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webism · 2 months ago

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you.

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better.

“Cold feet?” You ask.

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin. Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again.

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day.

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway.

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months.

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you.

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments.

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing?

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end.

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised.

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask.

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo.

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both. His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in.

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?"

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside.

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips.

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it.

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you.

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless.

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is."

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin.

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you.

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe.

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock.

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault. He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours.

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers.

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum.

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently.

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers.

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember.

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going.

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone.

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn.

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him.

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you.

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless.

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours.

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life.

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear.

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next.

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed.

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

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bi-writes · 4 months ago

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yeah yeah yeah 1600s au where john price's wife is your dutiful queen, and you are the doting, shy lady-in-waiting, but, today, something isn't right. (dark!ghost x fem!reader, 18+)

cw: reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits

it is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. there is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed--they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. by accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

that one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. spoil it, and i'll have your fuckin' heads. his queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

and they haven't. they do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. but there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

you don't know him by any other name other than ghost. the right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. there are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. you clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

his eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. they track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. he wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. and maybe you are--if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

there is always a party. always a celebration for this brute. he is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. he does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. you wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

he seems like the kind of man to do so--like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

he has no face. he has no name. and if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. the only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. his sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

it is late in the evening when you hear it. there's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. you put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. the king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. they share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. they are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. they sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. they left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

you are not surprised by this. they aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. they aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. you have always hated this idea. boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

you are surprised by the knock on your door. you think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "are you awake, my lady?"

you tie your robe and scurry. when you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. you've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"y-yes, your majesty? i'm sorry for my appearance, i--"

"it's quite late," he says gently. "you don't have to apologize. is it alright if i come in?"

you stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. you think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. he settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. he has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"i have a request of you," he says finally. you take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. you're not exactly allowed to refuse. "it is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. they deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

you swallow, "yes, of course. you have such a fine army, your majesty. you must be...v-very proud."

he turns to face you, and he nods.

"these titles come with land. money. responsibility. and it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "one of these things can be a bride."

"they are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. he stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"you are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "i know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, i have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "by sunset, you are to be a duchess."

you're shaking when he goes. you clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. you cry because you know who asked for your hand. you know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. he eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it--

your queen is ecstatic. she lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. she tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. you'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

you are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. you have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

he is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. he wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. he wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. he stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. you slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. he purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

you are a prize. a trophy. nothing more. a gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

the ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. and then he gives you his first gift as your husband--a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. the intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

because that is what this is. not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. you've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

but one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, i'll feel myself again.

he narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. his response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. you observe this fact--the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. you are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. you are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

you are a prisoner, now. but perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. this is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

the party is lively. there is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. there is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. the king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

you sit aways from him. you don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. you think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

men simply ask for, and then they receive. women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

his eyes bore into your head. when you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. the beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

you'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. you'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

when the morning is early, you sneak out. you scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. you take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

you know who it is right away. coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

you sit up straight, turning your head. ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. you watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. his gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. you hear the leather of them move.

you have never spoken to him before. you've never heard him speak. you wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. you know why he's here, you know why he's come. you can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

but you have an idea.

"y'abhor me," he says finally. he speaks. you swallow. at least he isn't stupid. it's rare that you see a brute with brains. although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. he is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. he must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. a leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

but has he been taught to tame a cat? how to please a woman? how to love her, how to have her?

love. what a silly dream.

"not as much as i fear you," you admit. he hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. you watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. his voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. you tilt your head up to look at him.

"that you'll hurt me," you whisper. he shrugs, shaking his head.

"a beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "need strong heirs. which means i need y'fed and happy."

"i'll never be happy."

he grips your chin, shutting you up. a part of you wishes he would be meaner. that he would be the angry, possessive ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. you want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. if anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"we'll see about tha'."

your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"i know who you are," your voice cracks. "i know what you do. you're a pillager. you take women, and you kill men."

he tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. you aren't wrong. since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. he's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. he takes, takes, takes--it tastes good and strengthens his bones. it puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

but you are no village in an unfortunate land. you are the gift that his king has given him. the forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. he had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request--no, his demand--to have you.

he did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. he did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"just a matter of war, dear wife. they matter little," ghost mutters. "let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. he guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. he hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. his eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

you are surprised by the sensation. no one has ever touched you this way before. it feels...good. his hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. you lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. you watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. he uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. ohhh--it feels so nice.

"gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "all for our babe."

you don't know what comes over you. you don't know why you do it, but you do. you lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. the weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. there is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"tha'sit...my beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "tits of a fuckin' angel."

you squeeze your legs together. you know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. you feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. you've never felt it this strong. you whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. he reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. the praise, it itches you nicely. "y'r m'prize, swee'eart. i killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

why does it feel so good? why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

it hurts, it hurts--

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. you swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. it barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. you hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

the corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. you want to feel shame, but you can't. you're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. the groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. he moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"wait--" you meet his eyes. your eyes flutter. "b-but...but i want..."

he eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"want wot?"

you swallow.

"i-i..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. the squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "i want...your mouth..."

he snickers, "y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "doesn't work tha' way. besides..." he shrugs. "i don't reveal m'face."

you sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. his dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. you need to remind him that you are not one of his men. you need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. killed a thousand men to have me, so show me--show me, show me, show me. you nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "please..."

he sinks to his knees almost immediately. his armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. your eyes widen a little at the position--the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"turn around," he snaps. "on y'r knees."

you do as he says. you turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. you fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. he plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

he eats slow at first. just drags his tongue through the slick there. he's exploring you, learning you. but then he is all-consuming. he hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. you can't help how wet you are--drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. he did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. his brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

he wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. but something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

what he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. too real, too real, too real.

he pulls away. he smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. he stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. he tuts, turning you onto your back easily. you're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. you've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

he's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own--you could make him love you, couldn't you? someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

killed a thousand men to have me, so i'll put you on your fucking knees.

it's what you're owed. for all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. he may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

you will make him love you. you will make him love you. you will make him love you.

you sit up, a bit dazed. you're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. you know what a man like him wants. you have doted on men like him all your life. you know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

you just need to know how to make him purr. you need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"my husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. he likes that title. "i--"

"did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

you bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. you drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. the smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. you have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"i've always been...terrified of you," you whisper. "the way you come into court...the way you fight...seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. he smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "but, i..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "i-i want more..."

he chuckles, "i know y'do," he echos. "could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "a pretty face like this one...wasted on her majesty."

"i don't think we're allowed to say that."

"i deliver entire countries at john's feet, i'll say wot i bloody please," he snaps. you just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

this disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. he is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. he is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. he may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. he may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. he may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

so you do what servant women do best. you appease, because at the end of the day, ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"a baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. you dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. he growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "want a baby..."

he cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. he's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. he is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. he's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. he belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

you reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. he flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"i'm sorry," you whisper there. it's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. you roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "it's...it's everything i didn't know i wanted..."

he grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"i don't understand," he murmurs. affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. that someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. his instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"you," you whine. "so big--" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "--there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. you lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. you whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "not a virgin, are ya?"

"i-i am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"mm. not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

you shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"good," he mutters. "don't much feel like pettin' ya."

and he doesn't. he's a menace. he snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. he isn't gentle by any means--he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. he doesn't let you--his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"you'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. he's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"that so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask--you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"fuckin' brat--" ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. a ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. he will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. you had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. no one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

you start to think the same. you've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. you're floating--you're somewhere else, you think. there's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. his cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. you're crying, begging, asking him for more, please--! nnghh--please!

he's never had a woman so wet. he has always had them for his own pleasure. he has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. there's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. he can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl--tha's it, just right, like tha'--

"i...i-i--!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. a crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. you're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine--

"fuckin' hell--" ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. you go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. you need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. he doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

you think you want this. you think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

he moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. you keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

you slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. his eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. ghost aches, too--maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

something gentle. something soft. something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. his hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore--there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

he's more human this way. less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

what a waste. what a loss. he has to fuck you again.

he will never be bored of me, i don't think. ghost will want me forever--even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

you don't seem to mind your new position. no kneeling, no curtsying--your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

in all your life, you have never wanted this. you endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. they would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

your dream is freedom. it always has been. your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. there is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. before you had ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. he was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. but you know now, you understand, that ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

he is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

ghost will hold the sword. and you will hold the leash.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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kitten4sannie · 4 months ago

Text

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, only praise and pet names (omg who hacked k4s???), groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping on a couch in a very crowded room, one neck bite, san cums untouched, oral (receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of self-sucking the rich individuals around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a starter house. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands to various locked-in acquaintances, some off doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink anymore, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, a half-empty champagne flute in hand, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

San gulped, just about spilling the drink he was still holding onto, unknowingly spreading his thighs open further, as if he was giving you an unspoken invitation to climb onto his lap.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

“And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you?” San smiled devilishly, his dimples appearing, kicking off his pants and running his closed hand along his curved, dripping length. He pressed his thighs against the side of the bed, running the tip of his cock over your lips, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

“I would.” Lifting yourself up so that you could completely rid yourself of your disheveled dress, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you.

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#cultofdionysusnet #cromernet #ateez #ateez smut #ateez san #choi san #san smut #san x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #kpop smut

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esoteric-goblin · 10 months ago

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on worldbuilding, and what people think is going on

there is one facet of fantasy worldbuilding that is, to me, the most interesting and essential but i don't see it come up in worldbuilding guides or writing prompts or anything, and that is the question of:

what do the inhabitants of your world believe about how the world works, and how are they wrong? a lot of fantasy media will set up their cosmology, gods, magic systems, planar systems, concepts of the afterlife, &c., and proceed as though the inhabitants of the world know and understand them.

from someone whose entire academic career is focused on studying human culture in various regions and time periods, with a focus on belief systems (religion, occultism, mythology, folklore): that sort of worldbuilding is unrealistic and missing out on so much fun.

people are always seeking new understanding about how the world works, and they are mostly wrong. how many models of the solar system were proposed before we reached our current one? look at the long, turbulent history of medicine and our various bizarre models for understanding the human body and how to fix it. so many religions and occult/magical traditions arise from people disagreeing with or adapting various models of the world based on new ideas, methods, technologies. many of them are wrong, but all of them are interesting and reflect a lot about the culture, beliefs, values, and fears of the people creating/practising them.

there is so much more to the story of what people believe about the world than just what is true.

to be clear: i think it's fine and important for the author to have a coherent explanation for where magic comes from or who the gods are, so they can maintain consistency in their story. but they should also be asking what people in the world (especially different people, in different regions/nations and different times) think is happening when they do magic, or say a prayer, or practise medicine, or grieve their dead. it is a rich vein for conflict between individuals and nations alike when two models of the world disagree. it is fascinating how different magic systems might develop according to different underlying beliefs.

personally, i think it is the most fun to spawn many diverse models of the world, but give none of them the 'right' answer.

