#Drawing with my finger is not that hard actually... just that I can only make simple drawings

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

heyyy, can i ask for 80's Dave fingering reader under the table in a dinner please? Thanks!! <3

A/n: posting my drafts rn and then I will be trying to write more

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), I don't know how to tag this so if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

This was his first time meeting your parents, it was supposed to be perfect and it was stressing you out. Dave, of course, had the 'perfect' idea on how to help you relieve said stress.

You refused, you had a plan and you would stick to it, even if you were desperate for something to calm your mind and your plan meant refusing him.

Everything was going perfect. Close to dinner starting, before your parents arrived, Dave had backed off from his approach, letting you do what you felt you had to do and complying easily with your instructions.

When your parents got there he was pleasant with them, he knew they wouldn't like him because they didn't like, well, him. They didn't like his music, his persona, how he spoke. Really, they hated him, but they liked how he made you feel, even if they felt it was only temporary.

You'd made the perfect meal, with Dave's help of course -he went out and got groceries while you were cleaning and then cleaned up the mess you'd made while cooking, still thoughtful and helpful enough- and now you were seated with your parents in the dining room.

Despite what it seemed to you, Dave never let it go. You were stressed and it was always his job to help you when you were stressed or angry or feeling any sort of negative emotion, he was your boyfriend and that was one of his jobs as your boyfriend.

So, no, he never let it go. He set a table cloth on the table, an overly grand one that was definitely not needed for this dinner, however, his plans varied from yours.

It his everyone's lap so no one could see anything, especially not his hand. He knew your parents had noticed his hand on you, on your thigh, they didn't need to know he had two fingers buried knuckle deep inside you.

At first you'd tried to get him to stop, holding his hand in yours, guiding it back to your thigh or his own lap. However, as the conversation dragged on and your parents became more pushy about Dave and his career, asking questions they didn't need to be asking, degrading him subtly in so many words. Eventually, you just had to let it happen.

Dave was getting annoyed, so were you, and you'd been stressing the past week over this exact conversation.

You wore a dress, it wasn't hard for Dave to move your panties to the side. He moved slow, resting his arm on your thigh and using his wrist to keep his ministrations subtle and hidden from your parents, all while keeping up a polite smile with your dad across from him.

He'd curl his fingers, prodding that special spot and drawing noises up, threatening to leave you at any moment. He kept pulling and pushing his knuckles in and out of your hole, where there'd be the most stretch and chance to hear you.

You knew he loved hearing you, it's how he made it through tours where you couldn't come. He just needed to hear your sweet moans and he'd be done within minutes.

You wouldn't dare make a sound now, if you did you'd never be able to speak to your parents again, look at them again. You'd be disowned forever and a day.

Nevertheless, you could feel that burning ball building inside you, you couldn't ignore it and hoped it went away, not when Dave's fingers were working on you as they were.

The conversation was directed mostly towards Dave, your parents were using it as an opportunity to just get mad at him, politely of course.

But Dave... Dave, to put it nicely, was an asshole. He saw the effect he was having on you and needed to hear those sweet sounds he loved oh so much.

"We were actually planning on getting a dog, weren't we, sweetheart?" He asked sweetly, smiling tugging at his plump lips, those same lips you'd kissed a thousand times before, those lips you'd kill to have on you right this second.

Instead of jumping on him right then and there you gave a small nod with a smile to match.

"Go on," he continued, swiftly pulling his fingers from you just to watch you choke back a squeal, "tell your parents about that breed you'd been looking at." He suggested, watching you closely.

"I-I, um..." You trailed, unable to look your parents in the eyes.

You stood up, brushing your dress down and mumbling something about needing fresh air before walking off.

Your parents were confused as you left, wondering what happened to make you feel like that. Not that it would've been hard to put the blame on them, having asked such rude questions about the man you'd told them time and time again that you loved to him, nonetheless.

Dave excused himself, using his best sympathetic tone when saying he needed to go check on you.

You'd gone to your shared bedroom and the second Dave had closed the door behind himself he was on you, wrapping his muscular arms around you and pulling you tight to him, lips crashing against yours.

You tried to push him away but he just moved from your lips to your neck. "Davie-Davie, please! Please, Davie, we-we can't do this!" You tried to reason, hands planted firmly on his shoulders.

"Yes, we can, you just have to have faith, darling." He mused, guiding you backwards to the bed.

He sat you down on the edge of the bed and got on his knees in front of you, spreading your legs and tugging your panties down, giving him full access to your glistening folds.

He went right back to fingering you, only now his tongue made it even more unbearable, circling your clit and collecting your juices. You were so sweet on his tongue, delectable and those noises that had his mind running laps.

You could feel that knot getting dangerously close to snapping. Tears filled your eyes, body trembling as you struggling against Dave's touch, trying to keep you still enough for him. You just wanted to use him, or let him use you, which ever was easier.

You'd been driving yourself crazy with this dinner, you hadn't let yourself get too close to Dave and now that you finally let him in you couldn't take it, it was too much all at once.

You needed it, you needed him so bad.

You bit your lip so hard you drew blood, but it was worth it as you felt the wave of pleasure wash over you, that feeling of pure bliss where your body completely relaxed and you could just feel Dave with your whole being.

He didn't let you enjoy it for as long as you'd like, pulling away, pushing his fingers into his mouth and cleaning them of you before getting your dress right.

He rested his hands on your waist and looked up at you with sincere, warm eyes. "Everything is fine, you did great and you are so, so beautiful tonight, do you know that?" He said.

You had no idea what he was talking about or what he was doing. You wanted to questions him but then the door opened and took all of your attention.

It was your dad coming to check on you. Dave had heard him coming and knew he needed to cover, so he did, shining a smile at your dad as he came in.

"Don't worry, I've got her." He said, standing and pulling you to your feet, holding you close as your knees wobbled from the high he'd just brought you to.

Oh, how he loved you.

Oh, how he tortured you.

You had to sit through the rest of dinner with your parents totally commando in a dress, all while Dave sat completely fine next to you. Well, aside from the obvious tightness in his jeans.

[venomhound]

30 More Fluff Prompts

So my friend gave me the brilliant/horrible idea to make some fluff prompts based off actual dumb shit I've done/had happen to me. So here they are I guess. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

These ones weren't pre-written with just myself in mind, so they actually use the proper 'person A/B' format for prompts. First fluff prompt list can be found >>here<<

If you use one of these, please tag me so I can seeee~˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(18+), MDNI, NSFW and actual cavity inducing content below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Person A calls person B for their lunch break everyday. And I mean every single day. Person A says B's call and voice is what even allows them to get through the day.

Person A starts calling person B during their lunch break everyday. Person A's coworkers, who they USED to hang out with during lunch, are all super interested in this new supposed paramour. They start gossiping, theorizing, as well as hustling person A trying to get information about person B like its high school. 🌸Bonus points if this is a bunch of old/middle aged/super jacked men doing this

Person A and B have been online friends/dating/"just flirting"™ for months now. They finally decide to meet up in person. When they do, they both are super awkward and tense at first before quickly loosening up and having a blast by the end of the night like they are old pals.

Person A has person B and C accompanying them. B and C have been trying to get A's attention and quickly start competing against each other. B and C get so caught up in trying to one up each other that they completely don't notice person D just calmly walk up to A, ask them out, and whisk A away while they are arguing.

Person A says that they want to accompany person B to all their doctor's appointments and actually insists on it. When B asks them why, person A says its because they are their partner so they want to be there to support them, especially in case something goes wrong.

Person A tells person B that they have something super important to tell them and to let them know when they can talk about it. Person B, all panicked, asks what it is. Person A, with a completely straight face, just says "I love you". 🌸Bonus dialogue: 🌸*after a long pause* Person B: Wa-was that it?? 🌸Person A, now snickering: What do you mean? Is my LOVE not important to you?

Person A is an artist that knows how to write in a language person B does not. Person A frequently doodles faux tattoos on B, but B doesn't know that the symbols A draws on them are actually messages of love.

Person A and B are sitting next to eachother, fingers intertwined, and lovingly staring into eachothers eyes. They both go in for a kiss. Person B scooches closer and puts their leg in A's lap... only to get jabbed by A's raging hard-on. Person A pulls away from the kiss with an annoyed sigh and says, "I'm sorry, this happens everytime I look at you."

Person A goes up to person B's hotel room with the intention of having sex. However, when person A jumps onto B's lap and starts sweetly kissing them, B absolutely melts from the affection and asks if they can just kiss and cuddle instead.

Person A wakes up next to person B and starts to gently kiss them awake. Person B eventually goes, "I wish I could wake up every morning like this..."

Person A and B are in a long distance relationship. Person A frequently says the words "can I see you?" to B. Which means they want a candid photo of B, right then, in the moment. It doesn't matter what stupid stuff B is doing, or how garbage they feel, A always gushes over how beautiful B is when they send a picture.

Person A is on the phone with person B. A child person A is with (they can be babysitting or it can be their own child, whatever) suddenly shouts, "Are you on the phone with your wife?". Person B starts dying of laughter while person A is just completely shocked like, "M-my wife??" 🌸Bonus dialogue: 🌸Person A: We are not married we are just dating. 🌸Child: But you love them right? 🌸Person A: Yeah? 🌸Child: And you would do anything for them right? 🌸Person A: Yeah...? 🌸Child: THAT MEANS YA MARRIED.

Person A constantly tells everyone how amazing their partner, person B is. Its to the point that person A has now started carrying around pictures of B just so they can brag about them.

Person A told their parent(s) about how deeply they are in love with person B. So now said parent(s) are desperately trying to meet/get to know person B much to A's dismay. B has no idea what is going on.

Person A suddenly texts/calls person B and starts trying desperately to make plans at some point later in the day for them to meet up. Person B keeps shooting down all of A's ideas saying they will be busy during that time or other reasons why the idea won't work. Until person A finally breaks down and says, "look. I just... really want to see you."

Person A is totally lost. Person B finds them and knows immediately they are lost because they are just that pathetic/confused looking. When person A asks person B for directions, B is like 'Ill just show you where to go so you don't get lost again'. B grabs A's hand and leads them to their destination holding hands so they don't lose them.

Person A and B haven't seen eachother in awhile. When they finally see eachother again, they both go in for a big hug. Person A sighs and mumbles "god I missed your hugs". There is then an awkward pause before Person A nervously asks, "...did I say that outloud?"

Person A is hanging out in a mall with some friends when suddenly person B walks up and gives person A a big hug from behind. Person A is confused at first, but is then shocked when they turn around and see person B, someone who they haven't seen in years.

Person A is walking past some stores when suddenly they hear their name shouted from behind them. They turn around to see person B, their best friend from years ago. Person B is wearing the uniform of one of the shops A passed, so B was clearly working and ran out when they saw A. They both run at eachother into an embrace like its a tv show.

Person A and B start a movie/tv show marathon together. At the start, they are practically on opposite sides of the couch. But they keep slowly getting closer and closer as the marathon goes on. Until by the end, they are firmly snuggled into each other.

Dialogue Prompts

"I'm sorry if I was rude when we first met. You were just so pretty I couldn't look at you in the eyes."

Person A: I love you. Person B: *gasps* I love you!! I've been wanting to say that but I didn't want to scare you…

"Honestly? I would be happy if I just got to come home from work everyday to you and a kiss."

"Coming home to you everyday would make everything worth it."

"I never really believed in the whole soulmate thing until I met you. There... isn't really another way to explain how perfect everything came together."

Person A: So, um... Would you be okay if we cuddle? Person B: *immediately scooches over* Yesplease.

Person A: Do you really have to go? Person B: Sweetie. We have been cuddling for 4 hours.

"Look. I don't mind sharing a bed. But I do demand cuddles as payment."

Person A, panicking and running their sentences together: I-I totally understand if your uncomfortable with me sleeping in the bed. I can just sleep on the floor, it's fine-OR I can sleep on the couch- Person B: *slow frog blink* …I'm fine with you sleeping in the bed, dumb-dumb.

Person A: Your couch is like... mega uncomfortable. Can I just like- share the bed with you? Person B: Seriously??!

[felicjana050896]

Ok, I saw more leaks, so.... link to the previous post:

and new ones below:

I won't write much about them, only:

1. In the leak about Alastor, we see him making a deal with Rosie and this deal was made before his death, so it is likely that he killed overlords for Rosie, not for himself, he already had a deal with Rosie from the very beginning of his stay in hell.

2. Rosie tells Alastor that she has to do something for her and then his soul will be hers, what could it be? I would say that killing these overlords, but that makes no sense, Rosie already had to have Alastor's soul to be able to order him, Alastor immediately agreed, so Rosie could have ordered him to do the stupidest and simplest task, just to get his soul as quickly as possible, it wasn't a fair deal, no deal with demons is fair, including Rosie.

(There was a small mistake here, but I correct it, unfortunately I wrote it yesterday at 22:00/23:00 after work, so my brain was no longer able to grasp the English language and translated it incorrectly into my native language, so I apologize, but Rosie says here: "and until you complete this task your soul will be mine", so UNTIL, not AFTER, until Alastor completes some task Rosie gave him, his soul belongs to her, so this favor he wants from Charlie it probably involves him wanting Charlie to help him fulfill some task Rosie has given him, a task he cannot do on his own, so he can free his soul from Rosie)

3. Which brings us to the third point, when Rosie clearly knew (maybe even caused it with her magic to have Alastor with her in hell) that Alastor would die the next day, shot by a hunter, he wanted fun on earth and fun in hell when he will die one day, and fate, or rather his deal, has turned against him, quite fair...

4. And four and last, Alastor will be caught by Vox..., he will be in captivity..., my one-sided Radiostatic is happy in my heart 😂

And Alastor and the mustache..., I never imagined him like that 😂 , he looks a bit like a typical sneaky but at the same time stupid cartoon villain and on the one hand he makes me laugh, but on the other hand I strangely like it, it's hard to decide which is truer 😂

Plus what I noticed at the very end is Alastor licking blood from his finger at the very beginning of the video, apparently he wasn't a cannibal in life, only after death, but in this video he clearly licks human blood, so are they going to make Alastor a cannibal from the very beginning? Is licking blood just a fetish of his and he doesn't eat meat himself?

