#I miss you wanting me as much as I wanted you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinescent-and-gingerbread · 2 days ago

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Oh please, don't say thank you for that Cassie!! I'm the one being honored to tag you in!! 💞

I'm very relieved to see you liked part II just as much! This series has grown much more than I expected when I first published the original one-shot (which comes with its share of stress and pressure to live up to the first part...😬). So, reading such kind words coming from you really is heartwarming to me!

And eheh, the shawl!! Really delighted it had that effect! I knew the painting I showed thanks to Ari's post would probably lead you guys down the wrong path, so I'm glad you got surprised in the good way!

Once again, thank you so much for your sweet, sweet words. Have the best of days, Cassie, mon petit croissant au choc' !🥐💞

✧ Fantasies in the dark - II

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur's obsession with you intensifies and reaches a point of no return when you catch him red-handed... ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation (again), Arthur is still a little pervy, stripping, p in v, Arthur's self-esteem's still shitty, sub!Arthur at first then switches into dom, Reader is a BIG tease. Mainly Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 5k (oops) Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II

A ruby, squared, soft form.

His eyes are stuck on it as his thoughts unthread and tangle endlessly in his brain.

Arthur was a damned man. He had been for a while now and this fatality had settled into his head for a few years already. His sins were so numerous and varied that he hadn’t even considered the thought of going to rest in Heaven when the Grim Reaper would finally put an end to his sufferings.

But even considering all of this, the gunslinger had definitely not planned on adding a new sin to his list by jerking himself off while watching you almost every night for more than half a month. Oh, the same old speech was still playing in his head; his gesture leaking with shame and muscles sweaty from fear of getting caught. The adrenaline and depravation of the act, the sweet, sweet relief of his orgasm, and the momentary satisfaction he was pulling out of it every time was a very dangerous cocktail; he knew it.

He knew, knew, knew everything of that, of course he did. And still, his fingers opening his fly carelessly. Still, his eyes searching for this sublime silhouette of yours. Still, his cock hardening, itching, burning, begging to be grabbed. And still, his hands taking the doomed responsibility of answering the call. Still his muffled groans, his lips bitten, his silent words spoken in his head, your body joining him. Still, your hand, instead of his. His spend, less and less consistent, spurting quickly and spreading on his dirty clothes, the silence following, the emptiness, the shame, the guilt, the coldness amplified by his intimate fantasies. Like those dark loud nights of storms, air charged with electricity, and left in heavy disturbing quietness after the last lightning struck. Still, dreaming, wanting, longing.

Still you.

He felt insatiable, like an enraged, mad dog, pathetic bastard. And paradoxically, as he finally had found sleep again after allowing his body what it needed, he felt weaker than ever. Weakened by you.

You hadn't left him after the first night he had succumbed to temptation. You had branded his spirit with a red-hot iron. Damned him to a lifetime of ache, a mortal succumbing to a Mermaid's melody and sailing in search of her on an infinite sea.

A ruby, squared, soft form.

It’s your shawl lying on a chair. You forgot it a few minutes ago, but he didn’t say anything about it. He’s still looking at it, hands fidgeting, mind pondering. What’s good and what’s bad. The ugliness of his self and soul. The risks, the benefits.

He thinks back to the day you and him just shared. A job in Rhodes, “needing to be taken care of by two people”, Dutch’s words. He had sent him, which was predictable —the gang’s workhorse rarely knows rest. But you? It surprised him a whole lot more. Something about the job requesting some “feminine charm”. He hadn’t complained. Not when he had realized he would be able to spend some time alone with you.

And his gaze had been wandering way more than what common decency was allowing him to. Staring and dreaming were all he had been doing lately, anyhow.

Looking at the delicious cleavage your fancy dress was offering when you got out of your tent and joined him back at camp, your breasts pressed up and round, almost impossible not to devour with his eyes. All he could do was make a sarcastic comment about it as the only defense against his urges. You moron Morgan, just say something nice for once. Luckily -or not- for him, you had wrapped your appealing shoulders in the sophisticated cherry-colored cape to prevent the coldness of the night.

Looking at your back as you both rode into town, looking at your neck when he helped you off your horse once into Rhodes. Looking at your lips as you two were sat in one of the Parlor’s house boxes, the job long-forgotten when he had noticed this little wrinkle next to your lips, that one you have when you laugh and find something funny. He would have to add it to his endless sketches of you.

Looking at your thin, sneaky hands from afar as they were slipping into that wealthy gentleman’s pocket to steal the papers you were both here for in the first place. It all felt distant and insignificant to him now, as a forgettable theater play set in the background.

Later, you had been the one looking at him when he had come to your rescue. The “gentleman” was being insistent with you. As you both had crossed eyes from across the reception room, Arthur had read your apprehension and silent call for help in just a split second. And here he was, puffing out his chest, look dark and intense, muscles tensed. The perfect look of a man you don’t want to cross, that look he and Hosea had worked hard on building, scars and broad shoulders gained after all these years of intimidation. He was so used to it by now he wasn’t even sure he knew how to be anything else. His pointer finger tapping threateningly on the shiny Deputy Star he had on his jacket and his deep, menacing tone had acted as the final details. You should leave the lady alone and get some fresh air, pal. The fool had dropped the case and returned with his tail between his legs without any clue what had actually happened.

And then, your sweet voice asking for a drink. “Come on, we got to celebrate! Finally, a job well handled without a drop of blood.” How could he ever say no to that? It was almost too good to be true. Spending the evening with you, laughing, talking, philosophizing.

Arthur didn’t know he could be that talkative. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was your presence. Maybe a bit of both. And he had paid for everything. A good hot dinner for both of you, your drinks, and two rooms the moment you told him you were too tired to ride back to camp. Oh, he could have given you all the Wolrd’s treasure if that meant you would keep looking at him with these pretty playful eyes.

As the evening passed, the gentle flow of your endless conversations had led you from the bar to the stairs, to the second floor, to the hallway, and eventually to his room, naturally and serenely, like a rowboat ride on a summer lake.

And finally, after a few yawns exchanged, some delicate eyelids rubbed by you, you had left him to sleep, completely forgetting about your shawl, hanging on one of his room’s chairs. And you had greeted each other goodnight. As friends. This was all he would ever be to you, he knew it. And it was better that way. Like this, he was preserving you from having a pathetic man and a pathetic life being his. He was like an infertile soil, anyway. Any seed you would plant and try to harvest with him would end up rotten, corrupted. Fruitless.

And now left in the stillness of the room, in this deafening silence without the sound of your voice, his vision fixated on your abandoned piece of clothing, the most sinful of all thoughts is digging its way through the fibers of his brain, fed by need and alcohol, gnawing at his neurons, eating up any rational reasoning.

A ruby, tempting garment of yours.

He wants to grab it. To smell it. He wants your perfume to completely fill his nose, so much it would be like drowning in your scent. You wouldn’t be coming back for it anyway, considering how tired you looked a few minutes ago. And you’d never know about it. Just like you didn’t know he was watching you all this time through the fabric of your tent. After all, he was already so deep down into this rabbit hole of lust, what would it change?

And just like that, before he can even think about it more, his arm is already extending, his fingers wrapping around the forbidden fruit.

A descent into Hell he is not able to stop nor control. And at the same time, it feels like getting closer to Heaven.

He lays on the bed, back against the coarse sheets that still felt better than his cot back at camp, and brings your stole to his nose, almost covering his face with it. He closes his eyes.

And he breathes in.

Hell. If God wanted him to stay virtuous, why did he create such a temptatious woman like you? Your scent is without any surprise just as irresistible and bewitching as your whole self.

The fruity notes of it remind him of your skin and lips he wants to taste so badly, a mouth-watering gourmet scent. The floral and fresh ones, of this sparkling mischievousness in your eyes. And in the end, as he exhales, warm and spicy aromas rain on him. They fill his mind with a deep sense of comfort, as if scenting directly your hair. It’s intoxicating, spellbinding. Driving him deeper into his madness. He doesn’t try to resist, not anymore, this delightful fresco of fragrances painted just for him.

Naturally and almost subconsciously, his vicious right hand reaches his crotch. He’s already hard. Just by smelling your shawl.

This time you’ve really hit rock bottom, old bastard.

He doesn’t even bother thinking about it more, he already knows he’s too deep in; already knows he won’t be able to stop himself.

Ah shit, screw it, jus’ a quick wank.

He quickly unbuckles his holster belt, then unbuttons his pants, and snakes his hand between the folds of his union suit. A silent swift dance he is used to repeating by now.

He breathes again a long, deep whiff, and wraps his fingers around his cock thinking of you, once more.

He sees you and your perfect body, and everything blends and blurs in his heated psyche. The form of your breasts and ass through the tent's canvas he knew by heart at this point. Your smirk, your eyes looking back at his, only his during this night spent together. Your heady, addicting scent surrounds him and fuels his fantasies even more, making them more vivid than before, the soft fabric of the stole against his skin a light caress he imagines yours.

He strokes and strokes and strokes, he needs it more than ever, even if, truth be told, every time is more than ever. His pinkish cock’s head is reddened and swollen from having been rubbed so many times lately, sensible and almost pained. But he doesn't care. It makes him feel even more alive. Even more here. Simply better.

He wants his body to feel pleasure. Pleasure, for once, instead of pain. Pain all the time, pain everywhere, bullets through his muscles, knives on his skin, cutting through his flesh, fists against his bones, breaking his jaws, his nose, his cheeks. Broken, used, beaten, ripped, bruised, overworked, abused. Oh, he’s tired of it. Only in those prohibited moments, he can experience pleasure. No matter how wicked and profane.

