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vantetaes · 1 month ago

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BOOK WORM 🫧🥂

BOOK WORM! ARMIN X BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!! yn helps her friend relieve some stress.

WARNINGS!! 18+!! mentions of oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption, pet names, honestly just smut

the door creeps open slowly, revealing a figure illuminated by a laptop screen and a faulty led lamp. the faint clicking from the keyboard and sound of papers ruffling were the only sound that filled the room.

you peer around, the cluttered desk told you everything you needed to know: scattered papers, a coffee cup that looked like it hadn’t moved in hours, and a faint shadow under his eyes that screamed exhaustion.

“armin. what the hell?” walking over to the boy, gently placing your hand on his shoulder. the bag you came in being placed on the only clear spot of the desk. he leans into your touch a little, enjoying the warmth you never failed to bring, but snapping out of it quickly, rearing back up to continue typing.

“finals are in two weeks and if i don’t get my scores perfect i’ll have to hear about it for ages with my lawyer brother, attorney sister, my supreme court justice father, and my doctor mother.” he never once stopped typing. bending down to your knees, he gives you a small glance before reaching for a stack of crumbled pages, shuffling the sheets in confusion.

“i know it’s arou- ah! okay good.” he picks up a half ripped sheet, copying down the data from the sheet onto his laptop. lips in a tight line, you stand back up, digging through the tan tote bag. a small case of flavored beer and a couple of shooters make their way onto the desk. he looks over at the spread, immediately shaking his head.

“hell no, yn! are you crazy? i have class in the morning.” you throw you hands up in defeat.

“can we make a deal ‘minnie?” he ignores you, still typing. fed up, you finally unzip your jacket, tossing it on the extra chair. throwing one of your legs around the boy, he rears his hands up , scared to touch you. you’re straddling him, pushing the blonde locks out of his face, tucking a few of the longer pieces behind his ear. his ice blue eyes stare up at you in confusion.

“what are you doing, yn?”

“drink one beer with me. not! while doing homework. just enjoy a full beer and maybe a shooter and i’ll leave you alone afterwards! swear.” holding your pinky out to the male, he bites the insides of his cheek, thinking really hard about your opposition.

“just one?” waving your pink acrylic back and forth between your bodies, he finally latches on with his.

PARTYNEXTDOOR plays in the background, filling the void of quiet. the entire six pack was now just one. the one you and armin were currently sharing. he takes a swig from it, grabbing your chin with his thumb and index finger, he places the bottle to your lips. his blue eyes stare as you gulp down the last of the liquid catches you off guard, causing you to cough up a little, accidentally getting it on his white shirt.

“oh shit. im sorry.” you try to wipe it off with your sleeve. he just laughs, moving your arm a little.

“it’s okay. i’ll change.” he moves from his position on the bed, hand gripping the shirt from behind his head, pulling it over, stripping himself of the shirt. you couldn’t help but notice the way his back was sculpted.

since when does he work out? is that a tattoo?

“i didn’t know you had a tat, minnie.” slurring, he turns around to look at you sprawled out on his bed. your body waved hair sprawled out everywhere, sweater falling off your shoulders and shorts riding up your thighs.

he knows, you’re only his friend and he had no chance with you. hell, your ex is onyankopon. what could armin give up that he wasn’t? but shit, the way he thinks about you. the way his eyes can’t help but to feast on your appearance when you’re near him. he wanted to ruin you. to cherish you. to make you his.

“yeah it was an old friends idea. he passed not too long ago. still miss the kid.” he just hangs his head before going back to look for another shirt.

“come here.” you say assertively. armin turns around, the front looking just as good as his back.

he drunkenly waddles back to the bed, climbing back into his original spot. your finger traces over the abstract tattoo, inspecting it closely.

it was a sigilism tattoo that started below his ribs and extended up his left pec, to his bicep.

your other hand rested on his abdomen, laying up against the man.

“how long did it take?” you quiz.

“it was honestly two full sessions since im a pussy. so about five hours a session.” he laughs, face turning a little red.

“i think it’s so cool.” you say still studying the ink. look over at the man you see his eyes directly on you, then a quick glance down at your lips.

“i think you’re cool.” you say, feeling his body inch closer, gradually changing your position. his hands wrap around your waist, slowly shifting him under you. eyes never breaking contact.

“i think you’re-“ he leans down, eye to eye with you. his lips plant down firmly on yours. moving in sync, you could feel him relax into it, tongue occasionally swiping across your bottom lip. you’d never been this close to him. he smelled like coconut and dior cologne, hair dangling above your face.

“what about onyankopon?” pulling away from the heated kiss, he asks, worry filling his eyes.

“mm- what about him?”

“right. if you want me to stop, let me know pleas-“ throwing your arms around his neck, you pull him back down. his lips were so soft. his breath tasted like fresh peppermint, completely baffling you since you both just drank alcohol. he was intoxicating.

moving your lips in unison, there’s no rush, no urgency—just the gradual deepening of the kiss. the way his lips part slightly against yours, inviting more. his fingers slide gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward his, eager.

he forces himself to break away, whining at the loss. his lips move to your neck, hands wondering every inch of your body, trying to stimulate you every way he can. sucking and leaving marks all over your collarbone, he finds himself helping you remove your sweater. revealing a pink lace bralette.

“fuck, everything about you is so beautiful.” you whine, tugging at his sweatpants knot.

“well get there princess, lust let me make you feel good please. it’s the only thing i’ve wanted to do. let me eat you.” you could damn near see the fire that burned behind his eyes. his large hands slip under your bra, gently massaging them, using his index and thumb to roll your nipples in between. a gasp escapes your lips.

“armin- fuck.” he gets impatient, lifting your bra up to your chest, mouth immediately attaching to the swollen bud. your mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape, gripping at the man’s golden locs.

he leaves them both a few kisses before peppering your stomach with a few kisses.

staring down at the man, you see him kissing at the inside of your thighs, humming after every kiss. he finally gets impatient, gripping the shorts by the waistband, yanking them off your body. you giggle, being tugged a little.

wasting no time, he pins your legs back to the bed and starts eating you like he’s starving. his tongue dragging back and forth over your clit, saliva and spit mixing to create a glisten on the man’s face. his lips attach to your swollen clit, sucking soft while he reaches up to play with your matching swollen nipples, sliding his hands all over your exposed body.

“oh armin please!” you could feel him getting hungrier by the minute, his grip on your legs getting tighter as he rubs his tongue up and down your pussy. he stuffed two long thick fingers into your cunt scissoring them, ultimately touching your g-spot. you tried moving, your body tingling, but armin was so drunk from you, he couldn’t tell. his finger hooked into you, slowly stroking the spot, his tongue still abusing your nub. you were seeing stars at this point.

“fuck- minnie im gonna cum!” without fail, you released all over the man’s hand, fluid shooting out of your throbbing cunt, all over his face.

but he didn’t stop. his tongue continued its dance around on you.

“fuck me, i can’t take anymore, please armin.”

without saying anything, he pulls you closer by the waist. coming out of his sweatpants, his hand pumps a few times while he reaches in his side desk to grab a condom.

you also never knew how big he was. you stare at his length as he hovers over you, a little confused.

“where was that at?” you point, he laughs, pushing your legs apart again. looking down, a string of saliva falls right onto your slick, mixing in with the rest.

“was savin him for you, baby.” the tip slides in with ease, armins head throws back, already in love with the way you were sucking him in.

“give me all of it, please.” hips bucking up, trying to get the entire length into your throbbing core. his hands dig into your hips, pressing your down into the mattress, slowly sliding fully into you.

nails on his back, you let out the most nasty moan.

“shit, you feel so good squeezing around me.” pulling out, his body shakes a little, unable to control his whiny moans.

he keeps his strokes gentle and paced, still holding your body deep into the bed. hands pressed to the back of your thighs, he pushes down more, spreading yourself open to take more of him.

his throbbing cock continues slow and teasing, building a fire in the pit of your stomach. pulling your legs together, feet towards his face, his mouth kisses your pedicured toes.

the paces quickens, causing your body to forcefully move up and down. he snakes his arms around your legs, locking them in place with a bear hug, still pounding against you.

“armin! im cumming againn-” before you could catch yourself, you’re squirting all over his dick. he laughs at you, removing his arm, using one of his hands to play with your clit.

“ feel so fucking good. i don’t wanna stop fucking you. please, give me one more.”

he didn’t care that he hadn’t finished, all he wanted was you and all he could give you.

his pace slows down, the look on his face in pure bliss. your hands come up, caressing his face, tears brimming your eyes. the words wouldn’t even form.

“i want it baby, please cum with me.” your voice broken and low, his body lowers, connecting with yours and he slides his arms under your body, slowing down to a good pace. the unforgettable feeling of that tight coil in your stomach shows again as his cock digs at your spot relentlessly.

“im gonna cum, fuck-“

“me too, give it to me, ‘min!” your bodies clash against each others, sweat collecting on your chests, finally reaching the climax. his hips slow down, trying to catch his breath. pulling out, you both groan.

“i hope you know im not letting you fuck anybody else.” he saying rolling over, fixing your hair. your head falls over in direction.

“you too baby.”

with a few more laughs, he stands from the bed, trashing the condom before walking to you. his large arms scoop you up into a cradle.

“let’s get you in the shower.”

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tojisun · 10 months ago

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!! nsfw - manipulation; D/s - daddy kink (and issues tbh)

simon thinks about the way you look up to him and thinks, "ah. this will be easy."

it is a thought that worms itself into a vitriolic existence, pungent in the way it taints his memories with you—reshaping the moments, bathing them in a sinful colour because simon cannot resist. not when you are handing yourself to him with a pretty bow.

corruption starts from the ground, spreading like a miasma.

you have gulped the attention he pours over you—devouring every of his honeyed words even when it was his obsession that he fed you, saccharine and guileful—all because it came from his cupped palms. you didn't even notice the ferocity of his infatuation, mistaking it for soft affection and not the sickness that it is.

he led you with gentle beckoning until you confused his possessiveness for him being protective, and then, it was all too late. simon's finally got you ensnared, trapping you within a gilded cage if only to hide the hunger that leaves him frothing.

he swipes the hair away from your face. "y'really like restin' your head on my lap, huh, sweetheart?"

you hum, blinking your eyes open to peer up at him. he watches the way they crinkle as you smile, a breathless giggle passing through your parted lips.

he knows what this means—you've slipped underneath the fog. floaty.

so perfect for him.

"yes, daddy," you reply, words lilting like your tongue's gone heavy.

simon tamps down the shiver that races across his body, hiding the way his lips are twitching into a smirk behind his palm.

"what a lovely darlin' you are f'r me," he murmurs, his voice heavy with pride and giddiness.

so, so lovely. and now, you're truly all his.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cw daddy kink #suns #q #...so like. i bonked my head ajnednd

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archangeldyke-all · 2 months ago

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@sumilane made this gorgeous art and i wrote a little something for it! i posted it already last night as a reblog but i'm going to make it it's own post so gio can add more art to it!! eeek!!!

men and minors dni

sevika is feeling strangely vulnerable.

it could be the bottle of whiskey the two of you have been sharing this evening. it could be that silco, the one person she knew best in the world, is gone now. it could even be the brat he left behind for her to take care of who's been slowly worming her way into sevika's heart throughout the time spent fixing up her new arm and changing their looks together.

it could just be you, though. the sorta-sad, mostly resigned look in your eye as you lament your relationship woes to sevika.

"i dunno... every time i think i could have something with someone-- not even like, marriage, but y'know-- just someone to share some intimacy with-- something happens and it doesn't work. after a while i just start to think maybe it's not the circumstances that are fucked up 'n maybe it's just me."

"bullshit." sevika spits, shaking her head and quickly refilling her glass with more whiskey. she has to do something with her hands to keep from reaching across the table and shaking your shoulders as she speaks. "y-you're fine. perfect--" she cuts herself off, a furrow in her brow as she glares at her whiskey.

you snort. sevika's adorable when she's tipsy, stumbling over her words and staring into space. fuck. you need to stop rambling about your heartache to the woman you're hopelessly in love with. "i-i'm sorry for dumping this shit on you sev. 's boring and stupid and--"

"no, shut up, it's just--" sevika blinks up at you then curls in on herself in a manner that's almost... shy. she clears her throat and looks away for a moment, almost whispering. "i-i'd marry you."

you blink.

"what?"

"i'm saying you're fuckin' stupid if you think you don't have options." sevika mutters, hunching her shoulders so much she looks small.

you're heart's beating a mile a fucking minute, and you squeak when you bite your tongue to make sure you aren't dreaming. "you said you'd marry me?"

"fuckin'-- obviously only in some hypothetical world where you were into me." sevika shrugs. "but...yeah." she grunts, before reaching out and drowning the whiskey in her glass, muttering a "fuck." under her breath.

you blink a few times, tears spontaneously bubbling up in your vision and a lump forming in your throat. "i was under the impression that i didn't have a shot with you." you whisper.

sevika's eyes fly to yours, wide and shocked. "what the fuck would make you think that?!"

"j-just..." you trail off, gulping again. "you're the most interesting, attractive woman i've ever met, and i am one of about a thousand other fuckin' people in zaun who think so. a-and we've been friends for years and you never said anything..." you trail off as sevika stumbles out of her booth and over to yours, shoving in beside you and cornering you against the wall, clutching your jaw with both of her hands as she stares down at you-- bewildered.

"is this a dream?" she asks.

"i bit my tongue to check-- it's real."

"i-i was serious y'know. i'll take you down to the courthouse tomorrow morning." she says, her voice shaky and sincere.

suddenly, the full reality of the situation hits you, and you burst into laughter. "i-i've been in love with you for years." you admit through giggles. "years!"

sevika starts to giggle too. "m-me too."

"and your fucking haircut is so hot all i've wanted to do for the past two weeks is kiss yo--"

sevika cuts you off with her lips to yours, and you sigh, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

it's a drunk, sloppy kiss-- years of tension and yearning finally bubbling to the surface as sevika attempts to pin you to the booth.

you have every intention of letting her do just that when she pulls away, grinning down at you.

"you really bit your tongue, didn't you? i can taste the blood in your mouth." she asks.

you nod, clawing at her desprately as you try to get her to kiss you again. sevika grins, swooping in to do just that-- but when she pulls away the second thime with her leps stained with your blood, you gasp. "oh, shit!"

"i tried to tell you." sevika giggles.

"do i need stitches? can you give stitches to a tongue?" you ask.

"this really puts a dent in all my plans." sevika cackles. you snort, and she passes you the bottle. "drink. it'll wash the blood away."

"w-what plans?" you ask as you take a swig.

