good eye for that.

Y/N looked at him suspiciously. Who was this guy?

—It's not your business.

The man laughed, taking out a red and a blue envelope from his coat pocket.

—¿Would you like to play a game?

Y/N blinked, bewildered.

—¿What?

The man held up the red envelope.

—Is Ddakji. It's very simple. If you can flip my envelope with yours, I'll give you money. Every time you win, you will receive a good payment.

He showed her a wad of bills in his other hand, moving them slowly so she could see them well.

Y/N felt her throat dry. That amount of money… could help her with some of her debt.

—¿What if I lose? —he asked cautiously.

The man smiled.

—Then you will pay me the same amount.

Y/N's heart pounded. What kind of proposal was that? She had no money to lose. But... what if she won?

The man seemed to notice her indecision and took a step closer.

—I can see you're considering it. Come on, try it. You don't lose anything by trying.

Y/N bit her lip. If he was a scammer, he could at least try once and get out if something went wrong.

—Good. —She took the blue envelope he offered her.

They knelt on the floor of the station, out of sight of the few passers-by. The man placed his red envelope and told her to throw it hard.

Y/N took a deep breath and slammed the envelope onto the floor with all her might. The gust of air moved the paper, but the red envelope barely wobbled.

Nothing.

The man smiled.

—Looks like you lost.

Y/N frowned.

—It was only the first attempt.

He didn't argue and handed her another blue envelope. This time, she concentrated more, picked up the envelope, and threw it with more precision.

¡PAF!

The red envelope spun and fell face up.

Y/N held her breath.

—I won!

The man laughed softly, taking out a wad of bills and handing them to her.

—It seems so.

Y/N took it with trembling hands. I couldn't believe it. It had been real.

—¿Do you want to continue? —the man asked, with that calm expression, as if he already knew the answer.

She nodded without thinking twice.

They played again. In the next round, she lost.

—Now you owe me the same thing I gave you. —The man looked at her intently.

Y/N felt a pang of nerves. I had no way to pay him back.

—Don't have…

He tilted his head, analyzing her. —Don't you have a way to pay?

Y/N's silence was enough of an answer. The man clicked his tongue and moved a little closer.

—Well, there are always ways to pay off debt.

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine.

—¿What does it mean?

The man held his gaze and, with disturbing calm, said:

—You can use your body to pay me.

Y/N froze.

—What…?

The man laughed softly.

Her expression turned icy and her fists clenched in anger.

He leaned in a little closer, enjoying her reaction.

—It's a fair way to balance the losses, don't you think?

The man smiled.

Y/N looked at him in disbelief, her rage bubbling inside her.

—Don't make that face. What I want to say is that…

—Pervert!

Without thinking twice, she raised her hand and slapped his cheek with all her strength.

The sound echoed through the station.

The man stayed in his place, touching his cheek where the red mark on his hand was beginning to appear.

Y/N glared at him.

—I don't know what kind of person you think I am, but I'm not going to put up with such garbage.

She stood up suddenly and walked away without looking back.

The man watched her go, his skin still burning from the slap. But instead of getting upset, he smiled.

—Interesting…

He rubbed his cheek, enjoying the burning.

—It won't be easy. But that makes it more fun.

Y/N reached the platform and crossed her arms, still furious.

—Damn crazy...

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. I couldn't believe there was someone so shameless.

But deep down, something worried her even more: the feeling that it would not be the last time she would see that man.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@beebeechaos, @onyxmango , @muchwita @czarinera, @putrescentpoet

MASTERLIST

[vandme12]

Hello I love your writing and characterization of Ronin!! You’re incredibly talented and your portrayal of him is so good 🫶

I was wondering if you could write hurt/comfort Ronin with a reader who is maybe dealing with the death anniversary of losing someone who was close to them in the past? This one is a bit self indulgent, you can generalize it more if you’d like!! Thank you lovely ❤️

"goreboy: u died or what?"

Typical.

You stare at the message a little too long, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Normally, you’d play along—give him something sharp-edged and flirty, toss back a line about only dying if he asks nicely. It’s the game you both play, the rhythm you’ve fallen into. But not tonight.

Tonight isn’t any other night.

You: "Not in the mood, Ronin."

He leaves you on read.

For once, you’re grateful.

The phone screen dims in your hand as you slump back against the couch, trying—and failing—to swallow down the ache curling in your chest. It should be easier by now. Time’s supposed to dull the edges, smooth over the sharp parts. But grief doesn’t play by the rules, does it?

Some wounds never really close. And some people—God, some people—leave fingerprints you can’t scrub out no matter how hard you try.

Your apartment feels too quiet. Too still. The kind of silence that presses in, heavy and suffocating, when you’re left alone with memories you don’t want but can’t let go of.

The phone buzzes again.

"goreboy: u ever gonna tell me why ur playin dead?"

Nosy bastard.

You bite your lip, debating whether to brush him off. But your fingers move before you decide—like part of you already knows the answer.

You: "...Anniversary."

No explanation. No messy details. He doesn’t need them.

If anyone understands how grief sinks its teeth into you and doesn’t let go—it’s him.

The reply comes faster than you expect.

"goreboy: open ur door."

Your heart stumbles.

He’s joking. He’s always joking. Except… when you pad to the door and crack it open, there he is—leaning against the frame like he owns the whole damn building. Hoodie slouched over his shoulders, one hand shoved in his pocket, eyes dark and glinting in the low light.

"Miss me?" he drawls, voice low and smooth. Too smooth. Like he’s trying not to spook you.

You should ask why he’s here. Should call him out on the fact that he’s always talking a big game, but he showed up the second you stopped playing.

But you don’t.

Instead, you step back—silent invitation—and he slips inside without waiting for more.

The door clicks shut behind him. Just like that, the world feels a little less cold.

You settle on the couch, knees tucked close, as he drops down next to you—sprawled-out arrogance and lazy grace. Close enough to touch if you wanted. If you let yourself.

His voice breaks the quiet first. "So," he drawls, "you gonna tell me what’s eatin’ you, or do I gotta guess?"

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to answer—but because if you start talking, you might not stop. And God, you hate being vulnerable. Hate giving anyone that kind of power.

Still. It’s Ronin.

And somehow, that makes it worse—and easier—all at once.

"Someone I lost," you admit, voice low and rough around the edges. "A long time ago. But tonight… it just hurts more."

He doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t brush it off with some shitty joke.

For once, he just listens.

"Yeah," he says, softer than you’ve ever heard him. "I get that."

His arm stretches along the back of the couch, casual—but not really. You know the offer when you see it. And without thinking, you lean into the warmth of him, letting his body bleed the cold out of yours.

You shouldn’t. You should keep your distance. But he makes it too easy.

"Don’t gotta play tough with me," he murmurs, voice curling warm at the edges. "I like it when you’re soft."

Your breath stutters. You hate how easy it is for him to disarm you—to find the cracks and dig his fingers in like he’s been waiting for the moment you break.

"I keep thinking about how they’d hate this," you confess. "Me, sitting here, falling apart. I promised I’d keep going." A shaky breath. "Some days, I’m not sure I am."