The room is now filled with those wet, fast-paced sounds, his rustling against the sheets, and the smallest of grunts coming from his unholy lips as he fucks his fist. Your name escapes him from time to time, muffled by your shawl he's still holding all against him with his left hand, and breathing the air from.

As if all the World’s oxygen would never be as good as breathing through it. As if everything else would feel thick and fusty in his lungs. No Mountains, no Oceans, no flowers, not the tastiest food, nothing could ever compete with smelling your scent.

Stroke, stroke, stroke. Goddamn it, she’s perfect. A big, hard stroke. Oh God, yes, just a bit more…

Too absorbed by his delirious daydream, he doesn't notice right away the creaking of the door as you enter his room again, searching for the very thing he's using to masturbate right now.

“Arthur, I’m sorry to bother you again but I think I forgot my sh—”

You freeze.

SHIT! He instantly curses loudly and jumps from the bed so suddenly that he almost falls to the ground. A stumbling mess, his holster crashes on the wooden floor with a loud percussive sound as he shoves his member back into his clothes as fast as possible, looking like a disjointed chaos of limbs. He is mortified. There is no way in the world you won’t understand what was just happening. He ends up standing next to the bed, after having thrown your cape at the other corner of the room with such force it looked like the damn thing was made of burning iron. And he doesn’t even know why. Maybe to distance himself from his sins. To try and erase this horrible vision from your pretty eyes. His labored breath and fast-beating heartbeat are now ruled by panic instead of lust. For all his life he had never experienced such shame and felt so utterly stupid.

There is a small moment of silence, heavy and embarrassed. A little time of denying. No, this can’t be happening. But your look turns in circles from the bed, him, and the scarf, circling him like a cornered animal. That’s it, his pride is dead right here in this stupid hotel room. You see right through him, he’s sure of it. Your piercing beautiful gaze lands on his ears a few times, and he knows they’re crimson just by the heat he can feel on them. But the worst thing of all is his bulge, obvious and raised up as a flag right in the middle of his thighs, under his badly buttoned fly. Like a Mausoleum to his Dignity. The damn thing refusing to shrink and obviously screaming loudly his offence to the whole World. All the contrary, your gaze falling on it produces the exact opposite of what he wants, his cock almost twitching in return.

Damn it!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!-

“Where you… Hum…” You start, before clearing your throat slightly.

“ ‘m sorry, Am… I didn’t mean to… ‘m such a goddamn fool.” This is the best he can come up with. What excuses could he have anyway? Nothing could justify what he did.

You had never heard his deep asserted voice so chagrined. Utter fear and shame. You didn’t even know he could feel that way.

His gaze is fixated on his dirty boots, refusing to cross yours. Just as goddamn dirty as me.

“Were you pleasuring yourself, Mister Morgan?” You ask, your tone slightly playful. He doesn’t see it, but a mischievous grin settles on your face.

He takes your tone as a mocking one. You would have all the right to mock him. That’s all he deserved.

He tries to answer but doesn't even dare to admit it verbally, as if it would aggravate his situation. He just nods slowly, as seriously as if he was at a funeral.

“With one of my clothes?” You ask again, your grin widening.

Another nod, his eyes shutting as if he had been hit by something, your sentence making the whole thing even worse. Oh, just a few seconds ago, he was feeling more present and alive than ever, and now all he wanted was to disappear or die.

He hears more than he sees your steps on the parquet. Every stomping sound hurt him a bit more. He doesn't even dare to move. As if everything he would do from now would offend you. Even breathing, no, even existing is too much.

She’s going to slap me. A step. She's going to yell in my face. Another step. I’m dead. A final step.

You’re so close to him now he’s holding his breath, eyes closed, ready to face the well-deserved punishment of your choice for his trespass.

But he's only met with stillness until you speak again.

“Arthur, do you really think I was that hot in my tent, every night?”

The words reach his ears but his brain refuses them. His mouth opens in astonishment. He closes it to swallow loudly and opens it again as if trying to speak in utter confusion.

“You… I… Wait, really?”

“I never thought you could be that naive, honestly.” You answer, a little chuckle escaping you. One of your hands slowly reaches the side of his face, but he still shivers slightly when it touches him. You guide his head back up for him to finally look you in the eyes.

Arthur's two blue sapphires are topped with anxious brows. A bright confusion and a soft vulnerability. They don’t settle too long on one point of your face out of nervousness, as if they could burn you.

“M-me neither.” He simply whispers, a bashful, nervous smile settling on his mouth. He still doesn’t move.

“Do you really think I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, mmh?” You continue, your fingers traveling from his face all the way down his neck, gently caressing the base of his hair.

You can’t be serious right now.

“I… I don’ know…” And he really doesn’t. This is all so unbelievable to him that he’s persuaded this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up any moment.

The only thing anchoring him to reality is your fingers exploring him, making him slowly let out the breath he had been holding in his chest.

“Let me help you finish what you've started…” You murmur, voice low and obvious to what you’re implying, sultry, suggestive.

He feels his shaft pulsing again instantly in answer, his body once again taking the lead. He’s about to say something, to ask you if you’re sure you want to do this with an old bitter moron like him, but one of your hands is already reaching straight to his crotch, palming his warm, needy erection.

“Anh…!” The moan turning into a groan he lets out duplicates your own arousal.

His hips rock against your hand involuntarily, the need for contact of any sort getting more powerful than his shame. He still doesn’t dare do much to you though, not wanting to cross any more limits. He lets you handle him just like you want. He lets the flow of life take him instead of fighting against it, for once. The only gesture he allows is settling his big hands on your back, sweaty and almost shaking.

Oh, your sneaky fingers. They touch and grope and palpate, and he sighs louder. It feels so much better, to have your hand touching him.

After a few more teasing caresses, you sway in a smooth motion and playfully push him backward, making him fall on the bed. He sits there, looking up at you with those two adoring cerulean pupils, as if you were the Sun itself. A distant magnificent star, impossible for him to reach, condemned to only contemplate.

“Get your clothes off.” You order, his reactions making you more confident and straightforward than usual.

He is quick to obey. You could have asked him to jump off a cliff and he would have done it without even thinking. His clothes fall one by one on the floor and you feast on every area of skin he’s offering you. He ends up entirely naked for your eyes. This Titan, cascade of virile hairs everywhere, prominent scarred muscles carved into stone by Ares himself, gorged with raw powerfulness and designed to kill. To survive. And between those open thick thighs, his aroused member. The one he thought of as the triumph of his shame a few minutes ago, is now the Apotheosis of his Glory. Thick, long, hard like him, surrounded by a crown of tawny curls.

“Look at you…” You let out, almost licking your lips. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t see what you do at all. Instead, he let his gaze wander on your chest, and you can almost hear the silent plea in his gaze for you to join his nakedness.

Standing right in front of him, you begin to strip yourself out of your clothes, agonizingly slowly, your face displaying this provocative grin that turns him on so much. It’s purposeful, and you feel your own arousal rising as you notice the red coming back to his cheeks and ears.

First, your boots and socks, discovering your delicate legs. Then your blouse, showing your shoulder and chest, then your skirt. He stays silent all the while, enjoying your little show more than you could imagine. Your hips swaying, your arms gracefully dancing, each piece of clothing falling on the ground, this is all a trance he's getting hypnotized by.

Seeing you undress just for him after all those nights spent on his cot touching himself watching your shadow is like adding all the missing color from a masterpiece, enhancing and fulfilling.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” You purr proudly, now in your undergarments.

“God yes. Yer a real’ angel.” He praises in a fevered-like whisper.

You smirk as all answer. “Come on now, show me those dirty things you’ve been doing.” You speak while nodding at his crotch in an almost challenging way.

His hand instantly reaches for his cock. It was itching him to since you had looked at it earlier. He presses his fingers hard around it and he grunts softly, the sound incredible to your ears. Obeying you and surrendering fully to his depravation, he slowly starts stroking himself again while watching you intensely. What did he do to deserve such a splendid spectacle?

That’s when you decide to slowly bend inward and undo the last pieces of clothing you still have. Just a few gestures and your breasts are bare and hanging for him to look at. Jeee-sus. You see and hear his hand speeding up.

Lastly, you reveal your own sex to him, a pearl between those gorgeous thighs of yours, and he curses out loud this time.

“You're so goddamn beautiful. I could... Damn, I could finish right now jus' lookin' atchu.” He confesses, his cheeks, ears, and chest getting even redder at his own words.

“Really, uh? You're quite easy to tease, Mister Morgan.” You tease, before turning around and bending again, wanting him to see your bottom, taking a more than suggestive position with your ass up.

“Oh, for God sake.” He nearly chokes, his rhythm accelerating again; almost frenetic. This is all he ever wanted during those cold lonely moments. All he ever needed to see. And he can’t help but engrave every little detail in his mind; the little scars you have here and there, the different tone and grain of your skin, your hairs, your body’s hollows and bumps. Every little imperfection. And they make it all even better. Better than any fantasies he had ever pictured in the past few weeks. Because they are making you yourself.

You turn again to face him and straddle his lap, unable to resist your own urges that had been building and building since you had found him touching himself to the thought of you.

That’s when something finally lights up in his mind. The moment he feels your soft, warm thighs around him, and how you’re soaked in between them, it hits him. You’ve been wanting him just as badly as he wanted you. As odd and surprising as it sounds to him. This new reality is right there against his tip as you start rubbing your entrance against it, teasing, playing, pressing just a few inches in, gently praising how big he looks and how good it would be to have him inside of you.

That thing inside of him explodes.

Suddenly his hands are all over you. Touching everything they can, discovering, molding your curves under his fingertips. Hands on your thighs, hands on your hips, waist, neck. Each part of you touched is breaking every chain that was holding him back, one by one. These perfect sensations blind him to any reasoning, any sense of restrain, and push him to palm your breasts. God, the softness, the warmth. He sighs in appreciation as he kneads both of them and you join his pleasured breathing.