"the plans i had for your tongue."

you choke, whiskey spraying everywhere as you cackle.

sevika--covered in your spit, blood, and whiskey-- smiles so wide you think her face might crack.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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pseudowho · 1 year ago

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Defending Your Honour

A series in which the JJK guys stick-it to the creeps and perverts bothering the reader.

A multi-fic in a series ❤️🫖☕

Part 1 (Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, and Todo Aoi) link here!

Part 3 (Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge and Fushiguro Toji) link here!

More JJK men and women to come

Trigger Warning: spreading false sexual rumours, stalking, being followed home

Higuruma Hiromi

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You had to leave. You had to get another job. There was no way to come back from this; office-culture spread rumours like the plague, and whether they were founded or not, you still felt the pierce of dozens of judging eyes on you.

Your clothes felt too tight, too revealing, your skin prickled and your nose stung with tears as you gulped, chin held high but so exposed and vulnerable. A filthy rage roiled in your gut at the injustice of it all. The irony did not escape you, as you hot-footed away from the whispers of the legal office.

As you gathered files, clunky and unwieldy in your arms, you felt a hand pretending to be affectionate on the small of your back that made your skin crawl, covered in worms and mud.

"When you're ready," a low voice sing-songed to your right, smirking, gleeful, "just hop along to my office, and we can work something out, yeah?" You jolted with shame as the hand clapped your bum. The eyes flicked back onto you. The whispers spread, infectious. You were a leper, now.

Hiccuping as you ducked your head, you felt hot rancid tears stream down your cheeks, darting down a corridor and reaching for a door any door to take you away from all of these eyes and whispers and accusations and this one was usually empty so you snuck in and slammed the door shut behind you and--

"Oh! Hello," a low, warm voice offered, surprised. You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth, unable to hide the tears and anguish. The man was tall, slender, his unruly black hair escaping in flicks over his temples, but he looked so genuinely concerned as he rose from his desk, that you sobbed, apologising and sinking to the floor with your face in your knees.

You felt the man crouch beside you, his hands on his thighs, his presence sincere and welcoming. He sat for a moment, apparently awkward and unsure how he could help you.

"It's okay," he reassured, "it's a fucking ugly office, I hate it too, it makes me cry--" You huffed out a wet, genuine laugh and heard him smile, amused puffs of breath from his nose.

"Really, though," he continued, "I'm happy to help...if I can. Not sure if you need a lawyer, or-- or for me to catch a spider for you, I mean I hate them too but I can certainly--" he stopped himself from rattling away. You sniffled, looking up at him with a cute watery smile that made his heart thump.

"You could get me a new job, maybe? Or just a new boss?" You wiped your eyes now, embarrassed by interrupting this lovely man. The lovely man raised his eyebrows, now sitting in front of you, cross-legged.

"And what has your boss done to make you cry?" He inquired, black eyes like beetles, reading you.

You fumbled, uncertain of yourself when explaining the crimes of a man to another man, "I think he didn't, uhm...didn't take being rejected very well and uh--" tears poured, unbidden, as your face crumpled again, "--he's started a rumour than uhm-- that I sleep with him and uhm-- I don't but everyone believes it, and he wants me to come to his office now, after he's just touched me, and I don't know-- I don't know what to do--"

You broke down again, weeping into your knees, as the lovely man before you simmered, his lid rattling with unbridled rage at the unfairness of it all.

He smiled at you, though, gentle and open, "Your boss...the sweaty one? Big guy, thinks he's all that?" You laughed wetly again.

"Oh, you know him?" You grinned together, and you blushed, painfully grateful for being treated with basic respect. Hiromi nodded-- he didn't know your boss. But, he knew men like him and they filled him with bitter disdain, a core loathing and disgust that informed his choices every day.

"Well then...you can share my office today," he insisted as he stood, rubbing his hooked nose between two long fingers, "I've got...something to do." You blinked owlishly up at him. He helped you up, pulling a chair to his desk for you. You perched, confused, but not arguing.

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Some time later, your boss headed back to his office from the vending machines, impatient for you to come to his office, feeling sickly gleeful for having punished you for humiliating him, and his heart leapt hopefully, because maybe he could offer to deny all those rumours, and then you would be so grateful that maybe you'd give him a--

He opened his office door, having just enough time to click it closed behind him before hearing a quiet, angry voice from somewhere above the doorframe.

"Domain Expansion: Deadly Sentencing."

Plunged into a different room, ostensibly not his office, your boss shrieked in terror as two terrifying black figures loomed over him, only one of them human.

"What the fuck are you-- where the fuck am I-- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Higuruma looked up at the Judgeman with a humourless smile, and back down at your boss, who scurried backwards until his shoulders hit the domain's edge, blind with panic.

"You've been a very naughty boy," Hiromi sang, "shall we see how naughty?"

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You jumped as the office door swung open, and Higuruma (you had worked out, from the lanyard he left on his desk) re-entered with two hot drinks. He smiled a wonky, loping smile.

"Coffee machine's finest," he offered, placing one in your hands. He stood for a moment, bouncing on his heels, chin and nose dipped in consideration.

"I should think... your days of problems with your boss may be over," he said, blasé and cryptic. He did not elaborate, but reached into his pocket, before slipping his card across the desk to you.

"My office is, uhm...hiring a new legal assistant, though. I can put in a good word for you." Hiromi looked into the distance across the room, one hand in his pocket as he continued to rock on his heels. He glanced down at you, eyes glimmering at each other as they met.

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Ino Takuma

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I loved meeting you last week. I thought we made a really special connection. I'd love to meet again. Call me.

You smelled so good today. I love how you're being such a tease. Can't wait for you to call.

I can't stand seeing you talking to other guys! Still haven't seen this so-called 'boyfriend' of yours though. He can't be that into you if he's letting other men near you. Call me.

You didn't answer when I knocked for you, but I know you're home. Bet you were upstairs being naughty, hope you were thinking of me, hahaha, jk. HMU, seriously. I miss you.

I know you're such a little slut behind that 'good girl' act ;) Quit playing hard to get. I finish at 5, I'll meet you from work and we can finally go on that date you owe me.

I've never been this in love before. So disappointed you ditched our first date. I'll catch you another time. I love you so much.

Hope you got the flowers I left on your porch. I love you so much.

I love you.

Good morning baby. I love you.

You're a nasty little bitch and you're gonna die alone and you deserve it. If this is how you treat a nice guy like me, how do you treat all the others? You should be grateful.

I'm sorry. I've just had a really bad day baby. You're my whole world. I love you.

Your hands shook as you scrolled through unanswered text after unanswered text. How had being friendly at a work conference gotten so out of hand? Your head spun as you recounted the memories; were you too flirty? Did you give hints of wanting to be more than just acquaintances? Did you dress too provocatively? Did you touch him?

In a desperate hunt for answers you blamed yourself. I should just be a standoffish bitch in the future, you thought, trying to hold back tears.

Leaning over your desk to pack your bag, you began to feel the walls close in around you, terrifying and claustrophobic, a rat in a maze, and you saw tears splash down onto the leather of your work diary. Would he be waiting outside work again today? Or would he be just outside your office door? Would he be waiting in your home?

You felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, "Hey gorgeous! Guess who got off work ear--"

In a shrieking panic, you lashed out, spinning with your hands raised in attack and defence. Your wonderful, kind boyfriend, Takuma, threw himself backwards, alarmed and apologetic, raising his own hands in placation.

"Whoa, whoa, hey! Oh babe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you--...what is it? Why are you crying? What's happened?"

Weeks and weeks of trying to ignore your stalker, hoping he would go away and forget about you, tumbled out of you at once. In a wild babble of explanation, he keeps texting me, and I'm not interested, and he won't leave me alone, and he leaves things on the doorstep, and I'm so, so sorry.

You had thrust your phone into Takuma's hands, and he held you close to him with one arm as you sobbed into his shoulder. The other hand scrolled through messages from your unwanted admirer; Takuma's face grew quiet with rage, his lips curled in disgust, a flush of anger smattered hot and pink across his cheeks.

"Babe," he started, "why didn't you..." Swallowing, Takuma stopped himself, "This is not your fault. This guy, there's...there's something wrong with him. Have you kept everything? All the stuff he's left you? All the messages?" You nodded as Takuma gripped you by the sides of the shoulders, your face crumpling as his hand raised to cup your cheek, staring deeply into you, leaning forward to press a desperate kiss to your forehead.

"Okay, listen, I'm gonna fix this," Takuma nodded hard, staring into you again as you started to shake your head, "no, no no, trust me. I promise I'm gonna fix this. Listen, you're...you're gonna go to Nanami's place. I'll call him. He'll understand. There's this lawyer at the school now, we'll gather everything and get it to him. I've...I've got to go out. I'll fix this, I mean it. I wouldn't let you down."

Takuma's heart wrenched as you continued to sob, apologising to him as if it was your fault. Within minutes, Takuma had called Nanami, and put you in a taxi. Sticking to the alleyways as he headed out into the streets, Takuma pulled his balaclava down, his eyes ferocious and vengeful as he took to the hunt.

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Your stalker was grossly familiar with your routine now. What you ate for breakfast (he had gone through your bin bags). What colour underwear you preferred (he had seen you through the gaps in your curtains). Which work events you were going to attend (he had scoured every inch of every company calender).

Thanks to some sloppy administrators, he even knew where you lived. Grinning to himself, he felt such a satisfying possession over you, knowing you inside-out. Hiding behind your neighbours' fence panels, he peeked, waiting for you to get home.

One hand leaned past his face, resting on the fence panel beside him, and his stomach froze into knots when he felt himself doused in the icy presence of some dark, unknown force. He opened his mouth to scream, and a second hand pressed over his mouth with horrifying strength.

"Hey, big guy! Wow, you really must be a hit with the ladies," air hissed through Ino's teeth and he sighed in feigned disappointment, "Not with my girl, though." Your stalker squeaked as blackness closed in around him. Ino let out a noise of disgusted amusement as the man's trousers darkened down one leg.

Ino continued, letting the man cry and shake under his hand; "Here's how this is gonna work..."

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Several days had passed since Ino had arrived at Nanami's to collect you, with a deeply satisfied smirk on his face. You had received no more messages. No more flowers. No more thinly-veiled threats. A dark cloud lifted off your mind, and you breathed easy.

Curled up on the sofa that night, you stroked Takuma's chest, listening to the clockwork thump of his heartbeat under your ear. Your curiosity got the better of you.

"Takuma...what did you do?"

Takuma grimaced, "Just showed him the error of his ways, babe. He won't be bothering you again."

While grateful, your belly swirled with fear, and guilt that even if your stalker left you alone, he'd just find someone else, another woman, and harass her just as he had harassed you-- or worse. Takuma read you like a book.

"Look, I-- I didn't want to force anything on you the other day. But I promise you, this guy knows that if you go to the cops about him, and he doesn't 'fess up, it'll be more than just me after him."

Ino smugly pictured Higuruma and Nanami, ready, Misters. Law and Order, prepared to flex their quite complementary powers of threat and legal representation.

You smiled, surrounded by an impenetrable wall of support. Leaning up, you tangled your fingers into Takuma's hair, and he let out a sweet hum of happiness as you kissed him deeply. Nose to nose, you took delight in showing your appreciation.

The next day, wearing a mantle of quiet bravery, you walked into the Police Station.

"I'd like to report a crime."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Itadori Yuuji

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You had chosen absolutely the wrong shoes to go out in.

You shivered in the chilly night air; your skirt hadn't been this short all night, had it? The cold had a way of exposing things the mirror didn't. Still, you smiled to yourself as you leant against a lamp-post, removing your heels with a sigh of relief, certain you'd be comfier taking the last few streets before home barefoot than in these beautiful monstrosities.

You could not bring yourself to regret such a fun night. Waving your friends goodbye, you had foregone taking a taxi home. Tokyo was a safe city, anyway. It was only a short walk home. You could do with sobering up a bit.

Feet padding gingerly on the cold concrete, you tapped away on your phone as you began to walk home. Within a few minutes, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, cold prickles running down your spine.

Running a hand through your hair, you shielded your glance backwards; a man. Some distance away. By the lamppost you had removed your shoes at. You gulped-- it's nothing, you lied to yourself, just on his way home like me. But, just in case, you started walking faster, the soles of your feet stinging as they clapped against the floor.

Feeling tingles at the base of your skull a minute later, you felt the man closing in on you and bile climbed in your throat, feeling the alcohol threaten to come up into your mouth, options running through your head at breakneck speed, to scream or call the police or stop and fight or try to run faster or--

It was no use. He was almost on top of you now; you rounded the corner to a tree-lined street. You could smell the sweat on him, and you spun to face him, losing your footing and falling backwards onto the floor--

All at once, you screamed, a dark mass plummeted from the tree above you, and there was a sickening crunch as it flattened your pursuer to the floor.

The black mass, burly and pink-haired, stood up and turned to face you, opening his mouth--

You screamed again, still panicking, throwing a shoe at him, "What the hell are you? What are you doing?" The young man crouched, eyes wide, both hands in front of him, bleeding from the lip from your shoe.

"I'm a Yuuji, I'm a Yuuji--"

"--a Yuuji?!" You raised your hand again and he flinched. Your pursuer groaned underneath his feet.

"--I don't know if you know, but this guy was following you-- oh shit, you're not friends are you-- please don't throw another shoe at me--" Yuuji squeezed his eyes closed, hands still raised above his head in arrest. You surveyed him from the ground, your panic slowly abating.

He's cute, you thought as your head spun violently, and you rocked to the side, vomiting all over the pavement. Yuuji crept over to you, hands uncertain at first, but eventually settling on holding your hair back as the alcohol evacuated your stomach.

Patting your shoulder with upbeat reassurance, Yuuji turned to look at the man on the floor with a scowl.

"Creep," he grumbled, crushing the man's hand under his shoe. As the man squirmed and complained, Yuuji gave him an effortlessly hard punch to the side of the head, knocking him out cold in an instant. Rummaging in the man's pockets, Yuuji pulled out a drivers' licence.

"Oh hey, he lives nearby. Want to drop him home with me?" Yuuji asked you with a shit-eating grin.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Think that'll do it?" Yuuji dusted off his hands, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. Tied up in the offerings of the man's shed (some old garden hose, with a wooden freshly painted sign hung around his neck), the man was dropped unceremoniously onto the doorstep. You snapped a quick photo on your phone, hand over your mouth as you laughed to yourself.

Yuuji pressed the doorbell, and grabbed your other hand, pulling you behind a hedge as you giggled like children together.

"I FOLLOW GIRLS HOME" read the man's sign, as his mother opened the door.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"--so anyway, I should probably get back to work, I guess...after you get home."

You rested your chin on Yuuji's shoulder as he piggy-backed you home, your shoes slung in one hand as he ambled, slowly zigzagging along the tree-lined street. Your eyes drooped, breathing in your new friend's soft, cosy smell, still occasionally giggling to yourself.