(bonus points if you also have a thriving academic system in the world with its own theory, research, and discourse between factions! as an academic, it is very fun to imagine fictional academic debate over the topics i'm worldbuilding. sometimes i will be working out details for some underlying mechanic of the world and start imagining the papers being written by scholars researching it)

#worldbuilding #world building #writing #creative writing #writeblr #on writing #fantasy worldbuilding

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bakugoushotwife · 11 months ago

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a/n: omg heyyy i make my grand return with my humble offering to @ohkento 's reddit theme collab!! i also have a piece for shouto coming up next, but here is the first one!! i took a while off after kinktober so if this is bad....lie to me!

warnings: dark content. nsfw. no minors. yandere theme gojo, no physical harm to reader, baby trapping, threats (not to reader), female reader, breeding, pentration, oral (fem!receiving), reader is kinda dumb lol.

summary: STORYTIME: I (28M) CAN'T STOP BREEDING MY GIRL BEST FRIEND (28F)!! it's a serious problem...i'm really reaching my breaking point here. i've been in love with this chick since high school and she keeps chasing other guys...but fucking me when the dates go wrong, help!

it’s been his dirty little secret since his years at tokyo tech. you’ve always been a looker, never were you short on attention from lesser men that aren’t worth your time—and yes, that includes when geto crushed on you all through the second year of school. but they never were quite what you were looking for, and every night of passion or attempt at a meaningful connection always ended the same—dialing up your closest confidant satoru to come console you and stuff your cunt full and wipe your tears–to make it better, like best friends do.

satoru was all too aware of your little predicament, because he had struggled with the same issues–except he realized his fate years ago and was determined to have it. you are his and his alone, no matter how many scrubs that try to take you from him. if only you would open your eyes. you were obviously hopelessly in love with him, of course—that’s why no one could compare! and that’s why you always turned your teary eyes and pretty pussy to him after yet another date gone wrong. he knew he was the only cure, and he’s given up on hoping you’d see the truth for yourself.

he tried to play the patience card, licking your tears off your face as he pounds his love into you, telling you that you’re worth so much more than those guys you keep letting break your heart. he tried being the nice guy that holds you after yet another promising prospect never texts you back–buying you dinner and bouncing you on his cock until you were crying from pleasure instead of heartbreak. each time, he buried his load in your womb until it was spilling out around him—hoping to give you no other choice but to pack your bags and move onto his estate to further the gojo clan with the very man at the head of it, but it seems your ovaries were just as stubborn as you are. he didn’t know how much more of this he could stomach—just waiting to be your knight in shining armor while laying in bed at night, staring at the pictures of you, both lewd and cute alike while wondering just how long it would take to have you laying beside him in his bed instead of the pixels on his phone screen.

he’s had enough. it’s clear his plan isn’t working as designed. you must be on birth control—which is both irritating yet complimentary to him. of course you wouldn’t let these bums knock you up. is it insulting that this applies to his seed too? of course, but then again the whole dynamic was rather insulting wasn’t it? fucking other men and crying to him about it when they aren’t the perfect man for you. no shit—no man will ever know you like he does. none of them could ever compete with the life he could give you if you would just face the music. he doesn’t get it either. why bother? why look elsewhere? obviously you’re attracted to each other—so why won’t you make the next natural jump and stop it with the drama-packed weekly bachelorette episodes?

that’s okay. it’s really fine. satoru is such a good friend that he’ll help you, like he always does. he would simply help you to the conclusion that he wants and then everything can proceed according to plan! it shouldn’t be too difficult anyway, you’ll be calling any moment now! you had a date with yet another sure disappointment that gojo knows will desert you as soon as the date is finished. he’ll be dry and boring after the promising conversations you had in the days leading up to the date—you’ll be confused yet again—and the guy won’t pay either, set for split-bill city. gojo knows all of this because he’s ensured that’s what happens, of course! and this is the thirty-sixth man he’s had to pay off to show up to the date and forget about you. a price he’s more than willing to pay no matter how high, though it’s definitely added up over the years. and you know what—now that he thinks of it, none of them deserve you because their weak nature and corrupt morals. he’s been proven right every time, each one of these bottom feeders would take the money no questions asked—maybe that was due to his threats of horrific death if they so much as answered a text message from you again, but who could be sure?

this one was especially easy to pay off, too. he didn’t even think twice about taking the money. it almost makes gojo mad. he clearly wasn’t heartbroken to walk away from you, and god you deserved so much better. you deserve a man that is willing to pay off any and every suitor that comes into your life just to make you his. you deserve a man so crazy about you he can hardly recognize himself. you deserve…well, him. he’s devoted himself to you for over a decade and it’s time for that to pay off.

your unique ringtone gets him out of his own head to answer, and of course, you’re crying and asking him to come over. pretty girls like you never learn, huh? that’s all forgiven though, as he is a teacher and it’s his passion to help you understand.

“of course sugar. i’ll be right over. mhm–don’t mention it. that’s what friends are for.” he hums to you over his end of the phone, picking up his car keys to make it to you in record time. you’re your same beautiful self as you answer the door and welcome him inside, though he can see the tear tracks staining your face. it makes him pout a little at the sight no matter how used to it he is. he hates that you let these cretins upset you like this.

“hey baby.” he pouts sympathetically with you, ducking under your arm to gaze around your familiar living room for any signs of a man he hadn’t yet heard about. he exhales a deep sigh when he finds none. he’s got his hands in his pockets, lips tightened in a knowing grimace. “so what was it this time? no—let me guess: split the bill and then he let you walk home in this weather?”

you close the door after he’s entered with a heavy sigh. your bleary eyes fix on your hand still clasped around the doorknob, “yeah.” you tug your lip between your teeth and turn to face him. you didn’t have to answer him, for he already knew. it was borderline routine at this point and you were already embarrassed enough. you draw your arms around yourself to feel your own warmth, shaking your head. what was wrong with you? you used to be pined after, wanted—and now you couldn’t even get non-sorcerers to call you back. you haven’t had a second date in years, nor had an orgasm that wasn’t satoru’s handiwork. but even he didn’t want you permanently. you were a good friend and an even better fuck, that’s all. you knew it was pointless to yearn for him, sure he felt nothing other than his ever-present sense of duty and loyalty every-time he took your pain away–no matter the lies that poured out of his saccharine lips to do so. your sad eyes fix on his face, letting your plump bottom lip bounce out from your teeth’s trap. he smirks softly, cock rising because it knows exactly what that look means.

but unfortunately for you, he won’t just hold you in his arms and promise that you’re worth so much more than you let yourself believe. tonight, he’s going to take what’s rightfully his—and his plan is already working beautifully. you never look away as you walk from the door to him, bracing your tiny and ineffectual hands on his chest. “what’s wrong with me, sato?” you pout, batting your long lashes up at him. his heart could stop just from that look alone. the comfort of his large hands covering yours soothes you already, making the tension drop from your shoulders.

“you’re naive.” he answers, eyes as bright as ever as they glow like fireflies in your living room. if you were going just by the expression on his face, you’d think he said something kind or even funny, the way he grins softly and blinks his white lashes down at you in wait of your reply. you’re sure you misheard—every other time you asked this question he always said, “maybe you’re just too pretty, huh? ever thought of that, sugarplum?”

“huh?” you tilt your head to one side, watching his expression shift to amusement. “naive? wh-what do you mean by that?”

“well, if you weren’t so naive, you’d know, now wouldn’t you?” he pokes his tongue between his teeth, tucking his hands behind his back while you still lean helplessly against him. he likes feeling the weight of your body on his, and he’ll like it even more when he knows it’s a permanent thing. “you’re on birth control.” he states, and your confusion sets in even deeper. your brows furrow, but you nod.

“yeah? what about that makes me naive?” you posit, used to his antics for the most part. you’ve been around him far too long to mistake his bluntness as an attack to you, even if it stings just a touch. though you did ask, and you have used him as your sexual relief and shoulder to cry on for years now. maybe he’s fed up with lying to save your feelings.

he looks around for a second, humming. “where is it?”

you also know better than to question him. if he’s asking you these questions it has to be for a reason—and you don’t have to understand him in the moment. just do what you’ve always done and trust him, support him on and off the battlefield–and never hesitate. it could be the difference between life and death. you learned that on missions together years ago.

“in my nightstand?” you tilt your head to the other side. he has to admit your astonishment is adorable. he smiles down at you, cupping your cheek lightly. his fingers are so long that his thumb rests on the corner of your lips, fingertips brushing back your hair.

“go get it for me.” he says as if he asked you to pass him the remote. you narrow your eyes to really study him—and then you see it. the teeming rage, the simmering crazy behind his eyes as they look at you. he is the most powerful man in the world, even if you were scared, there was nothing you could do but obey. but you trust him. and you nod. you turn to pad off to your bedroom and the clicks of his expensive boots follow. you’re used to the butterflies tickling your stomach as you lead him to bed, but you know something’s different this time. you feel like you’ll puke butterflies. but nonetheless, you pull the drawer of your nightstand open and fetch the little foil pack out of it, only a few pills missing from this month’s prescription. you turn to face him with it, mind racing on what he could possibly be doing. knowing him, he’s toying with you–trying to make you as nervous as possible and all this worrying is for no good reason.

he sits at the edge of your bed, seemingly watching you with interest. he’s happy that you’re humoring him, that’s for sure. not even the faintest hint of protest. maybe you’re not as naive as he thought. in fact, your effortless obedience has his the crotch of his loose hakama’s tightening quickly. your heart jumps in your throat at the sight of him as it usually does—satoru gojo is far too beautiful to be in your house, supposedly telling you why you couldn’t keep a man. the black compression shirt was nearly criminal when it was wrapped around his perfect body.

“good girl. now flush ‘em down the toilet for me.” he beams, blinding white teeth baring to smile at you. it was a simple request, really. he needed you to stop taking that poison and to stop entertaining the idea of other men.

“why?” you swallow harshly, voicing your underlying suspicion.

“don’t you trust me, baby?” he replies with a quickness, tilting his head to mirror yours. he’s doing well to keep himself together–you don’t understand his love for you yet, but he’ll take care of that. he’s a teacher, remember? “that stuff’s not good for you.”

you hum. the side effects have been brutal, but you’re hardly in the spot for a baby. you can’t even get a boyfriend, much less a baby daddy. “yeah…i know. sucks taking it. guess i could get an iud or something instead.” you think aloud, voice becoming distant as you turn your back to him and dump your pills in the bathroom attached to your small room. you really undersell yourself. you could have been his bride eight years or so ago and been living large. but he’s going to fix it now. his jaw clenches at that declaration, and you feel him watching you the entire time—the doorway a straight shot from the spot he sat in on your bed.

“no.” he says simply, the lightheartedness gone abruptly. it sends a shiver down your spine, makes your brain alert to the changes within him as he stands and cages you into the bathroom, broad arms stretching to block off the doorway.

no? he doesn’t want you to protect yourself in any way? that seems a little ridiculous, but maybe he had a good reason. “satoru…i can’t get pregnant right now.”

“why not?” he asks, looking over your little body nearly trembling from the darkness of his cursed energy growing more oppressive, nearly sucking the air out of the room. your heart pounds, more confused than you were at the start.

“because i’m…single?” you try carefully, not sure exactly what you were dealing with here. satoru has always been so happy-go-lucky, even when he shouldn’t be. you remember begging him to talk out his stress so that he didn’t explode right after suguru left. so this anger you see set in his features shocks you, his bright and clear sky-colored eyes are clouded and murky, more cerulean than you’ve seen before. his brow is set and you can see the muscles twitching in his jaw. but he’s still smiling, and that for whatever reason is still real.

“there’s that naivety again, princess.” he licks his teeth, shifting his weight from foot to foot. you look like a deer in the headlights, and he’s giddy at the rush that gives him. you’re finally in his grasp. “you’ve never been single. not since hmmm let’s see, march fifteenth, 2006.” he grins at you–”which makes all this dating real offensive, sweetheart.”

you want to laugh, but decide against it considering his unpredictability. you shake your head instead, backing yourself to the wall. “what on earth are you talking about? we’re friends–”

“friends that fuck!” he laughs a strained snicker, straightening his posture. “and make sweet hot love, of course. friends that cuddle on the couch and have sleepovers. come on. we’re both adults, don’t insult me. you love me! which is great, because i love you too. i love you so much i’ve made sure that no one could steal you from me.”

your brows must reach your hairline at that. “stop, satoru. don’t say that! you can’t mean it–fuck, you’re supposed to be married to a kamo or zen’in girl so you can keep making powerful gojo’s right? isn’t that what you always said in school?”

“you’d give me powerful gojo’s.” he smirks, breaking the barrier of the bathroom’s threshold by stepping closer to you, leaning down to be on face level. “i was only trying to make you jealous sugar! just like this whole stunt you’ve been pullin’, dating around to try to find someone that makes you feel like i do? tch, hahahaha—it’s impossible!! just stop it, be mine and be happy like you should be.” he grasps your chin with a surprising gentleness given his unhinged and maniacal laughter, smiling down at you with something you recognize as his power-trip going off the rails—but.

but you’d be lying if you said you were scared. he’s declaring his love for you in the most profound way possible, however crazy it–and he–may be. and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t absolutely see right through you. he has the six eyes after all, you should have known he knew what you were trying to do. you were trying to numb the pain of never being his…but you were actually manufacturing that whole scenario. you’re the only girl he’s ever seen, and it’s clear from the desperation mixed in with the insanity—he needs you.

you reach back and flush the toilet, letting the little white pills circle the bowl and disappear entirely. satoru gojo has always been insane. you’ve seen it firsthand on many missions and battles against curses and sorcerers alike. it just surprised you to see him turn that look upon you–but now you know it was just to get your attention.

though you don’t doubt what he’s capable of, you have no intention of pushing him to find out.

his eyes go from crazy to ravenous in seconds. you’ve accepted his proposal with hardly any effort and he intends to show you the difference between his sweet hookups and his passionate need to claim the woman of his dreams.