More.

One of his hands leaves your chest to grab your ass, roughly, and he squeezes, hard, while he sucks on the breast that has been abandoned. “Arthur!” You moan out in return, pleasured and surprised voice, mouth left open in delight. Oh, he will satisfy you. Those renewed vows appear as clear as day between the mess of his head as he keeps devouring your nipple endlessly, almost suckling at it. He will push that voice of you to its limit, break it until you won’t be able to scream.

“That’ what you wanted all this time, uh? Drivin’ me insane?”

You search for something clever to throw back at him but the calloused hand on your breast suddenly reaches your cunt and you gasp instead.

“That’ what you do? Torture poor devil like me until they can’t help but fall for you?” He asks again, his confidence heightened by your sweet sounds, his tone getting darker and darker. Touching your folds pleasures him almost as much as you, his brows furrowing into a needy and intense expression.

“J-just you… ‘Just wanted you to notice me…” You admit, your hips rolling on his lap and against his hand. His fingers part your cunt and trace their own way through this little Heaven, exploring this place he had craved so much; and it makes him more excited than any thoughts he could have had on his own.

“Well, that sure worked, girl.”

He lets go of your pussy and you squeal in protest, almost ashamed of your own sound. He smiles triumphantly at you, feeling satisfied to give you a taste of your own medicine. He wraps both of his arms around your waist, your chest ending up pressed against his face; his nose is shoved in it and he sighs louder this time.

He can’t wait any longer. Not when he has been dreaming of this for weeks. Not after discovering your unforgettable perfume. Not after having felt this wet, warm promise of your entrance. He looks up at your face, searching for any trace of disgust or apprehension but you're completely free from any. Mouth agape, breaths deep and hips shamelessly searching for his, you're even more gorgeous than before, and he snaps.

He guides you carefully, his hands warm and hard against your bare skin. And he pushes.

His sex entering you slowly is deliciously hard and hot. His cockhead is big, way bigger than what you’re used to, and feels so good already. His arms hold you in place as he pushes again, wanting to be completely stuffed in, a long, low growling sound accompanying his movement. Oh, Christ Almighty. He had never felt so good than buried like this in your warm, silky, divine cunt right now.

Once fully settled, you both sighs and breath loudly for just a few seconds, your gazes meeting and silently agreeing on how fucking delicious this feels. Then you move up, wanting to ride him, feeling his shaft pull out as you do, but his arms grab you tighter and put your hips back in place.

“God!” You whine as you feel his length plunging again and hitting that spot inside of you.

He starts to buck his hips up against yours, unable to resist anything anymore. His rhythm, he wanted slow and meaningful at first, is quickly turning fast and hard, a remnant of how incredibly frustrated and needy he had been all this time.

“I’m gonna -Ohh, shit- I’m gonna show ya what ya get teasin’ me like that.”

Arthur's southern drawl is even more prominent, his voice hoarse and deep from effort. His thrusts up are more and more powerful, making you jump up and down on top of him and for the first time in days he thanks himself for having pleasured himself so many times lately, otherwise he would have come instantly right there in your heat. Your breasts bounce in this erotic, unresistible dance that he’ll remember for every future night he'll spend alone.

“Oh Arthur, don’t stop!”

His cock pulls out and shoves into your cunt so fastly it's rubbing perfectly how you want it deep inside and you reach for his shoulders, needing to hold onto him, already so close. “Yes, yes, yes, right there!”

He hears your accelerating breathing, your higher-pitched moans turning into screams and he searches for your lips with his. Your tender petals against his dirty mouth. But he doesn’t care, there’s only your pussy right now, and your incredible smell he’s filled with once again, just like you’re filled with his tongue and his dick inside of you.

Both his hands grab your ass and he fucks frantically, his balls slapping against it with each thrust, making your plump flesh jiggle and those hitting and smacking sounds resonating throughout the room. Again, and again, and Damn it again.

It’s too much for you.

You cry out loudly as your fingers dig into his shoulders and your head tilts backward, and his big, solid arms keep you pressed against his chest, completely wrapped around you; and he finally, finally feels it. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, instead of pain. This irresistible release, your pussy clenching and squeezing all around his cock. “-Ngh, s-shit yes angel, give it t’me!”

You give it all to him without any resistance and in a obscene scream. And it’s too much for him.

“Ah, God…” He hisses as he feels it coming, quickly pulling you up —as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing— and pressing his cock against your clit, well nestled between your lips.

He reaches your lips again, needing to finish while kissing you, both of your bodies almost sewn together, his moans sounding more and more like primal growls and hisses at every rubbing movement against your core, movements getting faster and faster, impossibly faster, So fucking good, Jesus so goddamned perfect, Perfect, perfect!- Until he finally comes, translucent cum leaking all the way down his shaft and spreading on your lower belly, all panting and grunting, a complete mess; a satiated beast.

It’s better than any of the dreams he ever had, waking or sleeping. And it’s not just the release of this one and only time, it’s the pinnacle of all these lonely pleasures shared with no one in regretful secret.

For the second time that night, he thinks he’s dead.

He falls backward, back against the mattress, and you follow, unable to stand without him. In that silence only disturbed by your exhausted breaths, he turns and grabs the first piece of clothing that he has at hand’s reach, his flannel. He gently uses it to clear your belly from his seed and seeing it, on your smooth and soft skin, makes a wave of culpability crash onto him once again. Shouldn't have done all of this. Should have taken care of her properly.

A dark, glum expression settles on his face and he wraps himself in a deep silence instead of your arms as he finishes to clean the both of you. God, did that man ever know rest for more than a few minutes? At this thought, you bend over to put a small kiss on his forehead, as a thank you for his aftercare.

“Satisfied enough?” You finally break the silence, getting up from the bed –not without stretching your back slightly and swaying your hips before bending to reach for your clothes on the floor.

Arthur cannot help but think of a Nymph as you do all of this still naked. Those irresistible, divine beauties that lure men with a simple move of their finger, as they say in books. He knew it was all stories from another time, but he was more and more convinced they would look exactly like you if they did exist.

“More than in a long time. You?” He replies, voice neutral and features closed as usual. He stays on the bed and put only his pants back, his cock finally softening under the coarse fabric. He never stops looking at you all the while.

“Couldn’t be better”. You assert, your blouse falling back on your upper body. You then roughly fix your hair in this casual, impish way that was yours.

That was driving him insane.

“You’re a little minx, ya know that? Gettin’ naked on purpose every night…”

“Oh, please. You didn’t really complain as far as I know.”

“Nah, but ya did make me insane. Teasin’ littl’ thing y’are.” He says with a fond voice he would have preferred less obvious.

You innocently shrug your shoulders, cheeky grin on your face. The way you're playing with him that easily should have been shaming to him, but he doesn't feel any shame anymore, not after what you have shared.

"Goodnight, Arthur." You throw as all answer, leaving him as you walk through the door of his room. He greets you back, the trimmest trace of longing in his rough voice.

Once again alone, once again cold, Arthur grabs a cigarette from his pocket to smoke before falling asleep; maybe to keep this lingering warmth just a bit longer, the sensations of your body, and especially your sex squeezing around his, still remaining on his skin. Lying completely in the bed, he smiles to himself as he notices you have forgotten your shawl —again. Or maybe you had left it on purpose. Maybe you had both times, now that he is thinking about it. The ruby fabric had landed wrapped all around his old, worn-out leather jacket, like a flame dancing around, enveloping, lapping at a tree.

It looks great that way.

Maybe you were only playing with him. Maybe this was only a one-time thing. But who cared? Tonight, Arthur had been taken care of by a Nymph. And no other mortal pleasure, no other solitaries delights, not even the most lustful and depraved images he could have pulled out of his tormented mind could ever compete with that slice of Olympe you had given to him.

a/n: Yeah, 5K words, I knooow! I'm hopeless. It's quite a lot, but I didn't feel like cutting, nothing felt right. What can I say except thank you, so much, for everyone's interest in the first part, for your notes, comments and reblogs, and for reading all of this! I am in utter PANIC rn because I feel like nothing I could write would be as good or as well received as the first part, but here it is! I really hope it didn't disappoint!

Also, to give Caesar what belongs to Caesar, the holster falling was completely inspired by my dear @zae-heeyyy's Piquancy (II)! I thought it would fit the comical aspect of the scene eheh (go check it out)

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in a part2, really sorry if I missed anyone!)

#yes I'm going to call you with every French baked goods 😂#idk i just love it #thank you again #so so much Cassie!!#also please keep tagging me into your own work!!#don't want to miss of crumb of it #reblog

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euthymiya · 2 days ago

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if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did) — ft. sylus

synopsis: sylus is too causal with accepting pain. you don’t like seeing him hurt, so the best solution you can come up with is seeing him in pleasure

❤︎ word count: 2.4k words — it’s a miracle i kept it this short

❤︎ before you read: female hunter reader ; mature content. not suitable for minors ; not an established relationship but implied romantic connection. idk it’s complicated LOL ; injured sylus ; described blood and injuries ; evol inhibitors to make his injuries a bit more serious ; not proof read : hand jobs ; banter ; that’s pretty much it just wanted to write him cumming

❤︎ comments: i am posting this 3 mins before i need to leave for work this man has me hustling before my hustle rip

The safe house is quiet. Not including the sounds of Sylus’s low, pained grunts as you dress his wounds, it’s quiet. You’re quiet, and it’s unsettling—on a typical day, you’re more than half the noise.

(In a good way, of course. Sylus is not a liar by any means, and saying he doesn’t like the constant sound of your voice as you talk would be a ridiculously big lie. He values the truth in things.)

It means you’re brooding. Sulky, petulant brooding. He’ll just have to fix that, he thinks—and soon, too.