Arriving at your doorstep, Yuuji lowered you to the ground, and brought one hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head. His face blushed crimson when you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. He grinned, shuffling sweetly, bidding you goodnight, but hesitating. You bit your lip, head tipped, waiting. Yuuji didn't get the hint, turning to walk away.

"Hey, my hero. All that, and I don't get your number?"

Yuuji's smile could have split rainclouds.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Higuruma waiting on the ceiling above the office door like

Coming next: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Toji, Toge Inumaki, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara.

1K notes · View notes

clazaries · 9 months ago

Text

The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)

Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

w/c: 6.6k

Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?

a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)

ENJOY!

***

“Frankie. Sit rep?”

“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.”

“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?”

You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.”

Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.

You readjust yourself nervously.

It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do.

Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order.

Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.

This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered��

First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful.

“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”

“Copy that.”

The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best.

“Stay sharp.”

You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.

The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it.

In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests.

You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military.

Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.

“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.”

Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.”

“Then why isn’t he out?”

“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.”

You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm.

“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?”

“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.”

The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…”

“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.”

“I’ve got a shot on two of them.”

“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume.

“Why the fuck are we here then?”

“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.”

You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--”

“Frankie! Do you copy?”

Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup?

“He needs help!”

“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?”

You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?

“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage.

“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!”

You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle.

“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--”

“We can’t leave Frankie!”

“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”

“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…

“I’m going in.”

A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos.