And one more thing I saw were drawings of Al with a wound on his chest, probably caused by Adam (by the way, Alastor with his shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up ;) ), and on the left there was a shadow of Charlie and the sketch was called "CH-ALASTORSHIRTOPEN", which means that Alastor will unbutton his shirt in front of Charlie so she can see his wound, it could mean that we will actually have a plot like in fanfic where Charlie takes care of Alastor's wound 😁

[fexjam]

🐥💗🕊

[steakout-05]

ok as an artist i personally find traditional painting to be. really really annoying. like. i do not have the patience for it and i just find it to be really frustrating to set up and actually do and i end up not liking the results. i find that there's little room for mistakes and trying to fix them usually ends up with me making 50 other ones, paints can be so inconsistent and having to rely on availability and certain brands to continue making the paint is really inconvenient, not to mention expensive. spending a bunch of time trying to mix the right shade of paint, only for it to go down a completely different shade of colour and not being able to do anything about it is so frustrating as someone who likes consistency and having things just, y'know, not change colour as soon as it dries. plus, they all use different chemicals and can go off really easily or change textures and i am just not ok with having all my materials having an expiration date like food. lead and graphite pencils just don't do that and they can last for years, they're more reliable. every paint is drastically different and trying to find the right one is not only time consuming but, again, expensive, and i don't even see the point in experimenting when most of my materials end up not even getting used if i don't like using them. plus, i'm just.... really impatient. waiting for paint to dry sucks and is why i much prefer digital or just drawing something because i don't need to wait for anything, it just works. and then when i do want to take my time and work slowly for a better result, it dries too fast. it's kinda hellish trying to balance that time, especially considering how inconsistent paints are.

i like to use guidelines when doing art and i find painting straight onto a canvas to be really tricky because there's a lack of direction for me to actually paint. i'm at a complete loss at what to do when i pick up a brush because i can't map it out first without risking screwing up the paint. there's just so many things to keep track of and so much wet paint to avoid and i just do not have the mind for it. putting colours on a canvas and praying that it works just isn't it for me and requires a discipline that i just don't wanna involve myself with. painting is also just like... really exhausting and kinda painful. i got some pretty bad back issues and my arms tire and get sore easily and quickly when i'm standing in front of a canvas. it's a really physical activity for me and i just don't find something to be very fun to do at all when it's physically hurting me. i know drawing on a canvas has this issue too, which is why i prefer sketchbooks. sitting down and drawing something that doesn't break my entire spine every time i do it is much more preferrable than questioning if i should go to the doctor every time i make a brushstroke, lol

that's not to say that there's nothing i like about painting though! i can paint simple little things, and i like doing that. i like mixing colours with a palette knife and i find it fun and even a little relaxing. i painted some cute little chibi cardboard cutouts of the mario brothers one time and i found that to be really fun and i think i'd like to do that again! but apart from that, i just do not have the patience for it. i love the look of traditional paintings and i find many to be really beautiful, but i could never get into actually doing it myself because i hate the process. i'm content with just sketching and doing digital stuff because that's more fun to me and less stressful of a process to do. it's fun, it allows for more mistakes, it's easier to build up layers of shading and lines, not to mention using building up a figure with guidelines is super helpful with visualising what i want it to look like, and i can just erase something if i don't want it there or want to change something. it just makes sense to me.

tl;dr i dont like painting because it's inconsistent, expensive, time-consuming, directionless, frustrating and it makes my back hurt really bad. i'll just stick to drawing stuff :)

[kbwrites]

Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

[shotmrmiller]

it turned to smut in seconds, i cannot control my own hands, ok. 18+ (implication of breeding kink or something and simon's a jealous boy)

ex-husband simon who signed the divorce papers without a fight. it'd stung, you're not gonna lie, but it needed to be done and the fact that he didn't make a big fuss about it made things easier for you physically. (emotionally you were in shambles because did he not even want to try and fight for you?)

he comes over only on the weekends when he's on leave.

he's a good father to his boys. he takes them to their softball games when he can, buys them the ice cream and takes them toy shopping.

and then there's a sharp knock at your door on a wednesday afternoon.

"simon?"

he walks in like he owns the place, which technically he does- even pays the mortgage because there's no way you would be able to afford living here with your own measly income.

"what's this the boys are tellin' me 'bout a man bein' in here?" his voice is calm, steady. but you know simon better than you know yourself, and he's furious.

"i- i'm not sure-" he swipes his hand in the air and your mouth clicks shut.

"don't lie t'me, poppet, or i'll be findin' him myself an' you really don't want tha'."

what man? there hasn't been any since the divorce! you're digging through your memories, scrambling to find what the hell he's talking about when-

"oh! it's the plumber!" you take steadying breath. "i called a plumber on sunday. i needed the kitchen sink fixed."

his dark eyes are piercing, so sharp they could cut. simon's always been a walking lie detector, and it's unnerving to be on the opposite end of that analyzing stare.

he nods imperceptibly, then flicks his gaze to behind you, over your head. "show me."

you scoff indignantly. "show you what? the bloody sink?"

simon wordlessly heads to the kitchen and his knees pop as he kneels-

he's actually checking the fucking sink.

with a grunt, he leans his head into the cabinet and twist awkwardly which is no doubt causing a familiar pain to flare up in his lower back. you can't help but wince in sympathy.

lo and behold, there's a shiny, white elbow in the middle of the rest of the dirty, scratched pipe.

he hums, and rises to his feet, closing the cabinet with his leg.

simon approaches you slowly, fingertips touching the kitchen island as he rounds it. "palms flat on the counter, sweetheart."

oh. oh you know exactly what that means, and your pussy throbs almost in reflex. months without his touch and your body still responds the same.

your protest already at the tip of your tongue, almost involuntarily because principles, but he sees right through you, as he's always done.

"jus' a reward for all o' your hard work. takin' care o' the boys is a stressful job all on its own." his worn hand cups the underside of your jaw tenderly. "aren't i always good t'ya?"

your exhales are weak, just like your resolve. "okay."

simon's eyes glint with satisfaction as he lifts his hand, index pointing upwards and twirls it in a slow, deliberate motion.

your palms are flat on the counter when he curls his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and knickers, tugging them downward.

they're flat on the counter when he lowers himself to his knees and taps the inside of your foot, indicating you to widen your stance.

they're curled into fists when his breath puffs against your slick cunt and his warm tongue slides through your folds, drawing lazy circles around your bud. a tingle of arousal shoots up your spine, his mouth sparking a fire right under your navel.

they're reaching for simon, nails sinking into the delicate skin of his wrist as your back bows when you come on his tongue, vision spotted with black, blurry dots and white hot ecstasy coursing through your veins.

your hands are now crossed at the base of your spine, your cheek pressing into the cool kitchen counter as he bends you over it.

"15 minutes before the boys are home from school. tha's plenty o'time, yeah?"

a rhetorical, if you've ever heard one.

your knuckles stain white as you clench your fists at the heavy, hot weight of his manhood stretching your walls to take him in, a sweet burn that you've always loved. he's gentle but sure, bottoming out in one smooth stroke that pushes the air out of your lungs. the sibilant hiss simon lets out is never fails to elicit a whimper out of you.

"fuck," he groans. "i could stay inside this pretty pussy forever."

and the dirty talk. how much you've missed it.

"would you like tha', pet? be inside of ya til you don't know where i end and you begin?"

a garbled mhm slips past your lips. your head already empty at just the sensation of being so unbearably full that it feels like you're tearing at the seams.

"another time, then, since the kids'll be home soon."

he begins to move, shallow but firm thrusts that drag his cock along your nerves deliciously- a sure fire way of getting you to climax around him in minutes.

your walls begin to squeeze down as the knot in your stomach tightens, and he lets go of your wrists, looping an arm around your waist and straightens you- his broad chest to your much smaller back.

his clever fingers wind downwards, and rub precise, little circles on your slippery clit, and it's all too much, you're hurtling toward the precipice at neck break speed- "god, simon, please-"

his pace never falters, not his hips nor his fingers as your moans begin to rise in pitch. "i'll get ya there, love."

he does, he gets you to your highest peak- blindingly intense- one that chokes the very breath out of you and slackens your knees. "i've got ya."

there's no strength left in you to brace for the spine-jarring thrusts he gives after, the only thing keeping you from sprawling forward is the arm that's looped around you as he pulls you to him.

"on anything?" he rumbles.

your ears ring at that because he can't possibly- your head shakes unbidden.

"good."

the last four thrusts are heavy, backed by his weight, and he smothers a loud groan into the junction of your shoulder as he finishes inside of you- thick, viscous cum filling you until it begins to drip and fall to the floor with an audible plop.

he presses tender little kisses to your sweaty shoulder and nips the side of your neck. "just in time."

the clock on the stove says 5 minutes before the bus gets there.

he helps you redress, chuckling under his breath when you won't look him in the eye. "i'll get the kids, go get cleaned up."

the knot in your chest loosens when you hear the boys' laughter at seeing their father on the driveway. it loosens when simon picks both of them up, one in each arm, and glances up at you as you look down at them from the window.

heat licks up your cheeks when he gives you a smarmy little grin.

idiot.

[chocum]

KARMA !

— brat taming the jjk men feat. choso kamo, kento nanami, toji fushiguro.

WARNINGS. femdom!reader, f!reader (she/her), brat taming, cock slaps, crying, handjob, choking, p in v, riding, overstim, lingerie, lollll slotted toji out :33, recording, finger sucking. ( 2k ) note. hellloooooo hope u all enjoy this. i had fun writing bc i loveee the idea of making big strong men crumble mhmhmhm. anywaysss reblogs are appreciated thank youuu love u all. repost bc last night it didn’t show in the tags 💔 but i edited it and added alottt so if you already saw it feel free to read again !! ty

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 CHOSO KAMO

“ma— make m— ooohh fuck. wai—wait” his voice trembled so cutely that it was barely coherent, crumbling into a pretty whine that drowns out his pathetic attempt (if you could even call it that) at being a defiant little brat, making you giggle, your slicked up thumbs pushing and rubbing down on the slit of his leaky tip, sending jolts of pain masked as pleasure up his bony spine, “make you?”

immediately he knows he’s fucked up. the air between you growing thick.

he didn’t know what came over him, really. maybe he had been watching too much porn, fantasizing too much, because the idea of getting tamed by you— god, just the thought of getting put in his place, turned him on so much. so, so much.

but having to actually disobey you, he couldn’t. he believes he was only put on this earth to serve you and please you. to be good. his head hurriedly shakes side to side, making each strand of ravened silky hair jump and dance before resting to frame his flushed face, “‘m sorry didn’t me—”

you land a heavy, hard slap to his cock, the sound pounding in his flushed ears blending with the beat of his heart, making his body tense up and jerk underneath you. his breaths come out in ragged little gasps, each one such a struggle as his fuzzy brain short circuits under your warm palms.

it really is cute, you think. cute how easy it is to break him. the pretty tears that drip down his puffed-up, blushed cheeks remind you of that. he’s choking on his sobs when you move to cup his face and kiss the corners of his eyes, and his cheeks. crying and sniffling because he hates when you’re mad. hates disappointing you.

“‘m sorry, i don’t— just wanna be so good for you. i’ll be— wanna be your good boy.”

“i know,” you coo, petting him like the pretty pet he is, “wanna try again for me, hm?”

and oh, he’s nodding so sweetly, cock throbbing for you, his big glassy eyes heart-shaped, staring up. so ready to be yours, ready to be the good boy you’ve trained him to be.

so you tell him again, “fuck my fists, make yourself cum, pretty boy. and look me in my eyes.”

his hips buck up, the salty tears on his cheeks warming and dried as he uses your sticky hands like a fleshlight, whining prettily when you tighten your grip around him, “‘m sorry” he babbles over and over, drooling out the corners of his parted puffy lips.

he’s so good. staring into the blown pupils of your pretty eyes without fault, like you told him to. because you told him to.

and his thighs burn, his legs shaking and trembling against the silky sheets as he gets closer and closer. the pain almost urging him on, “are you gonna cum for me? baby? gonna give it all to me hm?”

“yes, ple— please. please, can i cum can—”

you pull your hands off him.

drawing out the prettiest whine to ever be heard. like a song of the angels. his head falling back against the wooden headboard, hips bucking up in search of something to ease the ache that overwhelms in his tummy. those hot tears making a special reappearance.

“aww baby,” you hum, feigning sympathy, massaging his warm— full, heavy balls, “did you really think you’d get to cum after that, hm? did you?”

his eyes widen in desperation, disappointment. he tries to speak, to plead, to beg, but all that comes out are broken little sobs and whimpers.

the look on his face is almost pitiful. furrowed brows, pout, and his mouth hangs open.

you bend to lean in closer, your breath so warm against the shell of his sensitive ear, “you have to earn it, baby. good boys get rewarded. brats get punished.”

for you, he nods weakly, his voice barely a whisper as he chokes, “i’ll be so good, pro— promise. please, let me cum. let me show you how good i am”

so pretty. your fingers slip down to massage his aching balls, applying just enough pressure to keep him on that edge he loves to dangle over without giving him the sweet, sweet release he craves. “nuh uh, not yet,” you hum softly, your tone both firm but oh so gentle. “show me how much you want it.”

his hips buck up involuntarily, humping the air in search of your grip— relief, eyes locking onto yours, colored irises filled with adoration. he’s completely at your mercy, every nerve and ending in his body on fire, every muscle tensed up in anticipation.

and you can see the struggle in his eyes. it’s really a beautiful sight, and you savor every moment of it. “that’s it,” mumuring, “keep looking at me like that. show me how much you need it.”

his breaths come in short little, ragged gasps, his chest heaving and caving, thighs burning from fucking the air.

but finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide to grant him some mercy, your hands moving back around his throbbing cock, stroking him just how he likes it, “cum for me, pretty boy,” you command, a soft, seductive purr. “give it all to me.”

with a strangled, gargled cry, he obeys. his body convulsing, every muscle tightening as he finally, finally finds his release, his cum spilling all over your hands in thick, hot, sticky spurts. and he’s so obedient, his eyes remaining locked on yours, even as his vision blurs and fuzes with pleasure.

“there you go,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “such a good boy.”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 KENTO NANAMI

the tie that usually wrapped snug around the collar of nanami’s shirt adding that signature pop of yellow to his suits now decorates his flushed neck, constricting it, the tail of it clutched tightly in your fists as you ride his cock, your hips rolling and jerking against him relentlessly.

thick cum drips down to his balls, pooling underneath him, a swirl of your mess and his. he’s cum two–no, four? he doesn’t even know how many loads he’s stuffed into your warm cunt— or how many you’ve forced and sucked out of him, his cock so sensitive it fucking hurts, every time you snap back down on him sending poky jolts of overstimulation through his entire body.

“fu—fuck, honey, please. i don’t have— ngh— don’t have anything left to give. fuckin’ drained me already— can’t—”

you tug on the silky fabric, making him choke on his words, gargling on warm, foamy spit. his hands reaching to grab at the curve of your waist, but he’s flinching, remembering how you said, no touching. remembering why he’s in the position in the first place.

because he doesn’t listen.

refused to keep his hands to himself, your body begging to be touched, in his words. as if he didn’t take you seriously, just kept grabbing at you, digging his slim fingers into your plush skin.

so, obviously, there’s some sort of misunderstanding .. some sort of disconnect. he must have forgotten who was in charge.

you don’t even give him a response, ignoring the prickly burn in your thighs to fuck him dumb. maybe then, ironically, he’ll learn how to act. each jerk of your hips move to push him further to the edge, to remind him of his place.

his body is weak, just sitting pretty, twitchy, letting you do as you please, sweetly hiccuping under your frame, “hah— please, my fucking god i— i’m sorry” he’s all gone and sucked up, cock crying, drooling pathetic tears of salty cum in your cruel walls. sweat peppering his forehead, slicking the ridges of his chest, making him glisten.

“please, i’m fucking begging i’ll— hah, won’t disobey you again. i’ll— i’ll be good. i’ll be yours”

aw, there it is.

and you hum, stilling your hips, letting his cock fill you all the way up, “mhm that’s all i needed to hear. now give me onee more load. just one. know you can do it pretty boy, give it to me”

even though his body is spent, just the true definition of exhaustion, he responds, his pretty cock twitching inside you as he drags against his own warm cum in your spongy walls. and it doesn’t take long before he’s giving into you. balls so empty, just a few little spurts drooling out, but it feels just as intense, maybe even more than any of his other orgasms. “good boy”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 TOJI FUSHIGURO

“toj’ my pretty boy” your finger draws across the pink lacy lingerie that does a pathetic job of covering his cock. poking out, leaking and drooling all over the fabric, almost ripping through it with just how hard he is, “you look so good like this”

he grunts, blush growing across his cheeks, a deep, deep crimson, turning his head to avoid your gaze, avoid your phone brightly flashing, recording him.

“so hard too, aw” mumuring, you move closer, recording every detail of how he bulges through the set you so perfectly picked out for him. the pink complementing his tanned skin so well, truly a work of art “touch yourself for me”

another grunt escapes his lips, and he’s fidgeting, dragging his balls against the bed, rutting like a fucking dog, pulling at the ropes that hold and confine him, caging him against himself, “need your ..”

“yeah, need what?” you prompt with a smile, watching through your screen how he struggles to say it, pouting as his brows furrow up.

“need your help”

theres a wicked little glint in your eyes, pulling back at the stretchy band of the pretty underwear, letting go so it snaps back against the sensitive underside of his thick cock, making him whine, his broad body shaking and twitching, muscles clenching up.

humming, you bring your palm to his face, telling him to lick, and he listens, immediately.

licking a long stripe up your warm palm, but oh, he gets carried away. stretching to wrap his scarred lips around your fingers, bobbing his head up and down, drool dripping down from around his pursed lips, letting his tongue lay flat. “look at you, so eager”

he comes off with a pop, smirking because he knows you love when he’s so good like this for you.

you press your slick fingers against his covered perky nipples, watching as he twitched, before moving to stoke him through the pretty lingerie, “don’t fu—fucking tease”

you ignore him, let him get away with the little back talk because he just looks toooo cute, eyes all big, looking up into the flash of the camera, leaking through the lingerie like such a pretty boy. all for you.

you flick your wrist faster, leaning to spit on his clothed cock, sending thousands of shivers up the nerves on his spine, making him croon, his ass raising up off the bed to buck into your palms, giving the camera such a good show.