“so you…scared off all those guys?” you ask, raising a brow as your face still rests in his clutches. he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip, nodding vigorously.

“sure did, princess. i was trying to let you figure it out on your own…” he sighs, brushing your hair back behind your ears as his eyes scan over your body again. he needs to feel you. “but you’re not a quick learner, hence why i’m on plan b.” he winks, scooping you over his shoulder moments later. he puts you on your bed, the short walk made shorter by his teleportation. he’s just too impatient, brain swelling with the flashing images of you in traditional wedding attire and round with his heir. it all feels within reach now, and he has to try it out now. “gonna show you how bad i love you–you’ll never go anywhere else.” he mutters, lanky frame swallowing up your body, hips pinning yours to the bed beneath you. “you’re gonna give me a gojo and you’re gonna look so fucking good doing it.” he mutters, lips attaching to your neck reminiscent of the way they have a million times. though this time, there’s intention behind it—or well. this time you’re aware of the intention behind it.

in all your times together, his dirty talk has been contained to praising your body and how good you feel to him. his incantations to knock you up has your heart beating funny and wetness pooling between your legs. you make a soft gasp sound for him, elongating your neck to let him leave real marks of possession where you’ve previously resisted. your body writhes and twists under his as his teeth knick and nip bruises into your skin. he’d spell his own name with them if he could, even a ring and a baby wasn’t enough in his eyes. he needs the world to know you’re his, that you’ll always be by his side, that you were born to be his.

“that pesky birth control’s gonna have to wear off though–so we have time to get married before you get pregnant–if that matters to you.” he moans at the idea, hands sliding under your top to push it over your head. his mouth moves to suck the swells of your tits once they’re exposed to him, humming out his satisfaction at the warm skin. your head digs back into the mattress—mind absolutely drunk on his affection and devotion. it’s all you’ve ever wanted and now it’s right here, and from the man you’ve always wished you could have—how could you ever deny him again?

your hands pull at the fabric on his back, hips bucking up for a source of friction. he breaks away from marking up your chest to bare his to you, throwing his t-shirt into some corner of your room to be forgotten about until tomorrow. this wouldn’t be your room much longer anyway–you’ll be moved into the estate within the next two days, he wouldn’t be able to live without you now. then he’s pushing you up towards the headboard, ripping off your lounge shorts to reveal those cute panties he knows you wear when you’re trying to impress him. color him fucking thrilled at your puffy pussy lips indenting the fabric around them, making him groan at the sight. he thumbs at your clit through the cotton, sparkling eyes flickering between the growing wet spot in your panties and the adorable scrunches of your nose and the pinch of your brow from the pleasure he’s dishing out before he’s even really touching you. you’re so cute he can’t pace himself, needing to consecrate your importance to him in the best way he knows how.

you help him get you out of your underwear, shamelessly spreading for him after hundreds of rendezvous—you’ve lost your shyness and he loves it, loves seeing your neediness for him in the glaze of your pretty doe eyes and the way you swing your hips around to beg for his attention. “tell me you love me.” he hums, nosing apart your pussy lips. his cock throbs at the scent, and you feel goosebumps break out across your skin at his command.

“you’re the one for me, sato. i love you.” you whisper so intimately he can feels his cursed energy pulsing like the rest of him. he groans, submerging his face in your cunt with a genuine pleasure you’ve only seen from him. he loves eating you out, loves the taste of you on his tongue—loves how your noises only rile him into fucking the bed, whining and grunting with his own neediness that he could only unleash once he’s properly readied you for it.

“you taste so fucking good baby…so sweet down my throat. get loud, i don’t care it’s an apartment. you’ll be moving out soon anyway.” he smirks, latching onto your clit to make your legs jolt like they always do. it makes him giggle every time, and the vibrations feel even better against your sensitive bundle. he rolls it around his tongue, letting his index finger explore the wetness he’s helping you create. he pokes into your entrance, knowing how violently you craved something inside. his thoughts are confirmed by the way you clench around the digit, whining and bucking into it for more. he’s more than happy to oblige, finger fucking you with two long and thick fingers while his tongue works overtime on your clit. he loves watching you at this part, enamored by your face as your hips involuntarily jump from the bed, smacking your clit into his nose instead of his skilled tongue.

your entire body is warm, jerking like you’re receiving electrical shocks from the pleasure satoru reigns down, gasping and sputtering on the edge of orgasm just a few minutes after he started. it’s always like this with him–though this time was special because you knew your life was changing before your very eyes—that satoru’s energy was growing so rapidly because he’s letting go of all kinds of stress and pent up frustration and anger. “please—wanna cum please sato–”

“daddy. i’m daddy now. ask daddy nicely.” he chuckles as he leans his head against his free hand, curling his fingers into the spot he knows so well just to watch your mouth drop and eyes widen in absolute blissful shock. you nod–brain fuzzy from his constant teasing and his new nickname.

“daddy!! yes—daddy! please, oh my god—daddy let me cum!” you sound so good when you say it–it’s all he ever wants to hear for the rest of his life. he can’t wait for you to make him a real daddy.

“oh missus gojo can do anything she wants.” he coos as if he didn’t make you expressly beg for permission, lowering his face to your cunt again with precise licks, shoving your hood back to absolutely abuse your sensitivity. your legs develop a mind of their own and you’re spiraling over the edge before you can understand what he’s doing. floating balls of color cover your vision and you scream his name just as loud as he wanted. he grins in satisfaction, hands resting on your knees so he can push himself forward for a sloppy kiss; slick covered lips sliding against yours so you could taste your own essence via his tongue shoving its way in your mouth with a hearty moan. you match his eagerness, making out with satoru with more passion than ever before–because you both have the security of knowing it’s real this time. he maneuvers his hips until his leaky tip catches on your hole, his breath shaky as before he shoves in like he always does. you squeeze him so tight it’s not hard to believe why he lost his fucking mind over this pussy. he truly would do anything to make you his, thank god you didn’t put up a fight.

“fuuuuck–” he whines a little, finding it nearly impossible to even move in the first place. you feel the burn of his fat and lengthy shaft parting your walls like they routinely do, mouth dropped wide open in pleasure. satoru hovers inches away from your face, so close that the ends of his hair tickle your forehead as he picks your legs up—holding you by the back of the ankles before he sets a brutal pace. his nuts clap into your ass from the way he moves, length curving just right to fill you to the brim. he doesn’t even have to try all that hard to bottom out against your cervix, finding the way you moan and twitch so adorable. “this is why you have to be my wife—i need you for life, sweetheart.”

your eyes widen at that declaration–though you already realized that satoru would never let you out of his clutches again. you knew he would marry you as quickly as possible based off of his desire to also knock you up as quickly as possible—but hearing him call you that, first missus gojo and now his wife, it all felt so real. his cock slamming into you only drilled it in further, his eyes glowing brighter than you’ve ever seen. the air also grows its own electric field, suffocating and thrilling all at the same time. your eyes are glued to him, entranced by the feral look on his face. you try to hold onto him, but he’s moving so punishingly you can’t even get your hands to work, mind and body on cloud nine. “you’re so beautiful. i’ve been in love…with—you–for years now.” he says in between deep breaths, trying to contain all his focus into drilling you unconscious.

you shudder, feeling that was completely in the realm of possibility. his balls ache, the need to breed you just as heavy as all the other times you’ve come to him to clean up every mess of yours ever since he’s known you, the need to make you his in a way no one else would be allowed to—it’s carnal. he can’t stop until you’re full of his seed and it takes. he needs to see your breasts heavy with milk to feed his baby from. he needs to see you struggle with the weight of your belly so he can urge you to rest and let him serve you like you should be. he needs to see what the combination of your love looks like; what these last ten years of hard work would become. he’s painting your insides white and still pumping just as fast as before, watching your face tick and jerk with the pleasure you’re experiencing as you tip off of your own peak. he grins, shoving that cum as deep as it will go. he stops when he knows your body can’t take anymore, cuddling you to his chest until you fall asleep safe and sound. he has the whole world in his hands, and that’s never been enough. now he can sleep with a genuine smile on his face. he knows your body will regulate in a few months off the birth control—but that doesn’t mean he can’t get plenty of practice until then. after all, he has a problem! he has to breed his pretty little girl best friend turned future wife.

#kishibyesredditcollab #dark content #x female reader #gojo x reader #kyleewritesjjk #jjk x reader #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen smut

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bbokicidal · 3 months ago

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"You're So Much Alike." - [B.C.]

Summary: Where you meet his mother for the first time and capture a picture that you will treasure for years to come.

Warnings: None, just a lotta fluff.

Notes: Based on the photo above where Chris recreated his childhood picture w/ his mom.

"When was this?" Your eyes turn to your boyfriend beside you and his head tips in your direction, eyes following only a moment later. A bright smile is plastered on his face as he was previously having a conversation with his mom to the opposite side of himself.

His teeth grit as his lips pull apart in a quiet hiss of thought. "Ah... Mm." His lips press together, brows furrowing as he looks at the picture. "Think I was.. four? Three? Three or four." He nods curtly, eyes drawing up to where you stare at him. ".... What?"

Your smile grows the longer you peer up at him. He doesn't seem to realize how absolutely adorable the photo currently in your hand is. "Nothing. I just love you."

Chan's eyes wander over your own before he giggles, his hand falling to rest on your knee. "I love you too, sweetheart."

"Oh, I was so young here." His mother reaches for the photo, gently taking it from your hand to look down at it. The look on her face seems to say without words that it brings back wonderful memories she couldn't ever forget.

"Please," You murmur, catching her attention with a soft smile. "You look the exact same, Mrs. Bang."

It was kind of his mother to offer to show you baby photos of him. You hadn't necessarily expected it during your first meeting with her, but she seemed more than excited to show you the silly pictures of Chan in the bath, or pictures of him covered in birthday cake when he was two years old. He'd gotten a bit embarrassed at the bath pictures, begging his mother not to show them to you before she countered back with; "What? She's seen it all before anyway!"

And you couldn't argue with that, laughing along as you squeeze his hand in your own. "I mean, she isn't wrong."

You felt incredibly lucky to be able to tag along on this opportunity - visiting Australia with Chan for the first time. The majority of the day is spent relaxing at his family home and getting to know his family; Unfortunately Lucas and Hannah are with their friends, which you can't fault them for, but you get to spend the day with his parents. And Berry, of course.

Their pup seems to take a love to you, following you around instead of sticking to Chan. She sits at your feet while you lean against the kitchen counter and watch his father cook lunch for the group of you; And she treads only a foot or two behind you as you move to dance with Chan's mother in the dining room to the soft music that plays through the house. The room is filled with laughter and the soft banter she exchanges with you on how she may have to steal you from her son with just how charming you are.

Lunch is quiet and soothing, bodies filled with warm home cooked food and Chan's mother asking just how the two of you met - where you saw yourself in ten years, what kind of career you were interested in, and how you felt about her son. Typical first meeting types of questions - But, she seems happy with all of your answers and while you aren't looking, shares an exchanged glance with her son that is telling him to marry you.

It ends as you excuse yourself from the table and move to help Chan at the sink, washing the dishes from preparing the meal and drying them off as he handed them to you. He smiles at you helping him out, about to tell you to go shoo so he can take care of it himself and let you relax. His eyes wander in your direction as you suddenly ask if his father needs another wife - widening in surprise and whispering a soft, "Excuse me?" in shock.

"What? He's literally you but a little older!"

"Are you tryna marry my dad right now--"

His father excuses himself from the home about an hour later, something work related beckoning him away. His mother suggests a walk around the park Chan use to run about in when he was little and you eagerly agree, wanting to see more of the local scenery. It's pleasant, a breeze wafting through your hair and brushing over your shoulders as you go. Berry's leash is held careful but firm in your palm and she treads nearby, tail wagging in excitement at just being out.