“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.”

~~~~

Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago.

The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself.

Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.

But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud.

“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?”

You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?”

“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.”

“Could’ve,” you mutter.

He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?”

“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily.

“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.”

“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”

Low blow, Midge.

Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece.

Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.

He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”

With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?”

You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.

“You wouldn’t.”

Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?”

You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots.

The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?

It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him.

“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers.

It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised.

He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot.

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--”

“No! No, I-I want to stay.”

“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.”

“I am. I was promoted for a reason.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.”

“How?”

“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?”

Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him.

Your thighs press together beneath the table.

“Yes.”

“Yes…what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.

“Nervous, soldier?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t lie.”

“A…A little, sir.”

“Good, you should be. Take off your top.”

With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had.

“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”

“Minor wounds.”

“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”

Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you.

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.

Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified.

It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer.

“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily.

“Yes, sir!”

Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.

Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating.

His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority.

“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”

Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit.

“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”

You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt.

Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in.

“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.”

A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum.

What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.”

“I can’t hold on,” you splutter.

“You can and you will. Fuuuck…”

Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off.

You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.

Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself.

“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts.

“So wet. So needy.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!

“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”

“Santiago, please.”

“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?”

“No, but--”

“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.”

“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close.

Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes.

You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him.

“Stand up.”

“I…I don’t think I can.”

“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”

Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.”

Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise.

“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway.

“I’ll break if you touch me.”

“Perfect.”

Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior.

Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries.

The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years.

Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you.

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly.

“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point.

You sigh. “I know.”

You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.”

You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—”

This again. “But Frankie--”

“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.”

“But I didn’t die.”

“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.”

Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that.

A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.”

“I promise.”

He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.”

For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.”

“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.”

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baka-bakeneko · 18 days ago

Text

You're the worst

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

summary: Logan has gone too far this time.

tags: NSFW, hate/disgust, implied cheating, begging, consensual non consent acts, non consensual kissing, hatefuck, physical anger

Trigger warning: coercion, hatef*ck

By the time Logan had gotten home, you were already blowing out the candles. It was the one day you expected him to come home on time, not drag his Neanderthal claws or stop by the bar. Just this one day...

Logan wasn't expecting you to be up at all. He thought he'd be able to sneak by you curled up in bed to take a shower. He stiffened at the sight of you, your head in your hands waiting in boredom.

When you stood, Logan's heart stung at the sight of you in a little black dress. A number that teased just the middle of your thighs, your shoulders bare for your dress to be held up by its tightness around your chest.

He took in your stature, eyes raking down your smooth legs as you tossed the food from two plates into the trash. Logan was enraptured all over again with you, even though your body language was nothing short of scathing.

He pulled out of his head at the moment you smashed one of the plates into the sink, exploding ceramic about the kitchen counter before stamping away in your black chunky heels.

"Fuck," he muttered as you shot daggers at him, watching as you heavy handed the open bottle of wine on the table and snatched it away, making your way to the bedroom.

He dragged his knuckles over his eyes with a grimace, stepping into the apartment and slamming the door after him. "Honey, I'm home."

You flipped him off, putting your lips to the bottle to take a deep swig. Logan looked over to the dining table, dressed up with a tablecloth, roses and candles. He sneered, his heart sinking further.

He'd knew he'd forgotten something, but didn't think of it as the thing. Logan stared after you, deeply exhaling as he braced his hands to the kitchen counter.

You sat on the bed, readying everything you wanted to tell Logan whenever he decided to approach you.

He pushed open the door, glancing over at you before walking to the bathroom. You pushed to your feet, following Logan into the bathroom and shoving his shoulder.

"And where were you all night?" You finally asked.

Logan shrugged his shoulder away, straightening up to glance over his shoulder. He carefully peeled off his jacket, then his shirt and dropped them both on bathroom floor.

"At the bar," Logan offered, sparing a bit of truth.

You stared at his back, your jaw going taut at the uneven decoration of marks on his pristine yet hairy back. They were long, thin and red along his shoulders. They were hatchmarked down his back before half-moon marks were stamped into his sides.

Logan glanced back at you through the mirror, gulping subtly as he rubbed away the lipstick stain on his chest and stomach.

You shoved him again, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around. His hands paused on his pectoral and abs respectively, lazily stashing the bright red smudges from your gaze.

Staring at him, your eyes began to burn and well. Grabbing his jaw aggressively, you snatched his face to the side and took in the bright red hickeys on his body.

You scoffed, throwing his face away from you before turning to leave. It was like he was parading it on purpose, it not even healed to hide evidence.

Logan grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him, folding over you to kiss your neck eagerly.

"Stop, I love you, I love you." His voice was gruff and pleading, his alcoholic breath berating over your shoulder.

His arms curled around your waist, wanting to keep you long enough to coax you down. But you continued to bristle, elbowing into his side and worming out of his hold.

"Fuck you, you're the worst," you gasped, clawing onto the counter then the doorway before finally exiting the bathroom.

Logan stood by for a moment then followed you out to grab your wrist again. He spun you around and grabbed your face, forcing his lips onto yours.

"You're so beautiful," he tried again, kissing you to keep your harsh words at bay.

You reached out to shove him away, but he caught your wrists in his as his hand on your face grazed down to your neck.

You wormed away from his tart mouth, barely escaping another kiss as he trailed his lips down your jaw. His chops brushed against your skin, and you whined at the feeling.

Your stomach was oily and hot, disgusted by this man crawling back to you after what he'd done.

"Fuck you," you spat, trying your hands to get them free.

Logan turned you and pressed you up against the nearest wall, holding your hands above your head as he slotted himself behind you.

"I missed you," he crooned into your neck, his free hand sliding down your back to follow the natural curve of your spine.

"Bullshit!" You screeched, lifting a foot to kick him in the crotch.

He crumbled to his knees with a groan, releasing you. You gathered yourself again, righting your dress by pulling it up. Stepping out of his hold, you scoffed at him.

"Fuck you, Logan. Fuck you!" You yelled, grabbing and tossing the bottle of wine at the wall behind him.

"You did this shit on purpose, I know it." You continued, riled up with anger and disgust. "I know you. You ruin everything good on purpose!"

Logan sat on his haunches, in the remnant of green glass and wine exploded behind him. He lifted his head, glaring at you from under his heavy brow.

He said nothing, only stared further at you, far enough away to take in your full attire. You were previously dressed for romance, but now it felt vengeful.

Logan exhaled, holding a hand out for you. "Sweetheart."

You screeched in distaste, knowing his hands couldn't reach you but stepping back anyways. You stared as he started to claw his way towards you, his raw nails scraping the hardwood floor.

You backed into your nightstand, examining your next exit strategy. Logan bent at your feet, kissing at your open ankles of the shoes. You stamped out of his hold, his hand clamping the back of your calves to climb his kisses further.

His lips were warm, damp as he started to heave unevenly. "Please," he pleaded, his kisses making their way up to the insides of your knees.

You remained cold, holding strong will though your body began to react to him. Logan's hands slithered up your body, caressing the backs of your thighs before sliding under your dress to cup your ass.

You raised your foot to step on his crotch, so ready to squash him down again. However, Logan grabbed your leg, lifting it to sit you on the nightstand.

His lips resumed on your lifted leg, furthering up your inside thigh. Your breath caught, watching frozen as he continued with pushing the skirt of your dress up.

You grabbed at his hair, tugging harshly to pull him off of you. Staring at him, his beautiful brown eyes now dirty and soiled with the tempt of lies. His lips, though once sweet, were disgusting and dry even if they still felt warm on your skin.

The grip on his hair tightened and he bared his teeth at you.

"Get fucking mad at me," he ordered, his voice barely withholding his growl.

"You're pathetic," you spat out; the more you stared, the more you actually wanted to spit on him.

He was turning you off of him with every action, though your body never showed a difference.

"Madder," he gruffed, his nose flaring at you.

Your chest felt hot, your breaths shortened and you actually spat at him. Logan opened his mouth, taking your disgust in a way you weren't expecting. He swallowed it, then planted his lips to your thigh again.

You flinched, your furrowed brows turning down as Logan inched forward. You whined, shutting your eyes, almost ready to let him win.

But as his breath wafted through the mesh of your new lingerie, you regained yourself. You snatched Logan's head out of your dress, smushed his face away before scrambling to the bed. You crawled over it, edging out of Logan's hold.

Just as you felt out of reach, Logan grabbed your ankle and dragged you back. You held at your skirt for it to not ride up and Logan flipped you onto your back.

He pulled you up to sit on the bed, resuming his kneeling before you. "I'm trying to make it up to you."

You seethed, shoving his shoulders away. "There is nothing to make up! I hate you, Logan. I hate you!"

Logan shut you up with another kiss, this time keeping his hands to himself. You peeled back with disgust, your chest heaving ready to sob.

His face was scrunched in upset, every attempt to bring you back to him failing. He rested his forehead to your cheek, his breathing in uneven huffs.

"I don't know why I did it," he finally admitted, shutting his eyes to keep them from welling. "I had a moment of weakness."

You tried to shrug him away, his breath on your shoulder melting at your angst.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, his voice dropping an notch.

Logan took in your silence, your body unmoving to push him off. He slumped to your lap, wrapping his arms around your waist to soak in your momentary benevolence.

He wasted no time to make things right, nosing under your dress again and wedging your thighs apart with his chin.

You allowed him so with a disgusted look to the sky, awaiting a new wave of willpower before Logan got to you.

However he was quicker, licking at your wet pussy from behind your mesh undies. You succumbed to your elbows, spreading your legs and squeezing your eyes shut to think of a different Logan, a better Logan having his way.

You bit into your bottom lip, trying to not enjoy Logan's tongue as he slid your panties to the side and slipped his tongue into you. You wriggled on the bed, fighting your pleasure though Logan was invested.

He found this to be his redemption, doing his best while caressing your legs. When he parted from you, he expected the signature look of desire from you.

But he was met with a look of disdain. He watched as you turned over, righting on your knees before pulling up your dress.

You'd give this to him, as you had planned at the beginning of the night. Only now it'd end very differently. Logan reached a hand out to caress your back, relax you as he undid his belt with a hand.

When he reached your shoulder, you flinched his hand away. You peeled your panties down quickly and prepared yourself for Logan's girth.

He coaxed his tip against your lips, then pressed into you which made you hide your face in the mattress.

You'd miss how he felt inside you.

Logan slammed his hips into you, grabbing onto your dress. You held at the front of your dress against the mattress, not allowing him anything further.

"I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry." He grunted, starting his languid strokes. "You feel so good."

You grimaced at his words, tears tempting the corners of your eyes. Logan admired the natural beauty of your back, wracking his mind with guilt.

What was he thinking? Wronging someone as beautiful as you?

You kept your movements rigid, not giving Logan a spectacle like you usually did. You followed his strokes, meeting his thrusts to speed up the process.

"You feel so much..." He tried, but instantly bit his tongue.

The tinge of his blood dotted his mouth, making him pause in speaking. Whatever he was trying to say it'd come out wrong, he didn't want to push you away.

You were already detached, waiting out Logan until you got your satisfaction. He'd work extra hard for you to forgive him, do everything in his power to undo this night.

But it wouldn't be enough.

You were close, thinking of your best distant fantasy not associated with him. Logan felt himself drifting from you, he bent over to kiss the back of your neck.

You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back your disgust for this man. Though with a sniffle, you'd miss his natural musk.

"Love me again, I'll spend every day making it up to you," Logan whispered against your ear.

He kissed your cheek, down your neck before you cut away to whimper. Your stomach flipped in a new wave, this time at yourself as you came at the utterance of his words.

It was lies. You had to convince yourself so, otherwise you'd fall into the trap of his arms and never leave.

You shoved Logan off of you, sitting up with him rolling onto his back. He expected a new position, your moans of forgiveness while you gave back to him though he didn't deserve it.

But he was met with your bottom lip reddened from biting, pouting, and your eyes watering. Logan's heart dropped from his chest, leaving his limbs cold. He felt his cock shrink by the sight of you, broken and disgusted.

You stood up, wobbling slightly with your heels then went to pack a bag. Logan watched you gather clothes, no longer fighting as he dropped his head back to the bed.

"Baby..." he tried one last time, raising his head as you slung a hefty bag onto your shoulder.

You righted your dress, peeling your panties off and tossing them at Logan's chest before starting for the door.

"Happy Anniversary, Logan."

#fan work #fanfic #bakeneko #fanwork #bakeneko fanwork #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan wolverine #logan howlet smut #james logan howlett #logan howlett #logan x reader #xmen wolverine

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depravitycentral · 12 days ago

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Demon Slayer Dick Headcannons (ft. the Hashira)

Tw: yandere, mentions of kidnapping, breeding, cumplay kinda, fem reader, MDNI

Featuring: Giyuu Tomioka, Kyojuro Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Obanai Iguro, Gyomei Himejima

It’s pretty – a pale color and perfectly smooth, feeling almost virginal with how perfectly unmarked it is. And of course, it is virginal – that much will become uncomfortably obvious the first time you touch him, Giyuu letting out a near pained grunt after a mere thirty seconds as his orgasm washes over him, embarrassment settling in his stomach because oh god, you must think he’s pathetic now.

Giyuu’s never been one for masturbation, and so the skin on his cock is genuinely extremely sensitive, having had very, very little experience being touched. Just a brush of your finger against his length makes him sputter a bit, Adam’s apple bobbing harshly as he gulps, embarrassment starting to creep up his spine because god, something so small shouldn’t feel so good, especially when it’s just over his robes, not even skin-to-skin contact. He’s bucking his hips at the smallest touch of your thumb against his tip, something like a whimper escaping him when you kitten lick at his base, peppering kisses up the length until you suckle at his tip and see the way his eyes roll back.

When he gets hard he gets rather embarrassed, always trying his best to be subtle about it and not draw attention to it, but the way he cowers over and tries to cover his groin with anything nearby is not nearly as smooth as he’d hope, his cheeks flushed ever so slightly pink over the bridge of his nose.

(And of course, the staring – eyes drilling holes into your body, trying desperately to not ogle at your clothed breasts or the sway of your hips, though he can’t resists a few glances that you’ll almost certainly notice.)

His balls are ever so slightly smaller than expected, not enough to be noticeable at first glance, but they easily fit together in your palm, the area sensitive enough to make him tear up a bit, biting his lip and trying to worm out of your grasp. But don’t be fooled – he likes it, something vaguely sounding like a whine slipping from his lips when you retract your hand, and if he’s especially needy for your attention and touch, he’ll even physically grab your hand and put it back, sucking in a breath and forcing his body to relax.

He's generally very quiet when he’s orgasming, the only visual cue being the way his face twists up into something entirely unexpected from the stoic, emotionless Hashira – he’s gasping, eyes fluttering closed and his eyebrows screwing together.

His body shakes, his abs visibly clenching and unclenching, his thighs flexing and his hips bucking in small, almost imperceptible thrusts, as if his body’s unsure of whether he wants to run away from the pleasure or get closer, impossibly close to have more and more of you. His cum doesn’t taste too bad – a neutral, musky flavor, though luckily without too much saltiness or bitterness.