“I’ll have to trouble you a bit longer, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breaking the silence as he glances at his arm.

You glance up and stare at the damage: a stab wound to his abdomen, a gash on his arm, and ugly, unwelcome bruises littering across soft, slightly tanned skin.

You frown. It borders on a scowl. He watches as you carefully stitch the wound closed on his lower belly with precise fingers. (Faintly, his mind registers that you’re good at this. Too good at this. He doesn’t like the implications of that—not for his own case and especially not for yours.)

“Does it hurt?” You mumble, finally.

Sylus is not a liar by any means, so he hums, titling your chin up and forcing you to pause. “Yes,” he says truthfully. You’d never guess he was in pain just by the look on his face—but there are always signs if you look close enough.

Sticky, sweaty skin. Deep, labored breaths. Slumped posture that’s so far from his usual tall, towering stance. He looks just a bit tired, too. Like sleeping (something he rarely does enough to be considered healthy) would be his ideal course of action right now.

You frown at his admission. “I told you not to get so close,” you huff, “you never wait for me.”

He chuckles. Deep, slow. Every time Sylus laughs, you’re reminded how powerful he is. How even through the sound of his amusement alone, he sounds important. Wealthy, too, if you’re being honest—he laughs like the rich. But that’s always amused you more than it’s impressed.

“You seem rather distraught, love. Dare I say….you’re concerned?”

“You’re too smart to act this stupid,” you spit.

He grins. It’s large, wide, and all too smug for someone who’s under your hands as you mend back torn skin. Gently, he hums, “so the kitten bears her fangs. How cute.”

Your mood is getting increasingly worse. Sylus knows that—but sometimes, he’s a little selfish. Pushing you harder, cornering you against the wall with smart words and sly teasing is the only way to make you open up sometimes.

And, well, Sylus is no liar. He can’t say he hates getting under your skin entirely—it makes you look at him. And he likes your attention. But more than that, he likes knowing you care.

“You don’t think I’m capable,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes.

“And when did I say that, Miss Hunter?”

“You don’t have to say it, I just know. Otherwise, you’d listen when I tell you to wait,” comes your agitated reply.

Sylus does not wait for you. He jumps into a fight without letting you step foot onto the battlefield. Most times, it’s a minor form of irritation on your end when you’re itching to get in a good few hits. Sometimes, like now, it makes your emotions saturated in every form of distress.

Anger. Sadness. Regret. Panic. All of it simmers and simmers until you feel you’re overflowing with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

He pays the price today—one sloppy dodge of a blade, and it impales his lower abdomen with precision, lacing him with something. Something that evidently is rather good at repressing his evol—he can’t fight nearly as well let alone heal.

You can’t help but feel useless. More than anything, under appreciated. Maybe, if he’d waited just a moment so you could have covered him, then maybe your night would end with less blood on your hands and less pain on his.

“You’re also too bright to act this dim,” he says lowly, voice just a bit tight with pain. You tighten his stitches, and he doesn’t even grimace despite the clearly unpleasant sensation.

“Do tell me,” you glare, “just what am I being dim about?”

“If you think I don’t recognize your capabilities,” he drawls, studying the knife that once tore through his flesh slowly. It’ll be analyzed at the base. You’re certain he’ll figure out just what the blade was laced with and trace it back to its origins soon enough. He sets it down and meets your eyes—deep, rich crimson bleeding into your gaze. “Then maybe you’re not as good at seeing the bigger picture as I thought.”

“That you’re a smug bastard who likes to prove you’re better on your own?”

“That I care about you,” he says plainly. “I can handle it. It’s better you than me.”

“You could have died,” you hiss, “if I wasn’t there—”

“I’d have lived either way,” he says smugly. “Killing me is a rather difficult thing to do. Inflicting pain, on the other hand….well, at least it keeps things interesting.”

Your face drops. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so right. You can injure him all you want, but he heals fast enough that he’s here to stay. Like an annoying thorn that keeps pricking you as you pick roses. Like a weed that just keeps growing back the more you tear them from the ground. He comes back. Annoying as he is, he comes back. And you don’t mind that so much—you think you might even need it that way.

But it always hurts. He bleeds red just like any other person. Grimaces here and there despite how accustomed he is to the agony. Somewhere along the line, his pain became yours.

And you can’t help but be hyper aware of how much you despise it.

“I hate when you’re hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll live,” he soothes, cupping your cheek and swiping a stray tear with a large, callused thumb. You shiver, pouting slightly at the words. “I’ve had worse.”

“But you still feel the pain.”

“Can anyone really avoid that, sweetie?” He raises an amused brow.

Before he can open his mouth to add more, you lean closer, careful not to hurt his wound as you press against his chest and bury your head into his neck, pressing a light kiss to the skin.

His breath hitches, and you think you’ve finally gotten through that thick, stubborn front of his.

“If it hurts,” you murmur, “then I can make it feel good.”

He shivers—barely, of course. But he shivers. It’s a small win. “Oh?” He asks carefully, his good arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. “And how so?”

You press a lingering kiss to his jaw. Your lips are not strangers to Sylus. They know him as well as he knows them too, but you’ve always danced along the edge of more than friends and less than lovers. One second, you think you’ve crossed over the line with graceful steps, the next you fall ten steps back.

Right now, you think you don’t care. Line be damned and whether you’re just friends or lovers, you couldn’t be more unbothered.

“I don’t like when people touch you,” you admit, “not at all. But especially not so….rough.”

“Mmh, jealous are we? Don’t worry, you’re the only one I willingly let touch me,” he grins. You roll your eyes, watching as he shuffles back to lean against the couch and relax.

“I should be the only one who touches you,” you say with an air of petulance.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, placating your mood, “then show me something more gentle,” he whispers.

You smile. It’s the first one of the night, lips curling against the shell of his ear as you breathe, “oh I intend to.”

Just like that, your hand trails up his thigh, carefully tracing along the inner edge of his leg before your palm roams over his crotch. There’s a bulge forming as if on command. Your ego boosts just a little—for all his strength and endurance, one brief, mere little touch from you forces his body to react against his will.

“Is this really where you should be putting in all your effort?” His breath hitches, and the tips of his ears flush a pretty, soft little pink, “my arm still has an open wound, you know.”

“You’ve had worse,” you repeat his words back to him, “but let me show you better.”

It’s quick work, unblocking his belt and unzipping him just enough to gently pull out his half-hard cock. You glance down, smiling at the small bead of pre cum that leaks from the tip, forming a kind little opportunity for you to watch him squirm as your thumb grazes his cockhead to collect it.

You smear it along his length as you slowly stroke him to full hardness, and he offers you a shaky little huffed out, “fuck,” under his breath.

“Does that hurt, too?” You hum, nose pressing into his jaw as you kiss his neck.

“No,” he sighs, melting into you, “no it feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Do you see how nice it is when you just trust me?” You scold, “now apply this to the battlefield, too.”

He chuckles deeply at that, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to fuck his hips into your fist—his stitches are still fragile enough that he doesn’t want to risk tearing them. Instead, he has to trust that you’ll give him what he needs, all on your own.

“I’d rather get hurt and be spoiled like this,” he mumbles, “than risk anything happing to you. Seems like a better option if you ask me.”

“So stubborn,” you click your teeth.

Sylus is not a liar. You know that. If he says you’re capable, then you believe him—and if he says that he’d rather take the brunt of injuries and the pain that comes with them just to finish a fight before you can be involved, you know it’s not a lie. But you don’t always like the truth. You don’t like knowing he uses himself as a shield of sorts for you, as some wall between you and pain or maybe even death just because he can. Just because he heals. Just because he thinks he should.

You don’t always like the truth. Sometimes, you’d rather live in a lie.

So you tell yourself he thinks you’re less than him. That you’re lacking and beneath his approval and you have something to prove—so your hand tightens around his thick, reddened cock and you stroke fast. Quick and to the point.

Enough to have him groaning with an arm instinctively moving to cover his eyes as he throws his head back—only he hisses, feeling the stinging tug on his gash as he moves.

You hum, guiding his arm back down as you cup his cheek and murmur, “careful now. You’re hurt—I wonder whose fault that is.”

He rolls his eyes at the comment—but one swipe of your thumb through his slit has them rolling back in pleasure before he can glare at you. “You’re rather smug today,” he huffs, “do you like seeing me defenseless, sweetheart?”

“Not for the reasons you might think,” you say sweetly, grinning as you peck his cheek. Right where you cut him the first time you met. Right where you think you’ll always have to soothe so he knows you didn’t mean it.

Not anymore, at least.

“You’re far from the innocent kitten you seem to be,” he grins, huffing out a soft laugh as it tapers off into a light, breathy moan.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to make you forget the pain?”

“Oh yes,” he grins. Suddenly, a wave of red wraps around your hand and forces your grip to tighten. “I’ve forgotten I was injured at all.”

His evol, you realize—it’s back.

You stare at the gash on his arm—crimson on crimson as the flurry of his power replaces the blood, leaving behind soft, healthy skin. Not a scar left behind. Not a trace of pain. Not even a faint line of where torn flesh mended together and became new.

He’s had worse, you remember. And he comes back from it every damn time.

Still, you think—you’re going to give him better.

“I don’t want you hurting because of me,” you breathe, leaning into his chest and pressing your weight against him without worry, now. Your hand fists his shirt as his arms wrap around you and keep you close.

Your hand glides along his girth between your bodies, working him up slowly, slowly, slowly until it all feels like it’ll come crashing down all at once. His breath hitches as he lets out a light groan of your name.

It sounds pretty on his tongue. You’re more determined to pull nicer sounds from him, too, so you kiss under his ear lobe, sucking gently on the skin and feeling him let out a soft, labored gasp.