“gonna cum, shit— i’m so close. fuck— please”

he’s babbling, his voice all high and whiney.

“mhm go ahead, baby”

with a final, desperate thrust, he’s shooting against the fabric, babbling your name as it oozes through making a sticky little mess before you’re leaning down to lap at his clad tip. to clean him up.

then you come off him, stopping the video. and tojis looking up at you through glassy eyes as you press against your phone, smiling.

“what— hah, what are you doing”

“sending it to shiu”

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 ? ❞

❝ THE SHIBUYA INCIDENT? MORE LIKE THE SHIBARI INCIDENT ! ❞

✧ summary: they got too touchy, so you tied them up! (anon request)

✧ pairings: s. gojo, s. geto, k. nanami, t. fushiguro, r. sukuna, c. kamo

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, tying up (m! receiving), overstimulation (gojo, nanami, choso), multiple orgasms, sub! gojo, choso, switch! geto, toji, nanami, oral (f! receiving) (toji), oral (m! receiving) (nanami), riding (gojo), face riding (toji), shibari (choso), true form sukuna, stomach mouth for sukuna makes an appearance, art by @ / innaillus

✧ w/c: 6,212

SATORU GOJO

“You have no one to blame but yourself, Toru,” you bounced slowly on his cock, twitching in your folds as if it could get deeper if only you would let him.

(You wouldn’t).

“I warned you that I’d tie you up if you kept teasing me all night,” your fingers trace the rope around his wrists, before sliding them up to behind his back, “and what did you do?”

“you tested me baby,” you lean closer, letting your pert nipples draw close to his lips, but still just out of reach, letting him sink down to the hilt. a whimper leaves his throat, muffled against your soaked panties shoved in his mouth, “but you’re so good now, when you’re like this,” your fingers card through his hair, before tugging hard on the silky strands and you feel him twitch deep inside your drenched folds.

His sky blue eyes are glassy, pretty tears pooling, as your lips press sweet kisses to his jaw, and he mumbles something against the fabric that sounds like ‘please’ and you’re smiling that lovely smile that he had been kissing only a few minutes before.

“Begging already? Didn’t know my pussy felt that good,” and you lift yourself up, so only his tip remains inside your warm folds before slamming down, making his head loll back, a muffled grunt making your walls clench, “you’re too fucking big, Toru,” you slide your hand down your stomach, “think you’re actually fucking my guts now,” and his eyes watch as your fingers ghost over the slight bulge his dick makes inside you, “knew you were the strongest, but I didn’t think you meant in bed too,”

Another whine is pulled from his throat, and you take pity on him, pulling the fabric from his mouth, drenched in your precum and his saliva. His pants are nearly enough to make you cum from the sound of it, the sounds that left his lips were yours and yours alone - because he may be the strongest, but he was yours all the same.

“What do you need?” You’re bouncing on his cock slowly, slower even now that you can clearly hear the whines leaving his throat, his engorged tip kissing your womb, “use your words, and maybe I’ll let you have it,”

“Please, baby, wanna cum in your princess cunt,” he whines, music to your ears, and only your ears — because only he would be such a mess for you, “wanna fill you up, feel you cum around me,”

“I’ll let you cum,” and he blinks up at you, a tear slipping down his cheek, “if you beg for it,” He whimpers, a pathetic noise that only makes your insides twitch, “you asked for this, you love it when I do this, maybe I should suck you off the next time you have a meeting with the higher ups — imagine their horror if they walked in on us like that, but you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” 

You slam down on him, his head falling back, but you’re pulling him back into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and moans, “is this cunt that good for you, baby? Tell me how good it is,” 

“S-so, good, fuck—“ and you know he’s close, from the way he’s keening and whining, the way his fat tip twitches against your cervix, and the way his pretty eyes glaze over from a clear cerulean to a cloudy blue. But you’re not far off either — the way his cock kisses every inch of you, bullying your sopping cunt open — it’s not gonna be much longer,  “I’m—“ 

And you’re nodding, “Cum, fill me up, Toru, want you to fuck your cum inside me,” and that’s all it takes. 

He cums, spurts of thick cum gushing inside your sloppy pussy, as you continue to ride him through his orgasm, until his tip finds that one spot that has you following him over the edge, cumming hard. 

You’re panting, as you continue to ride him — bouncing again and again, until your knees give out, pleasure curling your toes, and flooding your body — just as his seed did. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Satoru looks up at you, fucked out gaze and smile on his lips, “didn’t know you could top me like that, otherwise, I would have had you done it a long time ago,” 

“Shoulda known you of all people would like to get topped,” and he’s raising an eyebrow, before his cock twitches inside you, “already ready for round two—“ 

You squeak as he flips you over, the rope formerly holding him in hand, “wha—how?” 

“Y’know as much as I liked you tying me up,” he pins your arms with one hand, and winding the rope with the other — not too toght, but enough that it burns into your skin, “think you’d look even prettier than I did.” 

SUGURU GETO

“Fuck, Suguru, you look so good like this,”

And he did — especially handcuffed to your headboard—  vulnerability suited Suguru Geto well — something reserved for you and only you. And something you definitely earned after all the games he had played with you all night long. Orgasm after orgasm pulled from you with a few fingers and laps of his tongue, until you fell apart under him, with nothing more than his smirk as your reward (aside from pleasure of course). 

And you knew Suguru preferred your pleasure over your own — punishingly so, as he loved nothing more than to see you fall apart into a crying mess under his touch — fat tears and begging that only made him ready to cum in his boxers untouched. 

But you were tired of not touching. 

“We can agree to disagree, Princess,” he says through gritted teeth, as the clink of the handcuffs draws a small smile to your lips, “I think you’d look much prettier like this for me,” and the last word is more of a gasp, as you thumb his weeping tip, “fuck—” 

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” and he glowers at you, a deep violet so dark it’s almost black with the way he stares at you, “Aw why so mad? You’re the one asking for it,” 

“We’ll see who’s asking for it once you uncuff me—“ 

SMACK! 

And he hissed as your palm came down on his thigh, hard, red blooming against his skin, “what was that?” he still glared all the same, but his anger came apart at the seams with the way your fingers grazed his clothed cock, growing harder by the second, and fuck, the way he pulsed in your fingers, as his fat tip twitched when your fingers grazed his slit, “poor Sugu, you complain so much, but you fucking love this don’t you? Love being at my mercy with nowhere to go and nothing else to do but get jerked off,” 

You cut off his reply with a snap of the elastic of his boxers against his skin, a gasp parting his pretty lips. And when you finally the tugged the soaked fabric down, you saw his pretty cock was as flushed as his cheeks were — the tip a pretty scarlet, dripping with pearly precum that you were dying to suck off, and the lovely veins that wrapped around his length like a Christmas present you were dying to unwrap. 

“Fuuuuuck, baby—“ he sucks air through his teeth, the rattle of the metal of the cuffs against your bedframe, breath shaky as he watches you with half lidded eyes. you’re still teasing him, fingers tracing along the toned muscles of his inner thighs, so close to where he wants you, but too fucking far, “you g’nna toy with me all night or are you going to give me what we both want?” 

“What we both want?” You raise an eyebrow, and he scoffs, all too confident for a man handcuffed at your will. 

“Know you love getting me to blow my load as much as you love getting off yourself,” and then your fingers wrap around his base and squeeze, head lolling back, lips parted in a groan, hips thrusting into your touch. 

“Think you’re putting too much value on your dick, Suguru,” and your thumb rubs meanly at his weeping slit, making him twitch under your touch, cuffs straining with the way he tugs harder and harder at them, rubbing his wrists raw, “should I show you your place?” 

And you start to pump his rock hard cock slowly, gathering his pre as makeshift lube, before spitting directly onto his dick. 

“You fucker,” he moans, nearly coming right there at the sight — it was too much, tip twitching at the feeling as you continue your excruciatingly slow pace, “don’t be a tease or you know I’ll give it right back to you, but worse,” 

“Oh, I know you will,” you grin back, but oblige him, fisting him faster, his body arching into nearly a crescent as he jerked his hips into your fingers. And god, he’s fuckinh close — you know he is by the way he’s twitching in your hand and groaning your name, “cum f’me, Suguru, cum all over me,” 

And he does, and he cums all over your fingers, pumping him through his orgasm, as his thick release coats your hand, dripping onto the sheets, “fuck, Suguru, you came so much,” you pull your hand away, licking each cum covered digit clean, “gotta do this more often if you’re gonna—“ 

You yelp, as he flips you over onto your stomach, your head turning as he pins you with his body, hardening erection pressed against your ass, holding your broken handcuffs in one hand and pushing his long black locks back with the other, dark eyes half lidded in pleasure and satisfaction—

“You think I’m gonna let this slide Princess?” And he’s teasing your wet entrance with his tip, “better think again,” and he’s handcuffing you to the headboard, both wrists caught as the chain linked through the metal bars of your headboard

“Suguru—“ and the you hear the distinct snap of his phone camera, as he smirks at you when you turn your head to look at him, right as he guides the tip of his cock inside you, a moan leaving your lips. 

“You were wrong sweetheart, maybe I look good handcuffed but you’re perfect.” 

NANAMI KENTO

You were the perfect wife. Kento’s perfect wife. 

Not a single bad word could be uttered about you, whether within his earshot or not, Kento would know — and no one wanted to get on his bad side. Or they would most certainly face a swift punishment with his blunt blade and tie wrapped around his knuckles. 

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t turn the tables on him once in a while. Right? 

It was the perfect anniversary — a day spent together, a dinner shared at a five star restaurant, and now a night spent together in bed. But Kento had done so much for you — he had planned the day and the dinner — so the least you could do is repay the favor with dessert. 

Well, for you anyway. 

“Baby, let me—“ Kento gritted his teeth, straining against his own tie, the one you had lovingly wrapped around his wrists, holding his arms behind his back. 

“You can handle a few more, can’t you, Kento? We still haven’t gotten to seven,” you pressed a kiss to the tip of his oversensitive cock — and fuck, you loved seeing him like this. The always put together, always professional, always business-like ratio sorcerer falling apart from your touch. You loved seeing the way his flush crawled up his neck until his cheekbones were flushed beautifully, the way his pristine hair was mussed and messy from your fingers running through it, and the way his pretty light eyes were dark and colored with lust — just for you. 

And all it took was this — your lithe fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, kissing down his toned chest, paying special attention to every scar, until your hands found your buckle of his belt. You undo his belt with the same practiced ease, tugging down his slacks and boxers at once, until you see his pretty cock. 

Or rather, your dessert. 

How many times had he cum for you? Probably four or five times. 

“Don’t tell me you’re already impatient, husband,” you suck at his weeping tip, making him grunt, thighs tensing as you let him slide past your lips into your warm mouth. And fuck, the heaviness of his cock against your tongue was nearly too much for you, pressing your thighs together, “after how long you spent fucking me last night, shouldn’t I repay the favor?” 

And he had fucked you well — far too well. How many times did he make you beg for it — and yes it may have been at your request, but you also had wanted him to fuck you, fuck you with that dick you loved so much, but he spent so much of the night with his face buried in your cunt, not letting you get off the way you wanted, not until his perfect little wife was a blubbering mess for him. 

So now it’s your turn. 

You wouldn’t let him touch you, not until you had your fun — after all he had his dessert last night, and there’s more than you wanted right now than a stomach full of his cum. 

He grunted, “Fuck sweetheart, how long are you gonna not let me touch you?” And you’re smirking against his length, humming around him, as you begin to bob up and down. And all he can do his watch you with half lidded eyes, “so fucking a mix of his precum and your saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth, “know you must be dripping, want to make you feel good too—“ 

And his sentence is cut off by you sucking hard, his balls grow tense, as he groans your name loudly, before he’s cumming again, thick release coating your throat. You swallow every drop, and each time he came, it was less, but it was still so much. 

He’s panting and straining against his restraints, as you continue to suck and trace his dick through his orgasm, making him keen and moan at your touch, but almost flinch away all the same. 

“Don’t run away from me, Kento,” you pull away from his cock, strings of cum and spit connecting his length to your lips, “my perfect man, there’s nothing more than I love to see you fall apart for me,” you lick your lips clean, palms sliding up his chest, as you lean over him, fingers carding through his blond locks again, before tugging hard, “you deserve to be taken care of, so I’ll let you choose,” he stares up at you, as your lips find his in a bruising kiss, your tongue dragging over the seam of his lips before slipping inside, letting him taste his cum on your mouth, “do you want to cum in my mouth or my cunt this time?” 

His mouth opened, but no words came out for a moment, until he felt your fingers ghost over his overly sensitive cock again, “F-fuck—your cunt, sweetheart, need to be inside you, I can’t wait another—” and you’re on his lap in an instant, his swollen mushroom tip dragging against your sloppy cunt, and with the way he’s looking at you with dark, half lidded eyes, you knew his hands would have split you open on his cock in an instant, calloused palms from using his blunt blade using you as a glorified fuck toy, even as he whispered sweet nothings about how good you felt while fucking you like a whore. 

So you would do the same for him. 

You sunk onto him all at once, letting your hole engulf his length with the same eagerness you always had for him, so fucking good to watch his cock sink inside you, the curve of his length hitting places you could never reach, as if his ratio applied to your cunt too. 

“Wanted this, didn’t you, love?” you ask, cupping his cheek to force him to meet your gaze, “wanted your wife’s pussy this bad? Is it that good for you?” And he’s groaning in reply, as you give a slow bounce, forcing his cock even deeper somehow, and he wants to touch you so bad, wants to grope your tits and squeeze your hips as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips and forced you deeper onto him, “tell me how good it is, Kento, and maybe I’ll let you cum,” 

“It’s good, it’s s’good,” and you’re beginning to fuck yourself open on his cock, fingers finding his broad shoulders as your nails dug pretty crescents into his back as you fucked his dick, the sounds of skin slapping together ringing in his ears, “So perfect, just like you,” he’s not going to last long with how sensitive he is. And he cums just as his tip brushes against your womb, shooting a near blank, as his head falls back, until you’re pulling him back to you to meet in a messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, until you fall over the edge, soaking his dick and lap in your juices as you continue to ride him, until you slump against him, panting in his ear, murmuring: 

“Happy anniversary, Kento.” 

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“Fuck, ngh, Sukuna, don’t use—hah—“ 

“You can take it, woman, you have before,” and his fingers fuck deeper into you, while his other hands grope at you — your chest, your hips, your ass, “gotta open you up if you’re gonna take both of my cocks, unless you want me to read you apart,” he’s sinking a third finger inside you, your head falling back, exposing your neck to his lips, leaning down to graze your pulse with his teeth. 

He just loved to do this — fuck you wide open with his fingers, let each of them stretch you out to no end, until you were begging for something else — anything else. 

“Motherfucker,” he’s bullying your cunt open with three of his fingers, but it’s more squeezing than stretching, as your slick drips down his large hand, “you’re gonna break me with your goddamn fingers,” and his other hands tweak your nipples, pinching and twisting them, making you yelp, as the pleasure builds, his fourth hand teasing your abused clit. 

“You’d fucking cum either way, whore,” and you glare for a millisecond until your traitorous cunt climaxes all the same, a long whine parting your lips as he fucks you knuckle deep, knocking at your cervix, through your orgasm, “shit, I see at least your slutty cunt can listen, unlike you,” and he’s still curling and twisting his fingers, before finally pulling them from you as you gasp, pussy aching from his touch, “complaining and yet you pruned my fingers, didn’t you?” he gives a smack to your twitching pussy, drawing another yelp from your lips, heat flooding your cheeks and anger rushing to your lips. 