His hand moves—slow, deliberate—until his fingers are curling against your jaw, tilting your face toward his. And when you meet his gaze, there’s nothing playful about it. Nothing sharp or cruel. Just heat. Just him.

"Bullshit," he says, and it’s almost angry. "You’re here, aren’t you? Breathin’, fightin’. That’s gotta count for somethin’."

You search his face for the usual smirk, the familiar mockery—but there isn’t any.

"Besides," he adds, fingers brushing against your pulse, "if they mattered to you, they wouldn’t want you drowning in this. They’d want you to live."

The words hit something fragile and aching inside you—cracking it wide open. And when you blink, the sting behind your eyes burns hotter.

"Why do you care?" The question slips out before you can stop it—quieter than you mean for it to be.

His lips curl, slow and dangerous—but there’s no malice in it. No game. Just something raw and aching, hidden beneath the swagger.

"Told you already, sweetheart," he says, dragging two fingers against your temple like he could map out every haunted, broken part of you. "You’re mine."

A pause. A breath.

"Even the fucked-up bits."

And for once—you don’t argue.

His hand slides to the side of your neck, thumb brushing slow circles against your skin—steady, grounding. Something you could hold onto if you let yourself.

"Stay in your head too long, it’ll eat you alive," he says, quieter now. "So… how ‘bout you let me keep you distracted?"

It’s an offer you should refuse. You should push him away—cut the cord before he tangles himself any deeper into you. But the ache is heavy, and his warmth is right there, and you’re too tired to fight it.

"You already are," you whisper.

His thumb presses just a little harder against your pulse, and something flickers in his gaze—dark and pleased.

"Good." The word slides off his tongue like a promise. "Wouldn’t want you forgettin’ I’m here."

As if you ever could.

When he leans in—when his lips brush your temple, soft and warm—you let yourself relax against him. For the first time tonight, the ache in your chest feels a little easier to carry.

You can’t blame him for it. Not when he leans against the edge of your world with that lazy, toothy grin like he belongs there. Like he was made for the exact purpose of pulling you down with him.

He’s the devil with his hands on your heart, and God help you—you let him.

And now? Now he’s sitting in front of you, head tilted just so, watching the tears you thought you were good at hiding. He doesn’t ask why you’re crying. Doesn’t need to.

“Remember last Christmas?” he asks instead, low and easy, like it’s the most natural thing to bring up when you’re barely holding yourself together.

Your breath catches. “What…?”

“You were annoying as hell.” His grin sharpens. “Rotten saint act and all. Tryna’ play angel to my devil. Bet if I had the same thing goin’ on, you’d help me, wouldn’t ya?”

And yeah—you would. You have. You always do. Even when you shouldn’t.

He leans in closer, voice dipping to something softer, rough edges catching on a rare kindness. “So… I’m helpin’ you too. Why?” His fingers twitch at his side before lifting, rough and warm against your face. “’Cause I love ya, idiot.”

The words land somewhere in your chest—sharp and sudden. A pain you can’t decide if you want to hold onto or let go of. It makes you laugh, barely—a wet, broken sound. And when you tip forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, you don’t miss the way he stills beneath it.

For once, the devil shuts up.

But only for a breath.

He snickers, recovering like it never happened, like you didn’t just knock the wind out of him with the gentlest thing you’ve ever done. “You wantin’ a grand romance, darling?” A beat. His voice curls sweet and mean at the edges. “If you’re tall enough to reach, that is.”

Cocky bastard.

You almost shove him for it—almost. But there’s something else under his voice. Something raw, half-hidden behind the bravado. He likes it. He likes you.

And if you listen close enough—if you dare to believe it—maybe he needs this as much as you do.

He won’t say it again. Not unless you make him. But he’ll keep his hand on your cheek, thumb brushing over the tear tracks with a touch that’s softer than it should be. And maybe that’s enough.

For now.

[valentin1k]

primrose | bez/cele | 1.2k words | explicit! | a/b/o heat fic... ao3

Marco crashes into the room so fast he almost trips over his own feet. 

“I’m here—” he starts, and then, catching sight of Cele on the bed, abruptly stops, mouth snapping shut. 

Celestino is splayed across the bed, limbs askew; it’s obviously not rehearsed, not meant to be sexy. He’s in one of his old Demon Slayer hoodies, the pattern flaking off at the front. His joggers have been discarded hastily, shoved to a corner of the bed, and his boxers are still hanging loose around one ankle. His knees are up, spread obscenely wide, and between his legs— Marco’s mouth goes dry. He’s fucking himself onto a dildo, hips stuttering. 

“Marco,” he says, almost matter-of-factly, barely disoriented, “Come here.”

Marco scrambles to obey, kicking his shoes off as he goes, crawling up till he’s over Cele, covering him, protective. 

Cele’s nose wrinkles. “Why are you wearing clothes?” He paws at Marco’s hoodie. “I want you naked.”

Marco yanks his hoodie and shirt off in one pull, wincing as he feels something stretch taut and then tear. Oh, well. Cele pulls him down immediately, biting at his neck. Marco groans, rutting his hips into the crease of Cele’s thigh. Cele is running hotter than usual, obviously, but not really feverish, a distinction so subtle that Marco wouldn’t notice it if they hadn’t been fucking so much that he knows that about Cele’s body.

“Marco, come on,” Cele whimpers, fingers insistent at the waistband of Marco’s shorts, “Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Marco says, dazed, “Okay, Celin.”

Marco has done this before, helped people with their heats. Friends, back home in Rimini. It’s never felt like this— intense, yes, but not— not like it’s the most important thing to do what Cele asks him. The only important thing. Cele’s text had been simple, to the point: heat :( come home? Marco thinks he might have run a red light in his rush. Celestino, though, was clearly not in that much of a rush, Marco realises, working the toy out of him carefully. He must have waited to text him; it’s only been about ten minutes. Marco’s stomach twists, cold. Cele shifts and rolls over under him, pressing his back to Marco’s front, clammy with sweat, sticky.

“Go on, Marcolino,” Cele says. He reaches back to pull Marco’s head down, tangling in his curls, just the edge of painful. “It’s fine, I’m ready.”  

Marco makes a strange, undignified sound, an aborted whine. His hips jut forward almost without his approval, catching the edge of Celin, who gasps. Marco tries to push in slowly, snaking an arm around Cele’s chest to hold tight. It’s hot, but not more than usual. Still enough to make Marco dizzy, as usual. Cele’s hand closes into a fist in Marco’s hair as he starts to move; it’s rough, but still not painful.  

“How long since it started?” Marco pants. His own hair sticks to the back of his neck, and Cele’s to his nose. Cele’s sweat is cloying, addictive. Marco wants to drink it. He restrains himself. 

“A few hours,” Cele breathes, “Didn’t want to— to disturb you.”

Marco realises, tracking the flush across Cele’s cheeks greedily, that Cele is nervous about this. Shy. His heart stutters, growing bigger in his chest, in his throat. 

“Amorino,” he says, kissing Cele’s neck open-mouthed, once, then again when Cele moans in approval, “Next time call me sooner, okay?”