“Will you spoil me like this every time I’m hurt?” Sylus breathes.

You scowl and hiss, “no. Absolutely not. Then you’ll just get hurt more.”

He smiles smugly at the retort, biting his lip as you squeeze your fist around him tighter. “A smart little kitten, aren’t you? Sharpening your claws.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like me enough to worry. I think that says enough.”

“Asshole,” you glare.

He’s shameless, you think. Because the insult brings him to the edge, his mouth falling open to a beautiful face of bliss, body quivering under you in soft tremors of pleasure. Sylus is beautiful. Dark, rough around the edges, and uncut stone with sharp corners. Beautiful enough to want, dangerous enough to slice your fingers if you don’t know how to touch him properly.

You admire him as he spills into your hands, his lips desperately searching yours as he leans closer and pulls you into a kiss, heavy breaths pouring into your mouth as he gives himself to you.

“Good,” he pants, “you…you make me feel so good.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be here for,” you murmur, “so you don’t have to feel pain.”

You stroke him through his orgasm, until he’s soft and pliant and limp under your touch. Gently, you stroke his cheek with a thumb as you cup his face. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

“As capable as you are,” he says quietly, “I like the idea of you spending your energy in other fields of expertise. Sue me.”

“I should,” you purse your lips. “Sue you for all you’re worth.”

“It’ll be worth the troubles,” he says smugly, “you’ll get quite the sum if you manage to.”

And he’s not a liar, either—so you scoff at his smug, truth-telling grin before giving his curved lips a small peck.

Girl . Idk

#—rivistyping!#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus smut #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #lads smut #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l

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okwonyo · 2 days ago

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SUGAR TALKING ꒪ ✿⠀ making doe eyes at them.

TESTI ────── 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖾, 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝗅𝖾𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 !

❪ 日语 ❫ & fem!rea 1OOO fluff established relationship non-idol au ❜ skinship kissing ◜‿◝ REBLOGS&CLICK

지아 ⠀⦂⠀ since it won the poll :O

HEESEUNG

usually, he isn’t the the type to talk too much during movie nights. his hand always in yours as he watches the movie enthusiastically, never missing one bit of it.

but today it seems different— you don’t really know if it’s either because he is very passionate about this specific actor or if it’s because you called the said actor ‘hot’. but he won’t stop talking.

“seriously!” he huffs after a few seconds of calm. he smiles and shakes his head in fake nonchalance, “i don’t understand what he has that i don’t. do you prefe—”

the rest of his sentence dies in his throat when his eyes meet yours. you look at him wide eyed, with a little pout that makes his heart skip.

“shut up please,” you ask with a honey coat voice— his eyes grow wide. he is soon giggling, leaning on you, as if what you just said wasn’t almost an insult.

at least he stops talking.

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹙ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

JAY

it is not a secret that you can get anything you want out of him. whether it’s his money or the entire world— you ask and you shall receive.

therefore, you don’t need to do anything else but ask for something that you want. because you know you got him wrapped around your finger. and that, if you wanted the moon, then you will have the moon.

sometimes, however, there is things that can’t be bought or that are hard to ask for. today, you want his attention.

you decided to not go bother him as you usually do. no, you choose to stare at him from across the room with the most bambi looking eyes you could manage. he should have noticed by now.

the long silence is what alarms him. he looks over you quickly, “are you—” then he looks again and his mouth falls agape. he sighs fondly, “c’mere, baby,”

JAKE

it’s not your fault. it really isn’t. he shouldn’t have been so easy to tease in the first place. getting a blush out of him is too easy and he is way too lovely for you to control yourself.

and ever since he confessed that he loved when you looked at him with those yes— you cannot stop looking at him with those eyes.

for a while, he is too occupied on his phone to even notice. but when his eyes shoots up to meet yours, he immediately smiles.

instinctively biting his lower lip, he stays silent for a while before throwing his head back and whining, “stop doing that!”

your eyes keep watching his growing blush as you laugh, “like what?” and he groans.

SUNGHON

he swears you do it all the time, but the truth is that you don’t even know what he is talking about. he mays affirm that you play dumb in purpose— you don’t, you really don’t.

the thing is that, he would say that you are trying to seduce him whenever you try to do anything. you run a hand through you hair? you want to make out. you grin? you want him to kiss you.

you just assumed he was that down bad.

“you are playing with me,” he smirks, looking down at you. your bodies moves along with the train you are standing in. you were already looking at him, but now there is confusion in your eyes. “don’t look at me like that.”

“what?” you giggle. honestly, you didn’t even know you were looking at him. admiring him is natural as breathing to you, “are you crazy?”

“when you look at me like that,” he whispers as he leans in. your arms are hugging his waist, your head is all the way titled up and he is so handsome, “my heart beats with need.”

SUNOO

you know he doesn’t get mad often— even if he does act like he is. he is too much of a softie to even think of being annoyed with you.

more times than not, he gets sulky. lips puckered as he gives you the silent treatment. it is always for silly things, however, just because he loves when you ask him to talk to you.

“i love you,” you tell him, holding onto his arm. he doesn’t do anything, obviously hiding his smile—and failing. “look at me.”

he takes a deep breath before bringing his focus on your instead of the dishes in front of him. his eyes fall into yours, “stop,” he says. turning red.

he tries to keep his annoyed attitude as hard as possible. he starts to take care of the dishes in the sink again— as if, trying to distract himself.

he keeps peeking at you. unable to control himself, he ends up crumbling. he hides his face in the crook of your neck in embarrassment.

JUNWGON

“my love, i’ll have to go eventually,” his tone is soft, his chuckles makes it harder for you to even consider letting him leave the bed and let him leave you.

he is not even gone. he is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you. you hold his hand with both of yours— chasing after his warmth that you already miss.

you don’t really care where he is going, you want him here. you make the most adorable eyes you can put up, in a tiny voice you say, “can’t you stay a little longer?”

he seems a tad taken aback. on of his eyebrows shots up ever so slightly. pretty red lips forms a ‘o’ and his dimples smiles when he smiles.

gets back under the cover, close to you. he kisses you gently, “work can wait.”

RIKI

“leave me alone!” your boyfriend whines, faking annoyance. he is laying on your bed, next to your plushies, with his hands on your hips as you sit on

him. he acts like he wants to push you away but his grip is way too strong.

he gets up, rather abruptly, making you settle on his laps. he makes sure you are as comfortable as possible but holds your wrists when you try to reach his hair.

“just a few!” giggles makes your voice tremble. you try to get out of his handle but you can’t— he is much stronger that you, “please!”

he looks at the hello kitty hairpins in your hands with narrowed eyes. he doesn’t look against the idea at all, you know he just fights because of principle, “no!”

you tilt your head to the side slightly, the prettiest pout appearing on your lips. you look at him with a specific look— the one who made him choked on his drink the first time. “please, for me,”

you are already wearing a victorious grin as soon as he groans. he ends up with more than just a few hairpins in his hair.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

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megamindsecretlair · 2 days ago

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Said I Wouldn't, Part 1

Pairing: Dad!Terry Richmond x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Cursing, teasing (fem receiving), fingering (female receiving), All consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: Babysitting for Terry had its perks. You were able to see his gorgeous ass every night before heading off to your own house next door. And because he went to the gym on Wednesday nights, you had extra time to explore his room and live in your delusions. But when Terry catches you, you are unprepared for what comes next.

Word Count: 7,608k

AO3 Link

A/N: I...am just going to be honest. I am a WEAK woman when it comes to Aaron and since he's hellbent on killing me, I may as well surrender. Need that man. That full sleeve turned me FERAL. This should be a two-parter. I also fucked around and caught a bug, ugh. Pray for me. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

“Will you marry me?”

You gasped as you turned to Mr. Terry’s son, Troy, as he looked at you with the sweetest expression on his little face. His eyes were wide and pleading, a shy smile on his face, as he glanced at you like you hung the moon.

Aww, how come there were no guys your age who wanted to marry you? Then again, you’d actually have to go out with someone for all that and well, you had better things to do. Like get your degree, find a better job, and actually do the whole adult thing before you brought a man into that.

You licked your lips to give yourself time to think of a proper answer. Though you didn’t know how you were supposed to navigate something like this. Mr. Terry hadn’t given you a laundry list of what was appropriate for you to handle and you were a bit out of your depth.

“That is really sweet of you to ask and you’re very brave. But I am entirely too old for you, buddy,” you said.

Troy tucked his legs beneath him and sidled closer to you. His shoulder knocked into the coffee table disrupting his homework and you fought a smile at the eagerness in his little body. “I’ll be a great husband! I’ll open doors for you and make you chicken nuggets!” He persisted.

See, the definition of romance. Who didn’t want their doors opened for them and chicken nuggets on demand? You put your pen down on the coffee table next to your own abandoned homework. You faced Troy and fought hard to keep the smile from your face. He was being serious so you’d respond in kind.

“That is a very tempting offer, Troy. But I’m very sorry. I have to say no,” you said.

His face crumpled but to his credit, he didn’t cry. He only scrunched up his face like he was lost in thought. He looked so much like Mr. Terry, it was frightening.

“But you’re so pretty! Like Dad said. And you’re a good person. Dad always said to find the prettiest, smartiest, good person and marry them. Not like bad girls,” Troy said.

“What makes a girl bad?” You asked. Out of all the things Troy said, your mind stuck on the fact that Mr. Terry thought you were pretty. It shouldn’t. It was wildly inappropriate, not to mention a cliche and a half, but…Mr. Terry was drop dead fuckin’ gorgeous. If someone like that called someone like you pretty, then…maybe…

“Dad said when they’re ma-man,” Troy said. He scrunched up his face again and then dug a small notebook from his pocket. He flipped a few pages before poking out his bottom lip. “Ma-mani-pu.” Troy sounded out the word, badly, but you knew better than to try and help him.