This is great news for you, because while Giyuu won’t admit it, the feeling of your mouth on his cock has his whole body going slack, his vision becoming a bit splotchy because the sensation of something so warm and wet moving against him has every rational thought leaving his brain.

He’s normally not very adventurous or expressive in bed, trying hard to not turn you off and struggling to become relaxed enough to actually enjoy it, but something about the sight of you on your knees, looking up at him while his cock appears and disappears past your lips has him losing all control, a small moan of your name falling from him while he lightly thrusts his hips, not caring if he looks pathetic or depraved. Not when you’re mouthing at him, drool spilling from the corner of your lips, tongue prodding at his slit and suckling on his tip, as if you’re trying to coax the cum out of him. His cum is runny, and tends to stain things.

(Something alarming when you realize just how many of your clothing items have very, very similar mystery stains.)

He’s not picky about where he finishes, feeling grateful that you’re touching him at all, really, but if he had to choose, he’d pick inside of you because it just feels more intimate that way. It feels right, primal even, and he’ll often have to take a few minutes between rounds simply because his orgasms crash through him with such intensity that he can’t form a coherent thought for a few moments afterwards.

His favorite way for you to touch him is when you’re straddling him, riding him and pressing your hands against his chest for leverage. He generally likes positions where you’re in control more, finding himself enjoying the passive, observing role while you take the lead.

(It bruises his pride a bit to confess it, but there’s something so, so very arousing about the idea of being a mere object and tool for your pleasure. And when you’re scooping your hips atop him, grinding and bouncing on him like he’s nothing more than a toy to get off with, Giyuu finds his breath gets heavy, his palms sweaty, every clap of your ass against his thighs bringing him closer and closer to his inevitable orgasm.)

He likes the way you can make the pace and angle exactly what you need, the way he can feel every inch of your cunt sucking him in, and of course the visual. The way you look at him with sultry, pleasure-filled eyes, your lips parted in that pretty ‘o’ shape that he sees when he closes his eyes at night. He has a perfect view of his cock appearing and disappearing inside of you, his skin glistening with your slick and a pretty little ring of white sitting against the coarse black hair of his pelvis.

His hands will grip onto your hips tightly, almost too tight, the only way he can anchor himself in the moment, living and tangible proof that you’re really here with him, touching him, wanting him, and he’s gripping onto you as if he’s afraid it’s all still just a fantasy.

But you’ll see the way his eyes are constantly darting to your bouncing chest, unblinking and fascinated as he watches your nipples grow hard, the plap plap noise of your skin smacking against your ribcage making him practically drool.

(His grows even redder if you grab his hands and use them to cup your breasts, telling him in a breathy, slurred voice to touch me, please Giyuu then you’ll be taken aback by the way he immediately squeezes and gropes, kneading and pinching at your nipples with a voracity that makes your hips stutter. And when he leans in to kiss you, his tongue immediately pushing past your lips and tracing your teeth, just know that it’s a matter of time before his orgasm hits. A matter of seconds, really.)

He likes the intimacy, and how he can feel even more connected and close to you, all the while seeing the way his cock makes you feel.

It’s a solid five inches with average girth, a few thick veins decorating the underside of his length. Kyojuro’s average in nearly every way, with the stark exception being his stamina.

His refractory period is nearly non-existant – he seems to be always hard in your presence, always sporting at least a semi any time he catches a whiff of your scent or hears even the echo of your voice. And it’s obvious, too, in his uniform – there’s always a tent of some sort in his pants, and the truly unfortunate thing is that Kyojuro doesn’t seem to care. He’s not making any effort to hide it when it’s just the two of you, even subconsciously moving his haori back and jutting his hips out ever so slightly so that you’ll notice and perhaps even be enticed by what you’re seeing.

He’s not especially meticulous about grooming himself, feeling that sex should be natural and as you are. To shave would be removing a part of his authentic self, and so there’s always a rather thick bush of dark, curly hairs sitting at the base of his cock, brushing against your clit and making you squirm when he’s got you settled on his lap, warming him while he cuddles you and presses kisses against every inch of your skin he can reach.

(This of course also extends to you – he prefers you don’t shave or wax, and once you’re trapped under his roof he simply won’t let you, denying you access to anything sharp enough to cut. And he’ll make his appreciation for your natural body very, very obvious, even going so far as to bury his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply and sighing when he’s knelt between your legs, letting your scent engulf him as he licks his lips and dives into your cunt.)

He’s decently sensitive, always letting out these pleasured little sighs, a boyish grin sitting on his face every time you touch him because oh, isn’t this heaven, feeling your pretty lips and fingers and cunt on him, just as he’s so longed for?

His cum is warm. Like, unnervingly warm – he’s always running a few degrees warmer than you it seems, every cuddle and press of his body against your own feeling startingly hot, and when his cum lands on your skin it’ll feel like fire. Not painful, but right on the edge of it. It’s thick, too, having the consistency of melted ice cream and leaving a sort of residue on your skin that he’ll gladly lick off of you.

(Cuteness aggression tends to affront him after he’s orgasmed, still out of breath and staring down at your disheveled, messy state underneath him, his cum staining your skin and sweat lining your brow.)

His stamina is off the charts, capable of fucking you for hours on end and holding off his orgasm if he concentrates hard enough. However, his refractory period is also quite short, leading to him instead preferring to come multiple times and not edge himself as strongly, thinking that the act of orgasming for you is proof of how deeply he’s attracted to you, how strongly your touch and words and presence affect him.

And he’ll make you very aware of when he’s orgasming, too – he’s loud, groaning your name and all sorts of praises, that same breathless laughter falling from his lips as he buries his face against the crook of your neck, fingertips pressing against your skin so hard that bruises form the next morning.

(Which he’s inconsolable about, really, the next morning fussing over you and promising to never do it again, only to get lost in the pleasure a few nights later and leave you with fresh bruises. He’ll always beg you to scratch down his back as he thrusts into you as repayment, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the pain-tinged pleasure, proudly wearing your scratches as a badge of love. He’ll even brag to Tengen about it, proudly proclaiming that he’s able to pleasure you so well that you simply must mark him as yours.)

His favorite way for you to touch him is when he’s fucking you in a deep, intimate mating press. He likes the fact that he can get as deep as physically possible in this position, always angling his hips to brush against the front of your walls and against that spongey spot that makes you whine his name, the sound making his head spin and his tongue coming out to lick at his lips.

He loves feeling the way you clench down onto him, the grip you leave on him almost making it hard to pull out and push back in, and idea of you never wanting him to leave you only furthering his thrusts, becoming faster and more bruising.

He’ll have you hold one of your knees against your chest, the other tangled in his hair while he supports himself on his elbow, holding your other leg up while his other hand permanently rests against your clit, drawing circles and tracing the kanji of his name over and over again. The sound of his hips and balls clapping against your ass encourages him to move faster too, and the sight of your breasts bouncing and jiggling underneath him makes his head dip, enveloping a nipple in his mouth and sucking.

(Sucking hard enough to leave you squirming, almost as if he’s expecting something to come out – the mere thought makes him groan, teeth lightly nibbling at your skin and his hips stuttering ever so slightly.)

He just thinks the positions blends the perfect mix of intimacy, eye contact, physical touch, and pleasure, and this is his go-to position that he’ll always default to any time the two of you are naked with one another.

You can request something else, asking him with a sultry hand on his chest to take you from the back or let you ride him, but you’ll always find yourself eventually back up in this position, his sweaty chest brushing against your nipples as he moans and begs for you to tell him you love him.

It’s a girthy six inches, with a near comically large, bulbous tip. It’s the kind of cock that makes you immediately freeze, simultaneously intimidated and immediately salivating, and he knows it. He’s a fan of all things extravagant, and this certainly extends to his cock – there’s a rather obnoxious piercing sitting right underneath his tip, the small metal ball framing an acidy green gem that manages to brush against your g-spot perfectly when he’s got you bent over.

It’s a pretty pink color when he’s flaccid, but when he grows hard it turns to a deep near fuchsia color, never quite making it above the ninety degree mark because it’s simply too heavy. He takes great care in grooming himself, always making sure that he’s impeccably trimmed and clean. He likes to leave the dark pubic hairs in interesting designs and patterns, all sorts of shapes gracing his navel.

(He loves when you trace a fingers along the perimeter of the hair, his skin erupting into goosebumps at the feeling, his cock stirring to life because the tasing sensation is simply too much for him.)

He even takes the time to very carefully trim up his balls, wanting to make sure that everything is pristine and perfect when you touch him – he wants you to be impressed, after all, and he waits with baited breath the first time you see him nude, eyes watching your each and every expression because he wants to see exactly what you’re thinking and feeling.

(This happens every time he’s naked before you, even if it’s the hundredth time – he’ll even ask if you like what you see? Maybe you should taste it, too, to get the full picture.)

His cum is thick and tends to stay where it lands, often not dripping and instead just drying against your skin or lips or shirt or panties, wherever he feels the urge to finish. And he likes to mix it up – his favorite places are of course inside of you, your face, and your ass, but he’s game to try anything you’d like.

He likes to finish inside you when he’s feeling especially worn down or overwhelmed by his job, clutching onto you and groaning in your ear as he pushes himself as deeply as possibly and letting go, filling you with so much that it leaks out of you even with his cock still plugging you up.

He likes to finish on your face, too, because it’s just so dirty and taboo and you look so naughty when you’re looking up at him with your tongue lolled out, a flare of possessiveness and adrenaline making him feverishly fist his cock mere inches from your face, groaning out an uneven take it as he lands spurt after spurt in stripes across your face.

And of course, your ass – he loves to watch the fat bounce back against him as he fucks you, smacking at it and grabbing it in fistfuls, spreading your cheeks apart to get a better view of his cock fucking into you. And seeing it stained with his cum, even a bit dribbling down and settling into the folds and pockets of your cunt makes him whistle, giving himself just a few more strokes to ensure he’s given you every drop he can.

He’s loud when he’s finishing, always narrating what it feels like, groaning your name and even breathlessly laughing, still partially in awe because he’s fantasized about fucking you for so damn long, and you’re even better than he’d been hoping for. He also tends to thrust throughout the entirety of his orgasms, going even harder and faster, losing control for a few seconds because the pleasure is blinding him and driving him to fuck into you harder, faster, deeper, anything to prolong the pleasure your body is giving him.

His favorite way for you to touch his cock is when you’re giving him head while he reciprocates, in a somewhat modified 69 position. However, unlike the traditional, Tengen prefers to be on top of you – he likes the way he can hold onto your thighs, keeping you perfectly spread for him so that you can’t close him out or run when he gets you closer and closer.

Besides, the way he can (very) carefully thrust lightly down your throat from the angle gets his ears ringing, the sense of dominance he feels over you making him drool against your clit. He likes the depth he can get, and although he’s conscious of choking you, the small gagging noises you make when he goes just a hair too deep have precum dribbling against your tongue, his cock pulsing against your lips.

His favorite sexual experiences are when you’re both getting something out of it, and so he’s a big fan of pleasuring you simultaneously. But with this position he gets the most control, able to tease you and nose at your clit all the while letting his own pleasure steadily build.

And when he comes, something about the physical position makes him feel like he’s genuinely coming down your throat, cum settling against your uvula and dripping down your throat. It’s romantic, he thinks, and when your hands come up to grasp onto his thighs Tengen feels shivers roll down his spine because oh, you’re just so fucking cute.

He likes it, and when you pull off to take a small break, stroking at his cock, he likes when you run his tip along the outline of your lips, your cheeks, you jaw and collarbone, even your nipples if you can maneuver it. It makes him groan, licking long, flat stripes against your hole, a thumb working diligently, frantically at your clit because you’re getting him so very close and he needs you to come before he does.

It’s just a guilty pleasure of his, and while he won’t often request it, it’s his go-to when he’s been away from you for long missions, desperate to kiss you and taste you.

(And due to his near non-existent refractory period, it’s the warm up to fucking you good and proper.)

Sanemi’s overall thoroughly average in terms of length and girth, but the thing that sets him apart is how genuinely heavy his cock is. When you’re holding it in your palms, it weighs against your skin, feeling thick and intimidating, throbbing hard enough for you to feel. He’s got no experience before you, and when you first slowly exhale and marvel at his sheer weight, he grows embarrassed, terrified that you don’t like what you’re seeing.

(He won’t explicitly ask you if there’s something wrong with it, but he’s carefully watching your reactions, holding his breath and managing to mutter out a quit staring just to simply end the insecurity swimming in his chest.)

He’s scared that you’re disappointed, cheeks tinging pink and struggling to look you in the eye, but he’s putty in your hands the moment your skin touches his. When he’s got you bent over, hands groping and grabbing at every inch of your body that he can reach, you can feel how heavy he is inside of you, too – it’s impossible to ignore the way he’s bullying into you, stretching you and feeling like he’s practically in your throat with how overwhelming the sensation is.

Matching his length, a pair of sensitive balls sit firmly underneath his base, always a rosy pink color and twitching alongside his length when he’s especially hard. They’re extremely sensitive, however, and while Sanemi will never, ever tell you to stop touching him, you’ll see the way he clenches his fist and squeezes his eyes shut when you play with them just a hair too hard, the strained groan that falls from his lips sounding more pained than he wants it to.

He likes it though – you just have to be gentle, and if you really want to see him melt, gently suck on one and let your tongue loll around it like some sort of musky candy – it makes his cheeks go red, his lip stuck between his teeth and his hips twitching because oh fuck you look so damn good drooling all over him like that.

His cum is hot, and there’s a lot. He’s pent up – he doesn’t masturbate often, instead letting all the rage and irritation fester and channeling it into swinging his sword. And so, each time you touch him, Sanemi has so much to give you that it inevitably ends up leaking out of you.

If you’re on your knees for him, all pretty and staring up at him through doe-eyed lashes with pouty lips, he’s coming down your throat, grasping onto your hair and simply keeping you there, cum spilling out from the sides of your mouth because there’s simply too much and you can’t swallow quickly enough to keep up.

When he’s folding you into a mating press, mouth hot at your ear as he gasps and groans and growls, when he eventually calls out what vaguely sounds like your name in a slurred frenzy along with fuck and yes yes yes, he’s coming so much that it physically forces him out of your cunt, the sheer volume filling you up so well that there’s not even room for him.

And Sanemi absolutely loves to see you covered in it, too – he never suggests the idea because he doesn’t want it to feel disrespectful, but he absolutely loves to finish on your face. There’s something about the way you look underneath him, with your tongue lolling out and your palms pressing against his thighs as if bracing yourself that gets him throwing his head back, his orgasm ripping through him with enough force to leave his knees almost collapsing underneath him.

(And if you were to lick your lips and then reach out to lick him clean of every last drop? Well, please don’t say anything about the way he whimpers, a few sad, pathetic little spurts of cum ooze out, a last ditch attempt to give you absolutely everything he can.)

He’s a dribbler, cum oozing from the tip in a steady stream that never seems to end, and when he’s coming he always blindly reaches out to grab something to ground him. More often than not it’s you that he’s clutching onto, his grip tight enough to leave slight bruises (that he will feel incredibly guilty for the next morning). It’s to ground him, to remind him that you’re real, that you’re with him, that you’re not merely a figment of his imagination or some poor, pathetic stand-in that he can fuck and desperately pretend is you.

His favorite way for you to touch him is when you’re seated on his lap, straddling him with nothing separating you. He loves fucking you, of course, something primal and animalistic in him satisfied with the knowledge that he’s claiming you from the inside out, but there’s something equally pleasurable – if not more so – about the intimacy of simply holding you and feeling your cunt slowly and steadily grind against him.

He wants both of you completely nude, your tits pressing against his chest and your lips attached to his and he slowly guides your hips, a hand clutching at either side as he brings you forward and back, the wetness of your folds coating him in a thick layer of you and letting him slide easier.

It’s heaven to him – the perfect vantage point, though he’s much too embarrassed to admit why. Truthfully, it’s because the position almost feels like you’re holding him – he’ll often just wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you as tightly against him as possible, listening to your heartbeat and trying to match the rhythm of his breathing with yours.

Often, if he’s feeling particularly vulnerable or if he’s just returned from a long, grueling mission, he’ll slip a nipple into his mouth, gently suckling and biting, closing his eyes and focusing on the way that you’re so very warm and soft in his arms.

It’s comfort thing, more than anything else, as if being with you in such a raw, intimate way means that he’s safe, comfortable, loved and wanted. It’s sappy and he’d rather die than admit it, but you’ll notice the way his eyes grow red, tears prickling at the corners because it just feels so damn good to hold you like this.

He’s a bit shorter than average, coming in just slightly under five inches, but Obanai has a pretty significant girth – significant enough to get you gasping the first time he fucks you, the feeling of being so stretched out leaving you gasping for air.

You’ll always be able to tell when he’s close to coming because everything literally throbs – you can feel him pulsing inside of you, the sensation making you squirm because it’s so very arousing but so very weird against your walls. And it’s a constant, too – from the moment he gets hard, it’s constantly pulsing against your palm, his cheeks bright red and embarrassment running through him but he just can’t stop, too turned on by the sight and smell and taste of you, and his body is betraying that.