Without being fully aware of it, you'd fallen behind the mother-and-son duo after being caught up in admiring the nature around you. As your eyes draw back to the pair ahead, you stop walking and Berry takes a few more steps before halting as well. She turns to look up at you in curiosity and when you crouch down, she comes closer to rub her nose against your arm. Hand digging in your pocket, you pull out your phone and let the pair continue walking without disturbing them. Lifting your phone to snap a photo, the picture on your screen looks lovingly familiar to one you had seen earlier.

Chan seemed extremely grateful when you showed him the picture later on - and his mother even more so that evening. His father peeked over her shoulder before gently giving the woman a shake of admiration, hugging her around the waist shortly after. "Jessica, you don't look a day over thirty." And she laughs, swatting at his arm.

Your eyes dart to Chan's and he blinks, meeting your gaze a moment later. Your eyes narrow. "Why am I just now finding out that your mom's name is Jessica?"

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagine #bangchan x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagine #bangchan imagine

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applepiewinchesters · 3 months ago

Text

Every Universe (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: This was written while I was slightly intoxicated, I regret nothing though and hope you guys enjoy it. It was proofread but I cannot say there will be no grammatical errors. Regardless, please enjoy!! :) Also, takes place in the Deadpool and Wolverine universe.

Word Count: 4,158 (this bitch is long, for me at least)

Warnings: None really unless you count angst and fluff as well as the mention of butt stuff

Finding out that not falling in love with a man being the sole reason you were sent to the void seemed like a pretty patriarchal reason to essentially be damned but who were you to question the TVA.

The day you were sent to the void you’d seen the news, MULTIPLE CASUALTIES AFTER ATTACK AT XAVIER’S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS, names such as Jean Grey, Marie D’Ancanto, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Logan Howlett were read out by the heartbroken looking anchor.

Being a mutant yourself, the news stung and left a pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was an attack by an anti-mutant terrorist group, if they were bold enough to attack the home of Charles Xavier, why not a shopping mall next, or another school full of mutant and non-mutant children alike.

Only minutes after the newscast on the tragedy started four rectangular, orange portals opened in front of and behind you. Four men dressed in odd looking military uniforms stalked towards you. You didn’t even have time to attempt to fend them off before they grabbed you, holding you down while you attempted to break free but even with your mutation, they were too strong.

All you remembered was one of them placing some weird stick against your stomach and you screamed as you essentially dissolved into nothing.

When you woke you were found by who you now knew as Blade, and were told you were in the Void, where you would stay until you died or were killed by a fellow member of said Void.

You’d been there for a what you thought was probably a few years when a couple of Deadpool and Wolverine variants were found by Laura in an absolutely fucked Honda Odyssey. She brought them there and Gambit and Blade brought them inside and laid them down. They appeared as if they’d just had a horrific fight or the most violent sexual encounter ever.

The Wolverine variant was the first to wake up, quite literally shooting up into a sitting position while breathing heavily. His claws extended quickly from his knuckles, and he made an almost animalistic sound.

“Easy there killer,” you almost teased, holding up your hands, you’d been the one unfortunate enough to be closest to him when he woke up, so his eyes immediately fixed on you.

Several emotions seemed to flash across his face at once, his look of anger changing to one of shock. His claws disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared just moments ago as you slowly put your hands down, now a little concerned for the man.

“Y/N?”, he asked, his head tilting slightly.

It was your turn to look confused, “Did we know each other?”, you asked.

Sure, you’d heard of Wolverine, of Logan, but you’d never met him personally, you had originally been set to attend Charles Xavier’s school when you were 18 but after an attack on the school the same year your parents had decided against it.

The Logan before you’ s face fell slightly; he seemed almost hurt. It took him a second to respond, “I, uh, I guess not.”

That was when Elektra cut in, explaining to Logan where he was and how she’d found him and Deadpool. While he seemed to only half listen, he got up and found the nearest bottle of Gambit’s booze and started drinking it.

When Deadpool woke up it was a completely different side of weird, you hadn’t had the pleasure of coming across a Deadpool variant, but you’d heard how odd they were, and unfortunately for you, you thought they were exaggerating.

After annoying literally everyone in the room, the Deadpool variant all got you to somehow agree to help him and Wolverine get back to the TVA to save his timeline, as well as a sneak attack on Cassandra Nova. The whole time Logan watched you from the corner of his eye.

He couldn’t completely convince himself it was you. The last time he’d seen you, you were lying dead on the front lawn of the school, killed by a large group of humans, along with almost everyone at the mansion. You were covered in blood and cold by the time he’d gotten there. He’d held onto you until the coroner was nearly begging to take you away.

Logan remembered almost everything about you. Your favorite movie, what food you hated, and even the feel of your hand in his. But when you looked at him with little to no recognition in your eyes, his heart could’ve broken all over again.

You had no idea the conflicting feelings he’d had while you sat only a few feet away. You looked practically the same, maybe older than you were when you’d died in his world, he was older too, maybe you just didn’t want to be with an old man and were pretending not to know him. He was the worst Wolverine after all, he wouldn’t blame you.

But then there were some things you did that reminded him of his version of you, the way your laugh sounded exactly the same, how you sat the same way in your chair, and you even made the same face when you’d taken a drink of Gambit’s whiskey as when you’d sip his occasionally while the two of you sat on the couch in the mansion watching some movie one of the others had put on.

It was you, just, one that apparently hadn’t fallen in love with Logan Howlett. Logan himself couldn’t help but wonder if that had been your reason for being sent here, but thought better of it, deciding he'd probably never have that kind of impact on any kind of world.

After a successful attack on Cassandra and her small army, Deadpool and Wolverine were gone, and you hadn’t expected to ever see them again. Then Cassandra almost destroyed every timeline to exist, and you’d thought for sure those two variants had gotten themselves killed.

But then the TVA came for you and brought you to said Deadpool variants world, which he had successfully and somehow saved with Wolverine’s help. You couldn’t help but notice Logan’s shirt missing this time around. Almost cursing yourself for not trying harder to go to Xavier’s school when you were younger, having a chance to meet your world’s Logan. A man’s abs can do that to a woman.

“Happy to not be in the void and all, but why am I here?”, you asked, eyeing the agents around you and taking in the cracked subway station.

“I thought I’d give a little gift to Wolvie here,” Deadpool replied in an overly enthusiastic manner, throwing an arm around Logan who instantly pushed him away.

“I’m not a gift to give you dumb fuck,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

Deadpool ignored your obvious distain and continued, “Well I figured since he lost you in his world and you never falling in love in your world caused his death that you could stay here with us!”.

Your eyes widened and you had to think about what he’d said for a moment, “I-I got him killed? I got Logan and those other mutants killed?”.

Logan couldn’t focus on the other details once his name left your mouth; he hadn’t heard you say that in almost a decade.

You on the other hand turned to the woman beside you that looked to be in charge.

“Is that the reason I was sent there, because I didn’t fall in love with Logan Howlett and he died because of it?”, you asked, you felt like you could be sick.

The woman sighed, almost regretful, “Yes, it was,” she finally answered you. “Without your help of your mutation those mutants did not survive that attack on the school.”

“Oooooo, trauma plot twist,” Deadpool practically squealed.

“Shut the fuck up!”, you snapped back, making Deadpool whisper a bashful, “Sorry,” and take a step back.

The TVA agents left shortly after, and that was how you found yourself living in a small apartment with Wade, Logan, and the craziest old lady you’d ever met, Blind Al.

Wade and she shared a room as weird as it was, you were given the spare room Blind Al reluctantly let you use, as it was now formerly her grow room, and Logan elected to sleep on the couch.

You settled in somewhat nicely, you still felt awkward in a world that wasn’t yours living with a doofus that you'd grown somewhat fond of and a man you got killed in his other life, but you had new friends, ones that didn’t have a huge chance of dying every day so that was a plus.

Yukio and Ellie had gravitated towards you, you were somewhat close in age, with them being early twenties and you in your somewhat late twenties, they reminded you of your younger sibling’s friends from back home in your previous world.

So, when they invited you to go out a month after you settled in, you couldn’t say no, it would get you out of the house at least, you wouldn’t have to sit and listen to Wade and Logan argue or endure Logan’s kicked puppy look when he thought you weren’t looking.

You felt awful you weren’t the you he thought you were, and you knew it was nothing you could control but after Wade let it slip what had happened to you in Logan’s world you couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if the roles were reversed.

So, to hopefully be able to forget about everything for a few hours you got ready, doing some easy makeup and hair, you put on a cute outfit you’d bought earlier in the week, Yukio had begged you to go shopping after finding out you didn’t own anything for “going out” yet on this world.

You relented and picked out a skirt, top, tights, and boots, it was simple yet cute enough to not be mistaken as any old outfit.

When you’d exited your bedroom in your shared apartment shortly before Yukio and Ellie were due to come get you, Wade looked up from whatever the hell he was doing on his phone, which could be anything from porn to angry birds.

His eyes widened slightly, “Got a date?”, he asked, only slightly feigning shock.

Logan had looked up immediately at the mention of a date, he was sipping a bottle of whiskey at the kitchen table. His eyes traveled over your outfit when he thought you were busy glaring at Wade.

“Not that its your business merc but no, I’m going out with Yukio and Ellie,” you stated, tossing a lip balm you had in your hand to your small purse.

“Girls nightttt,” Wade sang, only making you sigh.

As if a divine intervention interrupted there was a knock on the door and when you opened it you found the two girls standing there waiting.

“Hi Wade!”, Yukio exclaimed waving at him.

Wade leaned back in his seat to look around you at Yukio, “Hi Yukio!”.

“Come on,” you told them, moving to leave but a hand on your shoulder made you turn around. It was Wade.

“Now honey,” he began, “don’t take drinks from strangers, don’t go off alone, and don’t hook up with anyone. You know what they say about beer goggles, you’ll be waking up next to the crypt keeper.”

While you rolled your eyes and pushed Wade’s hand off your shoulder although you knew he really did care. Logan on the other hand clenched his jaw. You weren’t his and he knew that, but Wade’s last comment set his teeth on edge.

“I’m a big girl Wade, but thanks,” you told him, turning around and leaving this time without so much as a glimpse Logan’s way.

When the door shut Wade spoke again, “She’s gonna get picked up by every hottie in the club in that outfit. Did you see her legs Peanut?”.

Wade then almost immediately flinched when he felt glass shatter on the back of his head, the alcohol in the now broken bottle staining the back of his My Little Pony shirt.

He didn’t even have to look back to imagine the look on Logan’s face, “Gotcha,” was all Wade replied, picking out a rather large glass shard from the back of his neck.

…

It was hours later when you were so drunk you couldn’t feel the cold outside, but you sure felt good on the inside. The only bad thing was that the other girls wanted to go to another club, and your social battery was just about gone.

You three stumbled out of the club, Yukio and you giggled at something Ellie had yelled at some perv leering at you when you’d walked out. Stopping the other two from turning the opposite way to another club, you spoke rather loudly despite being out of the crowd and loud music.

“I-I think I’m gonna go home! You girls go!” you told them, making Yukio frown.

“Don’t walk home by yourself, call Wade or something,” Ellie commented.

You nodded thoughtfully before gasping, “I’ll call Logan, Wade is doing butt stuff with Vanessa tonight!”.

Your loud comment sent Yukio into a giggling fit and made a guy near you wince, maybe he’d done butt stuff too.

Ellie only nodded, rolling her eyes as you pulled your phone from your purse, scrolling through the very few numbers you’d had, Wade had gotten both you and Logan phones soon after arriving, claiming he needed to be able to send you both funny videos every day. Which were no doubt ignored by Logan.

Pressing on Logan’s contact, you put the phone up to your ear, listening to it ring only once before the call was answered.

“You alright?”, was the first thing out of Logan’s mouth and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, I’m great!” you replied, “but Ellie doesn’t want me walking home alone and Wade is doing butt stuff so will you come? I’m only a few blocks from home.”

The whole sentence was sort of rushed and you thought maybe Logan hadn’t heard you correctly because the line went silent.

You were about to repeat yourself when Logan stopped you, “I’m coming,” he told you, you could hear him shuffling around and the sound of a door closing, “What’s the name?”.

Despite having been in the club for well over an hour you had to look up and squint at then brightly lit sign, “Uhhhh,” you mumbled into to the phone, before your eyes finally focused, “House of Yes!”.