“Manipulative,” Troy finally pushed out.

You smiled and nodded your head. “That’s very good. You should stay away from those girls. In fact, the only thing on your mind should be those books you stopped paying attention to,” you said and tapped his math homework.

“I can do both,” he said, giving you a grin.

You chuckled. Just like his damn daddy… You rolled your eyes and tapped on his homework again. “Math homework, young man,” you said.

Troy sighed but you could already tell this would be an uphill battle. He sat back on the floor and tucked his legs under the table to complete his homework. He was a bit too small to really manage, but he wanted to be next to you while you did yours.

You worked in silence, working on your own homework, and when Troy was finished you looked over his answers. This new way of doing math was beyond you and that was without struggling from the old way. It looked about right. Hell, Troy needed to look over your homework with how smart he was.

“Great job, buddy. This goes straight to your backpack so you don’t lose it. And then it’s bath time,” you said.

Troy groaned, dropping his head dramatically to the coffee table. Your shoulders danced with silent laughter. What was it about kids avoiding the bath like the plague? Or maybe you were just a weird child all around. You loved taking baths and taking your Bratz dolls with you so they could go “swimming”.

“You know, if you want to make a great husband, there’s nothing girls like more than a boy who has good hygiene,” you said.

“Really?” Troy asked, popping his head up to look at you. “Even you?” After you nodded, Troy packed up his homework into his binder and then rushed to his room. This kid had your entire heart. You’d be sad to stop babysitting for him when Mr. Terry finally figured out what he’d do with the separation from his horrible wife. There would probably be a more permanent, vetted babysitter.

You were absolutely biased against Alivia, Mr. Terry’s wife. After moving in next door about a year ago, you had a front row seat to the awful way she treated Mr. Terry and Troy. Constantly shrieking and belittling them, no matter what they did. Keeping both virtually locked up in the house.

You could count on one hand the amount of times Mr. Terry or Troy had friends over. Or hell, a grandmother or cousin or something. When there were visitors, it was short lived. You were also witness to the screaming match when Mr. Terry finally threw her ass out of the house with nothing but a suitcase a few months back.

How anyone could treat those two like that was beyond you. But you didn’t know all of it. Only what you were able to see and be nosy about. Since you had no real life of your own, you spent your free time making up scenarios about other people. It was fun…until Mr. Terry invited you into their world to be a babysitter.

And since then, your severe crush only grew more ridiculous. Bordering on creepy really. But you just couldn’t help it. You’d have killed to have a life like this. A stable home, a wonderful kid, and a husband who was good and provided. You didn’t think this life was perfect, no life was perfect, but dammit…you yearned.

Troy started the bath and you stood up from behind the coffee table to stretch your legs. You fixed the deep rose colored bodycon dress you wore. Not entirely appropriate, but you skipped laundry day and who knows when you’d get another chance considering one of your roommates was a hog.

You walked down the short hallway to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “I’m in here!” Troy called out.

“Good, make sure you wash behind your ears, please!” You said.

“I will!” Troy called back.

You had about twenty minutes before Troy would be done. So you looked around the house, knowing full well you were alone, and then snuck off to Mr. Terry’s room. Yes, you knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help it.

You managed to swipe an old T-shirt of Mr. Terry’s a month ago and so far, he hadn’t noticed. Or if he did, he just hadn’t mentioned it to you. It was the stupidest, boldest thing you’d ever done, but you couldn’t muster the energy to feel guilty about it. It was an old MCMAP shirt that you slept in nearly every night. It still smelled like him, years of his natural scent soaked into the fabric.

You did a deep dive on Mr. Terry after that, justifying it by telling yourself that you had to know who you were dealing with. Mr. Terry found you on a babysitting app but since you were right next door and a little friendly already, he bypassed all that to pay you directly. You appreciated the extra cash, but people were sick these days.

But every piece of information you managed to find out only made you fall in love with him that much more. He was on the freakin’ Wikipedia page, like…how could you not fall in love? You loved when people were really good at what they did. You were sure there was a name for it, but fuck if you knew it. You only knew that when someone was exceptionally good at something, it got you all hot and bothered.

Slipping into Mr. Terry’s room, you took a deep breath. This was where he laid his head at night. The rustic decor somehow fit the image you had of him in your mind. He had a dark, rustic walnut headboard that stretched to the ceiling. On it were two lamps that pointed to the bed.

On his nightstand, he had the same historical novel he started a month or so ago. He had a simple, thin brown blanket on his neatly made up bed. That was point one in why you would never actually work with someone like him. He was too neat for your blood. He’d probably have a heart attack seeing the state of your bedroom.

You tried, you really did, but well. You were grown enough to admit you just hated picking up after yourself. Not when you had better things to do like binge anime and go down Google rabbit holes for random things you thought about.

His furniture was simple, functional, much like the man himself but there was something so alluring about being in a man’s personal space. And you did mean a MAN. All capital letters included. You made sure to never touch anything. You just liked getting a peek behind that stoic exterior.

You glanced at your watch, still making good time, as you looked at the small bottles of cologne. They were nearly filled to the top so maybe he didn’t use it as much? Maybe he naturally smelled that damn delicious.

On his dresser, he had a few pictures thrown about of Troy and Alivia. You sucked your teeth looking at the batshit woman he married. Why did guys tend to go for the crazy, loud women? Were they allergic to peace? To a quiet night at home, basking in gooey love?

As your therapist put it, the world was not a stage and no, you couldn’t direct people’s actions. You were not that powerful. What Mr. Terry decided to do in his own bed was his own business. Speaking of…

You sat down on the edge of the bed and cast your eyes about the room. You didn’t always come in here. You weren’t that big of a pervert. Just on Wednesday nights. That was when he stopped by the gym after work. And he always came home sweaty and out of breath. If he were a bit closer, you were sure that he would jog or bike to the gym rather than taking his car.

As you sat there, you let your mind wander. What would it be like coming home to someone of his caliber? Someone able to carry a damn conversation beyond wondering what you were doing every two seconds. Someone to discuss books and themes with. Someone to binge anime with you and discuss the power scaling. Fun stuff.

An engine pulled up outside the house and you scrambled to get out of the man’s room as quickly as possible. The car door slammed outside and your heart pounded in your chest. Okay, he was a little too early tonight. You closed the door behind you just as his keys turned the lock. You jogged to the kitchen and opened a cabinet, grabbing a cup just as Mr. Terry’s keys hit the key bowl beside the door.

“Mr. Terry, hi,” you said, closing the cabinet door. You walked over to the fridge and poured a glass of water that you clearly needed.

Mr. Terry walked further into the kitchen and then gave you a small smile, putting his hands into his gym shorts pockets. He wore a simple gray T-shirt soaked through with sweat and damn, damn, damn, he looked good. His arms bulged underneath the short sleeved shirt, deep veins running along his arm. Delicious.

“Dad!” Troy barreled into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Whoa, okay,” you said and turned around with a chuckle.

“Troy, we have company. You can’t run around naked like that,” Terry said. You heard movement but refused to turn around.

“I asked her to marry me, but she said no. But I was able to say manipulative,” Troy said, slowing down around the big word.

“Is that right?” Terry asked.

“Uh-huh. She said girls like when boys have good hygiene. So you should probably bathe too,” Troy said.

Terry laughed and you heard wrestling. “Is that your way of saying I stink?” Mr. Terry asked.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything…” you chimed in, not wanting to be left out.

“Oh that’s cold, you both got jokes. You, put some lotion and clothes on. And brush your teeth,” Mr. Terry said.

“Good night, Troy!” You called after the little boy as he took off towards the bathroom.

“Good night! See you tomorrow!” He yelled.

“It’s safe to turn around,” Mr. Terry said.

Naw, it really wasn’t. But you took a deep breath and turned around anyway. Somehow, the second time seeing him in all his sweaty glory was just as heart-stopping as the first time. You forgot all about your guilty activities as you openly stared at him in the kitchen.

It was by no means a small kitchen, but it felt claustrophobic standing there. As if his presence was a physical force field pressing into you from all sides. It was your stupid crush on the man that made you all tongue tied when you got around him.

“I hope he didn’t bug too much. I know he has a big crush on you,” Mr. Terry said.

You waved your hand. “He’ll grow out of it,” you said. They always do. But you kept that little tidbit to yourself. Though…you did want to ask about the pretty comment Troy mentioned earlier. But you were too chicken. Instead, you stood there awkwardly in this man’s kitchen for no reason. Other than to count the drops of drool pooling in your mouth.

“I should get going,” you said. Your chest was still beating rapidly and you needed to get out of his immediate vicinity. Like right now. You washed out the cup you used.

“You didn’t have to,” he said.

You giggled. “Now, what kind of guest would I be if I didn’t clean up after myself?” You could clean up for other people but when it came to yourself, you lost all motivation to do so. It was the ass-backwards manners you were brought up on, but hey. It wasn’t like anyone was coming to visit your messy bedroom anyway.

“Let me walk you home then,” Mr. Terry said.

“I’m just next door,” you said. You dried off the cup and replaced it in the cabinet. He stepped out of the way so that you could walk past him. His eyes tracked you as you moved through the living room, collecting your homework and pens.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?” Mr. Terry asked.

“Oh, you’re a gentleman now,” you said and giggled. Did you have a flashing neon sign professing your guilt? Or did your guilt make you suspicious of everything? Because right now, it seemed like Mr. Terry was employing high level interrogation tactics, staying cool and calm while he let your guilt do the talking for you.

“I’ve always been a gentleman,” he said.