He’s pale everywhere on his body, delicate skin that’s shockingly soft and so, so very sensitive – one touch against his chest gets him shivering, every nerve in his body feeling on fire because all he can focus on is the fact that you’re willingly touching him and you’re so much softer than he’s imagined.

(And he’s extensively imagined. Frequently.)

His cock is pale, too, with hardly any color differentiation from base to tip. As he gets near his orgasm, the tip turns a pinkish color, the blood rushing in and leaving him dizzy, and his entire navel area turns a pink color too. He’s pale enough that if you try hard enough you can even see a few of the near-surface veins dipping down under the tuft of dark hair on his navel. And it’s a rare occurrence that Obanai shaves – it’s not for lack of trying, but rather that he’s simply worried that he’ll look strange without the hair to cover himself, worried that you won’t like what you’ll see if you can see the entire expanse of him.

(He’s insecure that he’s not perfect enough for you – that his cock is too small or his balls are shaped strangely, and a single compliment about it from you will have him going wide-eyed, swallowed hard and a large, insistent glob of pre-cum oozing from his tip because oh god, do you really mean it?)

His cum is watery and, quite frankly, doesn’t taste great. It’s remarkably bitter – your face screws up the first time it lands on your tongue, the sight making Obanai shrivel up in embarrassment, mortified that you’ll no longer want to touch him.

(He immediately tries to change his diet to almost exclusively foods he thinks will make him taste better, even swallowing his pride and approaching Tengen about it, embarrassment making it difficult to spit out the words.)

He’s a shooter, the arc looking truly pornographic because he tends to throw his head back when he’s coming, eyes squeezed tightly shut and almost a grimace overcoming his features, all while hips jut out and cum practically pours out of him. He prefers finishing on your stomach, simply because there’s something about the sight of you stained white that makes his possessiveness flare up. If it’s a particularly powerful orgasm (as they all are, when you’re the one touching him), he’ll be out of breath, cheeks still flushed pink as he hovers over you, mesmerized and letting his thumb dip into the cum, smearing it across your skin.

He likes it best when the two of you finish at the same time – simultaneous orgasms, if only because Obanai knows that as you get closer you tend to reach out and grab for whatever is nearest to you, and he’ll purposefully maneuver himself so that you’re clutching onto him, the sight of you moaning for him and shaking hurtling him towards his own orgasm.

(He’ll often scoop up a bit of his own cum and your slick, mixing them together with his fingers, swallowing heavily and letting his finger brush against his tongue, eyes rolling to the back of his head because the taste of you together is making his cock throb again, slowly rising up to ninety degrees, desperate to give you more more more.)

His favorite way for you to touch him is a slow, intimate handjob. He’s typically a little bit harsh when he’s touching himself, his tugs leaving his arm sore, his fingers clutched so tightly around his shaft that it’s nearly suffocating. And yet, when it’s your fingers wrapped around him, Obanai finds that there’s something indescribably sensual and passionate about the soft, slow strokes you give him. The softness of your fingers combined with the way you carefully, almost hesistantly grip him leaves his head spinning, the pleasure somehow feeling much more acute despite the lessened stimulation.

He likes the way your thumb comes up often to brush over slit, collected the precum and letting it guide your hand up and down, up and down, his toes curling and his fists clenching because you’re being such a damn tease, making his hips buck up over and over.

And there’s something about the eye contact that gets him panting – the attention leaves him squirming as you let your eyes rest on him, the intensity making every brush of your fingers against his sensitive skin amplify a thousand times.

He wants you to talk to him, to let your voice get all low, to call him all sorts of possessive petnames that only fluster him more, a pointed thrust against your fist with each name. My pretty boy is his favorite, even as embarrassing as it is, and if you lean in and kiss along his collarbone and jaw, complimenting him about his looks, his ability to care for you, how he makes you feel he’s immediately gasping, abs clenching wildly and his balls visibly clenching as he paints your hand white with cum, the liquidy consistency making it run down your knuckles like rivers, dripping down onto your thighs and making Obanai suck in a breath because fuck fuck fuck you’re still going and it’s so sensitive, too sensitive but he doesn’t want you to ever ever stop-

He wants to feel cared for, wanted, loved, and even something as simply as you jerking him off with a few well-timed flutter of your lashes and purred words leave him putty in your hands.

It’s big and Gyomei knows it. Easily a solid seven inches and thick enough to leave your fingers barely touching when you wrap them around his girth, even when he’s not fully hard. The skin is slightly tanner than the rest of him, with his tip flushing into an even darker shade matching the two low, heavy balls that sit snugly underneath his shaft, hefty enough to feel substantial in your palms as you cup and squeeze at them.

Tufts of dark hair decorate his navel, the curls thick and almost coarse, tickling your nose as you take him down your throat and tickling your clit as you oh so slowly inch your way down on his lap. Even the sight of him flaccid makes you suck in a sharp breath, nerves starting to eat away at you because there’s absolutely no fucking way it’s fitting inside of you. It just looks too heavy and big and full, veins protruding along the sides in enough detail that you can practically see them pulsing.

And really, your fears aren’t unwarranted – Gyomei can feel the movement with every step he takes, the sensation of his cock brushing against his undergarments and his balls pressed against his thigh always leaving him slightly uncomfortable, always consciously aware of the feeling. (He’s extremely grateful for the loose nature of the Demon Slayer Corps uniform pants – otherwise, the bulge would be unbearably visible, even when he’s completely soft.)

All things considered, it takes Gyomei a long time to orgasm. He’s not terribly sensitive (not for a lack of experience – he has none, he’s just genuinely not the type to immediately buck his hips and gasp at the slightest bit of stimulation), but finds that steady, consistent pleasure is the golden ticket to finding his high.

Specifically, pleasure that involves a lot of lubricant: spit, slick, hell, even blood when you’re on your period and needing something to help relieve the pressure. He likes how smooth it all is – the slick schluck schluck sound of him rolling his hips into yours makes his knees weak, the wet feeling of your cunt clenching down on him enough to get him groaning lowly and grasping onto your hips hard enough to almost leave bruises. He’ll refuse to fuck you until you’re absolutely dripping, wet to the point of insanity because he’s been fingering you for what feels like hours and you can’t handle the teasing anymore.

It’s only then, after he’s brought you to your high some three times with his tongue and the pads of his index fingers that he’ll finally, finally press inside, moving slowly and chanting what sounds like prayers intermixed with your name under his breath, almost as if you’re some god he’s thanking over and over for the feeling of you.

It takes him a while to get off, but there’ll be a few signs that he’s getting close – his thrusts turn from deep, slow, almost tentative, to quicker and more clipped, the actions somehow feeling needier and more desperate because he’s holding you in place and his breath is stuttered as he gasps and exhales, pleasure hitting him like a tidal wave and sending his eyes rolling back.

He produces an almost obscene amount of cum with every orgasm, ropes spilling out in long, rather impressive spurts. It’s thick, almost viscous, leaving a residue against your skin that he’ll oftentimes idly rub at when he’s pulled you against his chest, cock still nestled inside you as tears flow down his cheeks from the intensity of it all. It’s bitter, almost earthy, and while Gyomei doesn’t expect you to swallow, you’ll be earned with the smallest, quietest little whimper once he hears you audibly gulping.

His favorite way for you to touch his cock is when you’re simply riding him. There’s something about the way you grip him in this position that makes his toes curl, his voice getting a hair deeper because it just feels too good. He likes the way you control the pace – sex feels better to him when you feel good, and having you dictate the speed, angle, and depth gives Gyomei an insight into exactly what you like.

(And he’s committing every detail to memory – the sounds you’re making, the way your nails bite into his chest as you steady yourself, the way your ass bounces against his thighs over and over, the tensing of your legs as his tip brushes against that spot that makes you gasp and moan his name…)

He likes the way he can feel more of you in this position, too – the curve of your ass pressing against his balls, the slight pressure pinching and giving him just the slightest bit of pain that makes blood rush south, cock throbbing inside of you because god he wants you to go even harder.

He can feel your stomach pressed against his navel when you lean forward in this position, your muscles growing tired and starting to give out, the softness of your skin against the overly sensitive area right above his shaft making him grasp onto your hips and thrust upwards, meeting you halfway and mumbling out your name as you whine.

It just feels more intimate this way – like you’re using him, like his body is just a tool for your pleasure. And really, that’s exactly how Gyomei sees it – his cock is your cock, and he’ll thank the heavens each and every time you so much as look at it.

#yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #yandere ds #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #kny smut #yandere kny smut #_kny #_giyuu tomioka #_kyojuro rengoku #_tengen uzui #_sanemi shinazugawa #_obanai iguro #_gyomei himejima #_lee rambles

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mediumgayitalian · 10 months ago

Text

“Did you wash your face?”

“Yes.”

“Brush your teeth?”

“Yes.”

“Brush your hair?”

“…Yes.”

As soon as he says it, he coughs. A freckled hand moves to itch at his throat, rub at slowly puffing eyes.

“You, William Andrew,” Lee says, grinning, “are a liar.”

Will scowls. “Am not!”

The effect of his glare is significantly undermined by the redness of his eyes and the cough that interrupts him mid-sentence. Shaking his head, Lee leans into his bunk and scoops his brother up, heading to the Big House. He slides his hand in tangled, curly hair as Will rests his head on his shoulder, still breathing heavily.

“I can feel the knots in your hair, doofus.”

Will curls up tighter in his hold, muffling another cough in his elbow. “Nuh-uh.” He sniffles. “Hey, Lee, am I dying?”

Lee snorts. “No, you’re not dying.” He ducks into the back entrance of the infirmary, flicking on the lights and setting Will on the counter of the nurse’s station.

Will’s brow furrows. “Then what?”

With his swollen tongue, it sounds more like ‘den wah’. Lee picks up the pace — he’s pretty sure, based on what he knows, that the reaction will go away on its own, but a little Benadryl can’t hurt.

“You’re having an allergic reaction.”

He finally finds the stash of Benadryl — who sorted the mortal meds cupboard by colour again — and grabs one of the little measuring cups. Will sees the medicine and immediately starts whining, trying to climb off the counter.

After a minute of wrangling, he manages to keep Will put with one leg over both of his, chin hooked around his shoulder to hinder any escape attempts so he can pour the medicine with both hands. (He pours one teaspoon, even though Will is eight and should be having two. He’s too small for two. It worries him, a little bit — but there is nothing in his vitals to indicate anything’s wrong, so he must just be a late bloomer. Or maybe he and Michael are just destined to remain under five feet for eternity.)

“I’m not drinking it I’m not drinking it I’m not drinking it ew ew ew ew ew —”

“Yes you are —”

“No! Gross! It’s disgusting!”

“You’ve never even had it before!”

Will looks at the tiny little cup like there are worms writhing in it. (He would probably be more willing to eat it if it was worms. Last summer he ate an ant before Lee could stop him. No one told him demigod life would involve wrangling dangerously impulsive children, and he would like a refund, please, thanks.) “I can tell.” He clamps his mouth shut, turning away. “I am not drinking it.”

“It will help you,” Lee says exasperatedly. Was he this difficult as a child? He needs to call his mother. “I can literally see you scratching your throat, you little snot.”

He shoves his hands under his thighs. “No.”

“…It’s bubblegum flavoured.”

Will turns slowly to look at him, evaluating the little cup with suspicion.

“Bubblegum?”

Lee shakes it enticingly. “Bubblegum.”

After a long, tense moment, Will nods once.

“Fine.” He accepts the little cup, bringing it up close to his face to inspect with one squinting eye. “But if it’s disgusting I’m spitting it out.”

He brings the little cup to his lips for the most delicate, most minuscule of sips, more of a dip of the tongue than anything. Lee rolls his eyes. A second later, a pleased look slots on his face, and he downs the rest of the medicine in one large gulp.

Immediately, some of the swelling reduces, and he stops breathing so laboriously.

“There you go,” Lee murmurs, smoothing back his hair. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Gods, you’re stubborn.”

He’s smiling as he says it, leaning down to press a kiss to Will’s freckled forehead. He slumps into it, sighing, arms winding their way around Lee’s neck almost shyly. Understanding the gesture for the plea that it is, Lee scoops him up again, wincing as he elbows his ribs in an effort to get comfortable, and starts putting the medicine away one-handed (by alphabet, the correct way to sort.)

“You sleepy?” he asks softly, feeling Will grow heavier against him. He crosses his fingers — Apollo kids don’t often suffer side effects of medication, but he’s hoping the drowsiness’ll kick in. It’ll be nice if Will actually, like, sleeps through the night. For once.

“Mhm.”

Smiling wider, he flicks off the lights and steps out into the late evening. Cicada song swells in the mid-spring mugginess, owls hooting somewhere in the darkness. The curfew harpies’ chittering grows nearer and nearer. Lee waves to some of his friends as he sees them puttering outside their cabins, running through the last of their nightly routines, and finally ducks into Cabin Seven.

“He out?” Diana asks, hushed, setting aside her guitar to walk over.

Lee hums. “Almost. Had to give him some Benadryl, so he’s sleepy.” His smile turns sly. “He lied to me about brushing his hair and broke out in hives.”

“Of course he’s allergic.” She leans forward, shaking her head, and presses a gentle kiss to his temple. He doesn’t stir. “Goodnight, sweetpea.”

The rest of his siblings call out their own soft goodnights as Lee walks over to Will’s bunk, covered in stickers and bracketed by Michael and Leanna, and sets him on the mattress. It takes him several minutes to pry himself out of his grip.

“Love you,” he whispers. He brushes his knuckle across his cheek. “Night, kiddo.”

———

The next morning, Will sleeps in for hours. The rest of them rise as usual with the sun, but he’s snoring, drooling onto his Star Wars pillowcase. The cabin is filled with muffled snickers and snapping cameras.

“I am going to have so much ammo on him by the time he’s thirteen and embarrassed by everything,” Michael says gleefully. “So, so much ammo.”

Lee grins at him. “Make sure I get a copy.”

The walk to breakfast is almost strange — the twelve of them again, no baby brother. Melody, complaining about the Hermes girl who is not picking up on any of her hints, pauses mid-sentence to ask if she can swear. Cass laughs out loud and allows it. Quickly, breakfast becomes a competition of who can swear the most or the most colourfully, free now that there are no little ears (as if Michael hasn’t supplied Will with a vast vocabulary already).

By the time Will stumbles into the pavilion, rubbing sleepy eyes, breakfast is almost over.

“Well, hello, lazy bones,” Lee teases, getting up to grab him a plate. Will trails slightly behind him, fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt.

“‘M not lazy,” he grouches, accepting the heaping plate Lee hands to him, “you drugged me.”

They walk to the brazier near the Apollo table, taking in the sweet smell as Will scrapes off a hefty chunk of olive bread. Lee waits for him to close his eyes and finish mouthing a quick prayer before guiding him, still sleepy, to the bench.

“I didn’t drug you. You took the medicine yourself.”

“Um, no way! Unless a patient is educated about the risks, benefits, and alternatives about a treatment, they do not have informed consent.” He nods resolutely, evidently proud of himself for remembering the spiel. “Ergo, you drugged me.”

Lee has the sudden, overwhelming urge to burst into tears. Will is — he’s just so bright, and so little. Eight years old and chattering off about informed consent, intently watching Michael in the infirmary, taking notes in his little blue notebook and wrapping bandages on burns with his tongue poking out between lost teeth. When Lee was eight years old, he was chasing his friends around at recess, chattering to anyone who would listen about Pokémon.

He had felt it, when the glowing gold lyre appeared above Will’s head: this child will do great things. They’d all felt it. Cass had gone stiff, eyes flashing green and face creasing in horror, before remembering herself and the big blue eyes watching her, scared, and plastering a smile on her face. ‘Great things’ is never a good thing for a demigod to do. A demigod destined for great things is a demigod doomed.

With every straining molecule, he wants to turn to the heavens and scream, no! You will not have him! You will not use him! He is not yours to toy with, to use until you’re bored! I will not allow it! By my dying breath I will not allow it!

Instead, he swallows around the lump in his throat and says, “What kind of dork says the word ‘ergo’,” and laughs when Will sticks out his tongue. He reminds his baby brother to chew with his mouth closed and keep his elbows off the table, lest his mama kick his ass, and forces himself to focus on the way he leans into Lee’s side as he eats; to memorize the wideness of his unburdened smile.

———

“I’m allergic to lying?!”

“Seems like it,” Lee confirms, closing one eye to line up a shot. He breathes in, holds, then exhales, letting the arrow loose. It hits the bullseye, but not quite as centred as he’d like it to be. Shoot. He sets down his bow, and Will runs off, scooping up the volley and running back with them.

(Gods, Lee loves having a little brother.)

“That’s not a real allergy,” he huffs, placing an arrow in Lee’s waiting hand. “The ten most common allergy types are foods, animals, pollen, mold, dust mites, medications, latex, insect stings, cockroaches, and perfumes or household chemicals. Other allergens are rare but not impossible, but all are a result of physical stimuli. An allergy to a concept or person is a figure of speech.”

Lee squints at him. “Do you know what ‘stimuli’ means?”

“No.”

“It means a thing that evokes a specific reaction. Where’d you read that?”

“‘The Flu, The Plague, and the Common Cold — How We Are Shaped By Reacting’ by Phyllis Ledger.”

“Huh.”

He lines up another arrow — closer to the centre, this time. Good enough.

They don’t learn a lot about paediatric care at camp, or really anything outside of first aid and emergency services, but he’s pretty sure that normal eight-year-olds don’t read and memorize medical textbooks in their spare time. Is he supposed to nurture that? He has no idea how to nurture that.

It’s kinda funny, though. Cute.

“How can I be allergic to lying if that’s impossible?”

“Is sewing a severed arm back on a person using magical nectar and singing songs possible?”

Will pauses, considering. “Okay. I guess so.” He waits, letting Lee focus to make another shot. “I still think it’s stupid. Are you allergic to lying?”

“Nope.”

“Is Cass?”

“Negative.”

“Michael?”

Lee scoffs. “If Michael was allergic to lying, he would be dead.”

“Is anyone else allergic to lying?”

“Nope.” This time, the arrow lands in the dead centre — finally. “Just you, kiddo.”

He’s heard, of course, of children of Apollo afflicted with such an inconvenience before. Their dad is the god of truth, after all. It’s bound to happen.

Will frowns. “What are the parameters?”

Lee glances curiously at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what is lying? Am I allergic to lying, or not telling the truth? They’re different, you know.” He fidgets with the last arrow of the volley, picking at the tail. “Am I gonna get hives if I say something that’s not true, even if I think it’s true? What if I say something that’s a lie but everyone believes it’s true, like when people believed smoking was good for you?” He gasps, looking at Lee with wide, worried eyes. “Oh my gods, am I allowed to be sarcastic?”