He’s giddy, nauseated, at the possibility of a next time, that they will still be together in a month, two months, however long it takes. Cele only nods against the pillow. The hair plastered against the side of his face is pressing red lines into his face. Marco eases his neck up gently, moving the hair out of the way. 

“What are you doing?” Cele asks, eyebrows pinched into a tiny frown. 

“Nothing,” Marco says, thrusting in a little harder just to see Cele’s eyes roll, “Just— your hair.”

Cele huffs. “Ok, fine. Are you going to kiss me?” 

“Oh,” Marco says, “Haven’t I?”

Cele pouts, tilts his head up just a fraction. “No,” he says, “Not yet.”

Marco, obedient, kisses his mouth. He’s aiming for sweet, but Cele wants it messy, drawn out. Marco is helpless to it, making awful little noises the longer it goes on. He tries to pull back when Cele comes, tightening around him, but Cele keeps him there, hand firm.

“Celin,” he says, their noses mashed together, scared it’s too fast, “I’m going to— if you keep—”

“Yes, good, Marco,” Cele says, breathy, face flushed, “Do it, knot me, please—” 

There is nothing else Marco can do. He closes his eyes, whines, and lets go. 

/

“Sorry,” Cele says sheepishly, “I know I can get— demanding.”

Something sharp and mean rises in Marco’s chest. Who told you that? Have you done this with other people? How many times?

“It’s fine,” he says instead, nuzzling his nose behind Cele’s ear. Marco had moved them, when he came back to his senses, onto their sides so he wouldn’t crush Cele while they were knotted together. It’s fine, obviously, he just wishes— next time, he’ll ask if they can do it face to face. 

Cele brings a hand up to pat his hair. “I can try to be less… I mean, I know it’s annoying.”

Marco makes a noise, confused. “It’s not annoying.”

Cele tenses. Marco shifts up onto an elbow to look at his face. His eyes are tight, mouth drawn down at the corners. Marco kisses the side of his nose. “Cele,” he says, “It’s really not annoying. I like it when you tell me what to do, you know that.”

“Allora, when it’s normal, yes,” Cele says, “But like this, I’m supposed to… let you take charge.”

Marco squirms. “Do you,” he asks, halting, “Do you want me to? Take charge?”

Cele blinks at him, owlish. “Isn’t that— you want to, right?”

Marco swallows, looking away. He shrugs with one shoulder. He’s supposed to, he should, but it’s— it’s Celestino. His Celin. 

The first time they’d fucked, Cele had stopped him, before, and cleared his throat— Marco’s stomach had dropped, already fearing the worst, until Cele said, “You should know I’m an omega.”

“Oh,” Marco had said, “Really? That makes sense.”

Cele, surprised, had croaked, “Why?”

“I don’t usually like betas this much,” Marco had said, and then blanched, realising it was too much too soon. But Cele had only smiled, crooked and toothy, eyes crinkling, and Marco had forgotten to feel bad. 

“I want you,” Marco says now, voice coming out a little hoarse, “And you’re bossy, and I like that.”

Cele twists his head around to look him in the eye. “Okay,” he says, slowly, “I like you too, Marco.”

Marco tucks his head into Cele’s neck, breathing. “Okay,” he says, “So we’re good.”

“Of course we’re good,” Cele says, tangling their legs together, “That was really nice, Marco. Thank you.”

“Mmhmm,” Marco says, “No need. It’s my job.”

Cele kisses Marco’s arm where it’s pillowed under his head. “Still,” he says, “Thank you. I love you.”

Marco’s heart kicks up. He can feel Cele loosening, drifting off. “Love you too,” he says, “Go to sleep.”

[pzweigs]

wip wednesday

artpatrick, pre-canon, away on an international tennis tournament, art finds patrick with another guy

“Don’t you think your first time with a guy should be with someone you’ve known longer than one second outside a club?”

Patrick scoffs. “Like who, Art? Like you?” He swears under his breath, about to turn away, go back inside and try his luck again, and the sight of it makes his blood run cold. Art can’t watch that happen. He’s angry, and he’s jealous, and so confused—but he just can’t. It feels as if he could lose everything in a moment if he doesn’t just speak up and say—“Yes.”

He blurts out, quickly and a little too loud, but it works— stopping Patrick in his tracks entirely. He turns back to Art, rigid, eyes shrinking from shock to suspicion.

“Yes? Yes, what?”

“Yes, someone like me.”

Neither of them speak for a minute. Art’s heartbeat rattles in his throat, his entire body. They’re sliding into unknown territory now.

“What do you—Art, what do you mean?” Patrick says very carefully, enunciating his words, looking as scared as Art feels.

“I mean…” What does he mean? He’s been scrambling for sense the moment he saw Patrick walking off with some guy. “I mean, why not me?” Art asks back pathetically, a cop out but a sincere question, one not without bitterness. Amidst all the panic and confusion, Art is still inexplicably mad at Patrick, wounded that he’d seek his desires anywhere else in spite of his own reticence.

“Why not—Art, are you kidding me?” Patrick looks at him in disbelief, like he’s speaking a strange, alien language. He tugs at his own curls in his frustration, pacing, and then stopping, and then starting again. He’s never seen him so stressed: Art wants to take his hands and hold him tight. “For one thing, you don’t like guys.”

“I like you.” Art admits, like it’s a simple, easy fact, like that isn’t the tip of the iceberg of his feelings for Patrick Zweig.

Patrick’s bewilderment turns to anger. He steps closer to Art, back in his face, eyes fierce and smile bitter.

“Yeah? You like me?” His laugh is brittle. Disbelieving. “Enough to have sex with me? To fuck me?” He gets even closer. “To let me fuck you?” Art’s body heats up, from Patrick’s words, his proximity, this entire conversation. He can’t help his skin turning red at Patrick’s quite successful attempts to fluster him. He watches Art flounder for a moment before stepping back, eyes clenched in pain and his hand back to clawing at his scalp.

“I mean, fuck, Art, why are you even doing this? Just so I won’t go off with some guy? You won, ok? I won’t. I’ll be a good little heterosexual boy like you and go home. Just—“ And then, Art watches the strangest thing happen. Patrick deflates. Art watches his body shrink, small and limp, and it’s so unlike him that he suddenly appears almost unrecognizable. Patrick doesn’t even look at him, eyes shiny as they lock on his own feet. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

[star-1111]

The Luka brainrot is so real aaaarrrrggghhhhh

Fic Idea :

Luka and Reader spend their last few days before they compete against eachother in Alien Stage .

When the day finally comes , Reader sacrifices herself for Luka . ( Basically fluff to angst )

Make it as canon as possible if you can , tyy

You got it, anon ! Luka x gn! reader TW: blood, mentions of sacrificial death, mentions of alien ownership + medical abuse inflicted upon Luka and reader + slight spoilers for wiege

────୨ৎ────

"I'm not ready." Luka mumbled softly, face buried into your shoulder, an arm loosely wrapped across your abdomen. He pulled you closer, closing his eyes. "I know it'll be hard, but.."