“Talk awful big for someone who has four fucking arms and that’s the only way you know how to make me cum,” you spit venom without thought of who you’re spitting it at, until your body freezes, as he flips you over with ease, looming over you, all four of those same arms crossed, “Kuna—I—” 

“Is that so, brat? My fingers are the only thing that’s made you cum recently?” you stumble over your words, but his lips only curl into a mean grin, and you know you fucked up, “then let’s see about that,” 

“You can do better than that,” he grunts, a smirk on his lips as he watches you, riding his thigh lamely, drenched cunt making a mess, your slick running down the sides of his leg, “so fucking wet just from rubbing your cunt on me, don’t even to do anything to make my pussy cum, she does that all on her own,” 

You whimper, “Kuna, please—“ and he clicks his tongue. 

“Said you only came from my fingers, didn’t you?” He shows off his tied arms behind his back, the very same he had you tie while your pussy throbbed, wanting nothing more than his fingers stuffed up your hole again, “we gotta fix that, brat. Can’t have you saying I can only get this slutty cunt cumming one way,” he flexes his thigh, making you jerk against it, the wet squelch of your pussy dragging up and down his thigh, until he’s making you ride it, bouncing you on the muscle. 

God, why was every part of his body so fucking big? 

He could feel your puffy clit and lips open wide on his toned thigh, as if he could stuff his whole fucking knee in your hole, and you know he would if he could, but he settles for feeling your sloppy cunt flutter around nothing, slick dripping down his leg. 

He chuckles darkly, watching every movement with you, lidded eyes far too pleased with the view in front of him, “Seems like you don’t even need my help to get you off, do you brat?” he stops his movements, making you whine, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding down on his thigh, “that’s it, whore, need you to fucking soak me — think you’re so good, but when it comes down to it, you just want to be fucked like the rest of them, don’t you?” 

He uses his knee to catch your clit, rubbing meanly against it, and it’s too much, pleasure making your toes curl, as you can only moan his name again and again, “Fuck,” your fingers find purchase on his shoulders, chasing your high, as you fucked yourself open on his thigh. 

“That’s it girl, cum for me, let me see you break,” and he jerks his thigh again right as your cunt grinds down on him at just the right angle that has you seeing stars, “say my name,” 

And you do as you squirt all over his thigh, a gasp ripped from your throat as you moan his name, your eyes burning as your hips can’t stop riding him, seeking that high longer, the squelch of your messy cunt growing louder with every thrust of your hips. 

“Shit, that was a good orgasm, wasn’t it, woman? Much better than my fingers,” he flexes his thigh again, pulling another whine from your throat, legs shaking, but he only hums, as your eyes meet his, desperate and wanting, one that he only meets with a laugh, “practically begging for my cocks now, aren’t you, brat?” but he only clicks his tongue, “straddle me,” 

You hesitate, only for him to jerk his thigh, making you yelp once again, as you shift, and he does the same, moving back onto his plush bed, your cunt rubs against his cocks, soaking him with your slick, but he only smiles. 

“Did you think I would let you fuck my cocks that easily?” he sighs, shaking his head, “since I haven’t given you a proper orgasm, I think I have a lot of making up to do—” and he’s reaching around, slipping from your restraints with ease, “you’ll have to excuse my use of my hand this once, but I promise, I won’t be lifting another finger—” and he guides you forward, until you’re perched on his stomach, your hands splayed on his chest, as his hands slip back behind him. You furrow your brow a moment, lips parting with protest that dies on your lips when his stomach parts open for his large tongue to lap at your cunt, “you made such a mess, woman, now,” he forces you in place with his gaze alone, as his tongue licks the length of your sloppy cunt,  “let’s clean you up, hm?”

CHOSO KAMO

“We don’t have to do this, Cho,” 

You always did anything for him. From the moment you met him, you were the one to dote on him — even with how clueless he was about most things, from holding hands to kissing to even sex — you were willing to take your time, teach him what it meant to love. And he loved you — and he loved this. 

“N-no, I’m fine, it just—hah, it feels so good,” and he looked even better. 

His dark locks were untied as he looked up at you, arms tied in scarlet silk behind his back, much like the blood he manipulated, but instead it was you that was controlling him. The delicate yet strong Shibari knot was nestled at the base of his wrists, deep red against pale skin, more intricate knots climbed the base of his spine until the silk split across his back and winded around the middle of his shoulders towards his neck. 

A knot formed at the base of his neck, right between his collarbone, multiple other loops framed his body, a present not meant to be unwrapped. Knots placed intricately at every pleasure point meaning that even the slightest touch, movement, or even breath would send pleasure thrumming through his body. 

“Doesn’t it feel good to take our time?” Your fingers brushed delicately over a knot placed against his nipple, making him jolt, sending ripples of heat across his body, as the rubbing of the knots sent arousal right to his erection, “you’re always in such a rush, so eager, but now,” your fingers follow the silk down his body, down to the knots settled on either side against the base of his cock, “we can take it slow,”

And he was always quick to have you — from the first time, Choso barely had lasted you grazing his raging hard erection while your lips found his, before spilling all over your fingers. And he had sputtered apologies, cheeks as red as the silk that now bound him, but you had only smiled and asked him if he liked it. He spent the rest of the night spilling over and over again in your cunt, and each time after, he barely needed foreplay, he could cum just by eating you out — all he wanted and needed was to be buried in your cunt. 

But now, he was at your mercy. 

“So pretty, Cho,” you cooed, eyes sliding over him just as sweat slipped down his neck  — he was spread open by the loops of red forcing him into a kneel around his thighs and ankles, even ropes tied around his hips with knots placed perfectly against his inner thighs, “usually I can’t even touch you without you pinning me down, but now I can do all I want,” 

“Please, love, I need—“ and you lean down to kiss the hollow of his throat, fingers toying with the silk between your fingers, and every little movement of the ropes sent pleasure cascading down his body, “ngh, want you—“ 

“What do you want, Choso?” Your fingers work your way down every inch of him, “because there’s so much I can give you—-“ 

“Anything,” he replies, as the knots rub against his leaking cock, precum slipping down his halls, “everything, please I just need—“ and you click your tongue. 

“Still so impatient,” and your touch leaves him, making him whimper, “I guess we’ll have to work on that,” 

“Baby, no, can’t. No more—“ a beautiful symphony of moans leaves his lips, as your lips find his to swallow his protests, a vibrator in hand pressed to the base of his cock, “I can’t—-“ 

“You can cum still, Cho, one more time f’me,” cum is splattered on your carpet, and runs down his dick, “you’re so good for me, such a good boy, aren’t you?” Your praise makes him keen all the same, “know you love this, love feeling good — you’re so needy, probably would just bury your cock in my cunt,” and he’s whining, as your fingers tug on his black locks, your tongue dragging up the side of his throat, before your teeth dig into the soft flesh of your neck, “but we can’t have that, not yet — gotta make you cum so much that just burying you in my pussy is enough to make you cum,”

And you’re turning up the vibrator, and he moans your name, a rush of heat sent right to your cunt. Your eyes watch his dick twitch — he’s more long than thick, his tip flushed an angry red as you work the vibrator up and down. You couldn’t wait to stuff him inside you, feel the curve of his cock reach every inch of your cunt, until he’s fucking your stomach. 

“F-fuck, I’m close—I’m gonna—“ and you turn the vibrator higher, pressing it right between the base of his cock as you tug on the silk right against it, and he’s coming again, with a cry of your name, spilling all over his stomach and chest and the ropes, “sweets, fuck, hah, please, please, I can’t—” 

You ease away the vibrator, the whirring quieting, as he looked up at you with his eyes, violet pupils so dark that they nearly look black, a trickle of his spit slipping from his lips. 

“You did so good, baby, so so good,” and you’re pressing soft kisses to his face, fingers tracing over the hickies you had littered his neck with, “and now tell me what you want baby,”

“I want you, want you to fuck me, need you to—“ and you’re pushing him back, still spread open from the ropes before you settle on top of him, his needy dick already hard from the rubbing from the ropes and the feeling of your wet cunt against him. 

And you grin, before letting his cock split you open, down to the base, making his back arch into you, the twitch of his tip telling you he would cum again in two seconds flat — just as he did for you, “Anything for you, Choso.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji loved it when you were desperate for him. 

And you always nearly were. You had the habit of jumping his bones the minute he made his way back from another bounty, not to mention the times he feigned to be late, you were already an orgasm and half ahead of him in the bedroom, taunting him for being late. And it was the most mundane of things that could turn you on — the simple adjustment of his pants, a smile he flashed you after a joke, lifting his shirt to scratch his stomach, and even running his fingers through his hair. 

Just one of those things would have you tugging him home and neither of you would see the outside of your bedroom for the next two days. 

That being said, when he actually messed with you…well—

“Toji,” you glare at him, gaze a mixture of frustration and lust, “if you tease me on this car ride home, I swear to god—“ 

“Swear what, doll?” He drawled, eyes still fixed on the road, lips pulled into that same smirk he always had, “not like you won’t be able to resist fucking yourself stupid on my dick when we get home,” 

“Fuck off,” you scowl out the window, and his smirk only grows larger, cock stirring in his pants. He loved riling you up — especially when it was so easy, but also because it made him want to fuck you all the same, until you were begging him with glassy eyes and slutty moans. 

It had only started because he saw a man at the store eye you the wrong way. So his hand slid to the small of your back, turning to meet the gaze of the man leering before squeezing your ass, drawing a gasp from your lips and a pout. And he didn’t miss the subtle press of your thighs together as you walked off, the way your eyes lingered on him, dragging down until your teeth bore down on your bottom lip. 

Fuck. And he couldn’t stop. Then it was him pressing up behind you while you were rifling through clothes, letting you feel his half hard erection. And then he was pressing open mouthed kisses to your neck in the changing room when you asked him to zip you up in a dress. 

“That’s exactly what I wanna do, doll,” he turns the corner, “wanna fuck you open with my fingers until you beg me to stop, want our neighbors to hear how I slut you out every night,” your fingers curl into the fabric of your dress, and he knows you must be a mess under that thin fabric, soaking through your panties, “don’t make a fucking mess of your seat, car’s a loaner from Shiu,”

“And who’s fault is it that I’m making a mess in the first place, asshole?” And your husband shrugs, leaning back as he rolls to a stop at the last light before you rolled into your neighborhood. His hand reaches across the console, his large, calloused palm sliding up your bare thigh, until it breaches your edge of your underwear, making your body tense. And the pads of his fingers press against the soaking fabric of panties. 

“Well, who’s the one who’s wet like a whore from a few words right now?” And finally the light turns green, and his hand retreats, instead resting on your thigh, drawing circles on your knee with his thumb, same smug grin on his lips, “almost home, and I’ll shut her up, won’t I?” 

And he would — but you’d shut him up too. 

“Hah, To-ji, fuck, s’good—“ and his lips close around your puffy clit and suck hard, his tongue slipping in and out of your messy hole, “k-knew your mouth was good for something,” and you yelp when you feel his teeth bite your clit, before he’s redoubling his efforts, swirling, sucking, and licking, “not so fucking annoying when your mouth is full,” your moans fill his ears, and he growls against your folds, his wrists bound with a cursed tool that neutralized his strength, one that you had slipped from his collection for a moment like this. 

Shit, he was so fucking hard, and he couldn’t even fist himself, but more than that, he wanted to pin you down, stuff your cunt full of his fingers until you begged for him to stop. His tongue wasn’t enough for his slutty pussy, he wanted to fuck you right — the way he wanted. But if this was the game you wanted to play, he would — his wrists rubbed raw from trying to slip from his restraints — for now. 

He slurps at your sweet cunt, large tongue licking a stripe after stripe up your messy cunt, grinding down, as his nose bumped and dragged against your clit, “Such a fucking slut, soaking my face like this — wanna cum so bad, g’nna tie me up just so you can get yourself off?” 

“Ngh, it’s your fucking fault pulling that shit in the mall, if you hadn’t—” you moan, cutting you off by tongue fucking your cunt open, swallowing every drop of your juices as he bullied your walls open with that sharp tongue of his. 

“It’s not my fault your fucking ass attracts the attention of every freak in sight—” 

You scoff, “Like you?” and he chuckles darkly, making your smirk drop from your lips, as he grinds his face into your folds, his face glossy with your pre, as dark eyes meet yours, and you can feel the smirk against your needy pussy.

“But this is the freak that fucks you isn’t it?” his tongue traces fast circles around your clit, “the freak you beg to fuck you open every night, the one who’s dick you can’t enough of, the one who’s face you’re fucking, isn’t that right, wife?” 

And you’re so fucking close, the way he ate you out was the same way he kissed you, as if he wanted to take you, all of you, until his jaw would ache, until tears ran down your face, until there was nothing left of you for him to taste. 

“Toji, I’m close—I can’t—” and he’s grunting, as he sucks hard on your clit, licking and slurping at your pussy. 

“Cum, make a fucking mess on my face,” and you do, cumming hard as you moan his name, but he continues to eat you out as you ride out your orgasm, not letting a single drop of your juices go to waste — lapping and sucking until you finally stilled, your panting filling the silence of the room. 

Until you heard a rip. 

And then you were on your back, ripped up parts of the cursed tool tossed aside, as Toji grinned down at you, lips and chin still shiny with your release, as his pink tongue darted out to collect it. 

“Toji—I—” and he’s smirking down at you, tilting his head, as he forces your thighs apart to reveal your all too sensitive folds, “ngh, please, I can’t—” 

He clicks his tongue, licking his lips agai, “Now, lemme show you how much of a freak I am, doll.”

✧ a/n: this was an anon request i got a while back and i've had gojo's written for so long, but i got hit hella by writer's block and imposter's syndrome so, well here it is now :). this is to tide you guys over as i work through some larger projects

[meteorella]

Nerdgasmic Rhapsody

pairings: loser!dom!ellie x popular!sub!reader

cw: flufff!! ellie's an absolute cutie pie. cursing (obv), oral! (r receiving), tribbing (maybe?), nipple play, after caree!!, pet names: sweetheart, baby, princess, that's all i think!

wc: 511

a/n: (intentional lowercase!!!) first ever ficcc omg🥹 i have never ever in my life written a fanfic before so pleaseee don't judge and also feel free to point out some mistakes and stuff!! I take criticisms as i'm sure it'll help me a lot throughout my writing journey :))) can't promise I'll post consistently considering I'm insanely dumped with school works but I'll definitely find time to do so. anyways i hope u guys enjoy this one!! Feel free to hit me w some ideaaasss :3

after you had made it official with the biggest dork on campus—ellie—people would randomly come up to you in the hallways and tease you, not believing how sweet she actually is. after all of your previous relationships, ellie is the only one who genuinely cared for you. despite her shy and nerdy demeanor, she's really fun to hang out with. she'd continuously yap about space, the comic books she's read—savage starlight—and drop all of its lore to you. the whole fucking lore. although you hardly cared. she was too adorable. most of the time, you would find yourself just looking at her sparkling green eyes, topped by her matte, black glasses, her hand gestures, and the soft smile plastered on her lips while she speaks. she's even more beautiful up close. how could others not see that? whilst ellie can be a total cutie pie, you cant deny how fucking insane she can be in bed.

when eating you out, she'd flick her tongue out relentlessly on your leaking hole. firmly gripping on to your thighs, she already knows your next motive. "nuh-uh, sweetheart. keep them open for me." she shoots you a knowing glare before diving back into your drenched core, keeping eye contact all the while. her gaze roamed over your appearance, hair disheveled, eyes rolled back, and completely fucked out. "s-sorry, baby–fuck." you moaned as you clutched onto her dino-printed sheets. so fucking cute. after you'd climaxed for the 3rd time, she'd climb on top of you and slip her tongue down your throat, allowing you to taste yourself as she grinded her own throbbing cunt against yours. your soaking wet pussies rubbing, and creating the most delicious rhythm together. she absolutely loved your boobs. she adored how it just bounces up and down as she rolled her hips above you. she took your nipple in between her thumb and her index finger and pinched them, making you flinch at the feeling. her glasses were all fogged up and crooked, but she couldn't care less. she was too engrossed on drawing out more of those angelic sounds that slips past your lips as she pleases you. "doing s–so good f'me, princess... fuck–so hot." when you had both finally reached your peak, she'd lean down and gently clean up all your juices from between your thighs with her tongue.

she gives absolutely the best aftercare imaginable. the routine would start with cleaning you up with a wet towel, swiping it's soft material across your face, your breasts, your legs, your inner thighs—she had always taken care of you in the most tender and loving way. she loved hearing your soft, exhausted sighs of relief, as you watch her with a smile on your face all while savoring the chocolate she so graciously offered you. after ellie finishes cleaning you up, she would settle beside you, enveloping you in her arms as she wrapped them around your waist. her lips showering your neck with gentle kisses as she whispered heartfelt words of affection. "i'm going to marry you one day."