You could’ve sworn Logan chuckled, “Be there soon,” was all he said before hanging up.

“Escort secured,” you told the two girls, slipping your phone back into your purse. “He’ll be here soon,” you added, attempting to replicate his gravely tone, only succeeding in making yourself cough and sending Yukio into a laughing fit.

It was only 15 minutes of standing around before Logan showed up, you spotted him first, having turned yourself that way to look for him. He was dressed in his usual jeans, button up, and undershirt, along with a leather jacket he’d picked up recently.

He looked good you had to admit, nearly every girl outside, and even some guys turned to look at him when he walked past. He didn’t give them any sort of acknowledgement though, earning some disappointed looks from a few of them when he walked up to you.

What was it Wade said about beer goggles? Logan was hot without alcohol though, so you shook off the thought.

“Ready to go?”, he asked, eyes scanning over you, not to be a perv but to make sure everything was the same as when you left, and it was, save for the way you swayed slightly and the way you smiled at him like you were so happy to see him. He thought he’d never see that again, but he has to remind himself for what felt like that hundredth time that it wasn’t you, not his you at least.

You nodded, turning around to hug both of the girls, telling them to be safe, although you knew Ellie wouldn’t put up with anyone’s shit.

“Bye Y/N! Bye Logan!”, Yukio exclaimed, waving at you both before grabbing Ellie’s hand as they turned the opposite way.

“Alright, come on,” Logan said, taking a step away from you and waiting for you to follow him to keep walking, he made sure to keep you closest to the buildings, it wouldn’t be too great to have you fall in the street in front of a car.

It was silent for a couple minutes, you stumbled every so often and Logan’s hand always shot out, ready to catch you, but you always righted yourself, giggling as you did, and Logan found himself smiling at the sound.

You caught him smiling after a couple times, narrowing your eyes, “What’re you smiling at grumpy?”, you asked, voice anything but angry.

“Grumpy?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, it’s what I call you sometimes in my head, Mr. Grumpy is also a good one,” you told him in a very serious tone.

“Mr. Grumpy,” Logan found himself repeating, only making you laugh, which made you stumble, nearly knocking into someone walking the opposite way of you both. Logan instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the almost collision and into his side.

You immediately noticed he was warm, you could feel it even with his multiple layers on, it was growing colder now outside as the days went on and you yourself knew without the alcohol, you’d probably be cold but here he was, a personal heater.

“Are you actually just a werewolf?” you asked him, making him stop walking completely and turn towards you, removing his arm from your shoulders, making you pout a bit.

“I am not a werewolf,” he told you seriously.

You groaned, “Okay but you’re really warm, you have claws, you can run on all fours, and you’ve got those little…,” you trailed off, putting your pointer fingers up on each side of your head, attempting to mimic the little swishes his hair made.

Personally, you had no idea if his hair just did that (because he’s a werewolf), or if he styled it that way. You couldn’t decide which option to like more.

When Logan didn’t seem to understand what you’d said, you reached up, lightly running a finger along one of the swoops of his hair. You jumped a bit when his hand caught your wrist as you were pulling your hand back.

There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize but it soon disappeared as he let you go, “Sorry,” he quickly said. “Reflex.”

You shrugged, “No harm done,” you told him, and his eyes softened at the way you brushed off his behavior from years of enduring nothing even remotely close to the gentle way you’d just touched him.

Maybe you didn’t think so badly of him. You always seemed so wary, afraid to make him angry, to say something wrong, like he was a ticking time bomb. It put him on edge and made him want to steer clear of you, he didn’t want to scare you off either. But now, standing there staring at you while you just smiled at him made him relax a bit.

“Let’s go,” you suddenly said, beginning to walk away from him. He was back at your side in moments, and you found yourself bumping into him every so often, apologizing every time you did.

Finally, he wrapped an arm around you again, pulling you back into the warmth of his side. You smiled when he did, stumbling slightly but he held you up easily, not letting you fall.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you told him when you were only a block from home.

“No problem,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk ahead.

There were a few moments of silence before you began to giggle suddenly, Logan’s brow furrowed as he looked down at you, “What?” he asked, hopefully not regretting asking.

“So, you’re not a werewolf?” you asked, looking up at him.

Logan groaned looking away from you, “No, and if you keep asking, you’ll regret it.”

“Ooo what are you gonna do?” you mocked, poking his side.

“Wouldn’t you like to know sweetheart,” he replied, making you stumble at the nickname.

“I would,” you challenged, after righting yourself with the help of Logan’s arm around you.

Logan regarded you for a moment before shaking his head, “You’re drunk, another time.”

“Ughhhhh,” you groaned, “Tell me!”.

“Not a chance,” Logan replied, smirking a bit. He’d been drinking since you left and was buzzed himself, he couldn’t help but smile at your behavior.

The you he’d known had always acted like this, at least when intoxicated. You were whiny, clumsy, and clingy. The way your fingers gripped the back of his jacket to stay up right made his heart ache though and his smile fell.

You noticed his attitude change and became concerned, “You okay?” you asked, attempting to stop walking, but Logan kept you going.

“Fine” he replied, his hold on you loosening slightly, you couldn’t help but notice.

So, you stopped, much to Logan’s dismay, moving to stand in front of him, swaying slightly as you very determinedly looked him in the eye.

“What’s wrong, did I do something?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice, he could almost feel his heart crack just slightly.

“No, it’s…,” Logan began, his tongue getting tied, he was never great at emotions, that’s why he drank so much. You didn’t have to feel anything then.

“I’m listening,” you reassured, resisting the urge to take his hand.

“You’re so much like…like her, like you,” Logan finally said, not really meeting your eye. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t, you even smell the same.”

Logan had rendered you with nothing to say, could you truly comfort him? Reassure him? You felt yourself sobering up a bit at the thought.

It was a few moments of silence before you found your words, “I know this has been shitty for you too, and I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend. Honestly sometimes I think you hate the fact that I'm not her, me her, whatever...that you hate me. But then you do things like this and it makes me think otherwise. I guess I just don't know how to...approach you, Logan."

Logan felt his heart drop at the word “friend”, and the thought he made you feel inadequate. God he really was stupid enough to think he might have a chance with this version of you.

But he found himself lifting a hand to your cheek, feeling your skin heat up beneath his fingers, “I could never hate you, not in this universe, not in any, got it? Its my fault, for pushing that onto you, making you feel like you have to be someone you’re not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, “We’re both just fucked up in our own special way, aren’t we?”.

Logan nodded, dropping his hand, but you caught it in your own, “It’s not your fault either you know, I personally blame whatever bitchass overlord of the universe did this.”

Logan had to keep himself from solely focusing on the way your hand wrapped around his, “But…,” he went to argue.

You put up a hand to stop him, “Enough with the self-pity Howlett, its unbecoming of a man of your nature.”

“My nature?” Logan asked, titling his head at you.

“Yes, the nature of being absurdly attractive,” you admitted, looking away from him as you spoke, attempting to walk away, but he pulled you back, almost into his chest, but he kept you a few inches away, still concerned with scaring you.

“Absurdly?” Logan asked, the smirk returning to his face.

You swallowed hard, “Did I say that? I meant unappealing, completely unsightly.”

Your attempt at saving your future sober self from your drunk self was failing miserably, but Logan gave in after a few seconds, shrugging as he turned, placing his arm around you once more, guiding you towards the apartment building you could finally see in the distance.

“Whatever you say kid,” he told you.

This was the most at home you two had felt in a while, and when you sat next to each other at breakfast in the morning, Logan passing you whatever you needed when you’d asked, Wade gasped dramatically.

“Did you two also engage in butt stuff last night, or is that not your cup of whiskey Wolvie?” Wade asked.

This earned him a fork to the forehead, easily tossed across the table by Logan.

The way you laughed made Logan’s heart skip a beat instead of crack again. For the first time in quite a while he felt hope, and if being here with you meant putting up with Wade’s dumbass mouth, he could make an exception just this once.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I felt like Tumblr was seriously lacking in Logan fluff so here ya go!

#logan howlett #james logan howlett #deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett x reader #xmen #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff

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gurugirl · 2 months ago

Text

SHE LIKES TO WATCH | HOTHUSBAND!HARRY

Summary: Harry and his wife have an interesting lifestyle but when they invite you over for a night of fun you realize you're more into it than you thought you'd be.

Word Count: 4,817

Warning: smut, cucking (sort of - minus degradation), hothusbanding, sharing of a partner, size kink, watching a partner have sex with someone else.

Main Masterlist | send me an ask!

. . .

Harry and Vana always threw wild parties. You’d known the Styles’ for a while and nearly every month since you’d met them they had big get-togethers that sometimes turned a little chaotic. For example, sometimes a friend would stay over with them and you wondered (others wondered too) if Harry and Vana had that friend over to play with for a threesome.

Harry and Vana were an interesting couple. You weren’t sure what to make of it. You liked them both. Harry flirted with everyone. Men and women alike. And sometimes you noted his flirtations were not so innocent. But Vana never seemed to mind. Which was confusing because you certainly wouldn't want your husband or partner to be grinding on someone else, running his fingers through their hair, whispering into their ear.

One of your friends said he thought they were swingers. An acquaintance said that his wife was a cuckquean (which was something you had to look up because you’d never heard of that before). But you didn’t know for sure because it wasn’t your business.

And that night Harry had his sights on you. He’d flirted with you before, kissed your hand once, and gave you one of those goodbye hugs that was overtly intimate and had you feeling all jittery and gooey. But this time was different. He kept talking to you closely, brushing his hand over your arm, your fingers, and your back, complimenting you. Grabbed your hip when you were dancing…

Harry ran his hand over the back of your neck and spoke into your ear, “Would you mind if I kissed you?”

You breathed out in disbelief as you eyed his wife just as she passed into the kitchen.

You were shocked! You turned to him with your eyes wide and fuck if he wasn’t so goddamn attractive you’d have slapped him across the face. Even if part of you really loved how he was touching you and the way he was staring at you all night but you just couldn’t stomach the thought of kissing a married man.

That had been your limit. You turned on your heel and walked up to his pretty wife as she cleaned the kitchen after half of their guests had gone home. You were going to end this nonsense once and for all.

“Your husband just asked if he could kiss me.” You stood back to look at her face and assess her reaction but she just smiled gently and pulled at your fingertips, “Did you want to kiss him?”

Your mouth dropped open and you looked behind yourself, Harry already standing there looking innocent, and then back to his wife, “What do you mean? He’s your husband! I just wanted to let you know he’s been flirting with me and that’s–“

“Oh, you’re cute,” Vana cooed and then looked over your shoulder at her husband, “She’s worried I’d get mad.”

Blinking your eyes in confusion you felt Harry’s hands on your shoulders and then his warm breath on the back of your ear, “She likes to watch and listen, Y/n. She wants to see what you and I would look like together. If you’re into it. Just a kiss. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

It took a bit for your brain to wrap itself around his words and let them sink in. But when they did… boy were you feeling some kind of way. It wasn’t something you could quite put into words but it had you feeling spacy and hot.

But that’s how you found out that Vana and Harry were into sharing or hothusbanding. Another thing you’d never heard of. Hotwifing you’d heard of thanks to raunchy porn suggestions on your Twitter feed you never asked for. Vana liked watching her husband fuck other women or knowing he had fucked other women. You never were too wild or kinky with any of the people you slept with. Sharing had never been on your radar of limited interests and kinks. Until the Styles introduced you to it.

It started off with kissing Harry in front of his wife that first night. You let yourself get wrapped in his arms as he softly worked his lips against yours and then he pressed you into the kitchen counter and you felt the thud of his heart under your palm as you pressed your hand into his chest.

And it excited you. It felt so strange to have someone watching you but also… so thrilling.

“If you want to do this with us let me know. We’ve got next Friday night free.” Harry told you as he walked you out to your car before kissing you again. His wife watched from the door.

You nearly chickened out too. It was a lot. You didn’t know if you’d really be into it once things started to get heated. But Harry and Vana assured you they’d only go as far as you wanted. If you wanted. There was no pressure. But it was clear they wanted you.

So you obliged and showed up at their house that Friday all fresh and nervous.

Vana greeted you with a hug. She was wearing a loose-fitted t-shirt and bike shorts. “I’m glad you came.”