In just a few days, you and your boyfriend, Luka, would be performing against each other in front of aliens. Whoever had the best performance would live, and the other would be killed. ".. I know you can do it. It doesn't matter to me who wins, really. As long as you know I love you." Understandably so, Luka had a reputation to withhold. He was deemed popular amongst aliens, both handsome and talented. The aliens wanted him to win, yet you wanted him to live. would life really be worth living without Luka? you'd spend as much time together as you possibly could: cuddling, sleeping beside each other, talking about whatever while the two of you were alone. Hell, you'd made futile plans for the future. "When we get out of here, Luka, I wanna get married."

"we could escape the facility. change identities and move someplace new. start over, just the two of us." "we could maybe start a family, too. wouldn't that be nice, baby? you and me and a couple a' kids running around? O-Or no, if you don't want kids, we can just adopt something. Like a cat, or a dog. Maybe even a plant." why make plans for something you know isn't going to happen? The gunshot rang out over the garbled cries of the alien audience. The current score was 81-83. Your eyes widened, and when you looked down at your abdomen you saw blood seeping through your clothes. Luka caught you as you stumbled to him, quickly guiding you to lean into his chest as he brought himself to his knees. "No, no no no--" Luka cupped your face, attempting to guide your attention to him. Your breathing was uneven as you gasped for air. "baby, baby -- y/n, look at me, look at me--" you'd purposely done a shit job of a performance, ignoring the way your alien owner sent you a death glare that screamed: 'I'm disappointed in you.' You'd gotten a low score, sacrificing yourself to save the man you loved most: Luka. Fat tears rolled down the apples of his cheeks, choked sobs leaving him as he held you close, rocking the both of you back and forth. "I'm sorry," you gurgled, blood dribbling down your chin. "I-I love you, Luka. Survive, okay? For me. Go, be free. Escape and be happy." Luka held you even as your body became limp and cold in his grasp, your blood staining his clothes. He held you even as the guards attempted to pry you free from his arms.

'i feel safe in your arms, luka,' he remembered you admitting to him, once, so many years ago. so he held you against his chest, keeping you safe from the outside world.

"I'm here," he whispered, despite the fact that you couldn't hear him nor reply. "I'm here. I love you. I'm here. Don't cry, baby, it's okay. I'll protect you." Even after, he refused to let you go; to get up and walk away with his head held high.

would life really be worth living without you? ────୨ৎ──── sigh.. i love angst but GOD i hate it. anyways (◞ ⌓ ◟)

i hope you enjoyed anon !! <3 <3

-venus

[bujlililu]

Day 20: jacket

"it was bound to happen eventually.

you were weak and squishy, so... fragile. it was a wonder why you even stayed, or how. we made bets on which day would be your last here.

then you showed up. again. and again. and again at the table in the morning.

it was bound to happen. we all knew.

so why does it feel so weird when i sleep in your room? when i put on your hoodie? why do i still turn during the night, expecting you to be there next to me? why do i wait for your laughter after a joke that wasn't even funny?

why can't i remember the way you smelled? i use the same detergent..."

(Alternate versions under cut.)

[gumii-bearr]

thinking about... ❝ roommates ❞

featuring... megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), roommate!megumi, megumi is bad at feelings (who is surprised), subtle!alt!megumi, dick piercing (what who said that??), fingering, blowjob, alcohol

author's note: i freaking love this anon so i'm doing a drabble while i write the megumi car sex fic

── roommate!megumi who is super cold and dismissive when you first move in. you needed a place for college and your friend hooked it up but she neglected to tell you he was fucking hot.

── roommate!megumi barely talks to you, and when he does, it's brief and short and makes you think he hates you for some reason. but what you're really annoyed about is how attractive he is and he gives you nothing.

── roommate!megumi who is so fucking hot when he's fixing the sink or when he casually mentions your car is making a weird sound and he fixes it like it's nothing and shit– he takes his shirt off to wipe the grease off his hands and the man is sex on a stick with ink adorning his body like some kind of emo greek god.

── roommate!megumi who comes back from the gym in compression shirts and low hanging sweatpants and you're trying to focus on your college assignment but he's being really distracting when he lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face, showing off his sculpted abs.

── you're starting to think he's doing it on purpose when he wordlessly brings you takeout or offers to drive you to campus when it's raining because "driving in this weather would be fucking stupid."

── but things are still weird between you and roommate!megumi because even tho he can be strangely considerate, he's also impossible to read. that is why you buy him a fancy bottle of liquor to thank him for letting you stay in the spare room.

── roommate!megumi who loosens up after a little alcohol, take out and movies, the two of you talking and drinking until well into the night.

── roommate!megumi who gets a little bold, moving some of your hair out of your face and telling you that you're cute when you get flustered because he's not dumb, he sees your sly glances and how you choke on air when he walks into the kitchen without a shirt on.

── but also roommate!megumi who is just as fucking guilty of checking you out when you come home from the club with your friends in a tiny fucking dress and heels, or when you lounge around in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen and a tight tank top.

── you operating on liquid courage and finally admitting that you find him pretty hot, "you gotta know i'm into you by now, fushiguro."

── roommate!megumi who thinks you're so cute, "yeah, i can tell." and he's running his thumb over your lips and suddenly you two are tipsy and clumsily making out on the couch.

── roommate!megumi who is so handsy, groping your tits through your shirt, grabbing at the flesh of your ass over your flimsy pyjama pants and manhandling you into his lap to grab at your hips and pull your shirt over your head.

── roommate!megumi who always wears rings on his fingers and they're so cold against your warm skin as he plays with your tits and pushes his hand down your panties.

── roommate!megumi who gets you off on his fingers alone while you whine and hump against his hard-on.

── and roommate!megumi who presses his fingers against your tongue until you suck his fingers clean of your arousal.

── and now you're sliding down his body until you're perched between his legs on your knees, his fingers tangling in your hair as he chuckles at your still quivering legs and hands as you reach for his hard cock in his boxers.

── and of course, roommate!megumi who has a secret frenum piercing. a cute silver barbell staring you dead in the eyes.

── and while you're beyond intimidated, you're fucking salivating at the idea of having him down your throat, but knowing you, you've always gotta be a teasing smart ass, "didn't take you for a jewellery kinda guy, megumi."

── roommate!megumi who chuckles lowly and sits back, "piercing isn't for me, baby."

── roommate!megumi who quickly becomes your scary dog privilege boyfriend and fucks you against every surface in your apartment like his life fucking depends on it.

author's note: and they were roommates (p.s. should i make this a series?? cus he got me feelin some typa wayyy)

[ozzgin]

Yandere! House Monster x Reader (II)

It’s officially a smutty sitcom: you, the oblivious gamer boyfriend, and the tentacle monster lurking in dark corners.

[First part]

Content: gender neutral reader, monster smut

Do monsters have a sense of humor? This creature seems to be greatly amused by the little "game" you've devised behind your boyfriend's back. Although you don't have much input in the affair, and most of the time you're merely a witness to the events unfolding before you (or in you).