YAAALLLL OMG I HOPE THIS DIDN'T SUCK TOO HARD😣😣😣🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 i hope u guys enjoyed this one, i really enjoyed writing thisss!!

tags: @ellstronaut

dividers: @khaer @plutism

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Circus

I've been wanting to draw some of my dolls for the longest time and this turned out to be my most detailed artwork so far :') And since I really love the circus, I thought I could turn this into an interactive story, too. Let me know what you think! Based on classic stock characters from Italian theatre, Commedia dell'arte. Content: gender neutral reader, horror, dark comedy, human and monster romance

You're finally here! Come on in, don't be afraid. Where is everyone else, you ask? Why, you're our only special guest, Darling (Y/N). This is all for you. Come, do not upset the Ringmaster. We will show you everything.

A night carnival? You've never heard of such a thing. Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of you when you found the trampled poster on your way back home. The actual message almost escaped your attention; you'd been too focused on the thick, ornate border, and the colorful, swirling patterns intricately filling the page.

"Last night in town! 'Wizard of Ozz' Night Circus, a mesmerizing show that will keep you glued to your seat. We're still searching for our Columbina. Perhaps you could become part of our story?"

Might as well check it out. Which is why you're currently here, in the outskirts, trying to find a walkable path among the weeds. It's dark and you can barely see anything in front of you. They're not trying very hard to provide an inviting atmosphere, you think to yourself.

Eventually, you discern a glimmer of light in the distance. You have found the circus tents.

The campsite is quiet and still, causing you to hesitate in your decision. Is it truly open?

There's a faint murmur coming from the main entrance. A small, melancholic Pierrot - when did he show up? - awaits by the heavy curtain, pale hands stretched out.

"Your ticket, Columbina", he announces with decorum. "Me and Arlecchino will show you any tent you want to visit. We are here to entertain you."

He ponders for a moment, before adding:

"I'm sure you'll like him more. He's a very alluring fellow. Me, on the other hand...Oh, forget it", he mumbles through pouting lips, ushering you inside.

"Aha! There's the star of our night! Our Columbina!"

A tall man in a pompous, glittery costume bounces towards you and lowers himself with a theatrical bow, giving your fingers a quick kiss. You pull your hand away, visibly bothered by the odd gesture.

"You keep calling me that. I'm (Y/N)", you argue.

"Yes, yes, of course we know that. Do ya take us for fools?" the Harlequin asks, kicking one foot in the air. The jingle of the bells at the tip of his shoe echoes across the hall. "You have, however - you must understand, yes? - you've entered Ringmaster's Circus. From now on, you are the Columbina to our play."

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

"Just like that? Why me, and not someone else?" you scan the surroundings, pursing your lips. "Where are the others?"

"Others?"

Harlequin makes an exaggeratedly shocked face and tilts his head towards Pierrot.

"What are they saying? You're the only one here, Columbina darling. After tonight, we-"

Pierrot's hand lands firmly on his friend's lips.

"You always talk too much. Always, always! And yet, you're the favorite. Of course you are. Oh, what pity, what misfortune", the pale young man laments. "We're wasting precious time."

They both burst into a little dance; a rather silly one, you think with an amused smile. Then, they place themselves besides the entrance, each one standing at one end, back straight and chins raised.

"Go on, go ahead, Columbina darling. This is your carnival. Choose any tent you'd like."

Pulcinella's Tent

The stage is pitch black, save for one spotlight contouring a patch of ground. You can see a large, colorful ball, and two feet clumsily rolling their way atop of it.

You chuckle at the sight. This must be the clown.

"No one can compete with Pulcinella's juggling", Pierrot declares somewhat monotonously. "His acrobatic spectacle has left many guests speechless, acting with such dexterity that one must wonder: is this truly the work of two hands?"

Lights flicker, allowing you to catch glimpses of smaller balls being thrown around. Juggling so many balls while bouncing around is indeed impressive.

"Rest assured, this is the art of one single man. Although four eyes are better than two."

The shadows are abruptly swallowed by spotlights, and you squint your eyes, adjusting to the brightness. A two-headed man continues his performance, throwing you the occasional cheeky smile.

"Ah, that is..." you place a hand over your mouth.

"A bother, truly", the Pierrot remarks, sitting next to you. "They're complete opposites."

He observes as both Pulcinella's heads tilt in your direction, visibly entranced. He sighs deeply:

"You'll love them either way. They're funny and entertaining, unlike me...A pathetic miser. Oh, if only I had half their charm!" he bemoans with a soft sob.

"Hey! Don't sadden my beloved like that", Pulcinella barks, jumping off the ball and running towards your seating with a comically merry jingle to accompany him.

You cannot help but marvel at the man in front of you.

"Enough of this, I've had enough! You don't get to decide yet, Pulcinella", Pierrot exclaims in sudden panic. He claws your wrist tightly and pulls you after him. "It's time to see other tents."

Sandrone's Tent

You peek behind the heavy curtain and freeze. Are your eyes deceiving you? Someone is idly resting at the bottom of a large aquarium, showing no struggle despite being underwater. The mysterious man senses your presence and emerges to the surface.

"Would you look at that! I can't remember the last time I had a visitor."

He gestures for you to come closer.

"Are you the new guest? Our Columbina?"

"I don't know what you're talking about", you speak up with hesitation, eyes glued to the scaly tail that seems eerily genuine. "I think I'll be leaving now."

"Leaving? Didn't the Ringmaster already tell you?" The merman claps his hands, amused. "You're naïve, I like that a lot. Perhaps this time I'll be the one to have you."

He abruptly grabs your wrist, and you jolt at the feeling. His hands are ice-cold and moist.

"Let me have a look at you, won't you? I'll help you hide from the others if you're good and listen to me."

You feel a pair of hands sinking into your shoulders, and you're ripped away from the merman. Harlequin's voice rumbles deeply across the room.

"You're being a fox again, aren't you, Sandrone? Hands off our guest! You don't get to pick yet", he scolds in a low growl. "Ringmaster won't be happy about it."

"Go on then, tell on me! Ringmaster's good boy, eh?" the dark-skinned man smirks mockingly and slams his tail against the glass. "Put a collar on that one, Columbina. See how well he barks", he snarls, then slides back underwater and promptly vanishes.

Harlequin's grip on your shoulders becomes tighter for a brief moment. You can tell he's tense.

"Let's get you out of here. Don't listen to a word he says, Columbina darling. He lies, you see? No one trusts him. You should rely on me."

Pantalone's Tent

You gawk at the impressive height of this tent, head nearly spinning from tilting yourself all the way back. Ah, this must be the trapeze artist. Indeed, one of the two handles is dangling above you, and it occurs to you there's no safety net. A tall, lean man swiftly pounces across, reaching for the trapeze. His movements are slow, yet calculated, and you can't help but wonder if he might actually be flying instead.

Upon closer inspection, it appears he has no arms.

"Madness", you find yourself shouting. "Stop this nonsense!"

He gracefully wraps his legs around the bar, swinging back and forth with a confident smile.

"You doubt me, Pantalone himself?"

With another thrust, he lets himself go, spiraling down against your terrified protests. His heeled shoes clack against the hard tile. Lastly, he stretches out his bandaged stumps, as if signaling his successful landing.

You find yourself bowing to the grand gesture.

"Yes, yes, it's rather impressive, isn't it?" Pierrot follows behind you in his usual dull tone. "Pantalone is our master acrobat."

He lifts his gaze and notices that the man didn't bother waiting for a full introduction; he's already standing before you with a flirty grin.

"...and a charmer, I suppose. What, you're already doing your tricks?"

The sallow clown squeezes himself behind you two protectively.

"Shoo, shoo! Columbina is merely visiting."

He lightly pushes you away, towards the exit. You throw one final glance at the mysterious individual; he waves with his residual limb, and winks.

"You know where to find me, love."

Il Capitano's Tent

You feel a radiant heat coming from this tent. In the middle of the ring stands a grand cage. An animal of sorts? You keep your distance, observing from the benches.

A monstrous giant stumbles within your view with heavy steps. A thick, scaly tail rattles the bars of the cage, swinging itself with the precision of a bullwhip.

"Il Capitano himself!" the Harelquin announces theatrically, bending his arms in the direction of the blue beast. "The strongman, the fire-spitting artist, a most devilish creature captured and chained by our Ringmaster."

"Is this one mine?" the monstrous man pins you down with a predatory gaze.

"Perhaps", Harlequin spits out bitterly. "They decide, not you."

You squirm in your seat, suddenly much smaller under his intense stare. The charismatic guide's smile falters for a brief second, replaced by an envious grimace.

Il Capitano inhales deeply, expanding his torso and contracting his muscles. His fanged mouth then unhinges, releasing a great flame which spreads all the way to you. You're almost tempted to reach towards it, feeling the sting with your very fingers.

"Amazing", you mumble, still mesmerized by the spectacle.

This was no cheap trickery. Capitano is truly a one-of-a-kind artist. No human could replicate such a feat.

The beastly creature holds onto the bars of his cage, shoving his snout outside and grinning. Puffs of smoke escape between his teeth.

"Come down here and I can do even more, little one."

Harlequin gasps and gestures for you to stand up.

"Outrageous! How dare you-!"

He urges you to follow him outside. Enough monstrous sights for now.

"Shall we head towards the other tents, darling?"

Harlequin walks ahead, deep in contemplation. Pierrot scurries after him, whispering the remaining choices. Your shoulders are heavy, and you're quite tired from the eventful night.

You notice a little opening between the lavish curtain folds and decide to sneak away. They needn't know about your departure. You stumble around dark halls, following the cool breeze of the outside, until you're met with the starry sky.

Your path is blocked by two large poles, so you step to the right. Your body freezes in terror when they move with you. Slowly, you raise your head and follow the black shapes, and realize they're legs.

Far, far above ground, towering over the entire circus, you see two glowing eyes.

It's the Ringmaster.

"Bad, bad Columbina", he reproaches.

The voice is off, like an old, broken record reverberating against your eardrums. A cold shiver runs across your spine.

"I'm sorry", you blurt out in fear.

A long, bony hand appears before you, twitching with a loud pop. You wrap your hands around a finger, desperate to not anger this unholy creation.

"Let's take you to your caravan. We're leaving tomorrow."

Oh, God. What have you done?

Now, now, don't fret. There's nothing to be afraid of. Come, put that frown aside. Everyone loves you here. After all, you're their most precious Columbina. What's a Circus without its treasure?

[peachsayshi]

cc x·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ thinking about...reader trying to break up with yandere gojo  

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; dub con; lovesick gojo & he’s obsessive/toxic about it; he’s mean but yummy, okay?; size kink (ish?); gojo showing off his strength; sex without protection

notes: I had this written as an idea right after I wrote my hc’s for the jjk men in their yandere version. twylm readers, please forgive me for not posting the next chapter. I am working on it but I am really struggling - I had the worst burn out after the last chapter, and have been having a hard time trying to get back into the story >.< 

wc: 1,228

gojo plays with the hem of your skirt - the flat expression on his face telling you that he’s listening but appears unbothered by your statement. you can see the annoyance in his eyes, the irritation that you would say something so ridiculous in the middle of a make out session. 

his hands find the back of your thighs and with one swift motion he pulls you over his long legs so you’re hovering above his lap. the imbalance forces you to clutch onto his shirt with frustration, and he mindlessly reaches to undo his belt before tugging your underwear aside with his long, slender digits. 

“toru, are you listening to me?” you whisper in a small voice. 

“you want to take a break?” he repeats calmly, but those last two words are laced with disgust, barely slipping through his clenched teeth, and he lowers you down just enough for him to press the tip of his swollen cock against your slit. 

“I need to slow things down...” you breathe, lashes fluttering at the sensation from the contact. 

your thighs naturally start to tense up when he holds you there, and the pads of his fingers dig roughly into your hip to keep you in place. you hiss against the harsh touch, gazing down to find your lover pouting at you like a disappointed child.

any stranger would consider this an adorable expression with the way his big eyes widen while his brows upturn sorrowfully. 

to you, however, it was an entirely different message. 

“are you unhappy?” he asks, his words weighed down by hurt. 

a warm sensation travels up your calves as you try to maintain the pose and you shake your head no while squeezing him gently with reassurance. satoru flickers his attention back to the point of contact. your pelvis feels tight from holding this awkward position, and the ache to have him inside you naturally makes the space between your legs pulse with need. 

satoru gojo has given you everything and more. there is no reason for you to be unhappy. 

he made sure of that. 

“okay,” he confirms with a sigh, one palm moving to grope the curve of your ass while the other stabilizes your leg as he draws you down his length. “do you not love me?” 

a hard lump forms in your throat. 

you’re careful never to actually say those words to him. 

satoru’s devotion consumes your entire your soul - you can’t help but feel like you would be making a deal with a devil if you decided to admit your true feelings. 

you managed to keep his peace of mind this far by reassuring him with deep, promising kisses and strong acknowledgements of his feelings. 

technically you aren’t lying, but the reality is that you’re afraid to love him...and of what your love does to him.

giving him another silent reply, you nod your head as your fear creeps up the back of your spine. the only relief you find is the stretch between your legs, and your lips part into a circle as satoru gives himself to you inch by glorious inch.

your skirt flaps over you both, concealing him buried inside you. he arches forward to kiss your jaw, his large hands finding your breasts and he massages them over your fitted tank. 

he delicately trails his fingers down your waist to latch onto your hips once more. “then why...” he murmurs into your neck, “do you want to take a break?” 

your hand finds the back of his head, a moan leaving your parted lips when you feel him lick a stripe up the column before lightly nipping at your earlobe. 

“it’s just...” you gasp, feeling flowers of heat bloom in all the places he’s touching you, “I just feel like we are getting ahead of o-ourselves..ah...” 

he rocks your hips back and forth, moving at such a languid pace that you can’t help but clench your thighs around his own. your fingers curl around the snowy threads of his white hair, tugging at it gently before pulling his face away so you can meet his eyes. 

he looks smug - but he always does because he knows that you’re just addicted to him as he is to you. 

“isn’t that what we want?” he questions, the corner of his mouth twitching into a lazy smile as he takes off your top and unfastens your bra, “we’re already so perfect...” 

“satoru,” you whine, “that’s not the point-” 

this time he ruts his pelvis upward, interrupting your thoughts as he hits you at the right spot that makes your eyes disappear into the back of your head. he leans against the chair, maintaining full eye contact with you as he casually lifts you up before dropping you back down on his cock. “just want to make you m’pretty wife, is all...fuck you like this every single night...” 

you bite your bottom lip, frustrated with how wet he’s making you with his words. your body subconsciously succumbs to his demands and you slowly start bouncing up and down over his length. 

“that’s right, angel,” satoru grunts with approval, his hungry hands grab your ass roughly, and you squeak when you feel a slight sting from behind as the sound of his palm slapping against your skin echoes around the room. “see? I’m making you feel s’fucking good, your pussy’s so wet f’me...just for me...” 

when his mouth finds yours, you know you’ve lost the battle. his scalding kisses leave your lips swollen but you still search for him out of desperation to feel the fire. he’s reminding you how hard it would be to let go of him, reiterating that there is no man in this world who could ever love you as much he does. you feel silly for bringing this up, questioning your own trepidations about him and wondering if this is simply you sabotaging what you already have. 

you are in a daze from the way he fucks you but he isn’t slowing down his movements and you feel like he might actually split you in two. he would never speak to you with angry words, but you can feel it in his movements.