The two of you sat down at their kitchen table and Vana made small talk, which helped calm you a bit. It felt like you were just friends having a normal chat. Until Harry walked in. He was wearing jeans and a cream sweater, sleeves bunched up to his elbows, and his hair looked like he’d already had sex. He kept his gaze on you as he sat down next to Vana and she looked at her husband with a grin.

“How are you feeling?” Harry’s first words to you that night.

“I’m okay. Kind of nervous. We’ll see, ya know?” You laughed.

Harry nodded and moved a big hand up to the back of Vana’s neck, “Okay. We’ll take it one step at a time. See if you like being watched. Vana’s ready to share me with you so you don’t need to worry about her. We’ve been through all this before. Have had a few others come around. We don’t typically keep anyone long-term but have no problems being friends after. Some get jealous or can’t handle that I’m loyal to Vana first and foremost. She’s my wife so she has the final say over everything.”

You nodded as you listened to Harry spell out the details and ground rules. Vana was the one that got them into the “scene” in the first place. He didn’t share the nitty gritty with you but there was a medical problem that made it so that Vana didn’t enjoy having sex as often as they once did. And even before her issue, she’d always pushed for having threesomes with other women and would often wind up watching in fascination.

“It’s just something we’ve both come to really like,” Harry spoke, his fingers still gently running up and down the nape of Vana’s neck.

“And it’s one of the only things that turns me on. Watching him with someone else. Or knowing he’s with someone else. Sometimes he meets people outside of the house and comes back to me with pictures or videos. It makes me feel human when I get aroused. It’s like I need to watch him making someone else feel like that and it’s… I can’t explain it really but I do get this surge of lusty jealousy? But it’s not jealousy like with anger. Just something that’s welcome in a way.”

Vana explained it’s almost like cucking but without the degradation (she didn’t like being degraded or disrespected) because she liked watching but also enjoyed picking the person and having some element of control.

Harry reached across the table and moved his fingers over your knuckles, “You still want to go through with it?”

Nodding you let out a breath, “I think so. Yeah.”

You were sure you were insane for it but you were intrigued.

He pulled away and stood up from his chair, “Let’s go into the master bedroom. We’ll get comfortable in there together and see what happens.”

You followed Harry into the bedroom, Vana behind you. The bed took up a good deal of space. A soft armchair was in the corner of the room facing the bed. You didn’t know exactly what to expect but you assumed Harry’s wife would be sitting there.

Harry gestured toward the bed, “You can stay dressed if you like or take your clothes off. Just do what’s comfortable.”

You opted to stay dressed. Until you were sure things were happening.

Harry moved in next to you on the bed, your feet dangling off the side as Vana sat in the chair and crossed her legs.

“I can stand outside of the door for a bit while you get started if it makes you feel better,” she offered, “I like listening just as much as watching.”

You shook your head, “I don’t think… I mean, it’s fine like this. I think.”

Harry laughed and placed a hand on your thigh, “That’s all right. If you change your mind just say so.”

You looked into Harry’s dazzling green eyes as he smoothed his palm over your leg and up to your hip, “You’re so pretty, Y/n. I’ve thought so since the first time I met you. Vana told me I should hook up with you months ago but I wasn’t sure you’d be right for it.”

You licked your lips and moved your gaze to his mouth as he spoke, “But I think you’ll be perfect for this now that I’ve gotten to know you a bit.”

You could feel your heart rate pick up as he leaned in closer, his hand on your hip, “Can I kiss you?”

A quick nod yes and you were enveloped by him in an instant. Like he was waiting for the yes to attack.

His hot mouth smeared against yours and made you woozy. Hands pushing you further into the bed and whispers against your lips that you were sure only you could hear.

“You’re gonna feel so good… so sweet for me… she’s gonna love watching how good I make you feel…”

You were getting dizzy as you let your tongue swirl against his and you smoothed your hand under his sweater to feel the steamy skin of his chest.

And as his lips pressed between yours, you felt the virile muscle and hair on his chest when his sweater rose up. He pulled it off and your eyes didn’t know where to look first. Dark inky designs on his chest and arms, muscled pecs and abs, warm skin…

You felt his hands on the bottom hem of your shirt, lifting, as he pressed his lips against yours again.

You wanted to get out of your clothes. Wanted to see more of him and find out what would come next. You didn’t know if you’d go all the way but in that moment, you were fine with wherever the night took you. The switch had happened so fast. From being unsure if you wanted any clothes off to needing to rid yourself of all the layers so you could feel his hands on your skin.

Harry’s mouth and his moans were like an aphrodisiac. He kissed you like he needed his mouth on your skin for air. You helped him tug your shirt off when his lips drew down your neck and he caged you in by your hips, “Got me so hard, Y/n. This fucking body… Want to eat you alive…”

You moaned and lifted your hips as he traced his mouth down your skin until he was stopped by your waistband. Lifting his gaze up to yours you moved your hand to the button of your jeans and unplucked it, “You can take them off.”

A low moan, that sounded similar to a growl fell from his chest as he worked your jeans down your legs and then you felt his big palms smooth up your shins, to your knees, and then your thighs before he dipped back down to finish bringing his lips over your hips and to the elastic band of your panties.

It was soft kisses over your skin and then to the insides of your thighs as he pushed your legs apart just enough to fit his face between them.

Pushing yourself up to get a better look your eyes came into contact with Vana’s. She was watching the whole thing from her chair, lips parted, and eyes dark on yours.

Your attention was pulled back to Harry when you felt his tongue trail up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your panties. The overgrown stubble on his face scratched at your soft skin as he ran his tongue up each side and nuzzled into your crotch.

When he looked up at you with his seafoam eyes and raspberry lips you stuffed your fingers into his hair, just so you could feel it between your fingers.

“Can I eat you out, Y/n? Smells so good.”

You nodded and immediately his fingers were looping into the waistband of your thong and he tugged them down your legs and off in haste.

You gasped at how quickly he rid you of your last item of clothing but as soon as you felt his mouth connect with your cunt you dropped your back into the mattress and gurgled a loud moan.

He slid his lips and tongue over you slowly, unscrewing the last bit of tension and doubt you had about having someone watch. Having his wife watch. In fact, there was something so illicit and so titillating about having Vana there.

He’d bracketed you in with his arms to keep you still as his tongue and mouth worked you into a frenzy. Wiggling, whining, wet. You couldn’t help the sounds coming from your throat or the way your fingers pulled at his brown hair.

But the sound of your pussy being eaten right in front of his wife just made everything far hotter than it might have been if you two were alone.

“Oh fuck! Oh… sssshhit!” You panted.

Harry moaned against your clit and then he slid an arm away from one of your thighs and you felt the slow stroking of his fingertips running up and down your drenched pussylips.

And like it was second nature, you rolled down against his fingers and pressed the tip of his digits inside to feel it.

It was a signal you wanted more. So Harry obliged, dipping his fingers inside of you through to his knuckles before he began fingering your pussy in a steady, seductive pace.

You wondered how many women he’d done it to. How many he had finger fucked and eaten out right in front of his wife. Wondered how many he’d fucked with his cock. Whatever that number, he was good. Really fucking good.

And you were tipped over the edge when he slurped and flicked his tongue over your puffy bud and pumped his long fingers inside of you to coax your orgasm out of you. You had your mouth opened wide, desperate moans falling from your throat as your body relented to Harry’s fingers and his lips as you came.

“Can’t even speak it’s so good, huh? Only giving me those pretty moans. Listen to her Vana. She’s fucking crying…”

You could hardly react to his words other than to whimper as you began to settle and eventually melt, his fingers slowly pulsing inside of you until he ran his thumb over your sensitive clit and you pressed your thighs together quickly and rolled to the side, his fingers sliding out of you.

“Got my hand and face soaked, Y/n. Who knew you were such a messy thing? Knew you’d love this…” you felt his hand on your hip, pulling you back toward him.

Your chest heaved as you pushed yourself up, still floaty and ears stuffed with cotton as you looked from Harry to his wife, a shy smile on your face.

“How do you feel?” Vana spoke.

Nodding you caught your breath, “That was… yeah. Very good. Still tingly…” you laughed.

Vana grinned widely, “Good. That’s what we want. You’re really pretty with Harry’s mouth on you. Even I’m all wet now after watching that.”

“And you’re still okay too?” You asked her, just to be sure.

“More than okay. I’d love to see how you two look having sex, though. If you’re up for it.”

You looked at Harry who had his brows raised at you, waiting for your answer. A nod and a small laugh puffed from your lips, “Okay.”

Harry began to unbutton his pants, moving from the bed to stand to get them down his legs. He watched you closely as he palmed at his hard cock, the prominent bump at the front indicating you were going to be in for a nice treat.

Vana stood up and tugged at Harry’s boxer briefs and you noticed she was holding a condom, “Wish you didn’t have to use this. One day I want to see you creampie a pretty girl for me.”

Harry grabbed his wife by the front of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss and you watched their tongues clash together before he let go and Vana returned to her seat, tucking her legs underneath herself.

You didn’t mean to be dramatic but when Harry’s briefs were discarded to the floor you gasped and sat up, eyes focused on the meaty, swollen organ that hung heavy and thick.

Dimples scored into his cheeks as he placed the condom over himself and Vana laughed, “It’s nice, isn’t it? Everyone reacts like that when they see it. Women love his cock. You’ll feel every bit of that inside of you too.”

You swallowed as Harry got back onto the bed next to you and pulled you down to your side, his lips pressed to yours. You felt his hand grip at your thigh and drag it over his hip, pulling you close against him so you could feel his cock nudging against you and then drag through your labia.

It was slow and sweet, the kiss. But if anyone else were to peer into that room they’d disagree. It was filthy and debauched. You were lying with a married man as his cock slid against you and his wife watched from her chair in the corner.

“You want me to fuck you, Y/n. Make you come on my cock while Vana watches?”

You moaned into his mouth, “Yes. Fuck me.”

He smiled against your lips and gripped your thigh tight before he pushed you flat and he was suddenly over you, thighs against yours as you spread your legs and he pressed his tip into you before pulling all the way out, “You sure?”

Nodding you moaned, “Yeah.”

He smirked, raising his head to look at his wife as he finally dipped back in, slowly pushing through your walls and moaning with every inch he fed you. You kept your eyes on his chest and his jaw as he watched Vana’s face. Like he needed to imagine it was her he was tucking himself into.

And it was a salacious, pleasing stretch. When his hips pressed into yours and he dragged himself back and then plunged in again you moaned at the way he filled you and filled you again. He thrusted in and in and then you let out a cracked moan and finally, he looked back down at you, the girl he was actually fucking.

He sucked in through his teeth as he let his pupils examine your face and then your breasts and tummy and then the obscene view of his cock submerging into you, “Look at you taking it so well. Looks like that barely fits but sounds like you like it, Y/n.”

You nodded and inhaled sharply, “Fuck… yes!”

Your mind was swirling and ebbing with thoughts between how good Harry felt ramming into you, how hot it was to have his wife watching, to wondering if you’d recover from this and be able to move on after. You could tend to be attached quickly and sex wasn’t something casual for you normally.

But then Harry’s hand smoothed over your nipple and he grasped your breast softly in his palm with his mouth parted and you could see how much he was enjoying you. How he liked the way you felt under him. You could hear the sound of Vana moaning but you couldn’t take your eyes off Harry’s face as he began to force himself in deeper, harder, faster. His abs clenched and his chest flushed as he fucked you into the mattress. The mattress he and his wife slept on together… you all but forgot any worries you had because your brain was mushy peas as he drove into your pussy; it seemed to wipe out all pertinent thoughts other than that you were getting railed and it felt like heaven.

“She’s so wet for your cock, Harry. How does it feel inside of her?” Vana cooed.

Harry grunted and slowed his rutting hips as he sat back, keeping you flush against his hips as he grabbed onto your thighs and pulled you with him. Your back was arched over his thighs as he kept plunging himself in, “She’s so tight and warm, Vana. Her body looks so hot getting fucked too. Looks so good with my cock inside of her like this, her perfect pussy is just sucking me in. She needs to come so bad.”

You gasped when his thumb slid against your aching clit. Harry’s eyes were on yours when you focused back in on his face, “Look how pretty she is on my cock. I knew she would be. So sensitive too,” he gritted.

“Mmm… god that looks like it feels so good. So fucking jealous she can feel you like this, Harry. Make her come. I want to see her face. See how much she loves it.”