First, there's the mild, inoffensive annoyances. "Babe, did you see my controller? I swear I left it on the couch". Some pranks are harder to swallow than others, such as the occasional lack of Internet. You know exactly when it happens, because you can hear your boyfriend's enraged shouts and rattles. It's always during important matches. No one knows why it happens. The repairmen who cross your threshold can only scratch their heads in confusion, confessing that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Then, the unfortunate coincidences. "How about we have some fun after my game?", the boyfriend will suggest with an anticipative grin. Alas, moments after he stands up, he is overwhelmed by a nauseous feeling. His stomach twirls and throbs, and he curses under his breath. "Some other time, perhaps", he concludes begrudgingly. You see, the creature is very possessive. The only thing that has saved your beloved partner from being torn to shreds already is his crassly comical obliviousness.

The mischief aimed towards the boyfriend is, however, a secondary source of entertainment. Nothing could ever come close to spending time with you. Yet another irony to this ridiculous situation: you haven't been caught yet, despite the rabid clinginess of the tentacled monster.

It just loves surprising you. For example, when you exhale dramatically at the end of the day, relaxing in the bathtub and enjoying your peace. Just as you hear an impatient knock on the door, you notice a familiar dark tendril slithering its way out of the water. You won't be leaving the bathroom anytime soon. "Did you steam yourself over there? You look like a lobster", the boyfriend will remark with a raised eyebrow upon seeing your panting, feverish face. "Y-yeah, I guess so." You limp outside, struggling to hold the towel around your body. Or more specifically, around the many marks left on your skin by hundreds of suckers.

In fact, its shamelessness reminds you of a poorly written erotic scenario, the likes you'd see on some adult website with a clickbait title. How would you name this current setup? You grip the edge of the table, pursing your lips to prevent any moans escaping your mouth. Your boyfriend is, once again, scrolling on his phone, indifferent to your presence. The water boiling on the stove drowns the wet, slippery sounds of the appendages pumping in and out of you underneath the table. “You might want to give it a stir in a moment, or it’ll overflow”, the boyfriend remarks without lifting his gaze. You mumble in agreement, slapping a hand over your mouth. You’re at your limit.

One may be tempted to ask, is this entity bound to its house? You pondered the same question until your recent IKEA visit. You and your boyfriend had been looking for a new wardrobe. "What do you think of this one?", you asked, closing the door and turning around. Your eyes scanned the empty model-bedroom. The jackass had wandered ahead without you. You sighed and were about to go find him, when a cold grip suddenly tightened around your wrist. You winced and snapped your head back. Thick tendrils had made their way out of the closet, tugging you to join them inside. So it can follow you around, you thought, climbing into the cramped space. Between the silent whines and breathy begging, an idea emerges from your dazed mind. New hypothetical video title: mercilessly molested in the IKEA store by monster partner.

[gojorgeous]

"MINE, MINE, MINE."

pairing: alpha!geto x omega!fem!reader summary: your doctor won’t refill your prescription until you’ve reset your cycle. you’re desperate for that refill, but geto’s not having it. content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), a/b/o dynamics, nsfw, dubcon? (reader doesn’t want a heat but it’s medically necessary (LMAO what)), established relationship, unprotected sex, breeding, praise, pet names, knotting, slight manipulation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, spit, blood, oral (fem!receiving), so much licking and smelling?, geto and reader are just downright feral LMAO, lmk if i missed anything. a/n: have y’all figured out that i have a breeding kink yet… anyway, this is the first a/b/o fic that i’ve ever written but i just read one and was feeling *inspired*. if people want i might do a prequel sort of thing for this that goes more in-depth about how they met and stuff. lmk! also, i have a vampire gojo fic planned hehe get ready bbs. if you want more of my omegaverse fics check out my alpha!gojo fic here! and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 5.2k

“No.” 

No? You shift in your seat, cold and plastic, sure you must have heard him wrong. 

“I’m sorry?” you ask. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, an anxious habit.

“I can’t refill the prescription. I’m sorry, but, frankly, it would be completely irresponsible of me to do so. I’m shocked your previous physician prescribed them for so long.” Fingers find yours and twine them together. Your eyes flash to Geto, but he’s only staring at your new doctor, staring with that furrow in his brow he only gets when he’s worried.

Your new, soon-to-be old, doctor sighs again, running a hand through his thinning white hair. “You need to have a heat as soon as possible, allow your body to recalibrate. Indefinite use of suppressants is dangerous and unhealthy. They are meant to manage your cycles, not stop them altogether.” 

Sweat beads on your palms. He can’t be serious. But it’s his first opinion. Surely there’s another option.

“I-I’m sorry, doctor. I don’t think I’m understanding.” 

Another glance at Geto reveals that he’s frowning now. When his eyes find yours you see the decision there, one he’s already made without you. Your stomach drops.

The doctor sighs and suddenly the walls of the office feel small, tight, suffocating. The twinge of alcohol and chemicals in the air makes your nose scrunch. “Let me say this clearly. I will not refill your prescription for suppressants, nor will any other reputable physician. You have been taking them continuously for far too long. You risk permanent damage should you delay a proper cycle any longer.” The doctor glances to Geto, then back to you. “Go home with your alpha and allow nature to take its course. It’s what’s best.” 

Your eyes widen with realization– you are not leaving this office with what you came for. Your heart pounds and your palms sweat. “Th-that can’t happen, doctor. I need my suppressants. My job- I can’t be out that long a-and Geto can’t either, we–” 

“We will go home,” Geto interrupts, and his tone is final. “Thank you, doctor, for the advice.” 

Geto pulls you to your feet, gently but firmly. He leaves no question about the fact that you’re leaving. You can feel the intensity radiating off him in waves. You ignore it. You turn to your new doctor, silently smiting him. Why did your old one have to retire?

“Doctor, you don’t underst–” 

“Thank you again,” Geto interrupts.

Before you can make another sound, another protest, Geto pulls you through the door, out of the office, and back to the car. He opens the door for you, as he always does, except this time you’re not so eager to accept his chivalry. 

“Suguru,” you bite out. His eyes meet yours, but they are surprisingly gentle. So calm. How is he always calm? 

“Just get in, baby. We’ll talk about it in the car.”

You debate saying no, but you can’t bring yourself to start a fight when he’s being so good. You grumble when you climb in, buckling your seatbelt before Geto can do it for you.

The engine revs to life, but you hardly notice. You’re already scrolling your phone, the search bar reading a simple and straightforward “doctors offices near me”. You scroll right past the first ten, for once in your life wanting a doctor that’s a little sketchy. You scroll further– still not sketchy enough. Someone who’ll give you the prescription you need, even if it’s not necessarily… ethical. Or maybe you could get some on the street? Surely there was some kind of dealing ring for that. There was a dealing ring for everything, right?

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, but his fingers are tight around the steering wheel, skin stretched tight across his knuckles.

You lift your phone to your ear, dialing the first office that looked relatively shitty enough. “Getting a second opinion,” you answer. 

Suguru plucks the phone so swiftly from your fingers that you hardly even notice it’s gone. You see him end the call and slip it into his back pocket, out of your reach. 