Lee tries his very best to hold back his laughter. He is obviously unsuccessful, because Will scowls, shoving him as hard as he can and throwing off his last shot.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Lee snickers, jogging down the range to gather his arrows. He slides them into the quiver, tossing it and his bow onto the equipment deck. “You’re very adorable when you’re mad. You get all —” he pokes Will’s dimpled cheeks, grinning when it makes him smile — “pouty and red. Like Tinkerbell.”

“You’re mean. You’re a horrible mean big brother and I want Beckendorf to adopt me instead.”

“I’ll let him know,” Lee says drily. “C’mon, kid. There’re cabin inspections tonight; I know you got Lego everywhere. Time to clean up. I swear, if we get Castor again I’m gonna —”

“Oh, I didn’t see you guys! I hope I’m not interrupting your practice.”

Lee stumbles. “— lose it.” He trails off weakly “Hey, Carter.”

The son of Athena smiles widely, dark eyes twinkling. His front tooth is just slightly crooked, and Lee finds himself staring at it.

“Hi, Lee.”

Lee wonders, briefly, if he has suddenly developed tachycardia. It certainly feels like it. He remembers something Will had rattled off during lunch yesterday — hummingbirds don’t actually hum, they just beat their wings thousands of times per minute, often in sync with their heart. Lee feels a strange kinship with the little birds right about now.

Will clears his throat loudly.

Carter startles. “Oh! Oh, hi, Will, I’m sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Will squints suspiciously. “Uh-huh.”

“I was just hoping to use the archery range, if you’re done with it.” He tucks a lock behind his ear. “Or, um. We can share, if you want.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Lee rushes to assure, “I actually just finished, so I’m all — it! It’s all yours!” He clears his throat, sure his face is flaming. “Uh, take it away! Shoot straight!”

Mortified, he clamps his hands on Will’s shoulders and practically shoves him forward, rushing away as fast as is socially acceptable.

“Okay,” Carter calls out behind him, audibly confused. “See you around, Lee.”

Lee makes some sort of horrible, crackling chucking sound. “Right-o!”

Just bury him. Really.

“Smooth,” Will mutters, the second they’re out of earshot. Then he pauses, delighted. “Hey! I can still be sarcastic!”

Lee flicks him on the forehead, scowling. “Shut up.”

———

“— it just seems so vague, right? I mean, say I look at the sky and say, the sky is green. That’s obviously not true. But what if I think it’s true? Or what if I think blue is green, and green is blue? Am I being truthful? Is truth defined by my belief, or by whoever I’m speaking to? Or some arbitrary, so-called objective standard? And what if —”

“Will,” Lee begs, hands pressed to his rapidly-pulsating temples, “for the love of Zeus, please settle down.”

“I can’t,” he says dramatically. He gets another couple jumps on his (FRESHLY MADE) bed before Lee gets fed up an wallops him with a pillow, sending him tumbling with a shriek. “Child abuse! I’m telling Chiron!” He makes a pleased noise. “Hey, I can still exaggerate! I wonder if acting is considered lying —”

“I am going to lose my mind.”

“— and what about, like, withholding the truth? Like, for example, if you asked me, hey, Will, did I make a big embarrassing fool out of myself in front of Carter this morning, and I do not say yeah, totally, I was embarrassed for you —”

“That’s it.”

Lee pounces on him, murderous, digging his fingers into his brother’s sides as he shrieks with laughter, pinning down his arms so he can’t writhe away.

“Mercy! Mercy! I’m sorry, I’m —”

“You’re literally lying right now!” Lee says in disbelief. “I can see your eyes reddening!”

Luckily, the reaction isn’t so severe this time. Maybe it’s a smaller lie, leaning more into teasing than anything, or maybe even the universe can’t be so cruel when faced with Will’s giggles. Either way, Lee tickles him until he’s begging for mercy for real, gasping as he darts away.

“You’re such a brat,” Lee says fondly, catching his breath.

Will sticks out his tongue. “Nuh uh.”

“Get over here, doofus. It’s nine o’clock. You were supposed to be in bed a half-hour ago, I’ll tell you a story.”

Predictably, that gets him quiet, clambering over the mussed sheets and shoving himself into Lee’s side, leg sprawled over his knees and chin digging into his chest. Big blue eyes turn to him with attention, wider than the sea and skies, sparkling, clear with open trust. The lump surfaces in Lee’s throat again, and he brings his hands up to smooth down Will’s hair, distracting himself by untangling the many knots.

“One day,” he begins, voice a little wobbly, “there was a boy.”

“In a galaxy far far away?”

“No. Shut up.”

Will pouts. Lee kisses him on the forehead.

“There was a regular boy on regular Earth. And he was small and clumsy, because his brain was too big for his body and threw him off balance.”

“That’s called a Chiari malformation.”

“William Andrew.”

“Sorry.”

“Gods. Anyways. The boy.” He clears his throat. “The boy was the most curious boy to ever exist. He would observe things, with his big eyes, for hours, trying to figure out how everything in the whole world worked. He’d memorized how every creature in the pond worked together when he was four years old. By the time he was five he could speak frog, and dance with the fireflies.”

Will giggles. “A boy can’t speak frog, that’s ridiculous. Can the frog speak back?”

“Shhh. Listening ears. One day, when the boy was eight, he got very bored by his house, even with the pretty pond. The frogs were too busy to play with him and the fireflies had flown off to work, so he decided to go on an adventure.”

“A quest?”

“Yes, exactly. A quest for knowledge. He decided he would learn every piece of information possible so that one day he could bring it back to his village and share it with everybody. Do you know what happened?”

“What?”

“He was successful. He spent many years travelling and observing and running from monsters to get all the information he could. And when he came back to the village, the people saw that he was kind and intelligent but very naive, so they sucked out all the knowledge from his head to use for themselves and he died. The end.”

“What? No!” Will pushes himself upright, unfortunately putting his entire weight on Lee’s spleen, jaw dropped in outrage. “That’s a horrible story! You can’t end the story like that!”

“My story,” Lee wheezes. “I can end it however I want.”

“Tell it better!”

“Fine, fine. Get off my organs.”

When Will is settled again, curled in the crook of Lee’s arm and glaring at him suspiciously, Lee continues.

“The villagers didn’t kill the boy. You’re right. But they weren’t very careful with them, either. The boy wanted very much to help, so much that it was sometimes all he could think about. And the villagers didn’t mean to, but they treated the boy like he was a knowledge machine — taking and taking and taking, forgetting to give back, to check on him. One day, the boy was so drained of knowledge that he collapsed.”

“Of stress-induced exhaustion?” Will asks softly. His eyes, finally, have begun to droop.

Lee smiles. “Something like that.”

“Then what happened?”

“The villagers panicked, because the boy wasn’t awake to tell them how to fix him. They didn’t know what to do. Some of them, even, didn’t know why he collapsed at all, they thought he might be cursed and didn’t like him anymore.”

“But he wasn’t cursed, he was sick!”

“That’s right. He was sick, because he didn’t stop to take care of himself. He let people take too much without making sure he had enough to stay whole.”

For a long time, long enough that Lee thinks he’s asleep, Will doesn’t say anything. And then he says, in a very small voice, “Does the boy still die?”

“No,” Lee whispers, tightening his hold. “His big brother comes back from a long trip and heals him. And then he yells are the villagers for making him sick, and makes them promise to be more careful. The end. For real this time.”

“I like the second story better,” Will says. “It’s good that he had his big brother there.”

“Always.” Lee swallows, shifting once Will’s eyes flutter shut, sliding him under the covers. “Always, kiddo.”

#thinking about what could have been and sobbing on my hands and knees on the ground #something something the children of prophecy know which of them is going to live something something #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #will solace #will solace angst #lee fletcher #will solace & lee fletcher #i don’t know how else to tag this but like. pain #my writing #fic #longpost #baby will #baby will solace #kid will solace #smart will solace

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finelinevogue · 10 months ago

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love isn’t weakness

summary - paul helps you see that love isn’t a weakness

pairing - paul atreides x caladan!reader

word count - +1k

🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨

You wake to the Paul sleeping soundly beside you.

For once.

So often now does Paul wake up in a cold sweat from his dreams. You can’t imagine how terrifying seeing the possible future must be, but as long as he has you beside him to hold his hand he assures you he’ll be okay.

You wipe the sleep away from your eyes and sit up to let the blanket fall from your body.

Some days you wish you had been allowed to stay on Caladan. Days like today, where you mourn the loss of your parents who died in a war long ago.

Now, you were lost to the deserts of Arakkis.

Paul was slowly becoming a God here and soon you were afraid you’d lose him to the desert too.

You watched him for a few moments, his chest rising slowly and falling again. There was something so overwhelming about watching him just exist.

Watching him grow up as your best friend had never been like this. You’d only grown in feelings for Paul when he was sent to Arakkis before you. The loss of not having him near all the time was horrible, and when reunited Paul made that clear to you by kissing you as more than a best friend.

You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead softly so not to disturb him, before getting ready to go outside to greet the waking sun.

No one else on camp was awake.

You were away from Worm territory and clear of any Harkonnen’s for now.

Trudging up the steep sand bank, you crested to the top and was greeted by the expanse lands of the dunes.

Nothing for miles. Far as your eyes could see, there was nothing but peaks and troughs of mountainous dunes.

You sat down carefully, watching some sand slide down the dune beside you.

Opening the small piece if dirtied white - now grey - cloth in your hand you found your small locket. The circular shaped pendant necklace opened to the treasure inside - a small picture of your parents on their wedding day.

You gulped back the phantom stone in the back of your throat and squeezed the pendant in your hand tightly.

“I miss you.” You whispered to the desert.

Silence returned.

“You would never guess where I am now!” You laughed to yourself, wiping your tears away quickly with the back of your hand.

It was advised to never cry in the desert, lest you want to lose all your bodies water reserves.

You blew out a big breath, trying to remind calm. “Could do with a nightmare of a family dinner right now.”

‘Nightmare’ because there would always be an argument of some sort about what you were going to have. It was never actually a nightmare, you just liked to refer to them as that.

Soft footsteps could be heard behind you, climbing the dune not so subtly. Although, you suspected they wanted you to hear them so you knew someone was coming.

Only when he sat next to you, did you realise it was Paul.

He sat tight beside you, not leaving much room.

He looked out towards the vast landscape and said nothing. He was good at knowing when or it you wanted him to speak, or when you just wanted the company.

For now, company was all you needed.

He softly slunk his calloused hand into yours, interlinking your fingers and squeezing to show you he was there for you.

He knew what this day was to you.

“I don’t want to be weak when I think about them anymore.” You whispered, hoping Paul would understand.

“It’s not weak to miss them, Y/N.”

“I feel it.” You dipped your head, opening your other hand to reveal the pendant.

“Love isn’t a weakness. That’s what you feel; love. You’re loving them even after they’ve gone.” He explained in a way a true leader could only.

“That was a very wise thing to have come from you.” You turned to look at him and he was already smiling at you, both of your glowing in the morning sun now.

“Love has made me wise.”

He looked at your lips. You looked from his eyes to his own.

“Then you would know, love isn’t wise at all.” You responded with something Lady Jessica had told him when he had declared that you were together.

Literally, declared in front of a whole camp of Fremens. It was simultaneously both the most embarrassing and happiest moment you’d felt on this planet.

Paul decided to shut you up by kissing you, not too harshly otherwise you’d both go falling off the top of the dunes - which, yes, had happened before.

He cupped your cheek softly and kissed just as much. His lips were warm with the wake of the sun and your insides started to glow just as brightly.

Love.

“You make me feel less weak.” You pulled back to tell him, whispering the words only a breaths touch away from his lips.

“That’s because you love me.” He teased, kissing you with a smile.

You pushed his shoulder ever-so-lightly, to get him back for the teasing.

“Do you not?” He questioned, pretending to be offended. He touched your cheek furthest from him and tugged it so you would face him again. “Hmm?”

“You’re so dependent on what my feelings are for you?”

“Yes.”

The light conversations between you never failed to outshine any dark moments you way be having.

“That makes you a weak man. Maybe you aren’t Lisan Al-Gaib after all.” You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

“Maybe. Love still doesn’t make me a weak man though and it doesn’t make you weak either.” He kissed the tip of your nose softly.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him.

“They’re still there, watching over you.” He nodded to the sky where the last of the stars were twinkling still. Soon they’d be gone and the sky would be lit in cerulean blue.

“I know.”

“And they’re here too.” He touched over your heart and then over his. Your parents had been as close to him as his own father, so he knows what the loss feels like even after all this time.

He now knows the kind of whole a loved one can leave on your heart. It’s learning to know not how to re-fill it, but live with it that’s the difficult part.

He was learning how to do that from you, just as you learnt from him.

You kissed him again, just because you needed to let him know that you appreciated him - more than words could ever explain.

Paul gave you a small smile when be broke away from your lips quietly.

“I love you. To forever.”

“To forever.”

#dune part two #dune part 2 #dune fic #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #timothée x reader #timothé chalamet x reader #paul atreides #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides fic #timothée chalamet fic #dune x reader

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catscidr · 3 months ago

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˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ 𝐤!𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟏: 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐤!𝐧𝐤 // — 𝐟𝐭. 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫!𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐮/𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢.

i. note — OFF TO A ROUGH START the kenny/geto fic ended up being a whopping 4,5k so i edited it down to be roughly 2k (the full ver is gonna be on ao3 though!) so if the writing seems funky That's Why + im still not completely used to writing smut yet. similar thing kinda happened w zhongli but i went fuck it we ball so im sry if the smut feels short bare with me. im stressed. ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) anyways pls enjoy and happy kinktober lads ii. includes — amab!kenjaku (geto's appearance), zhongli. afab!reader iii. cw — kinda mean dom!kenjaku, he's referred to as suguru for Reasons, dubcon bc power dynamics, manipulation, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, one singular cl!t slap, praise and degradation, he's a yapper. -> can very well be read as a mean!suguru/reader if u choose to ignore that one line about his forehead lol — soft dom!zhongli, hu tao cameo, praise, fingering, some whimpering, piv, implied multiple orgasms, a lil breathplay, he nuts dubiously fast, implied round 2 iv. wc — 4,3k -> ao3 link for the full kenjaku fic here!

— 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐆./𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐮.

“So, according to your medical records, you’ve never had a pap smear. Is that correct?”

Your blood runs cold. Shit, I didn’t think he would bring THAT up during a normal, unassuming routine checkup. I’m so fucked.

“Ah, um... no, I haven’t,” you respond sheepishly, clenching your teeth so hard you wonder if he can tell just how hard you’re trying not to bolt out of the door.

If he wasn’t a medical professional, Suguru would have made a fine actor; and so, as all normal doctors do, he belts you with numerous questions you loathe answering, one of them being the infamous;

“Are you sexually active?”

Swallowing down the urge to flee the scene, away from those stupid fluorescent lights and that irritating cleaning solution smell, you answer as normally as you possibly can. “I have been, but-”

“Have you been made aware that all female bodies that have been sexually active should get a pap smear as soon as they turn 21?” he adds, jotting something down in his notes—your personal file, you assume.

You gulp, internally thinking of excuses to worm into the conversation. “I have, yes. But Doctor Ieiri told m-”

“I’m sorry, but I am not Doctor Ieiri. I want the best for my patients, even if some procedures can be uncomfortable. That’s just the way life is; but I’ll do my best to accommodate your needs.” Suguru gives you a patient smile and a nod, though he was firm and, honestly, quite stubborn.

Relenting, you murmur a quiet ‘okay’, already justifying this, telling yourself that it could be worse. You could be getting a pap smear from an old man that still believe women shouldn’t be allowed ibuprofen when getting an IUD inserted.

“Great! Then please take off your pants and underwear. I’ll step out to give you some privacy.” Suguru flashes you an award-winning smile as he leaves the vicinity, drawing back the light curtain that separated his actual office to the examination room.

All blood drains from your being as you listen to the sound of his footsteps fading, and instead you’re met with heavy, oppressive silence.

...

You knew getting a pap smear would be uncomfortable, that much was a given, but you didn’t think it would be near as humiliating as this. Doctors witness people both inside AND out, day and night; so pray tell, why were you sweating bullets at the prospect of your doctor doing his job? Was it because he was infuriatingly attractive and the thought of someone like him performing your pap smear was enough to get your blood rushing south?

(Obviously.)

“You’re doing great,” he coos encouragingly. “Do you need a moment?”

You blink away the tears that glossed your eyes, and nod sheepishly. He flashes you a smile and gently pulls out the speculum. You wince, but the sting wears off quickly. As a silent apology, he slides the hand that rested on your stomach down until it reaches your pelvis and applies slight pressure.

“Deep breaths.”

You inhale slowly, eyes fluttering shut. Right when you started to feel calmer, you jolt; his thumb brushes against your clit, a movement that seemed too calculated to be an accident. Your eyes snap open and as you look down, you’re met with his eyes piercing into yours as he continuously rubs you, almost casually.

“W-Wha-”

He shushes you by pressing his thumb down firmly, earning himself a nice, breathy whimper.

“You need to relax. Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, lips curling upwards.

Your eyes zero in on the way his thumb smears your slick all over your clit— and his hand. You’re so wet that you can hear your pleasure, squelching noises violating your ears with the repetitive movements of his thumb, and you feel the coil inside of you tighten in tandem with his fingers. Tighter and tighter, aggressively shoving you towards your rapidly incoming climax.

And God the latex of his glove rubs against your skin so deliciously. Your hips roll up to meet his hand for more stimulation you don’t even think you can handle. You’re so lost in the pleasure he’s giving you that you don’t even notice how desperate you look until he laughs, the noise sounding so incredibly sweet in your ears despite your humiliating predicament.

Straightening his back, Suguru breaks eye contact to peer down at your slick cunt. “You’re dripping so much it’s getting on the table. Did you even notice you were this aroused, or were you too focused on drilling holes into me to realize it?” He scoffs, decidedly amused at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing while he continues to stimulate your needy clit.