You were conscious but you were so far gone. All your body and your mind knew was how delicious everything felt as your orgasm started to slowly blossom. Harry stroked over your bud, up and down with pressure that built and built and built as he continued fucking into you.

The sound of smacking flesh filled the room, wet squelches with every thrust, and the soft moan of Vana as she enjoyed the show.

Harry’s fingers pinched into your hips as he held you tight with one hand, pasting your pussy against the base of his cock as he rutted into you, while he used his other hand to run his fingers over your clit.

You were powerless to it. You began to tremble and cry as your pussy clenched over him and your orgasm uncoiled from your tummy.

“Oh that’s so pretty, fuck, Harry, look at her.”

He was looking at you. Watching your face twist up in bliss as you came all over his cock. Wave after wave as he fucked into you made you delirious and you reached for his arm and held on, “Oh god… oh god… need that, Harry! Need you!”

Your words didn’t mean much. You were in the throes of your orgasm and neither Harry nor his wife minded your pronouncements. Sometimes even Harry would get into it and say things he didn’t mean because that was sex. It kind of did something to the brain in the moment of peak ecstasy.

When you felt him pulling out and warm hands grazed over your hips and your tummy, up to your breasts and face you fluttered your eyes open to see Harry grinning down at you, “Felt good didn’t it? You’re a pro at this already, Y/n. Got you off so fast, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly and nodded, “Guess I did come really fast.”

“Mind if I get you in doggy so I can get off too? Or do you just wanna lie like this while I finish myself off?”

You swallowed and pushed yourself up, “I can change positions. That’s fine.”

Turning yourself over to get on all fours, Harry guided your angle so you were face to face with Vana and then you felt his mouth on the back of your neck, on your shoulder blades, and down your spine until you felt him gripping your hips and pushing you down so your face was smushed into the comforter and you were no longer looking at his wife.

When you felt his cock press back in, spreading you open he moaned and got to it right away; thrusting in and all the way out, in and then holding you flush against his hips.

“Vana, fuck her pussy feels so good. Want to keep her for a bit,” Harry watched as his cock disappeared into you as he spoke to his wife, “Maybe next week if she’s up for more… fuck. Gonna need to feel this again.”

You started to feel that floaty, faraway mushiness again as Harry began to punch into you. His voice getting further and further away as your limbs began to quiver.

“I’d love that. Love to have her on your cock as much as you want, Harry,” Vana moaned as she reveled in the way Harry was so fucked out of his mind with you.

You hissed when he began to pound into you and your thighs couldn’t hold you up any longer. Slowly you began to slide down as Harry fucked into you with his long cock and strong legs flexing against you, until you were flat on your tummy with Harry moaning and ramming into you, hips crashing into your ass.

You felt his hard dick begin to throb and twitch as he whined your name, “Oh god… Y/n, baby… fuck you’re gonna… fuck Y/n…”

With your eyes closed and Harry’s fat dick lodged deep in your cunt he tensed and stilled his hips as he began to pump hot come into his condom.

“God Harry, that feels so good for you, baby… she’s so good for your cock isn’t she?”

You couldn’t hear Harry’s response as he pressed his chest into your back, but you could feel the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

He was heavy on you. You could feel his chest filling with air as he breathed deeply and then suddenly you were cold as he slid out of you and off your body. You rolled over and sat up to see him grasping Vana’s face with one hand and kissing her hard, the fingers on his other hand sliding against the crotch of her bike shorts, and then a smile from him as he whispered something to her and she laughed.

They both looked at you, pleased expressions on their faces.

“Would you be up for more another day?” Vana asked as Harry disappeared into the ensuite bathroom.

“Um… yeah. It’s okay more than once?”

Vana shrugged, “Sometimes it’s fine. As long as you don’t expect an emotional connection we’re up for you coming over or him meeting you at your place.”

“At my place?”

Harry stepped out of the bathroom with a towel and sat next to you, his briefs back on.

“Yeah. You two could do it again without me. Your place or at a hotel even. I like it when he records the sounds or takes videos so he can share them with me. Whatever you’re comfortable with. But I would know what was going on and when. Which makes me feel really excited when he’s gone for hours and then comes back to me after and he smells like sex.”

Harry began gently wiping at you as Vana spoke. You had never heard of anything like this before but you were sure Harry and Vana weren’t the only ones that did it. It felt wrong on some level but Vana seemed to love it and she was, in a way, calling all the shots.

“I mean, if you are okay with it and we can find some time for more… yeah. I’m good with that.”

Harry and Vana left you alone while you used their bathroom to freshen up and get dressed. You almost looked like a different person when you stared at yourself in the mirror. What had you just done? And why had you liked it so much? You left their house with more questions than answers that evening but you couldn’t say you weren’t intrigued by what could happen next.

You just hoped you could follow the rules and not get emotionally attached. But you figured it’d be worth it if you could get fucked like that again.

. . .

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cryptfile · 1 month ago

Text

⨳ kinktober file 02 — victims of love, a. donaldson.

summary — you will simply not tolarate losing.

warnings — 18+ mdni, rivals to lovers, fem!reader, tension, filthy mouth, praise kink, whiny&pathetic!art, choking, pet names, p in v, masturbation, mentions of spit, blood and injuries (reader falls during a match and Art takes care of it, nothing wild), dumbification (art calls reader a loser multiple times).

side notes — this takes place before Tashi’s knee accident, it’s not important to know but whatever, english is not my first language thanks to the greater power of the universe, so any mistakes, let them be, i’m not sorry, also, like my previous file, dividers by @cafekitsune! let me know if you want to be tagged in the next kinktober file! been thinking about doing a kinktober masterlist so it’s easier for you my pretty people to look up and read whatever you want. Requests are still open at the moment!

Fuck being a loser.

Even when the tournament is a friendly one. Stanford always do that shit, this thing to bring students together and forces everyone to participate, yet, when you find out who you’re compiting with, it’s pretty obvious you’re going for the throat, not caring if the word “friendly” is in name as there was a medal and 150$ on game.

Yes. You are competitive by heart, it’s part of your genetics now that you’re deep into this tennis world you never wanted to be a part of, Tashi made you sign up and suddenly, suddenly you take it very seriously.

You win the first match, the second, and when it comes down to the final one, you find out it’s none other than Art Donaldson the one who’s on the other side of the tennis court, bouncing the yellow ball until he’s confident enough make the first move.

By the end you’re sweaty. Visible drips of sweat even when you’re standing on the other side, running to match his stregth and game. You wanted to be pro, enjoy the luxury of a relaxed life whose only meaning is to win plays, and to finally be that, you need to beat everyone, man or woman alike as it’s not a matter of sex, but rather talent.

It does not matter if it’s a friendly tournament, it does not matter about the masses saying you’re good, it’s about the fact that you won, that you beat Art Donaldson out of all people. Tashi is a wild ride yes, she makes you work for it when you two are against each other, run to every side, get tired. Art is tension.

Competition.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he’s looking at you, like he’s not dripping in sweat like you are, making those filthy sounds he makes each time he uses force to hit the ball, enough effort on it to make him tired, utterly tired.

So when he won, your knee is already bleeding, shaking his hand in nothing but hatred as he gives you this confident smile he uses to flirt sometimes. You hate it, every second of it, hate the fact that you lose against Tashi’s friend (who you’re sure she must have fucked before cause how there’s so much unresolved tension there?) and how he’s looking at you like he just crushed you in every sense of the word, even enjoyed it while doing it so.

“Good match,” he says when everyone’s looking at your interaction with him, but you don’t say a word. Art chuckles cause he knows people like you, people who need to prove themselves over and over again. “You did a good job.”

You don’t need praising even when it does things to you. You remain professional as you shake his hand, a fast and tight shake before taking the second place. Second.

What you don’t expect is to be in that party later. The music’s loud and people are celebrating something you’re not much aware of, yet the third place greets you with the tequila as you arrive, a bronze medal on his chest as the strong, burning taste goes down your throat before you caught him out the corner of your eye.

Art Donaldson.

He loves praising so much he cannot help it when people stop and say something nice about him: A good little tournament he won? It’s not something he’s going to be proud of his life forever, but it’s enough to make him enjoy the comments about his talent as the day goes through, the medium-sized gold medal still on his neck as he walks like he owns the place. 150$ dollars richer.

Fucker.

Everything seems to be against you: Sororities aren’t your thing but you’re there, the tournament went to shit, Art was literally haunting you.

You think about leaving. You live in a small residence where everyone knows each other, so big spaces filled with as much students as they can possibly fit is not a exactly a plan for you in a friday night, not when you like to stay indoors— But Tashi’s there, your friends are there, and man, you just need to have a good time after the disaster of a day.

So instead, you shove down a shot or two. And when you’re invited to smoke some grass outside, you don’t doubt it, even when Tashi says something about training tomorrow before disappearing, you're sat in a small circle, not caring about your friend’s words as you forgot about the pressure and simply smoke oblivious to everything — Even to Art's gaze.

Fuck being pro. You were doing okay in physics, maybe you should stick to that.

So while you’re drowning in misery, Art just looks at you with a beer in the hand. You picked his interest right at the end of the game: Tashi's friend, new blood, and a fresh face after a whole semester of knowing the same people — It’s safe to say he's drawn to you like he has been with everything he liked during his life. So yeah, he caught himself staring, going back to his memories and the imprinted scene on his brain of the match you two shared before like it was something intimate everyone in the public saw, the dripping sweat falling off your skin as you throw yourself to the floor caughting the small ball when you don't care about your physical well-being anymore.

He can see the wounds on your knee still, the scraps of dry blood as you smoked weed. He knows you're abusing, abusing your limits, testing how far you can go after a hell of a mach, and Art's usually pinning after Tashi at that point, desperate to sabotage Patrick, yet that night specifically he finds himself in trouble until that very moment, that very moment that everything seemed to change all of a sudden.

Truth is Art don't know you very much. He knows Tashi got a female friend she happens to like, a breathe of fresh air as she would describe you, that you play tennis sometimes, but more than that? He's totally clueless even about your name.

It’s just,— God. He loves girls that can put him in his place. It happened with Tashi before driving him crazy with need, and it has happened now in a lame tennis court with you out of all sudden. He thinks about that look you gave him, the tension of the competition, about the fact that even when you saw him, you choose to ignore him, the silver medal you received before well hidden in the back pockets of your shorts instead of proudly display it on your chest like the thrid place did.

You’re no second place. It’s very clear.

He likes your ego, that cocky face you got when someone mentioned the match, dismissing your second place like it was nothing; and Art just stares, even when people notice he’s looking at you, he doesn’t care about being evident as he scans each and every one of your actions.

Shit, he’s been staring a long time. Your friends notice when they tell you about the cute strawberry blonde that’s been checking you out the whole night, but you, knowing who he is, just know that he’s only doing it for teasing, to make your blood boil like he did in the match.

No one’s breaking the nice bubble you made though, laughing, dancing until you’re dizzy and you need to tell one of your girls that you’re going to the bathroom real quick, plan that usual, goes incredibly catastrophic.

The door is locked and you stand outside knocking a couple of times, cursing at the time it took the person inside to get out. And it’s all very cliché when you think about it hours later, cause when the door opens and you’re so rushed, so high already, you don’t happen to notice who you’re running into.

Either way you crash into him when he comes out. Art, Art, Art fucking Art. You’re half way drunk as you would say, and he’s dead sober as he prevents you from falling, grabbing you by the arm as you lose balance.

“Careful,” he would say before noticing it’s you—. “Having trouble to keep on your feet, second place? you okay?”

The nickname stirs something in you. Boiling rage mostly as you quickly stand on your feet again, regaining the balance you lost.

“Thanks. Watch where you’re going,” you quickly reply, rolling your eyes to the back of your head—. “Gotta be careful. People are not kind as me.”

“Kind? You sure about that?” he laughs softly, looking down at you. Fucking rat. Is he mocking you? “Don’t think you were kind to me. You were nothing but the opposite.”

“Were you expecting a pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek?” you asked furrowing your brows in response, an attitude that only appears cause you lack of shame, driven by liquid courage.

“Well for starters, that could be nice” he admits, and you now understand how it ended like it was going at the moment, how he prevented you from getting into the bathroom as he puts his hand right in front of you, blocking the way inside. “Maybe a good job would do.”