“Hey!” You scramble across the center console, hopelessly grabbing at your lost phone, your last hope. 

Suguru grabs your wrist, restraining you far too easily for your liking. “You’re not getting it back,” he says. His eyes never leave the road. 

Your brows pinch and anger boils in your stomach. “This is not for you to decide. It’s my body.”

He glances at you, unconcerned. Still calm. “And you’re not in a headspace to be making a responsible decision about it, so I’m making it for you.”

Your jaw drops and you pry your wrist free of his grasp. You escape, but you know it’s only because he allows it. “I am of perfectly sound mind, thank you.” 

He shakes his head and sighs. “You’re blinded by desperation.” 

“It’s still not for you to decide!” When you don’t notice any change in his expression, you switch tactics– from anger to honesty. You let your face fall, let your true feelings creep through. “You know how much I hate it, Su.” 

Finally, he cracks. It’s instantaneous, the way he melts for you- the way the soft smile finds his lips and his hand finds yours, twining your fingers together. “I know, but you have to, baby. You heard the doctor.” 

You clench your jaw and avoid the sting of tears behind your eyes. You had heard the doctor, but you weren’t ready. Maybe next month, when you’d had more time to mentally prepare. 

Your skin crawled. You hated it, hated this. You hadn’t had a heat in years, avoiding them like the plague. You hated how vulnerable they made you, how they put you at the mercy of another. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Suguru– you did. You trusted him more than anyone, anything, but you still hated the feeling of being so completely helpless, so completely out of control, even if it was Suguru you were submitting to. 

For most of your life, you’d successfully hidden your omega status. With the help of suppressants, you’d passed as a beta until your early twenties. Then you met Geto. 

You’d met at work. He was cute, beautiful even, you’d thought, but he screamed alpha– and alphas could be dangerous, especially for hiding, unclaimed omegas like you. You’d stayed away as long as you could and, for a while, you were quite successful. You avoided him in the halls, sat at the opposite end of the table in meetings, replied to emails succinctly but politely. All was well until you’d been trapped in an elevator with him one morning, biting your lip anxiously as you waited to reach the twelfth floor. He’d smelled so good that day, perhaps due to an oncoming rut. You hadn’t been able to resist inching closer, taking deeper breaths. Suguru would later tell you that he’d suspected your hidden status, but he had no reason to question you. At least, not until he had you up against the elevator wall with his face buried in your neck. One deep whiff was all he’d needed to know exactly what you were, even with suppressants in your system.

You’d dated for a little over a year, until you’d decided he was the one. Your fingers dust over the mate mark on your throat, the one that had not only made you undoubtedly Suguru’s, but also the one that had revealed to the world exactly what you were. There was no hiding your true identity with an alpha’s scarred mark on your neck. 

Suguru had never seen you through a heat– no one had. You’d taken your suppressants daily, ever since you met him and even long before that. He’d claimed you on a day like any other, no heat necessary. He hadn’t had a rut in all these years, either. When he felt one coming on all he had to do was pop a single pill and all was well– apparently with none of the nasty side effects that came along with your suppressants. Another unfair privilege of being an alpha you supposed. 

“Sugu, I can’t do this.” Your lip is raw from how much you’ve been chewing on it by the time you reach home. 

Suguru softly shuts the door behind you, lifting your twined hands to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. 

“Yes you can. I know you can.” 

You shake your head. He doesn’t understand– doesn’t know what this will do to you, how it will break you. While you hadn’t had a heat in years, you had experienced them before. You loathed them more than anything, loathed the way your mind was a slave to your body and not the other way around, loathed the way your whole body pulsed and throbbed, loathed the way it made you feel so… weak. “I can’t. It’s-it’s-” Your hands come up to cover your face. You sigh and feel the blush crawling beneath your cheeks. “It’s embarrassing. Humiliating.” 

There’s silence for a moment, and then a soft sight. Suguru pries your hands from your face gently. When you meet his eyes, he’s all business.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby.” 

You shake your head and pull away, pacing. “I don’t want anyone to see me like that, Sugu. Not even you.” 

Strong hands catch your waist, holding you still. “It’s not a question. It’s happening– for the sake of your health.” 

You scoff and shake your head. “It’s not–” 

His thumb presses to your lips with just enough pressure to demand silence. The omega in you coos to listen, to submit– the other part of you reels with annoyance.

“End of discussion.” 

He’s closer now and you can feel waves of his breath skating across your skin. It’s like a drug, one that the primal side of you can never get enough of. Give in, give in, give in, your omega begs. Listen to your alpha… You try not to focus on the fact that he smells good enough to eat. You know what he’s doing– using his dynamic to persuade you, to make you see his way, playing to the omega you can usually hide so carefully.

“Sugu…” you say. You intend to be angry but you trail off when his eyes catch yours. 

“I got you, baby.”

Your heart melts at the words. He waits. Maybe he knows that the smell of his skin on yours is playing tricks on your mind. You wage a battle within. Every instinct urges you to agree and with every passing second it becomes harder to disagree. Perhaps he’s right, perhaps it's time you give in for once. Let him take care of you, your omega purrs. You’re nodding before you realize what you’ve done.

Suguru kisses you quickly, allowing no time for takebacks. When he pulls away he gets to work. He whips his phone from his pocket and you listen to him talking to his boss, your boss, saying that you’ll both be out of work for a week on “family” leave. Your face heats when you realize that your boss now knows exactly what you two are going to be doing for the foreseeable future. Suguru kisses you one last time before he’s out the door, off to get enough food and supplies to last a week. You won’t be leaving your apartment for some time. You don't fail to notice that he doesn’t return your phone before he’s gone.

~

You don’t notice a difference, even after the sun is gone. It’s not surprising, considering you usually take your suppressants at night– it’ll take a little while longer for them to fully exit your system… you hope. When you’re brushing your teeth you stare at the empty prescription bottle longingly. 

You join Suguru in bed. The moment you crawl onto the mattress he pulls you closer into his bare chest. You savor the way your bodies fit so perfectly- like he was meant for you and you alone. His front curls around your back, a leg slotted between your thighs. 

“Feel anything?” he asks. 

You shake your head to hide your swallow. You almost shiver when Suguru buries himself in your neck, inhaling your scent. You feel him harden against your backside. He must be able to smell your approaching heat even before you can. Part of you expects instinct to take hold of him, for him to make a move, but he only presses a kiss to your jaw and holds you tighter. 

“Sleep, baby.” 

For once, you follow orders without a fight.

–

Hot. Too hot. 

When your eyes flutter open, you feel the pounding of your heart, the labor of your breath, and the growing ache between your legs. 

You sit up so fast you see stars, panic flooding your veins. No, no, no, no, no. This was wrong, you’d made the wrong choice. You couldn’t do this. Already, you could feel control slipping from your grasp, your consciousness giving way to something more primal, more feral. You scramble, preparing to stand, to find your phone, to lock yourself away and suffer through this on your own.

“Deep breaths, baby.” 

Only then do you realize Suguru is already awake. He’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, both a comfort and a restraint. 