“gonna c-cum, gonna cum, gonna cum...” 

it comes out of you like a warning, but it only makes satoru go deeper and before you know it your vision is white. your body feels everything all at once, and the coil that’s been tightening around your lower belly loosens from the intense orgasm. the pleasure is euphoric, sinfully so, and it drains you of all the energy you’ve preserved. your body goes limp in satoru’s arms, and he keeps them wrapped securely around your waist as he pumps his cum inside you.

he holds you in this embrace, allowing the seconds to pass. his breath fans your collar bone while he tries to catch himself. your eyes feel heavy when you blink them open, and you cup his face in your hands as you seek to cool yourself down with his azure eyes.

“I’m never going to let you go,” he confesses with a sweet kiss to the inside of your palm, before placing another on your cheek while he tightens his grip, “so stop trying to push me away.” 

[rafey-baby]

c/w: stalker!rafe being creepy & stealing reader's underwear, suggestive texts from an unknown number & a stranger walking her home

wc: 2.3k

he’s been on my mind lately…happy kinktober xx

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

The feeling of impending doom has been crawling up her bones for several weeks now. At first, she thought it was merely her imagination playing tricks on her; having watched one too many horror films with her friends but as the days went on and the feeling of unease continued, she began to feel paranoid. 

She kept feeling like someone was watching her; lurking in the shadowy corners of her house and following her every movement with a morbid gaze glued to her form whether she was out with friends or merely cleaning her living room.

She didn’t like it, didn’t know when it exactly began but she wanted nothing more than for the peculiar feeling to disappear.

She’d be changing her clothes in order to get ready for bed when suddenly a shiver would tingle along her spine and make her snap her head towards her window; trying to desperately catch some creep ogling her, so she'd finally have some sort of an explanation. Instead, she’d be met with nothing more than the leafy trees of her gloomy backyard before she’d quickly draw the curtains closed. 

In addition, lately she’d been having nightmares more often than usual; waking up in the middle of the night panting with her heart thudding in her ribcage and sometimes she could swear she felt the eyes of a stranger still lingering on her sweaty skin. 

Then one night, when she’s rinsing her mouth after brushing her teeth, her phone lights up with a notification.

unknown number

why are your bedroom curtains never open anymore?

look so pretty in your underwear…

4 attachments

The device clatters against the bathroom tiles when it slips from her hold as her eyes scan over the multiple pictures of her half naked; all taken through the glass of the large window in her room. A window she's lately been making sure is covered at all times.

She plucks it from the floor with trembling fingers and reads over the messages once more; heart rapidly thudding in her ribcage making it hard for her to think as her fingertips glide across the screen to type out a response. 

you

who is this?

im gonna call the cops

unknown number

do I scare you?

And instead of responding, she blocks the number. However, when the police arrive and search her house and her backyard, they find nothing. They merely tell her that it’s ’probably nothing serious, just some kid pulling a prank on you’ with an apologetic smile before leaving. 

A couple of days go by and she’s beginning to believe that maybe it was truly someone playing tricks on her when all of a sudden, her phone vibrates with an incoming call from another unknown number as she’s boiling pasta for dinner.

This time, she decides to simply ignore it; choosing to believe it’s someone calling the wrong number for her own peace of mind. However, that’s long forgotten when a new message illuminates the screen and her breath gets caught in her windpipe as she scans it over. 

unknown number

breaking my heart here princess :(

you

leave me alone

unknown number

but that’s no fun, is it?

you

what do u want from me?

unknown number

want you to keep your curtains open more often

you

so u can take more pictures of me?

unknown number

can just watch if that’s what you prefer?

you

leave me alone

please

She repeats before turning off her phone for the rest of the night. 

She thinks he’s actually listened because no unknown numbers try to contact her for some time, causing her to turn less anxious by each silent day that rolls around. However, when she begins to notice that pairs of her underwear keep disappearing, her mind wanders over to the only person who could be behind it.

At first, she doesn’t think too much of the fact that she can’t seem to find her favorite panties anywhere, assuming she’s merely misplaced them. However, when a white lacy pair she saves for special occasions vanishes from her drawer she grows restless. If she hasn’t worn it in months, it should be where she left it, right?

The air suddenly feels like sand; poking at her lungs as if it’s filled with tiny rocks when she becomes aware of the fact that in order for him to steal her stuff he’s had to break into her home. Therefore, he’s been in her bedroom before and probably her kitchen, living room and bathroom as well. And the first time could’ve easily been weeks ago. 

Nausea steeped in dread grovels up her insides and sits heavy in her stomach at the realization that he could be in here right now.

If he wanted to hurt her, then he would’ve done it by now. Or at least that’s what she keeps telling herself in order to offer some form of solace for her troubled thoughts.

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

The following night she’s wiping her eyes clean of mascara by the sink when a text pops up. 

psycho stalker

someone came home late

have fun on your date?

Chills erupt on her skin as she peers down at the screen. After the all too tedious date she’s just had, she’s entirely too exhausted with his arduous mind games on top of it all; wants to bury herself under her covers and close her eyes for an eternity.

However, she’s not entirely convinced he won’t come up with another way to disturb her if she stops responding altogether as another message pops up.

psycho stalker

assuming not too much fun since you didn’t bring him home..

you

none of your business 

psycho stalker

was he boring?

talked about himself the whole time and didn’t ask a single question about you?

She blinks a few times because he’s not exactly wrong. How on earth did he— 

you

what the fuck is wrong with you

you’re following me now??

She tries to remember whether she saw anyone suspicious at the restaurant but she can’t recall anything out of the ordinary catching her attention. However, she wasn’t aware she was supposed to keep her eyes open for her possible stalker, which is why her brain isn’t being very helpful at the moment.

psycho stalker

just wanted to make sure you were safe

you

I feel very safe right now thank you

psycho stalker

someone’s got an attitude

that bad?

you

please just leave me alone 

psycho stalker

what color are your panties?

you

what the hell?

not telling you that

psycho stalker

want me to come over and find out for myself then? 

you

u wouldn’t do that 

psycho stalker

wanna bet?

She tries to even out her respiration because she does not want to find out whether he’s merely toying with her or if he’s actually being serious. 

you

…

black

psycho stalker

with the lace?

you

yes

psycho stalker

shit

that’s one of my favorites on you

you

you’re sick in the head

psycho stalker

that’s not very nice

did you wear them for him?

you

he wasn’t worth it

don’t think he would’ve even been able to make me come

psycho stalker

yeah?

need help with that?

you

not from you creep

why are you stealing my underwear?

psycho stalker

cause you don’t give me shows anymore :(

they’re a little dirty now but want me to return them?

you

you’re disgusting

psycho stalker

and you're up past your bedtime cause you like talking to me

you

I don't

gonna sleep now

please leave me alone

psycho stalker

sweet dreams princess

At that, she finally locks her phone; wishing she’ll actually be granted some well needed rest tonight.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

One night she’s walking home from the grocery store, mind occupied with the prospect of digging into the tub of strawberry ice cream in her bag as she’s messaging her friend who’s enthusiastically telling her the details of the kiss she shared with a girl she’d had a crush on for ages.  

Then completely out of the blue, she bumps into someone’s sturdy chest.  

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she's quick to apologize before she looks up and is met with blue sapphires that twinkle even under the dim street lamps.  

They’re slightly covered by the guy’s chocolate hair falling into his face, resulting in him raking a hand through the strands as his brows raise, almost like he's surprised. However, that wouldn't really make any sense since she's never seen him before, she figures. 

“S’all good. Wasn’t really looking either,” he rasps out as his intense gaze bores into her, almost as if he’s studying her; examining her every reaction. 

“No, it was really my fault. Shouldn’t be texting and walking at the same time,” she forces out a laugh and tries to step away from him and continue on with her journey. However, he halts her movements when he speaks up again.   

“Shouldn’t be walking alone this late either, you know. All kinds of creeps out here just waiting for the opportunity to attack pretty girls like you,” he reminds her with a strange tinge to his voice that causes the hairs on her arms to stand.  

She’s unable to pinpoint what it is exactly. She thinks his features are otherwise quite appealing but there’s something almost disturbing about his aura. 

“I know, but it’s really just a ten-minute walk. I’ll be fine,” she offers him a tight smile, timidly fiddling with the strap of her shopping bag.  

“Why don’t I walk you home, yeah?” His offer comes out as something ominous rather than concern over her safety and the stillness of the darkened October sky surrounding them suddenly makes unease litter across her skin.  

“No, I think I’m okay. Thank you, though,” she politely declines and tries to tiptoe away from his intimidating presence, albeit uselessly.  

“It’s past midnight already, let me walk you,” he nearly insists; seemingly not accepting no for an answer as his tone resembles more of a demand now. 

“O— okay, um…sure,” she swallows around the words and watches how the corners of his mouth tug up. What has she gotten herself into? For all she knows, this man could be a serial killer and she's just signed up her faith as his next victim. 

The murky sidewalk is quiet as they tread along it and she keeps glancing towards him every now and then; reassuring herself that a sharp knife or a gun hasn't magically appeared in his hand. 

Although, she thinks he wouldn't need a weapon to drag her helpless form into the woods with his much stronger arms. Under the obscurity provided by the old trees, he could easily strangle her until her soul would wither away from her lifeless eyes; getting his fix from leaving her limp body on the muddy moss as death kisses her cold, tear-streaked cheeks.  

“Something on your mind?” His sudden question makes her jump. 

“N— no, nothing. I just— have we met before?” She hesitantly asks, turning to look at him and noticing his gaze already resting on her face.  

“Pretty sure I’d remember if we had,” his indistinct response is calm, too calm for her liking.  

“It's just that, um, it's a small neighborhood and I've never seen you around?” She flits her eyes over to him, trying to figure him out. 

“I don't live here,” his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip; the ambiguity of his answer not soothing her racing brain in the slightest.  

“Oh, okay...cool,” she peeps out; trying to appear as nonchalant as ever, even if her breathing has turned fragmented and her head is spinning.  

A gruesome smirk morphs his mouth at her obvious nervousness and for some reason, he appears to be enjoying this; finding crooked entertainment in her dismay.  

He halts in front of her home before she’s even digested that they’ve already arrived at her destination.  

“How did you— how did you know this was my house?” She tentatively wonders. 

“Lucky guess,” he merely shrugs with a smile that's nowhere near uplifting. 

She blinks. 

“Right, well, thanks for walking me...I’m gonna go now,” she squeaks out and takes a step towards the front yard.  

“Sweet dreams, Princess,” he murmurs and her entire form tenses in response to the familiarity of the nickname. 

“What did you just say?” Something dire bubbles up in her throat at the bizarre sense of deja vu. 

“Just wished you a good night? You feeling alright?” He furrows his brows in what should appear as concern for her wellbeing but she notices something twisted glinting in his overly worried eyes; almost like some sort of sick satisfaction.  

“I’m— I’m fine. Just…tired, I guess,” she manages out as a crease forms between her brows and her breathing grows labored when his mouth curls into an almost sinister smirk.  

“You sure?”  

She flinches when he sets a heavy hand on her arm and he's suddenly all too close for comfort. 

“Y— yes,” she tries to pull away. However, she unfortunately stumbles on her wobbly feet, nearly tumbling down on the harsh grass if not for his firm arms holding her upright by a grip on her waist. 

“Careful now, don't wanna hurt yourself, do you?” He scolds her with a click of his tongue; steadying her with an intrigued narrow of blue gemstones.  

“Sorry,” a breathy apology escapes past her lips as her eyes flicker down to where his touch is burning her skin, even through the thick material of her sweater. 

“Run along then, yeah?” He murmurs as he lets go of her along with a small push towards the right direction.   

Then she’s scurrying over to her doorstep, feeling his eerie stare following her; trepidation clogging her lungs as she decides against glancing towards him once more, closing her front door and making sure it’s locked, twice. 

[hungharrington]

Steve realizing his gf is stressed and forcing her to take a mid day break and she's just like babe I'm not in the mood and he's like ok let's take a break for 5 min a mere 5 min like u can def afford that and she's like fine and she sets a timer but by the time the 5 min r up Steve is already eating her out and he's like the timer is up and she's so into in and forgotten that she's like the what?? And Steve just chuckles smugly and goes back down

bro.... did u send this cos u know i've been stressed with grad school??? either way YUM i ate it tf up this was delicious thank you for gracing my inbox with it <3 fem!reader, 1.2k, MDNI this entire blog is 18+

As Steve sets his watch, your thoughts drift to the assignment sitting on your desk, due by the end of the week.

You really shouldn't be taking a break — you're not sure you can actually afford to. Well, your stress certainly makes it feel that way.

But Steve had badgered you lovingly with his wandering hands around your waist, fingers skirting beneath your shirt, and his hot kiss mouthing softly against your neck.

You probably shouldn't be taking a break but also, you're only human. Steve knows just how to press your buttons.

"I've set the timer," Steve murmurs, his voice somewhere behind you on the bed. His big hands smooth up your calves, pressing in his adoring intent. You can't see the heavy-lidded gaze he has, betraying a different intent. "Five minutes, okay?

"Okay," You agree tiredly, voice muffled into the pillow of your bed. "Work your magic, babe."

You're laying on your front, face pressed into pillow, your arms caged around your head. You're well and truly enjoying a moment to rest your eyes and you're betting it'll only get better when Steve starts his massage.

I mean, that's what you expect he meant when he begged you to let him 'help you relax' for five minutes.

Steve makes a little amused noise from behind you, fully intending on working a certain kind of magic.

His hands continue their slow peruse, his fingers spread wide and exploring the expanse of your thighs as they continue to slide up. He presses and soothes the muscles, getting you more relaxed with each touch. You huff a little sigh into the pillow, eyes sliding closed, and your body grows more pliant.

His hands keep moving up, up, up, until the fabric of your skirt is getting bunched up beneath them. Something nervous rises in your chest at the sudden new display of skin. Still, you don't move, almost eager to see what he does next.

Your face is still hidden away in the pillow when his hands begin to knead the skin where your thigh meets your ass. A soft, pleased noise wiggles loose in your chest.

Then—a ghost of a touch pulls a sudden small gasp from your lungs. A finger drags down the centre of your panties, just the slightest pressure.

"Yeah?" Steve probes gently, his voice low and raspy. The weight of his finger remains but he doesn't move it, waiting for your answer.

You're in two minds about it for only a split-second before your hair scrunches up as you nod your head against the pillow. The finger moves again, drawing down to trace over your clit lightly. Your face simmers with heat, even if you've done much nastier things with Steve before.

"Good girl," Steve praises. "Letting herself relax,"

His words sink into you, sweet as honey and warm as a sunbeam. Something twists low in your stomach and you have to resist the urge to readjust your thighs. If your face was simmering before, it's burning now.

Steve's hands move with a precision of well-known love. He knows what you like and he knows exactly how to get you riled up.

"Been working so hard, baby," He murmurs. "Know you have."

He continues his absentminded massage, hands rubbing and kneading the flesh of your ass. One finger always remains pressed against your core, petting against your slowly dampening panties in a way that makes you want to quiver. You bury your stuttering breaths into the pillow beneath you.

"Y'stop taking care of yourself, don't you?" You can barely focus on the questions as they drift out of Steve's mouth. Your eyes are closed again but this time in that growing lull of pleasure that's building up within you. "That's why I'm here though, isn't it? To help my girl relax,"

The damp spot on your panties grows under Steve's masterful strokes and soon, it's wet and sticky. You can't help but wonder if they're translucent but now—fuck, what pair are you even wearing? The thought melts away as Steve's skillful thumb finds your clit and draws a perfect circle around it, teasing you in just the way you like.

"Feelin' more relaxed?" Steve asks. You can't tell if you're imagining the smug tone in his voice but either way, he's a bastard for touching your clit and asking you a question at the same time.

You open your mouth to give an answer and let out a pitiful moan instead.

Glorious heat flames your face but you can't help how it fuels your mounting lust. He's driving you insane with these little touches.

"Good girl," Steve coos, as if your moan is the perfect answer to his question. You make another pathetic noise in response, feeling your hips rock back, desperate for a little more friction.

A disappointed whine creeps out when the touch is suddenly gone and Steve chuckles at the sound of it. "Won't be long, honey. Can you prop these up for me please?"