You want to deny his (correct) assumptions, to pull away and leave this damn building until further notice, but God was he skilled with his hands. His fingers were dangerous, lethal even.

“I’m n-”

Your breath hitches when he smacks your clit, his sharp brows furrowing as he sneers at you and your blissful expression betraying what you wished to say. It shouldn’t, but the sight turns you on in a way you’d never say without squirming in shame. “Don’t lie to me now. How long have you been wet for?”

Shaking your head, you purse your lips in a tight line, ashamed to admit that you had been ever since he first started the examination.

Scoffing, he stands up, towering over you from between your legs. He leans over you, cupping your face as he forces his thumb past your lips, making you taste yourself and the polymer fabric of the glove on his thumb.

“You didn’t think I’d notice? You started fidgeting quite a lot once I started the checkup. Was it the proximity? Do you find me so attractive you forget how to act normally?” he gloats, pushing his thumb down onto your tongue. Looking up at him through dewy eyelashes, you swallow the saliva that pools in your mouth.

He grins, lowering his face closer to yours; some strands of his hair come undone from the bun, and you feel drawn to his gaze. You can’t look away—neither figuratively or literally. You stare into his eyes, drinking in the sight of his picturesque features, and that painful-looking but intriguing scar running across his forehead.

(You’re not sure you would look away even if you had a choice, anyways.)

“Do you have a fetish for doctors or something? How filthy,” he croons. “Or is it my gloves? Do you like feeling my hands prodding at your cunt? And here I was, trying to be useful.” When you whimper around the thumb in your mouth, he knows he’s guessed correctly.

(He’s so pretty. Vague images of him—his hands—appear in your mind. You want him to pin your wrists together while he fingerfucks you, you want him to wrap a hand around your throat while he scissors you open, you want—)

He uses his free hand to glide it between your legs and slides his fingers up and down your slit to collect your juices. It drips down his fingers, past the polymer of his glove down to the porcelain skin beneath it. “I bet there isn’t going to be any resistance when I slide my fingers in,” he pulls out his thumb from your mouth and smears your saliva on your lips, then cups your cheeks with said hand. “Want to find out?”

You gasp when he pushes his ring and middle fingers inside simultaneously as your walls flutter so nicely around them—with the dexterity of, well, a doctor, he quickly finds that spongy spot inside of you and abuses it until you’re a writhing, squirmy mess.

Moans slip freely from your tender lips, a cacophony of wet slaps and ‘ah! ah!’’s echo in the room while Suguru drinks in the sight of your body submitting up to him.

“There you go, wasn’t this worth putting your trust in me?” he uses the opportunity to slip two fingers inside of your mouth with the hand that held your face, muffling your slutty moans. “Aren’t you glad you let me do your pap smear? Aren’t you glad I could tell how badly you wanted this?”

A choked whimper rips through you when he begins to use his thumb to rub your clit at the same time as he bullies his fingers in your wet pussy. His lips stretch into a sinister grin as he watches you struggle to catch your breath; you were so overwhelmed your head spun, oxygen failing you.

You latch your hands around his forearm and wrist as you try to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure; though your attempts are in vain. “P-Please! I can-can't take much... more...!” you manage to choke out.

He laughs, his own breathing becoming shallower and shallower the more he pushes you near the edge of your orgasm. “I don’t care, I’ll make you take it if I have to. Come on, you can be good for me, can’t you?”

You drool around the fingers he kept in your mouth as tears threaten to slide down your cheeks, overwhelmed with how much he kept rubbing you from the inside and out. Cracking your eyes open, you take a peek at the mess between your legs, and immediately clench around him when you catch but a glimpse of the mix of dried and wet slick on his blue glove.

He notices and slows down the rhythm of his fingers thrusting inside you, letting you catch your breath for a moment. “So filthy,” he hums condescendingly. “Since you love my hands so much, you won’t mind cleaning them off, right?”

Your poor, fucked-out brain doesn’t have the time to process what he meant before you whine at the loss of his thick fingers inside your cunt and then are immediately met with those same fingers thrust past your lips, making you gag around them. The tangy taste of your juices hits your tastebuds as you wrap your tongue around them, dutifully doing as he asked.

His sharp eyes meet your own cloudy ones, seemingly satisfied. “Good girl,” he coos. “Who would have known that someone like you would get off to sucking off a glove.” You whine, holding onto his free hand to bring it between your legs, batting your eyelashes up at him needily.

“Hm? Does my filthy little patient want to cum?” You shudder as he drags his fingers up and down your cunt, collecting your slick to flick your clit. You choke around the fingers in your mouth, whining, almost crying, and your eyelids flutter shut, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finally surrender yourself to him.

“Of course she does.” He plunges three fingers inside your cunt, bullying them in and out over and over and over until you can’t even lick and suck on his fingers anymore. You’re too busy letting out loud moans as he abuses your sweet spot endlessly; long forgotten are the worries that plagued your mind earlier. All you could think of was Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.

A shudder runs down his spine as he watches you writhe in pleasure, and for a moment he imagines just how much worse you would look if he had teased your tits or kissed you until you couldn’t breathe. If the tip of his cock kissed your g-spot instead of his fingers.

(Maybe he should bribe the secretary and make her schedule your next doctor’s visit with him instead of Ieiri.)

“That’s it, come on. Cum on my fingers.” Your lips wrap around the fingers in your mouth, teeth grazing them just barely as you try to contain your moans.

Unable to contain yourself any longer, you clench around his gloved fingers as he continuously rubs up into your sweet spot. The coil in your abdomen snaps; slick gushes out of you, forming a thin sheen on his fingers.

“F-Fuck—!” With trembling thighs, you gush and moan; Suguru pulls his hand away from your face, cooing sweet nothing into your ears that your brain can’t even process while thrusting his digits into you at a slower pace to drag out your orgasm. After almost wringing his fingers dry with how hard you came, you lay numb on the examination bed, chest heaving while you try to catch your breath and come to your senses.

Your eyelids flutter open just in time to watch your doctor lick his gloved fingers clean, humming as he tastes your juices. “Sweet,” he hums, never breaking eye contact with you. “Here, since you loved them so much.” With swift movements, he tosses his gloves on your chest, grinning at your astonished expression.

“Well, nothing’s wrong with you,” he says as he stands tall, rolling his shoulders to lessen the strain from being hunched over you for a solid ten minutes. When you respond with nothing but a quiet, blissed-out ‘huh’ he scoffs, decidedly amused.

He clarifies, voice light and casual. “The pap smear. Nothing abnormal in there.”

Feeling your face heat up, you’re unsure if you should curse out or thank Doctor Ieiri for taking a vacation at the same time you needed to schedule your annual checkup.

— 𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢.

You don’t know what you’ve done in your past life for Celestia to reward you with the most caring, loving boyfriend in the world but you’re not complaining—not one bit.

Even something as banal as waking up next to him is a blessing in it of itself; watching his hair drape over bare shoulders, locks shimmering like a river of gold beneath the sun’s rays peeking through your curtains—you could die happy if it meant dying at his side.

You get to admire him when he goes through his—your morning routine. Brushing your teeth together, cooking and then eating breakfast together, basking in the lively sounds of the city beneath your patio as you engage in easy, comfortable conversation with none other than Rex Lapis while you eat.

The one thing you’re certain you would never tire of—not that you’d get tired of anything when it came to him either way—is watching him get dressed.

There’s something so comforting and entirely domestic when it comes to helping your lover slip out of his pajamas and into his day clothes. Kisses are a common form of currency between you two, exchanged gingerly when you hand him an article of clothing. He never fails to make you feel loved, and you bask in the affection like a cat sprawled out beneath a window on a sunny afternoon.

Though, one sure-fire way to obliterate the cozy atmosphere within your flat is, you’ve recently discovered, to stare at Zhongli just a liiittle bit too hard when he gets dressed.

Specifically, his arms and hands.

Strong, scarred biceps that used to reshape the mountains of Liyue leading to elegant, lithe fingers. Sleeves that hide intricate, delicate black and grey markings on his arms that fade into a rich golden yellow, adorned with veins of the same color that make him look even more expensive than he already does.

But when he adds the finishing touch and slips on those pretty gloves with his rings?

It’s like you just defy all normal bodily functions and start ovulating even if you’re nowhere near that part of your cycle.

“Dearest? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately, is everything alright?”

...Though, of course, Zhongli hasn’t been up to date with your newly raging hormones because how are you supposed to tell him you can’t help popping a metaphorical boner every time he puts his gloves on.

“You’re fi—I mean, I’m fine! Yes. Everything’s okay!”

He is the concept of temptation itself. You’re certain that if you had a dick, you would have passed out cold on the floor from your blood rushing down to your hard-on every time you merely lay eyes on his beautiful self.

And it’s gotten even worse these last couple of days; all because he cupped your cheek one morning before he left for the funeral parlor, and left a salacious kiss on your lips that left more than just your usual desire brewing in your abdomen. The material of his gloves left your skin feeling pleasantly tingly for a reason you couldn’t explain.

….Those stupid gloves.

“I can tell something’s bothering you.” Long legs stride over the bed as he closes the distance between you two. “What’s wrong?”

He’s half-dressed, with his tie slung around his nape and both his vest and tailored coat lying flat on your shared bed, next to where you sat. You sheepishly avoid eye-contact; with how perceptive he is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he hit you with a nonchalant ‘hey babe are you turned on because of my hands and gloves?’

No.

Yes.

“It’s nothing,” you hum. “You should finish getting dressed, don’t you have a meeting in half an hour? Director Hu won’t be happy if you-”

Zhongli places his thumb and forefinger on and beneath your chin, gently tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “That’s not what I asked, darling.” You suppress a gasp; but focusing on anything but the scrumptious man in front of you is a task more daunting than Sisyphus having to carry that stupid boulder up that stupid mountain.

“Promise you won’t laugh.” Your voice comes out so meek you fear he might make you repeat yourself, but ever the gentleman, Zhongli merely hums, coaxing you to continue. “I won’t,” he says softly.

You swallow, clearing out your throat before speaking. “It’s, uh,” you murmur. “Your gloves are... nice...”

Unable to hold his gaze, you look away. The warmth of the morning sun beating on your back isn’t entirely helping your situation, as beads of sweat form at your hairline from the sheer pressure he kept over you. Curse his Archon blood.

But Zhongli merely stares, lids relaxed as he tries to dissect you with his eyes. “They are, thank you,” he chuckles quietly, lips curling up into a soft smile. “Are you sure that’s everything, though? You know you can tell me anything, right my dear?”

“Um,” you deflate, partly wishing for that to be the end of it. “...Are you sure you won’t laugh?”

“I promise,” he confirms.

Huffing, you internally think of how much mora you would have to take out of your savings to get a name change and disappear off the face of Teyvat if he ends up going back on his promise.

“Your gloves,” you reiterate slowly. “I like them. A lot.”

He blinks, expression entirely unchanging as he keeps staring. He tilts his head, wordlessly expressing complete and utter confusion.

“They’re, uh... I’m just.” You clench and unclench your hands at your sides, too aware of his calm breathing compared to your erratic heartbeat. “...Youmakemehorny.”

With your fists clenching the sheets and your gaze firmly planted on the wall, you fail to notice the amused quirk of his lips and his shoulders bobbing up and down from holding in his laugh. “What was that?”

You exhale sharply as your lips press into a tight line, but his patience greatly outweighs your own and you fold. “Your gloves turn me on! It’s hot! When you wear them!”

True to his word, Zhongli doesn’t laugh—not a peep. You do think you hear a chuckle leave his lips though, but when you finally glance at him again, you’re met with a look that might have made you implode on the spot if this were your first time together. “Zhongli—”

“Thank you for being open with me, my dear,” he cuts you off smoothly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on your lips. Pulling away slowly, he looks at you with such intensity that you fear for your legs in the future. “Shall I reward you?”

...

“Ngh—Zhongli...!”

You two had been at it for... what, twenty? Thirty minutes straight? You don’t remember what happened after you admitted what had been on your mind for almost a week; he wasted no time and immediately got to work.

Talk about dedication.

Chin covered in your slick, Zhongli laps up the juices spilling out of your puffy pussy, dragging out your last orgasm—the third of the session. He groans as the sweet taste hits his tastebuds, the Archon’s hips unconsciously rutting against the bed; the tent in his slacks was borderline painful, but being the gentleman he is, it was his duty to get you off before the main course.

“Ride it out darling,” he hums, pumping two gloved fingers in and out of you at a leisurely pace. The obscene noise of your juices echo in your mind, making you clench around his digits with carnal need for something more—something bigger.

“I-I can’t, I want...” you trail off, weakly tugging at his disheveled hair. The hair tie he used slipped uselessly off of his locks, having fallen victim to your vicious pulling of his hair. “Please, baby,” you beg weakly, still choked up from your climax(es).

With one last, long lick, he pulls away from your cunt. The sight of his cum covered face makes you whine with desire, but as your eyes trail down, your mind immediately forgets about needing his tongue back on your clit. He shuffles up the bed and straddles your hips, bucking up against your wetness.

Slick covers his crotch, and you can’t help but stare at his bulging cock pressing against the fabric of his pants. “See something you like?” he taunts, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to lick them clean from your juices.

You stare at his lips, then back down to his very obvious hard-on, and back to his lips again.

His figure shadows yours as he cages you in with his forearms, golden eyes piercing into your own. “Zhongli...” you reach down to tug at his belt, looking up at your beloved with big, glossy eyes. “Please don’t make me beg.”

A hand comes up to your face, stroking your cheek gently. He brings it down to tug on your bottom lip, smearing his saliva on your skin as a gentle smile spreads across his face. “Of course not, darling,” he hums. “I know what you need anyways, so there’s no need to tell me.”

He swiftly unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, exposing the prominent wet patch on his briefs. “See what you do to me?” Zhongli purrs, watching your fingers impatiently pull down his underwear, shuddering when his heavy cock smacks against your cunt. “You’re not the only one here that gets riled up in such a way.”

You whine, dragging your hand up and down his throbbing length, pushing it down at the same time as you slide up the bed just enough for his flushed tip to snag onto your entrance.

“Z-Zhonglii...!” you huff again, impatiently grinding down onto him, desperately needing him to fill you already. A chuckle slips past his lips, and he pulls himself out of his short-lived trance that consisted of staring at his beautiful partner to cup your face.

“I’m sorry darling,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your nose so gently it feels like a butterfly brushed your flushed skin. “You just looked too beautiful not to admire.”

The compliment makes heat bloom onto your face, but as quickly as your expression melted into a love-stricken one, it morphs into pleasure as you gasp, feeling him push his fat cock into your needy hole.

“Fuck—so tight,” he mumbles, slowly bottoming out. “Are you alright, darling? Do you need a minute?” Zhongli huffs, brows pinched together as he exerts his self-control to not just ram himself into you immediately. You shake your head quickly, jaw slack, desperately trying to create more friction against your g-spot.

“Please just—” you choke on your words, feeling him pull back and thrust into you again in one swift movement, the slap of skin against skin making your skin burn with both arousal and embarrassment.

Zhongli’s right hand slides down to pull your shirt up over your chest, and almost immediately he gropes your breast, groaning at the feeling of the fat of your tit spilling out from between his fingers.

“So good to me,” he praises, amber gaze burning into you, studying your expression to burn it within his mind. “I can feel you clenching around me.”

He swallows, trying so hard not to bust right then and there. “D’you want to cum, darling? Are you close?”

Whimpering, you grab his left wrist and tug, looking up at him with a gasp. “Mhm,” you hum quietly, while biting your lip. Shlick sounds invade your eardrums, forcing soft little gasps to leave your lips in tandem with his thrusts.

“My sweetheart.” The Archon slides his left hand down your face to your throat, pushing down just enough to make your head feel lighter. The cold metal of his rings makes a shiver run up your spine, and as you choke out a gasp, Zhongli brings his other hand down between your bodies to rub your clit.

“Go on, cum for me darling.” He grunts, shutting his eyes to hold his impending orgasm back. “P-Please, need to feel that gorgeous pussy milking me before I do,” he breathes out, focusing on the pressure he kept on your throat.

Your eyelids flutter; and as your eyes roll up to the back of your head, you buck your hips up to meet his thrusts, clenching dangerously around his shaft. He thrusts once, twice, and you feel the dam snap as you gush around him, your back arching clean off the bed. You claw at his arms, writhing against the bed as moans leave your throat in waves in rhythm with your orgasm.

Zhongli’s brows furrow and his thrusts slow as you cum, but right as he blinks the bleariness away and meets your glossy, fucked-out gaze, he feels his heart clench.

“Haah, m-my love—”

Unable to speak a warning into existence, he shoots his load into you, painting your walls white with thick, warm cum. Pretty moans leave him as his head droops down to the junction of your neck, and his hips stutter while instinctively pushing his cum deeper into you, overstimulating both you and himself.

“Z-Zhongli, ‘s too much,” you whimper, pressing your palms onto his clothed chest—a poor attempt of pushing him away. “Too full...!”

Reluctantly, he gives you some breathing room and sits on his haunches to catch his breath. Watching your cunt flutter around nothing, he hums, pressing his hand on your lower stomach to watch the cum pool down the sheets with a hungry gaze. “Mm, I beg to differ,” he coos, flashing you a smirk. “There’s plenty of space left still.”

Your limbs rest numbly as you lay there on your shared bed, completely breathless. Your gaze flickers to the hand he kept on top of your stomach, and your pussy instantly clenches at the sight.

“Then... how about round two?”

v. taglist — @leiselotte, @sukunadckrider, @moraxnomora, @skylar896, @callinz, @animecinnamonroll99 , @pe4rl-diver, @kimisukimimi, @casuallynotthirsty, @coffee-ground-bones

#mdni and support creators dividers by the goat cafekitsune #again i cant Not yap im so sorry #when will catscidr stop with the unnecessary exposition. We Dont Know #ill try to stop and js go /mostly/ straight to smut next week #im sorry exposition is basically just foreplay to me #and foreplay is IMPORTANT!!!#geto x reader #kenjaku x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #cw dubcon #kinktober 2024

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