“Can’t-” Your breaths are ragged and so are your words. “Can’t do this, Sugu-” 

“Yes, you can.” He whispers. He pulls you closer, tighter against him. “You will.” 

You shake your head frantically, tears pooling on your lashes. When you turn, Suguru is staring at your neck, at the mate mark on your throbbing pulse. His jaw is clenched when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s restraining himself, you realize. A glance down reveals he’s already painfully hard in his pants. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there, taking in your scent, waiting for you to wake. No doubt his rut has already been triggered.

His eyes raise to yours and he pauses at the tears that leak down your cheeks. He leans closer, and the scent emanating from his neck makes you groan against your will. His kisses away the tears. Slowly, one at a time. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.” 

Your body pulls him closer, even as your mind pushes back. “My phone, Sugu,” you panic. “Gotta gimme my phone. C-call a new doctor.” 

He shakes his head and when you start to squirm he only holds you tighter, holds you in place. 

“No, baby.” 

You whimper, seeking the scent gland on his neck against your will. The smell makes your clit throb almost painfully. 

“Sugu, please,” you cry. Tears stream from your eyes, staining your lover’s skin. 

“‘S gonna be okay. Just let it happen. Don’t fight it, love.” 

With each passing moment, you feel your fight slipping further and further away. Suguru rubs at the muscles in your back until you’re slumped against him, pitifully moaning like a wounded animal. It’s not long before your body takes the reins, until you start desperately humping at his thigh, your clit throbbing almost painfully. 

“That’s it. Good girl.” 

Your eyes roll back at the praise and when Suguru grips your waist you cry out at the touch. Everywhere his skin meets yours feels electric. You’re burning, burning, burning. It’s not until Suguru lays you down on your back that you see the sopping patch of slick you’ve left on his thigh. You whimper at the sight. 

“‘S okay, baby. ‘Ve got you.”

Suguru is looking nearly as lost to the lust as you are. Only his willpower and intent keep him from shredding away your panties and breeding your cunt full that very second. He’s never been in the presence of a scent so intoxicating. He’s never been with you, or any omega, through a heat. He thought you smelled amazing before, but now… He is lost to you, lost to the heat he feels emanating from every inch of your skin, to the honeyed scent pouring from your neck, to the slick he sees staining through your panties. His dick twitches in his pants. 

“Love you so much, baby. Gonna take such good care of ya,” he whispers. Instinct drives him forward until he’s plastered his lips to your jaw, licking and biting at the skin. You nearly scream at the sensation. You feel his touch everywhere, all at once. With your last coherent thoughts you know that this heat will be unlike any other you’ve ever experienced. It’s already so intense you can hardly think, and you’ve only just begun.

“Sugu,” you plead. 

The sound of his name on your lips breaks him. His hand dips across your stomach, thumbing past the edge of your panties until he’s running his finger through your slit, gathering your slick and rubbing it against your clit. 

You scream and thrash, so sensitive it nearly hurts, but he only moves to pin you beneath him, forcing you to take everything he gives. 

“Gonna make you feel ‘s good, baby.” he hums. He’s lost to you, to your desires, to your needs. Every piece of him screams to please you, to take care of you, in every way possible.

He continues his messy circles on your clit and until you’re gasping, hole clenching around nothing, begging to be filled. 

“S-Sugu…” you whine.

The growl that rips from his throat has you arching your back and bearing your throat in an act of submission. You hear a tear and watch your panties hit the floor. Your shirt follows and then you’re completely bare beneath your alpha. His eyes go black at the sight, pupils blown so wide you can hardly see a smidgen of their usual brown. There’s a deep rumble in his chest that has you keening and reaching for him, needing him. He doesn’t waste time. His tongue finds your neck, laving sloppily at your scent gland and the sensation is so delicious that you writhe beneath him. 

His fingers slide down your stomach, dipping between your thighs and rubbing at your clit. The touch is somehow gentle despite the complete and total hunger in his eyes, but it has you whining nonetheless. Every place he touches you, which is nearly everywhere, stings so delightfully that your eyes are already rolling back.

But you can’t wait. You can’t. Your body is starved, rabid, and you know what you need.

“Ssssugu… please…” your words are hardly above a whisper, barely a breath, but your alpha still hears you, still knows what you want, what you need. 

“I got you, baby… shhhhh…” He gives a final lick to your scent gland before he’s leaning back on his knees, parting your thighs wide, exposing your leaking cunt. You can feel a puddle of slick beneath your ass, your hole clenching desperately around nothing, aching to be filled. 

Warm hands slide up your skin and settle on your hips, tugging you a little further down the bed. You whimper, but don’t have time to say anything before you feel him slipping through your folds. A glance down reveals his weeping tip, achingly flushed, bumping and rubbing against your clit. When did his pants come off? You don’t know, you don’t care, all that matters is that the sight steals your breath away. 

“Gonna knot you good, princess.” 

You nod, wanting nothing more than for him to make good on his promise. You claw and grip at his arms, chanting his name endlessly. His chest rumbles again and your thighs part further on instinct. Finally, he gives you what you want. You feel him pressing in, fat tip stretching you wide. One of his hands moves to press down on your tummy and the combination has tears pooling in your eyes. 

He slides in slowly. With every inch you think he must be done, that you can’t take any more. But you can, and you do. When he’s finally fully in your jaw is hanging open in ecstasy and your eyes are rolled back in your skull. His fingers brush your clit and your hips jerk. 

“That’s it. So good, baby. So fucking good.” 

Your tears flood over, racing down your cheeks. He’s over you again, loose strands of black hair brushing your skin and forcing a whimper from your throat. He licks away your tears, lapping at your cheeks like you’re a fucking lollipop. His hips start thrusting in time with his licks, and it’s more than you can handle. Your thighs tremble and suddenly you’re begging. Pleading, whining, screaming for more. He gives it to you. One hand finds yours, twining your fingers together as he pounds into you so hard he’s rattling your skull. He’s licking at your scent gland again, driving you further and further toward a cliff you’re afraid to fall from. You think this orgasm might shatter you, might break you so thoroughly you’ll never be put back together again. You can feel it tightening at your core with each thrust, each lick, each kiss. 

“Fuck,” you hear him growl and whimper at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. “‘M gonna bite you, princess. Gonna mark you up and knot you so good you’ll see fucking stars.” You pant beneath him, unable to word how excited you are by his words, how deliciously they roll across your skin and seep into your spine. “Tell me you didn’t take your pill, baby. Tell me I can breed this pussy full and it won’t go to waste.” He’s not talking about your suppressants you know, but rather the contraceptives you take in tandem with them. Of course you took it, but suddenly something makes you wish you hadn't. “‘M gonna flush ‘em down the fucking toilet. Never letting you take that shit again.”

The primal part of you surges forward at the idea. It chants deep in your mind. Yes, yes, yes…

“Suguuu… please…” It seems like those are the only words your tongue can form.