You could only giggle, too nervous to say anything else as you loaded up your backpack and threw on your cut off jean jacket. Terry’s mesmerizing hazel eyes followed each movement. Were you that bad at acting? Was he about to tell you that he had cameras in his room and knew exactly what you did on Wednesday nights?

You needed to get a life and a half. Because the thought of getting caught only made it that much naughtier. Your imagination ran wild thinking of ways he could punish you for it. Preferably with a spanking. You bet those beefy hands would give a good one.

“H-How was work?” You asked. Damn, that sounded nervous, didn’t it?

“Same old story, different day,” he said.

You nodded. You sucked at conversation so you promptly shut your trap and walked with him outside of the door. The night air was crisp, the late January night so frigid that you could see clouds of your breath escape with each exhale. Dew collected on the blades of grass outside of Mr. Terry’s house and it soaked into your flat sandals, tickling your toes.

“How’s your degree goin’?” Mr. Terry asked, breaking the silence.

“Good. Though I think one of the professors hates me,” you said. You sucked your teeth, thinking of Mr. Shoop, your English teacher. If you didn’t have a comma in the right place, he marked you down for one reason or another.

“I’m sure it’s impossible to hate you,” Mr. Terry said.

You snorted with laughter, immediately censoring yourself as you released the ugly laugh. He didn’t need to hear all that. You cleared your throat and shrugged, telling him about the latest run in with Mr. Shoop. You made one little comment about the current book you were studying in class, and now he had it in his head that you were an uppity Negro.

“Fuck him, then. You’re supposed to challenge the status quo in college,” Mr. Terry said.

You giggled and crossed the low cement border to your own place. The grass was less green, more brittle and dead because no one in the house fucking cared about aesthetics. This was not your forever home. Once you graduated, you were getting the fuck out of here as if your pants were on fire.

“You ever go to college?” You asked.

“Naw. Enlisted as soon as I turned 18,” he said. His voice was like sweet honey in the middle of spring. It didn’t belong on this cold, quiet night in the ‘burbs. “It’s why I want Troy to focus on his grades. Make sure he has every opportunity I didn’t.”

The automatic porch light turned on bathing you both in its warm, yellow glow. It also highlighted your ugly brick porch with the mailbox half hanging off of the wall. You cringed as you climbed the steps but focused on the conversation.

“You’re doing an amazing job with him, Mr. Terry,” you said.

He scrunched his face, most definitely like Troy, and shook his head. “It’s just Terry,” he said.

“Yeah but –”

Mr. Terry stepped closer to you, drawing up to his full 6’3 height and looked down at you. You hoped he couldn’t hear your painful gulp.

“No buts. I’m not stepping down until you agree. We’re damn near the same age,” he said.

You opened your mouth to argue the point but his fierce eyebrows drew down in a challenge. You reared back with a grin and Mr. Terry’s eyebrow shot up in a dare. You licked your lips and nodded. Okay, touché.

“Terry,” you said, trying it out. It still sounded so wrong.

“Say it again,” Terry said, his eyes drooping lower.

“Terry,” you nearly whispered. Terry - gah, that was still so weird - leaned forward and for half a second, you thought he would kiss you. That he would plant those gorgeous pink lips on yours and kiss your sandals right off your feet.

Instead, he chuckled and then looked down. He shook his head and then stepped back. “My job isn’t done until you’re safe inside,” he said.

“You take this pretty seriously, huh?” You asked. Stupid. Why the hell would a man like that kiss his babysitter? Probably saw you as some teenager next door, even though he was correct. You were almost the same age. But he was more mature and put together than you could ever hope to be.

“Very seriously,” he agreed.

You dug in your jacket pocket for your keys, the tips of your ears aflame as you continued to berate yourself. To be clear, you knew you were pretty but you got tongue tied around gorgeous men. Regular men you could deal with. They were the regular, easy pickin’s off of any vine. But Terry was like a fully baked apple pie sitting in a window somewhere. Mouth watering, steamy, and sinfully tempting.

Men like that went for super thin fashion models or apparently, screaming harpies who liked to belittle men. And just like that, you remembered that he was technically married. There was no way that an upstanding man like Terry would step out on his wife, separation or no.

“Well, the neighborhood is safe since we have a man like you to keep watch,” you said. You turned the lock and opened the door, waving goodbye over your shoulder. Terry waved to you and then took off down the porch, clapping his hands together as he went back to his own house.

You closed and locked the door behind you, leaning your back against it as you sighed. That was entirely too close. But in your defense, he typically showed up after Troy was done with his bath. You’d have to get your snooping down to a more manageable time.

You groaned and headed to your room, bypassing the discarded clothing on the floor and random water bottles thrown about the foyer area. Pigs.

Living with two guys and another girl was the bane of your fucking existence. You and Gia had to put your foot down and explain that you weren’t their mothers or sisters or maids and you would not pick up after them. In rebellion, the two men, Andre and Malcolm, doubled down by not picking up after themselves either.

So if one of them slipped on their own shirts or didn’t have clean dishes, that was on them. Money was tight as you went through grad school, but you had enough to eat out and find alternatives to cooking. To each their own in this fucking house.

You made it to your room and closed the door, turning on lights and getting ready for bed. You settled in for your third watch of Jujutsu Kaisen, sitting comfortably in Terry’s MCMAP shirt but your mind raced as you played tonight over and over in your mind.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Troy asked, the following Wednesday night.

“Of course,” you said.

“I like when you’re around. My dad doesn’t seem so sad,” Troy said.

Cue your heart breaking in three, two, one…you sighed and put your pen down on the coffee table. Right back in your regular seats, Troy continued with his social studies homework as if he didn’t just say the saddest thing ever.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Troy stopped writing but didn’t look up from his homework. “Dad was sad a lot when Mom was here. But he smiles more when you’re around. So that means you can’t leave, okay?” He asked and looked back at you with a shy, sad smile on his face.

“Troy, is that why you asked me to marry you? So I wouldn’t leave?” You asked.

Troy nodded. “Plus you’re really pretty. And soooo smart,” he said.

Kids. You smiled and hugged him, bringing him closer to you. “You don’t ever have to worry about these things, okay? Your job is to do your homework and listen to your dad. I’m right next door. If you ever need anything, you come get me, okay?” You asked.

Troy nodded but didn’t seem much convinced by your assurances. He was a kid but old enough to recognize when shit wasn’t sweet at home. With a mom like his, it was a wonder he stayed so innocent.

You were playing fast and loose with semantics, but Troy didn’t technically ask you to keep the secret. Only if he could tell you one. You’d have to talk to Terry when he got home and make sure the man talked to his son.

It couldn’t be easy trying to raise a kid in a broken home. The good Lord knew your own parents had a rough go of it. But Troy’s only concern should be which yogurt was in his lunchbox. Not his dad’s happiness or lack thereof.

You helped look over his answers and helped him in the few areas he got wrong. You helped him solve the problem on his own, not just hand him the answers. “Alright buddy, bath time,” you said.

“Because girls like boys with good hygiene,” he recited.

“Exactly,” you said and nodded your head.

Troy grabbed his homework and stuffed it into his binder. Then he turned to you with a serious expression on his face, entirely too much like his dad. He was eight. What eight year old needed to be so serious?

“One day, I’ll be old enough to marry you,” he promised.

You giggled. “You are going to meet the love of your life and forget all about little ole me,” you said.

Troy shook his head and grinned. “I could never forget you.”

“You know what, you sweet talker. Bath time, now. You’re too young to think about marriage anyway,” you said with a giggle.

Troy skipped into his room to put up his homework and then he trudged to the bathroom with a change of clothes and a fresh towel. You heard the bath water running while Troy hummed to some song you didn’t know.

You checked your watch. After such a close call last time…you really shouldn’t. But it had become a ritual at this point. Your body compelled you to move, to go to his room and pretend for twenty minutes that he was coming home to you.

You didn’t actually want this type of domestic life but…well, who were you fooling? This was exactly what you had planned for your life. But as a nerdy, thickum Black girl with too much time on her hands, no one was exactly beating down your door for your hand in marriage.

Let alone anything resembling sex. You’d become an expert at handling things yourself but you didn’t know what the actual act was like. And it was too embarrassing to tell grown ass men that you were a virgin and waiting on an actual connection before hopping in bed.

Sue you, sex meant something to you. And you weren’t going to give up the cookies because some egg head batted his eyes at you and took you on one date.

You spun around in Terry’s room trying to determine if he moved anything. Added anything. Removed anything. You just liked knowing him. Knowing a side of him that most didn’t get to see. It was what kept you going, something silly to keep your mind busy when school got too tough or the roommate situation sucked hot marbles.

Your eyes caught on the book on his nightstand. He finally finished the historical novel. The new book he was reading was a crime novel and from the blurb on the back, it sounded pretty interesting.

You were so caught up in the blurb and the first page, taking care not to disturb too much, that you didn’t notice Terry’s car pull up. Or his keys in the doorway, or him calling your name. You were so absorbed in it, that you dropped the book when Terry entered his room.

“Oh,” you gasped.

Your heart jumped to your throat as Terry smirked and tilted his head. “What are you doing in here? Where’s Troy?” He asked.

“Bath time,” you croaked out. Your throat turned dry and scratchy, pulling each word out as if it were being dragged over jagged glass. You had no good excuse for why you were in this man’s room, picking up his book, when you were supposed to be watching his son.

What if Troy had drowned? What if he suddenly lit the house on fire? Shame made your stomach gurgle as your mind raced for any type of excuse or reason to be in his room. Babysitting 101 was watching your damn kid.

Terry stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. You were frozen, rooted to the spot, heart beating rapidly and your fingers started to shake. What was he going to do?

Terry walked closer until he bent down to pick up the discarded book. He flipped it over and dusted it off, being entirely too casual for your tastes. “What were you doing in here?” He asked, his voice too, too calm.