His hands have shifted, spread across to hold your hips lightly. You kick your legs up without question, enough to move them up, elevating your hips off the bed just barely.

Steve still gives you as praising noise, running his hands down your ass reverently. "That's it, baby. Doin' so good for me, aren't you?"

You're beyond words at this point so you answer him with another pitiful whimper. It's heaven to Steve's ears.

You hear the comforter on the bed rustle as Steve readjusts behind you and get all of a few seconds to wonder what before the heat of his breath ghosts along your inner thigh. Your tummy twists up in anticipation and you clench without thinking.

Steve chuckles again, his hands landing delicately on your either side of your hips once more.

He moves to grip a cheek in each hand and a lust-tinged embarrassment burns your face as he spreads you, your sopping cunt on display, shielded only by your soaked panties. A soft groan of appreciation pulls from his throat without permission.

"God, look at you," He murmurs.

One of his thumbs dips in, pressing beneath the elastic of your panties and moving to pull them to the side. A string of slick sticks to them and Steve groans again as he watching, this time louder. "Fuck, baby, you're soaked. Look at you, practically cryin' for it, aren't you?"

You whimper into the pillow, breath held as you wait in agony for Steve to do anything.

Faintly behind you, there's a small beep of a watch. Steve makes a disgruntled noise and shuffles for a moment, til the beeping stops.

"Five minutes, honey." He says, that almost smug tone to his words once more.

The words reach your ears but mean almost nothing to you. You have to resist the urge to arch your back and whine for him to keep going. But Steve won't have said that for nothing.

"W-What?" You manage to say, the word muffled into the pillow.

"Never mind, baby," He says, words dripping in a smugness that only drives up your body temperature. Your nipples peak in response and you feel your cunt aching for some touch. Steve obliges almost instantly, his thumb tracing down your folds. "Don’t worry bout it. You just sit there and take it like a good girl."

[soulofapatrick]

Protect You - Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: You come into work injured and Hotch accidentally outs your relationship

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: None really

Notes: I honestly don't know where this one came from but enjoy hehe

Y/N’s POV

As I step into the familiar confines of the BAU bullpen, a sigh of relief escapes my lips upon noticing it’s only Spencer present as the others always arrive later. Hotch and Rossi must be holed up in their offices, shielding them from witnessing the bruised left side of my face and the split lip that I’m trying to conceal with my hair, keeping my head down. I would try make-up but they’re profilers, we’re profilers, there’s no point hiding any of it as they’ll work it out. 

Every moment reminds me of the ache throbbing on my face, a constant reminder of the altercation that occurred early this morning. I try to mask the discomfort with a tight-lipped smile, but I know Spencer sees through it the moment his gaze flickers up from the file he’s absorbed in. His eyes widen in concern, and he’s on his feet so fast his chair clatters to the ground, abandoning his document to rush to my side. 

I appreciate his silent understanding, his quick grasp of the situation without needing an explanation. It's moments like these that remind me why the BAU feels like family.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice is gentle, his concern palpable as he takes in my appearance, eyes flickering over the bruises, assessing whether I need medical or not, “What happened to you?” 

I offer a weak shrug, sliding onto my desk so Spencer can slide into my chair like we usually sit, waiting for Emily, JJ and Morgan to arrive, “Oh just a little accident.” I murmur, trying to downplay the severity of it, though the pain pulses with each word. Spencer raises his eyebrows, scoffing lightly, drawing a heavy sigh from me, I relent, knowing I can’t actually keep it from my best friend, “Jessica might have found me in Hotch’s bed this morning after he left to be here early,” I pause, letting that sink in first, the fact I was in our boss’ bed, “She… well, she punched me and I just left her… she’s still grieving and it’s been just over a year now…” 

Spencer's hand finds mine, a silent gesture of solidarity amidst the chaos. And in that moment, I'm grateful for his unwavering support, his quiet strength anchoring me to reality when everything feels like it's spiralling out of control, “Are you going to tell Hotch?” 

Before I can respond, the authoritative timbre of Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, drawing my gaze towards his office. Instinctively, I turn my head away, a futile attempt to shield him from the truth of what his ex-sister-in-law had down to me. But it’s too late. The damage is already written across my bruised face, a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted in the early hours of the morning. 

Hotch strides into the bullpen, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on me, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. "Tell me what?" His voice is clipped, demanding answers that I'm not ready to give. Spencer gets up from my chair and moves over to where the coffee station is, staying within hearing distance but giving us enough privacy. 

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of Hotch's gaze bearing down on me like a heavy burden. "It's nothing, Hotch," I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper as I keep my head bowed, unwilling to meet his gaze. But I can sense his skepticism, his unwavering determination to uncover the truth lurking beneath my hesitant words.

Before I can protest further, Hotch grips my chin with a gentle finger and thumb, forcing me to raise my face and meet his gaze. The shock that flashes across his features sends a shiver down my spine, his expression morphing from concern to horror, then to simmering anger barely contained beneath the surface. 

His voice is low, a dangerous undercurrent lacing his words as he practically growls, “Who did this to you?” 

I try to shake my head free from his grip but he won’t let me, cognac eyes full of anger as he searches my face. Every part of my wants to submit to him but I can’t ruin the last bit of Haley he has left by telling him and he finally sighs. He takes a risk and presses his forehead to mine, eyes closing and taking a deep breath before he’s letting me go and taking a step back just as the bullpen doors open. With one final lingering look he turns to the others and tells them to meet him in the meeting room in ten. 

As Spencer intercepts Hotch on his way back to his office, a sense of foreboding settles over the bullpen, amplifying the tension already thick in the air. I watch, heart sinking, as Spencer murmurs something to Hotch, the words lost in the charged atmosphere. Hotch's head snaps up, his entire demeanour shifting in an instant. Even from behind, I can sense the fury radiating off him, a palpable force that sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever Spencer said has stirred a tempest within Hotch, one that threatens to consume everything in its path.

Before I can comprehend the gravity of the situation, Derek's voice breaks through the tense silence, his concern evident in the way he addresses me. "Oh shittt, what happened to you, baby girl?" he asks, his usually jovial tone replaced by genuine worry. 

Spencer slumps back into my chair, his expression somber as Derek rounds the desk to his, drawing Emily and JJ's attention in the process. In moments like these, the boundaries between colleagues blur, replaced by the unspoken bonds of friendship and camaraderie that define us as a team. They crowd around me, their questions a chorus of concern as they inspect the bruises marring my skin. Despite their genuine care, I can feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions lingering in the air like a heavy fog. 

Just as I'm about to ask them to drop it, a voice cuts through the chaos, echoing from Hotch's office with a force that silences the entire bullpen. "HOW DARE YOU LAY A HAND ON HER?!" Hotch's voice booms, despite his door and blinds being shut, reverberating off the walls with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

A stunned silence settles over the bullpen, the air thick with tension as Hotch's voice echoes through the confines of his office, despite the closed door and drawn blinds. His words hang in the air like a heavy pall, commanding attention and demanding justice. The sudden yelling draws Rossi out of his office, his expression a mix of concern and confusion as he surveys the scene unfolding before him. It's rare to witness Hotch lose his composure, and even rarer to hear him raise his voice with such raw intensity. 

But, as the seconds tick by, the tension in the air becomes almost palpable, a tangible force that hangs heavy around us. We exchange uncertain glances, the weight of Hotch's anger casting a shadow over the once tranquil atmosphere of the bullpen. And then, just as quickly as it began, Hotch's voice rises again, the sound muffled by the closed door of his office. Despite the distance, his words carry with them a sense of finality, a declaration of his unwavering resolve, “I CAN DATE WHO I WANT, YOU DON’T GET TO DICTATE IF Y/N IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.” 

As Hotch's voice reverberates through the closed door of his office, his words cut through the heavy silence like a knife. The weight of his declaration hangs heavy in the air, leaving us all stunned into silence.

Derek's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape as he processes the implications of Hotch's words. Emily's eyes widen, a mixture of shock and admiration reflecting in her gaze as she exchanges a quick glance with JJ. Spencer, ever the observer, remains stoic, his expression unreadable as he absorbs the gravity of Hotch's statement. 

The realisation settles over us like a heavy blanket, each of us grappling with the implications of Hotch's unwavering resolve. In that moment, it's clear that he's not just defending my honour; he's asserting his autonomy, refusing to be swayed by the opinions or judgments of others. And as the echoes of his words fade into the background, we're left in a stunned silence, the weight of the moment pressing down upon us like a tangible force. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, replaced by the quiet intensity of the bullpen. 

But our reverie is short-lived as Hotch reemerges from his office, his face flushed with anger and frustration. His gaze sweeps over us, a silent command to gather ourselves and move forward. Without a word, he gestures towards the conference room, his authoritative presence brooking no argument. 

As the rest of the team practically rushes towards the conference room, driven by the urgency of the moment, I find myself lingering behind. The weight of everything that has transpired settles heavily upon my shoulders, anchoring me to the spot as I struggle to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. I remain perched on the edge of my desk, head bowed, my hands suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. The sound of familiar footsteps draws nearer, the rhythmic cadence echoing through the empty space of the bullpen. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, Hotch's shiny smart shoes appear in my line of sight, his presence casting a warm glow against the backdrop of uncertainty. 

He says my name softly, a gentle reminder that I'm not alone in this moment of vulnerability. I lift my gaze to meet his, finding solace in the depths of his unwavering gaze. There's a tenderness in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous journey we've embarked upon together. 

In that moment, he looks at me like I've hung the stars, like I'm a goddess deserving of reverence and adoration. It's a gaze that speaks volumes, a silent confession of the depth of his feelings. And then, with a gentle touch, his hand reaches out to cup my unbruised cheek, his touch a balm against the ache of the morning's events. In the stillness of the bullpen, he draws me into a soft kiss, a silent promise of solidarity and unwavering support. In that fleeting moment, time stands still, the chaos of the world fading away as we find solace in each other's embrace. And as we pull away, the weight of the world feels a little lighter, buoyed by the strength of the bond that binds us together.

With a silent understanding, we rise from the tumult of the morning, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And as we make our way towards the conference room, hand in hand, I know that no matter what the future holds, we'll face it together, united by the unbreakable ties of love and loyalty.

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka

[eightstarr]

pacify — sevika.

summary: is it possible to miss a stranger, or does one thing negate the other? maybe you miss sevika because she isn't a stranger, because she stuck her claws far too deep in you and never let go— or just because she looks really fucking good sitting there, looking at you like she's waiting for you to say "hello again".

warnings: mild descriptions of violence, smut (mdni!), pre time jump sevika!

notes: my thesis with this one is that eating out a woman you love will revolutionize you in a way nothing else can and i'm joking but also dead serious. also dear god please me and who… okay bye i love you

・。.・゜✧・. ────

“You know, I’ve always liked this place the best.”

It’s the first thing you remember him saying, blue uniform to match his now slightly reddened eyes, vile alcohol in his breath. You’re at a different bar, not Vander's, the first actual job you ever had if you don't count what came before— the shiny rock of a stranger’s ring in your pocket, another’s gold coins in your bag, all from the quick trips to the city above with your father. “It’s not difficult to steal from a Piltovan,” he’d say, squinting at the engraving on the inside of a sparkly bracelet, a small bounty spread over the kitchen table, “they’re all show, all ego.”

Now watching the smirk on the Enforcer’s face after he downs his fourth glass without taking a breath, a laughable skill for an audience of no one, you find it hard to disagree with your father’s assessment. The well nurtured instinct to wonder what you’d get if you slipped your fingers inside the pockets of his tailored jacket grows loud and tempting in your head, but you shove it away and keep your eyes on the dusty floor you’re meant to sweep, determined to keep this job.

“The drinks are better than up there, I’ll give you that,” the drunk man continued, half empty fifth glass tipped dangerously towards the brooding barman, your only coworker tonight. There’s barely anyone left in the bar at all except a couple regulars. Tension has been brewing through the entirety of your shift, an argument in one of the booths during your first hour, a drink on someone’s face by the third, a wave of tired scoffs when the man in uniform walked in near the end of the night; the last nail on the coffin. In your head, you’ve listed all the possible exits you could use to escape enough times to memorize them.

The man takes a surprisingly controlled sip, thin lips furrowed in a grimace. “Wish it was enough to make up for that fucking stench.”

The air in Zaun is different to foreigners. You’ve never minded it the way they do. It's your air, the first to ever fill your lungs, the one you’re so used to that you can feel the way it shifts— the way it becomes a stench, as he called it, when blood is about to be spilt.

The barman does, to his credit, offer you the chance to leave. Or orders it, morelike, his sharp eyes meeting yours and then a tilt of his head towards the door. Maybe he pities you for the nerves splashed all over your face, or maybe he’d just find it a shame to lose an employee he hired barely a month ago. “You. Out.”

“Out?” the Piltovan repeats, turning his head, his voice grossly high pitched. “Why? What's gonna happen now?” he’s drunk enough that you notice the seconds that pass before his eyes properly focus. You remember the exact way his smirk faded, the deep-set wrinkles between his eyebrows when he recognized your face, a nauseating anger. “No. No, you don't move.”

Enforcers never go anywhere alone. Maybe the man had just remembered this, just now realized the true risk of his cockiness when it's not backed up by two or three of his colleagues. Maybe that's why he finds it easy to target you rather than the angry figures lurking in the tables behind him. Maybe that's why he draws his gun so fast.

“I know you, little thief—”

A woman approaches at the same time he does, and you don't know why exactly you decide to focus on her instead. A plea, maybe. You remember the dull gray of the brass knuckles on her fingers, the thick leather belt hung around her lower waist, the thump of her boots against the old floorboards. You've never noticed her before. How ridiculous it feels to think that she was there all night. How lovely that she could be the last thing you see. There's comfort in her being there, a morbid, sad thing that feels almost like company. At least you’re not alone in the room with the monster, at least there's someone to watch you die. 

Her hand falls on the Enforcer’s shoulder and she pushes him back with little effort, the quickest movement, almost without thought. The man stumbles (blame the well praised alcohol or Sevika’s strength), and the glass that had stayed in his hand shatters against the edge of the bar at the same time his gun fires a loose shot to the wall behind you.

Next comes a blur, a vague memory of hearing the Enforcer hiss in pain, a thread of red spilling down the open palm of his hand.

“You got somewhere to go?”

Her voice is the first and only thing that brings you back, the only sound louder than the heartbeat pounding in your ears. She sounds smooth, clear-headed, not like a woman who just stepped in the middle of the fastest paced violence you’ve ever encountered. Gray eyes move across your face, then the rest of you, and you quickly look down at yourself as if to check along with her that you’re actually unharmed.

Your lips feel awfully dry when your tongue brushes against them, enough air passing through to let you breathe, but not quite talk. You nod your head and remember in a rushed, distorted thought— somewhere to go, yes, home, now.

Sevika returns your nod, small praise, an odd way of saying something like good job. Less odd than the quiet satisfaction you feel for having earned it. She tilts her head towards the door, short black hair brushing her shoulder, her voice the kindest you’ve ever heard to this very day. Perhaps the thing you remember most. “Go on, love.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Years pass, deaths and joys and new odd jobs, and you still think about it. She sits at the back of your head like a softly worded reminder. And then one day, as things go, you find her again. Her making a deal at the back of The Last Drop, you behind the bar serving drinks.

There's a chance she doesn't remember it. What are the odds that she thought about you at all after the incident? You were just a stranger on a random night. It's not often that people fully understand the weight of what they did for someone, the trickle down of an action, of a kindness. There's a chance for you to go home, alone and unchanged. Instead (and not for the first time) you work for an hour longer, unpaid labor for a chance to serve her a drink.

Sevika doesn't come every night. You see her maybe once a week, talk to her maybe once a month. You don't expect tonight to be any different, but—

“You gonna watch me all night?” she mutters it into her glass, swallows the last sip before she looks at you. The are tiny wrinkles beginning to form on the corners of her eyes now, along each side of her lips from her smiles. Watching her is entrancing, the easiest thing you do, as natural as drawing a breath. “What are you still doing here?”