His lips press to yours, shushing you. “Shhh, baby. Don’ worry. I got you.” He licks across your cheek and down across your jaw until he finds your scent gland again. His thrusts pick up again and you think you might pass out from how good you feel, from how tight your muscles are coiling. You can feel his knot pulsing inside you, preparing to fill you to the brim. You’ve never felt more ready for anything. 

“Sugu–” 

And it’s at that moment that he makes good on his promise. His teeth sink into your neck and you feel your bond snap taut like a string, pulsing with the closeness of your connection. It’s pure ecstasy. Suguru’s knot swells, notching tightly inside you and when you feel his cum pulsing into your womb it’s all too much. You think you must be screaming from the pleasure but you only hear the ringing in your ears as your orgasm washes over you. Your muscles clench, your toes curl, your back arches, you see those stars Suguru promised. Heat tingles through your limbs and down your spine and you think you’ve probably just melted into the mattress. But you haven’t, and when your vision returns, you’re panting and staring at the ceiling. 

Suguru is above you and you can feel him still cumming, still releasing rope after rope of thick, hot cum into you. The sensation makes you groan and he laps at your neck, cleaning up the blood from the new mark he’s just given you. Your consciousness trickles back in, the primal piece of you partially sated for the time being. You remember the context of your situation, why you’re here and not at work, what you’re doing. You’re puzzled by why you’d been so panicked by the idea of a heat before. How could you have been so reluctant, so scared, when nothing has ever felt this right?

Suguru is peppering you with kisses now, pulling you tight to his chest and rolling you both onto your sides where you’ll stay until his knot softens. 

“Sleep, princess,” he says and he uses that tone that always compels you to listen, to please. You happily do as he says and when your eyes drift shut it’s not long before you’re lost to a world of comfortable darkness. 

~

You wake to the throbbing again. All of the pent up need Suguru had sated has returned with a vengeance. You need him again, but it appears he already knows that. 

You feel him between your legs, his hair fully loose now and tickling the insides of your thighs. He’s eating you out, slurping up the cum that’s leaking down your thighs and spitting it back onto your cunt. It’s filthy, disgusting, and you love it.

“Sugu–” you gasp and your hips buck. His eyes lock with yours and the smile he gives you nearly makes you come on the spot. He holds your gaze as he licks one last long stripe over your folds. You whimper and clench around nothing. Empty, empty, empty…

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers against your skin. He’s kissing his way up your body now, leaving little circles of spit that cool when they touch the air and make you shiver. “‘Y smelled so good…” 

You whine and whimper, clawing at his back and leaving scratches you think might draw blood. You’re too worried about getting him inside of you to check.

You’re gasping like you’ve never had a breath of air in your life, like you’ve drowned and every touch he gives you fills your lungs with much-needed oxygen. His hands rub gently at your waist, but it’s not enough. You want him to wreck you, ruin you. You say as much. 

“M-more…” you beg and when he hums against your neck you squirm desperately. Warm hands dig into your flesh and suddenly you find yourself flipped onto your stomach. You feel Suguru behind you, pushing your thighs apart with his knees. His hands find your hips again and lift, propping you up with your face still pressed to the pillows. When you whimper he runs a soothing hand up and down your spine. 

“‘S okay, baby. Relax. Lemme take care ‘ve you.” 

Yes, yes, yes, you think. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more. His fingers dig into your skin, holding you still when he feeds his dick into you, one inch at a time. You cry out, tearing at the sheets and begging for more, even when you already feel like you’re splitting in half. When he’s finally seated inside you he drapes himself over your back, brushing your hair over one shoulder to expose your neck. He leans in to lick you again, thrusting sharply the moment his tongue brushes your skin. You wail, pressing your face to the sheets and attempting to rock yourself back against him. One of his hands smooths over the flesh of your ass as he sets a pace, one that makes you bite down on a pillow to muffle your screams. 

“No.” Suguru uses that tone that makes you listen, that one that calls instinctively to the omega inside you, that urges you to please. He reaches for your pillow, tossing it aside and letting his hand curl around your throat as he continues to fuck you, letting his fingers feel the vibrations of every noise you make. “Let me hear you, baby. Always let me hear you.” 

You nod, eager to make him happy, eager to do as he says. You don’t dare restrain a single sound, eyes rolling back. The angle he has you at has your thighs trembling. He’s so deep, so close. You feel his heartbeat against your back, feel his tongue on your skin, his hand on your throat, his cock at your cervix.

When he groans, you groan with him, feeling his dick pulse inside you, his knot beginning to swell. You need it, need it so bad you can hardly stand it. 

“P-please, please, please–”

He swells inside you, locking your bodies together as his orgasm hits. It’s all you need to find your own. You wail into the mattress, cunt clenching and legs trembling until you collapse, flattening against the beg. Suguru follows you down, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering in your ear.

“Take it all, baby. Good girl. Take it all…” 

You nod, not even sure what you’re agreeing to. All you can feel is his cum flooding your insides, pulsing and pumping so deep into you that you swear your tummy is swelling with the sheer amount of it. Still, your body wants more, clenching and milking him for every last drop, just like he asked.

When you both come down from your orgasms he pulls you into his chest once again, whispering promises of protection and love that lull you into a trance-like state of happiness. When you fall asleep again, he’s chanting a word that your omega repeats right back to him. “Mine, mine, mine.”

When you wake again it’s to the sound of Geto staying true to his word and flushing every last birth control pill you have straight down the toilet. Your omega surges at the idea, but one mewl from you and he’s back in your arms, like you’re somehow the one in charge, not him. With every passing moment, you being to think that might be true- that perhaps a heat does not makes you as weak as you thought. Your alpha submits as much to you as you submit to him.

The week is spent in a frenzy. You do not measure by the numbers on the clock or where the sun is in the sky, rather you know time only as how long it’s been since Suguru’s been locked inside you. If it were up to you, you’d never stop, but Geto forces you to sleep, to eat, to bathe. Of course, he’s never far away when you’re following his instructions and you usually get a kiss and his knot as a reward for being such a good girl. 

It’s ten days later when your heat finally starts to wane. It feels as though every inch of you is covered in him. Bites, hickies, kisses, cum… no part of you has been left untouched. Suguru has had you everywhere. The bed, the shower, the bath, the kitchen. Every surface in the whole apartment reeks of sex and slick. He never keeps you too far from the bedroom, though, where you’ve piled up mountains of his shirts and sheets. Anything that smells like him, anything that can keep you tethered in those brief moments when Suguru goes to fetch you food or water or run you a bath. He takes care of you, just like he promised. 

When you wake completely clear-headed for the first time in well over a week, it’s to Suguru’s arms and lips. He’s got you all wrapped up in him, his arms locked around your waist almost like he expects you to bolt. You almost do when everything comes flooding back to you, this time with a completely clear conscience. But then he kisses your neck and whispers a delightful little, “welcome back, baby” against your neck and suddenly you’re realizing how… revitalized you feel, like a part of you has finally been properly satisfied after years of waiting. You’d always hated this, always hated the part of you that begged and cowered, hated heats- but maybe with Suguru… they really weren’t all that bad.

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

link: alpha!gojo fic

please consider leaving a comment, sending in an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