You sober up really fast after that, impossible not to.

“How’s your knee?” he asks after the silence, and you notice how he’s leaning towards you, hand on the wall as he points out the wound you didn’t take care of before, too mad to disinfect it as you ignore the pain after the match: Nothing hurts more than a bruised ego. “Did you go to the infirmary?”

“It’s only a bruise, m’okay” you say, looking at your kneecap as well, the dried blood that’s still on your skin—. “Can I go in or what?”

He’s pretty confident in himself, it seems like it (or maybe it’s because he has a gold medal with a number #1 on it), yet he’s grabbing you by the waist, pushing you inside the bathroom as he closes the door behind him with the help of his foot, helping you sit on top of the sink as he looks out for the first aid kit in a bathroom that’s not his.

And you, weird enough, forget why you’re there in the first place. That you were feeling strangely dizzy, that you were going to the bathroom to stare at the mirror and wash your face to sober up, even drunk for a moment as he presses a clean towel dipped in alcohol, a weird silence as you leg tweak against the sudden pain, a reflex you cannot control.

“Do you always get so mad when you don’t get what you want?” he asks, distracting you from the burning sensation as he takes care of the wound in your kneecap—. “Never met someone that could get so passionate about a friendly tournament.”

“No,” you admit, looking at his hands. Even when the blood is dried it still hurts. His touch is gentle, warm against your skin as he touches only what he needs to be touched, keeping his left hand on your tight as he prevents you from moving involuntarily. “Don’t lose often.”

“That so?” he asks, tilting his head slightly backwards, giving you this smile as if he has a huge secret about you only he knew, like you two share confidence now that you’ve shared five minutes in a bath away from the noise. “How long you’ve been playing anyway? Haven’t see you around.”

“A while,” you find his curiosity annoying, yet you’ve been rude enough so you don’t say much, not when he’s helping you—. “Didn’t take it very serious until this semester.”

He hums. Art likes that. The fact that your brain works for something else rather than the competition, that you could talk about the fucking weather if you like and not another match, so he takes in the information in, standing between your parted legs, incredible close.

“And you’re winning don’t you?” he asks curiously. “Hoping to go pro.”

“Well, I think we all want that in the end, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t respond, not with words exactly, but he leans over the bathroom sink, body barely touching yours as he grabs the red thread hanging on the back pocket of your shorts, the one he knows it’s there cause he’s been looking at it the entire night, and you need help cause your breathing hitches on your throat for a moment: Art’s touch is soft, equal as it was when he was taking care of your wound, his fingers sliding in the back as he grabs the silver medal of the second place between his fingers.

How, the hell he smells so damn good? Since you heard he was participating in the tournament you were eager to beat him and reduce him to ashes, but now, you find yourself sniffing on his scent as he fills your nostrils with a sweet smell much like vanilla, clean.

“You should wear your medal,” the blonde says, placing it over your head—. “Let people know you’re good in what you’re doing.”

“I don’t want people to cheer over a second place,” you admit looking at the silver with disgust, too proud to let it slide. “That’s mediocre.”

He seems to thing about it for a second: “Mediocre huh? Would you be happy if we switched medals then, second place?” he asks, looking down at your face. He’s too comfortable now that you didn't pushed him away, caging you in the sink as he places a hand on each side of your legs, his weight now against the spacious marble counter—. “Is that what you want? I’ll tell everyone you beat me if that’s going to make you happy.”

“No,” Why are you even nervous? You scold yourself in your mind a couple of times, he’s looking at you with those fucking puppy eyes, glistening under the white lights of the bath as he looks at you almost pleading—. “Cause that’s not true. You won.”

“Don’t really care. I just want to put a smile on your face,” Art replies, and god, it’s getting damn hard to think at that point cause his fingers are tracing invisible patters on the sides of your legs, stupidly close as he scans your face, no shame, nothing but a pure act of lust. “Don’t want you to be mad a me, second place. Would not want us to start off on the wrong foot.”

Whatever he’s doing? It’s working. Cause when he’s taking the gold medal out of his neck to put it in yours, exchanging the silver one you hated so much with his gold? You’re sure you’re making it all up in your head.

“There,” the athlete smiles almost proud as his knuckles brushes against your chest—. “Looks better around your neck anyways.”

He caughts you off-guard. You’re no longer high, drunk, or whatever excess you’ve been through the night, and you simply dig it, a lot to be honest with yourself. Maybe it’s the fact that you lose the tournament, that you’re somehow vulnerable thanks to your ego being bruised so much, but you let it happen, let his fingers grab the skin of your tight again like its their original place cause you want him to do it, to experience his touch.

“Nobody’s going to believe me,” you blurt out, nervous enough to act like you’re normal about it, about his warm skin seeking yours—. “They all saw you win. You played good.”

“You really think that?” he’s dizzy on that cocky confidence, that boost your words give him as he smiles, his right hand caressing your cheek for a moment, losing itself in the strands of your hair moments after. “You really think I did a good job out there? Beating you?”

It’s the way he’s saying it. How he’s all desperate about it, so needy for you to admit he did good as he brushes your hair using his fingers.

“You know I do. That’s why you won, Art.”

“I swear i’ll keep the secret, loser” he chuckles lowly, breaking every rule as he pushes you to the edge of the counter. “I’ll tell everyone that you won, but you’ll still be the second place to me.”

Fucker.

You want to respond, say something sassy as well, a snarky remark at least, but Art’s pressing his forehead against yours, grabbing you by the jaw strong enough to remind you he has more force than you, but gentle enough to let you enjoy it, demanding you to look at him. Look at him like he’s been looking at you the whole damn night.

“I do, really want to kiss you right now, second place” he admits close to you, gaze travelling to your pumped lips as his eyes take in the details, the pink shade mixed with a transparent lip gloss that only seems to invite him, to make a mess with it, dissapear at its finest. ��It’s burning me alive.”

He waits for any sign of permission, and you try to think reasons to say no. Any motive to say no to him, but instead you simply chuckle, back against the wall, trapped in this atmosphere he so easily created: There’s no human way possible to say no cause to be brutally honest, you want it too.

He’s hot. he's handsome in a way you cannot stop thinking about so when he's kissing you? You have no complains. You let him be needy, let him touch you like an anguished men, like he encountered a glass of water after a long walk in the dessert. The kiss it's all teeth and bite — It's fast, messy, demanding and wet. He's grabbing you by the medal, tugging on the gold circle just to make you lean towards him, fingers now caressing on the skin of your throat now as he deepen the kiss, not even waiting for permission as he slides his tongue in, wanting more.

"So you wear my medal and i'll wear yours" his breathing collides against your skin soon after, planting kisses on the crook of your neck, drawn by your smell of peaches, the softness of your skin. "Say it, please say you'll do it."

Each second becomes a torture, a cruel joke when you were so invested in winning, something you don't care about now, that seems to be far from your interests as he squeezes the skin of your tight, toying with the hem of your shirt, the cotton fabric of your black t-shirt that only annoys him as he touches your stomach, the sweet intimacy he's been craving since the morning.

"I'll do it," you nod for a second—. "But you have to be convincing. Don't make me look like a fool."

"How could I?" he asks, utterly curious as he stops for a second to look at you. "You're a winner, anyone can tell."

It makes your blood rush. His words seems to hit the jackpot, cause your shirt's falling the floor, the door's being closed with lock, and suddenly, the air is hot, the only sound that filled the bathroom of the sorority being his kisses, your labored breathing as you forgot about the rest of the party.

It's not something you'd usually do, the rush of something so sporadic, so inconsistent, but you love the adrenaline, the touch of his hands, the electricity being poured down your spine.

"Nobody would even dare to think you're in reality a loser" he says, praising once again in his own way as he places a soft kiss on your lips, looking down at your hands now, fingers interwined now in his jeans. More. You want more. “A really hot second place.”

Your touch is getting more eager now, and as you unbuckle his pants, he's fucking whimpering, his hips moving in need for the friction the palm of your hand can offer, taunting him for a second before he's pulling down on his own underwear himself, the blue fabric of his jeans falling halfway over his tights.

Your hand leaves his body for a second, and he's ready to beg for more until he notices what you're really doing, a large amount of spit going into your hand in what Art could swear is the most erotic act he has ever seen, traces of drool on in your chin before your fingers finally hug his already hard cock.

Soon he's fucking your fist, burying his head in your neck, moaning and pleading you to keep on going, moving his hips fast enough to create a delicious sound you thrive on, ones that mixes damn well in the air. He's slightly sweaty, not like he was in the game, but enough to create this nice smell it only makes you addicted.

"Don't cum," you ask, and it's a lot when his movements are becoming more erratic at the time passes, incoherent words of praise and need as he bites on your neck—. "Art. Don't cum on my hand."

Fuck that.

His touch becomes desperate after that. The medal of the first place still on your bare chest, your black bra slightly up as he’s been touching you, rolling your nipple between his fingers, your skin almost glowing beneath the bathroom lights: He needs you more than what's actually possible, tugging on the button of your shorts, annoyed with the piece of fabric as he takes it off, the time it took to undress you being valuable time he simply doesn't want to waste.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks, making sure for a second you're okay, nodding in response before he grabs you by the hips only to push you in the position he wanted, finally throwing the damn shorts you're wearing to the floor before spreading your legs open, positioning himself in the middle. "God, you're such a fucking sight."

His voice is rough now, and that nice look on his face, that fucking rat smile, friendly even, is far erased from his lips now as he grabs his dick, pushing it between your folds without really fucking you, and the act is enough to make you moan when he’s moving his hips in a cruel pace, the tip of his cock leaking already against you clit. He’s fucking his own fist, your already dripping cunt making it easier for Art to slide as he wants to.

He spits, and it’s a crime cause nobody looks good while doing so, the trails of saliva that leaves his mouth land on his dick, coating your cunt before slightly pushing it inside with the help of his fingers, finally offering what you trully need—. And you feel him, inch by inch. When his fingers are grabbing you by the waist to keep you in place, pushing slowly until he’s deep inside, placing sloppy kisses all over your neck as you moan in response.

Art swears he’s in heaven. Invaded by an intense bliss as he began to move. The second place medal hits his torso, colliding against yours as he moves, and his left hand moves to grab a fistful of your hair just to pull it backwards, making your head follow the motion — He’s relentless, moving in a slow pace at first before gaining rythm, but shit. You’d lie if you didn’t say he knew what he was doing when his right thumb moves in circles over your swollen clit.

It’s hard to hate Art Donaldson like that. All whiny and pathetic, mumbling words about how warm your pussy is, how tight you feel, wet for him. It’s hard giving a fuck about the competition when he’s leaving your hair alone to instead grab the thread of the medal you’re wearing, the red ribbon that was on his neck before and now is hanging on yours, angling the medal so the thread is now choking you, pulling on the gold slightly to make it harder to breathe.

“C’mon, loser” he says with a cocky smile, looking down where his cock is, stretching you out to his liking with each thrust. “D’you feel that? How good your pretty pussy is taking me? That’s first place material there, champion material.”

You nod a couple of times, too fucked-out to function. Lewd sounds fill out the room after, the moans, the grunts, the coils of pleasure that started to form in the lower part of your belly, fueled by his rough movements now, leaving that soft touch behind to replace it with force, fingers digging on your skin so hard he’s sure it’s going to leave a mark behind.

Fuck it. Fuck the game, fuck second place. Your head hits the mirror behind the sink, yet it means nothing as you can feel the orgasm being poured all over by the minutes, the insane punch as he keeps on going, hitting that nice spot in an inconsistant pace as you come undone.

“God that’s it,” he says, pulling on the medal until your skin is changing fucking colors—. “That’s it, cum,” he demands. “Taking my cock like a fucking champion.”

He cums soon after you, pulling out as it lands on your stomach, the gold medal thats now resting on your belly stained with his cum.

And he melts in top of you for a second, breathing heavily against your neck, body covered in sweat before blushing slightly embarassed about the mess he did.

Weird enough, only one thought appears on his mind after five minutes: Just wait until you meet Patrick.

previous kinktober file [ dean winchester ] // masterlist

#art donalson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #challengers #challengers smut #mike faist #mike faist smut #mike faist x reader #art donalson x fem!reader #cryptfile // kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #cryptfile // challengers

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