You blink downwards at the washed glass in your hand, continue to dry it like it could ever be half as interesting as being under her spell. “Working overtime.”

“Vander can't afford to pay you overtime,” Sevika scoffs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. 

You frown, maybe a little flustered. “He—”

“She's right. Why are you still here?”

The man himself stands tall to your left, glaring at this one permanently stained spot on the bar, working at it with a rag like he hasn't tried the same thing a hundred times before. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a purple hair tie on his wrist— Powder’s, if you were to guess. You’ve grown close to Vander since you met him, even closer when he hired you to work here. “‘S not a favor,” he’d said, quickly catching the suspicion on your face. “Just a gesture to him.” Turns out a lot more people knew your father than you thought; Vander isn’t old enough to have grown up with him, but they still found ways to end up at the same places. If he hadn���t been so secretive about who he was beyond the man who raised you, maybe you would’ve met Vander years ago, became friends at some bar in your teen years instead of at a diner a few days after your father’s funeral. But gaining a friend is a timeless thing, it obeys luck, not sensitivities. One day he wasn’t there, and then the next he was.

You spray some cleaning liquid over the spot on the table, roll your eyes as he leans closer to wonder at how the stain begins to slowly fade. “I’m working,” you repeat.

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes, one eyebrow raised. “I ain’t paying you.”

“I know, okay? It's fine,” you cross your arms over your chest, embarrassed to have been caught even though neither Vander nor Sevika seem to know what the real reason behind you staying late is. “It's a busy night, take it as a favor.”

“I can't afford favors.”

“Good thing they’re free, then,” you deadpan.

Sevika chuckles at the banter, forever amused at your unreserve, how simple you make things. It makes no sense to her to be that generous, that open, but it makes even less sense to think that you’d be any other way. Sevika isn’t particularly trusting, but she is loyal— the more you talk, the more watching you becomes addicting, her thing. She fixates on learning new things about you, clings to your words like a cat to its owner’s scent and wonders, over and over and over, if you remember her. From all those years ago. From last week. With you, she’d take anything.

And when she does finally see you up close, finds a good enough excuse in asking you for fire or a refill, there's little you could ask that she would say no to. It's senseless and thrilling and above all, it's true. She feels it down to her bones, painfully clear, like it's written all over her face.

“What do you do, Sevika?”

Sit and wait for you, she thinks, and instead replies, “What?”

“For work,” you clarify, your hand against the bar, leaning slightly forward. “I see you every week and I still don't know.”

You do know what she does, at least as much as anyone else does— too little to run your mouth, enough to stay away. And if you didn't know, you know her enough to be certain that she wouldn't tell you. It's a pointless question. Unless, of course, you’re as infatuated as you are.

Sevika takes another gulp of her drink, her eyes tracing over the line on your waist where the apron ties behind your back, the soft curve that the pull of it forms. She needs a smoke. “Same shit as everyone else,” she answers, and palms her pockets for a cigarette case. “What do you do? Other than this.”

“This is it,” you watch her flick open the case and shrug. You don’t sound particularly sad or frustrated, just plainly aware. “I pour drinks for people who all seem to do the same shit.”

Sevika hums, sets the case down, a click of metal against well worn wood. An unlit cigarette sits between her index and middle finger. “Be honest,” she starts, and it's the same voice that's been talking to you this whole time, but the gruffness still manages to catch you off guard. “Am I just as bad?”

You chuckle, the same addicting shimmer of genuineness in your eyes that she chases everytime you speak. “Just as bad as what?”

Her eyes follow your hands where they go to pull a lighter from the chest pocket of your apron. “The drunks that flirt with you while you do your job,” she lets the cigarette hang from her lips and leans forward.

“Hm,” you hum. The reflection of the flame sparkles in her eyes before you pull it away, orange against gray, odd and pretty. “I don't know.”

You’re not sure if she looks amused or slightly offended. It's a nice view regardless, the way her eyebrows lift and her lips curve downwards for a second before she breathes out, spilling smoke from her mouth as she talks, “You don't know.”

“I guess I didn't realize you were flirting with me.”

Sevika chuckles, a tiny half moon of a smile line on her cheek when she smirks, smugly aware of the way your eyes are looking at her. “You’re funny.”

Sevika is loyal. It would be easy to say that she doesn’t get what this feeling is, that it’s meaningless, that she doesn’t understand it— but she knows. She knows what it is even if it goes unnamed, because she’s the one deciding to keep it, stubborn and tight gripped, close to her heart. It’s in her dreams, in her first thought of the morning, in the disappointment that sours her mouth when she doesn’t find you at the bar. It’s in her stomach, tugging with need, when she looks at your face and realizes that if she asks if you wanna go home with her tonight, you will say yes.

She takes the leap. Parts her lips, names herself yours. “You wanna get out of here?”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You rarely pour your own drinks anymore. It’s a funny thing— Sevika doesn’t ask about your preference, which liquor is your favorite, if you’d like for her to do it for you. She figures it out like she does most things, making a study out of it, watching you enough. Maybe a little extra, too. The cork slides up with a pop!, her fingers around the neck of the bottle. The warmth of her still lingers on your thighs, your own fingers sitting restless over your lap now that her hair is not close enough to play with.

It’s been months since the first night she came home with you. You wouldn’t yet say that the newness is gone, or that you’re as quick of a student as she is, but there are things you know about Sevika already. Vivid truths, bright like the visions of her in the sunlight that you dream about sometimes. Reassurance is one of the first languages you learn from each other.

For Sevika, it's almost always about touch— you notice it immediately at the core of most of her silences, the way closeness makes her demeanor shift to something calmer, more true to herself. Slide closer to her on the couch and her arm will find itself around your shoulders immediately. Pat the empty spot next to you on the bed and she’ll let out a heavy sigh of relief, join you in sleep instead of torturing herself about tomorrow’s line of business. Part your lips when she's kissing you late at night with no goal other than to kiss you and she’ll let out a sound that vibrates through you and changes her mind on what was once an innocent gesture; she’ll tug your shirt off instead. Brush your hand over her shoulder when she's resting her head on your lap and she’ll guide it to her face instead, a lazy hold on your wrist while your thumb brushes her cheek. Coming to love her is the warmest science. But it’s not always exact.

You watch her pour you a drink at the bar table that sits in front of your bed— watch the dark hair that sits against the nape of her neck, messy and loose, watch the waistline of her pants sitting low on her waist, watch the bareness of her back. If there’s a reason why you decide to say it now, you don’t yet realize it. The words just spill out of you before you have a chance to stop them. “I remember you, you know."

Sevika’s hand hovers over the whiskey glass before she hums, resuming the movement and bringing it to her lips. "You didn't say."

“You didn’t ask,” you rest your back against the bed frame, watch her carefully.

The air sits still and you see her shoulders lift, muscles shifting as she shrugs, a big gulp of golden liquor sliding down her throat. Her voice comes in a mutter, low and almost shy, "Thought I might scare you off.”

The idea is so ridiculous that it's almost laughable. A startled chuckle dies in your chest and leaves room for aching sadness, your back leaving the frame as you lean forward and pray for her to turn around. "He was going to shoot me. Nobody moved a finger but you, Sev," you shake your head, try to manage your expression from saying too much, from confessing to something that’s been inside of you for years. At the tip of your tongue sits a raw desperation for this exact unraveling, for her. "How could you scare me?"

Another moment passes before Sevika turns to face you, lower back against the edge of the table, holding her drink down by her side. She won't look at your eyes— can't, maybe. You wonder if she's considering leaving, if she's already decided that she will, as soon as this is over. A part of you, small but dramatic and loudly pessimistic, is surprised that she’s entertained you this long. Even more surprised when she asks, "Is that what this is?" a turn of her head and the gray in her eyes finds you in a second, mechanical and unforgiving, the snap of a bear trap. You don't think you could look away if you tried. "Are you here because you think you owe me something?"

Your reaction is something close to a flinch, your frown deepening, feet firm on the floor instantly. "You can't seriously think that."

Sevika feels the regret come instantly. It splatters on her face, the pads of her fingers rough when they're brushed over her cheek to wipe herself clean of it like she does blood, gunpowder, fear. She watches out of the corner of her eye the way you part your pretty lips and can hear it in her head, imagine it so clearly, you asking her to leave. 

She's already reaching for her coat to make quick work of obeying your wishes when, instead of that, you ask, "You wanna know why I’m here?"

Sevika lowers her hand and the glass hits the table with a thud. Her head tilts to make the slightest nod— and that's as much of an answer as you'll get, you think.

“Look at me,” your finger sits under her chin, a touch barely there, the rise of her head more her choice than your doing. “You’re good, Sevika,” she grimaces, feels like she's swimming in gross viscous shame older than herself and barely surviving it. You press your thumb into her cheek, firm but kind, and keep her from being swept away by it. If she used to find your openness sweet, right now she finds it fucking miraculous. How can you call her good and mean it, how can someone else know so deeply that she could be, that she will be, when most days she doesn’t even know it herself? How can she look you in the eyes and deny you that truth? Her face relaxes, grimace replaced by an aching need as she listens to you. “I see it better than most, but they all catch up eventually. Whatever you put your mind to, you’re fucking good at it,” you pause, try to read her expression and find yourself unsure, but calm. How lovely to think that there's still so much to learn. “You don't owe me and I’m not trying to change you… you don't need—”

Sevika rests her hand over your cheek, a warm hum from her throat to acknowledge what you're saying, a desperate shake of her head to say but I do. “I need you,” her forehead falls against your own, in her brain a chant of please.

You look at her through your lashes, nod your head and feel warm, warm, warm. Her hand guides your face closer, a needy pull of her fingers where they press against the back of your neck, your whisper of “me too” spilled into her mouth. Sevika kisses like there's nothing in the whole fucking world she’d rather be doing, nothing that could possibly distract her. She has kissed you in nightclub bathrooms even with someone's knocks shaking the flimsy door, in alleys with her knuckles still bloody from a fight, dangerously close to opening hours with your back against the very bar where she rests her drinks every night. She's hungry, insatiable, and every time you can't wait to part your lips and let her in.

It takes godlike strength to hold on for as long as you do, but there's power in making her wait too, a satisfaction that feels drunk and just as divine as it makes its way down your spine. A few more chaste kisses take seconds or a century, and Sevika indulges them for as long as she can before she breaks, falls to her knees at your altar and breathes, “Please.”

There's nothing you like more than hearing her beg, except maybe what happens after you give in— the relief, the sigh against your mouth, the wet warmth of her tongue and the desperation in the way she pushes her body against you like she hadn't til then realized just how famished she’d been. Her hands wrap around your waist meanly, pressing indents, and you're too busy soothing your own hunger on her lips to realize that she's switched your positions.

You feel the harshness of the table against your back and pull away to look down, catch up, your daze maybe a little too obvious judging by the curl of her mouth. She's panting as much as you are, though, tongue peeking out barely to brush over her lips, tingly and wet from your kisses. “Up,” she says with a tilt of her head, more a warning than a command, her hands already down on your hips to get you sitting over the wood.

Sevika is a sight, pretty and inviting and overwhelming— you reach for her waist and pull, entranced by the way she follows, the way your legs interlock. A thin layer of sweat glimmers over her chest and you've never found so much beauty in the undercity’s humidity, never felt yourself get wet as easily as she makes it, never been so desperate to find some relief from the aching between your legs. Your thighs squeeze into Sevika’s and looking up to meet her eyes feels like a punch, like the sweetest blood, a sea of glazed-over gray barely visible against the black of her pupils. A mirror of your wanting; how the hunger grows when it meets reciprocation this delicious. You lean forward to taste it from her lips and she meets you halfway, a hand traveling up your spine and ending at your neck.

You don't know when you started grinding against her, but you know you want more. And you know Sevika’s holding back, savoring the same power you’d tried before, a smirk against your lips when she feels you speed up, hears you moan from somewhere deep in your throat. It suits her, the way she holds control. Sevika likes to wonder if she’d ever hold on longer, make you really wait. Sometimes she thinks she might, and then (like now) your voice fills her ears and clouds every thought that says anything other than please, god, fuck, let me make you feel good. “Don’t be mean,” you say this time, breathy and achingly sweet. “Please, Sevika.”

The first grind of her thigh against your pussy makes you end a kiss with your teeth biting into the meat of her lower lip, rougher than you intended. “Fuck, Sev—” you say, cut yourself off with a gasp when she does it again. Sevika figures out the angle unsurprisingly quickly, a hand on your hip and another on your ass to guide you back and forth at a rhythm that matches the movement of her own hips, enough fervency behind it that you know she needed this as much as you did. Maybe more, judging by the groans she spills on your neck every time you press up into her.

Full lips kiss at your pulse, open mouthed, her breath cool against your skin when it meets the wetness she left there. Your nails rake over her shoulder, over her scalp where your fingers are buried in between strands of dark hair— and when Sevika groans it sounds raw, a broken noise, her hips moving desperately faster. You can feel her warmth on your thigh and you've never wanted so badly to have her undressed, laid out, rubbing her pussy against you, leaving a mess on skin rather than the fabric of your pants. She's getting carried away, you know it, chasing her high and barely giving you a chance to catch up. You've never wanted anything more than to let her use you.

“You feel so fucking good,” she grunts, wrecked with need for you to pacify when she lifts her head from your neck, her eyebrows furrowed. You watch her get lost on your lips and you can imagine what they look like, how plump she left them, how the pride of that must simmer in her lower abdomen. Her thumb brushes over them once, then again, and you barely register that she's asking for permission before your mouth moves on its own accord to let her index and middle finger inside. It's filling, just what you needed; how beautifully unsurprising that she knew it more than you did, or that she needed it just the same.

You're fully caged in now, your back pressed against the wall, Sevika’s free hand on your waist still steering you back and forth on her thigh. “Too— hm, fuck,” her fingers slide out of your mouth and press wet indents into your cheek as she holds your jaw, traps you in her eyes. She’s far too gone to warn you but she doesn't have to, it's so painfully clear. Her eyes two dark pits to swallow you whole, lips parted, the grinding brutal and so fucking good— she says it until she can't form the words anymore, her head tilted back, thighs stuttering and tightening around your leg as she comes.

Your tongue tastes the skin of her bared neck and you feel yourself get closer and closer, fed by the feeling of her nipple under the pad of your thumb, by the shaking moans she spills into your ears as you keep grinding against her. Sevika must feel it too, in the same way you did, notice the change in your breath or the speed of your hips— because she pulls away and knows to soothe the needy desperation on your face with a messy kiss before she gets down on her knees.

“Shh,” her shushing comes soft and agonizingly kind, your whines barely contained as she presses kisses to the inside of your thighs. “What happened to my patient girl?” she asks, a tilt of her head and a smirk, the meanest angel.

Your palms press onto the table to lift yourself up enough to let her slide your pants and underwear off in one motion. “Spoiled me too much,” you answer, your mind foggy, drunk on the sight of her kneeling in front of you.

It takes Sevika a moment to reply, the pads of her finger pressing into your thighs. Her eyes meet yours and she wants to tell you, how could I not? You’re not trying to change her, you’d said, but you do. These days, she doesn't think about anything else like she used to— I love you prefaces everything. I love you, so I’m winning this stupid fight and making some money. I love you, so I gotta get home alive. I love you, so I think we could change this city. I love you, you should have every-fucking-thing. But Sevika's not really a woman of many words, especially not when you're looking at her like this, especially not when she's this hungry, so she shrugs her shoulders and says (like it explains everything, and maybe it does), "Look at you.”

The intensity of her makes your legs squeeze together, but you barely make it an inch before she’s pulling them apart and hooking them over her shoulders exactly how she likes.

Your face feels like it's burning, heat crawling up your neck, your grip on the table tight. “Please.”

Sevika barely manages to pry her eyes away from where you're open and glimmering, soaking her fingers after just one brush of them against your lips. Her voice comes out strained, drowned in hunger. “Please what?” 

You must sound worse, but the thought barely registers, hardly matters. “Please, Sevika, make me come.”

And she does— pretty nose bumping perfectly against your clit whenever her tongue is too busy inside you, her lips shiny and wet and relentless. Like everything else, she's fucking good at it.