You backed away towards the wall and shook your head. When your back collided with it, you were out of space. So you began to move to the side, sliding against the wall and trying to create some distance.

Terry turned with you, stepping in time with you, not letting you out of his sight. It was his right. It was his house after all. And you were the creepy pervert in his room. “I didn’t steal anything, I swear,” you said, your voice too small.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said. He smirked as if this was all a funny misunderstanding. Like it was normal to find you being a creep in his room.

“You don’t have to call the cops, I promise. I’ll leave and…I won’t come back,” you said. God, you didn’t even want to try and explain this to the cops or your family. You were completely mortified and disgusted with yourself. You knew you should have left it alone.

“I didn’t say anything about the cops,” he said. He stepped closer to you and you smelled the sweat and overall male scent wafting off of him in waves. He wore a red shirt this time, soaked through with sweat and clinging to his well honed chest.

He was tall as hell, looming over you whether he wanted to or not. You didn’t know this game he was playing and you just wanted to leave. You were at a loss of what to say or do. He blocked the exit with his body. There was just him. His broad shoulders, his wide chest, his hypnotizing eyes.

“What were you doing in here?” He asked softly.

“I just wanted to know you,” you said just as softly. It was a pathetic excuse but at least it was honest.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” He asked.

You snorted with laughter before clicking your mouth shut. Terry’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached out to cup your cheek. You looked from his hand to his face. Was this man okay? Shouldn’t he be…angry? Upset? Confused? You’d broken his trust in the worst possible way. Got yourself plum fired over something so stupid. This wasn’t going the way you thought it would in your mind.

“Why do you do that?” He asked.

“Laugh?” You asked. God, you felt like an idiot.

Terry smirked. “Stop yourself from laughing. It drives me nuts,” he said.

“Oh,” you said. You shook your head and shrugged. “I have a weird laugh.”

Terry leaned closer so that his nose rubbed against yours. “I keep waiting to hear it but you don’t ever let yourself laugh out loud,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes but you were slowly calming down from the threat of discovery. For the time being, it looked like Terry wasn’t going to smack you to kingdom come. This…you didn’t know what this was but you weren’t about to stop him either. This was the closest you’d ever been to him. Ever. You were going to soak up every detail before he kicked you out flat on your ass.

“I didn’t know you were waiting to hear it,” you said.

Terry leaned away so that he could look into your eyes. Fuck, he was so pretty. With his ever changing eyes, one of your favorite past times was trying to figure out what color they were. Sometimes they were so blue it would make the ocean jealous. Sometimes they were a stormy gray. Other times, they were a pale brown. It was insane but kept your mind busy.

“You drive me crazy,” he said, the words slowly spilling from his lips with that subtle drawl.

“Me?” You asked and snorted. Oh, if he only fucking knew… He drove you to distraction without even trying. One look, one sound from him and you were ready to bend over, ass up, and let him have his wicked way with you.

“Is that surprising?” He asked.

“Um…yeah,” you said and giggled. This was like the statue of David coming to life and asking a painting on a date. The mediums were both gorgeous but one was more lauded than the other.

“I know I can be…serious,” Terry said. You snorted again and he tapped your nose. “But I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Like I was some creep, you know?” He asked.

“Yeah, well. I’m the one who was in your room, being inappropriate. I completely understand if you want to fire me…”

“Troy would kill me if I did,” he said and smirked.

You giggled. “You’d still have the right to. I am really, really sorry,” you said.

Terry’s hand moved from your cheek, down the sides of your body before landing on your hips. You gasped, your body tingling in areas you didn’t know you could tingle. Like his hands were a live wire and your body responded in the most unusual ways.

“You always seemed so nervous around me. I thought I scared you,” he said.

“The opposite actually,” you admitted. Hell, at this point, you might as well lay it all out. Put yourself on a silver platter, ready to be served up to Terry’s mercy. His thumbs pressed into your tummy and you gasped, shivering.

“The way you respond…have you ever been with anyone?” He asked.

You shook your head. You didn’t have the words to say you were a virgin. Didn’t want to be even more of a loser in his eyes. Terry cursed softly under his breath and shook his head.

“So no one’s ever touched you? Why not?” He asked.

You licked your lips and shrugged. “Guys just don’t like me like that.” It was the only answer you had to give. You were the in-between friend. You were the holdover friend people had before they found their forever person. Without fail, any man you were interested in went on one or two dates with you before suddenly finding the light of their fucking lives.

After the last guy literally went to the bathroom on your date and came back with someone else’s number, you swore off any hunt for a partner. What was the point? You wasted outfit after outfit, faced disappointment after disappointment, and well, you just wanted off of the merry-go-round.

Terry tilted his head before stepping away. He pulled you towards his dresser and made you face the mirror. He pressed in behind you and you sighed, feeling a bulge rub against your ass.

You stared at his face in the mirror and watched as his face ran through a gauntlet of emotions. Like he was fighting with himself and losing the battle, fast. He placed his chin on your shoulder and then sighed.

“What do you see?” He asked.

“Me…and you…” You said. You weren’t trying to be a dumb ass, but it seemed like he was playing chess while you were playing Bingo.

Terry smirked. “What do you see when you look at yourself?”

You took a deep breath. You began to describe the features that you saw in the mirror. The way you did your hair, the way you did your makeup, the jewelry that you wore. Terry shook his head.

“I see a sexy, beautiful woman. I see someone that drives me fuckin’ nuts. A woman that makes me want to do awful, disgusting things to,” he said.

“Ahh,” you said and shivered from the intense look in his hazel eyes.

Terry’s hands moved up to cup your breasts over the top of your bodycon dress. You chose the burnished orange one today, once again at the mercy of Malcolm who acted like he was the only one who could use the fucking washing machine.

You moaned and bowed forward but Terry’s hands kept you upright. No one ever told you how different it was for someone to touch you as opposed to touching yourself. Everything seemed more intense, more lively, more electric.

“And I just can’t hold myself back anymore. Tell me to stop,” Terry said. He moved his head to kiss your neck, your jaw, and behind your ear.

You moaned, body shivering from how good he felt. How right his hands felt on your body. He pulled the top of your dress down, cupping your bare titties in his hands and pinching your nipples.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, knees getting weaker the more he tugged and pinched and pulled. Your pussy responded, throbbed, and you grew wet instantly soaking your panties.

“Tell me to stop,” Terry said, near begging as he continued to kiss and lick on your skin.

“I-I can’t,” you sighed. How could you tell him to stop when this was the only thing you ever wanted? The only thing you ever dreamed of?

“If you don’t tell me to stop, we’re going to cross a line. I need you to say it, please,” Terry said. As he spoke, his hands gripped the sides of your dress and pulled until your dress pooled around your hips.

You moaned as his fingers touched your thighs, fingers digging in and massaging you. His hands moved towards your panties, cupping you over the flimsy fabric. There was a thin layer separating you from what you most wanted.

“I can’t say it. You have to be the stronger one,” you said. He had to be. Because at this moment, there was nothing you would deny him. If he wanted a star from the Hollywood Walk of Fame, you’d be there the next day with a jackhammer and crow bar.

Terry dropped his head to your shoulder and groaned, his fingers moving closer to the seat of your panties. “I need you to say it,” he said.

You shook your head. You leaned forward and planted your hands on the dresser top, no longer able to support yourself standing. You were absolutely weak in the knees, ready to collapse at any given moment.

Terry’s left hand snaked around yours and grasped yours, fingers tangling. His right hand finally pushed your panties aside and he groaned, finding you soaking wet. “Fuck,” he moaned.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

It was wildly different for his fingers to be there instead of your own. He moved expertly, soaking his fingers with your essence and playing with your clit. You shook violently on his fingers, too in your head to enjoy what he was doing.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

You sucked in deep pulls of air, your breathing returning to a normal rhythm. You nodded though you were out of your mind with pleasure. With feeling. His fingers plunged into your pussy and you cried out.

“Shh, shh,” he whispered.

Right. Right. There was an entire kid taking a bath at the moment. And here you were letting his dad play with you like a damn fiddle. You couldn’t find one ounce of regret. One ounce of shame.

His fingers helped you find heaven, light exploding behind your eyelids as your stomach twisted and caved from the pleasure he was delivering. His left hand tightened on yours as you got closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck me. Please,” you begged. You needed to know what it felt like. Needed to know right this second what he felt like getting inside you. Your pussy was empty, aching, begging for his dick and you pushed your ass into his bulge to get him to cave.

Terry groaned and pushed into you, pushing your hips against the edge of his dresser. He moaned as he dry humped against you, timing his wrist movements with his strokes.

“No condom,” he panted in your ear.

“Please,” you begged. You whined, you cried. You didn’t have a fucking clue what you were saying, only that you needed that bulge inside you. NOW.

Terry bit your ear. “I’m not gonna endanger you,” he said.

You collapsed forward. He leaned against your back and then got down to business. Rubbing your clit in circles until you leaned up on your tip toes and bit your lip as you came, flooding his fingers with your slick as the orgasm rocked you on the spot.

Your world quaked, cracked in half, and then was brought back together by Terry’s grunts and groans. As you came down, you panted and huffed, no energy left in your body. Terry withdrew his fingers and then brought his fingers to his mouth and suckled.

You watched him in the mirror as he closed his eyes. “Fuck,” you huffed.

Terry winked at you as he adjusted your panties and your dress. You opened your mouth plenty of times but there were no words to be found. What could you say? What could you do?

“Helllooooooooo,” Troy called out. He sounded as if he had been calling out for a minute.

Terry adjusted himself and then kissed your neck. “Don’t move,” he said.

He left the room and you heard him talking to Troy. He told the boy to brush his teeth and Troy tried to argue until Terry threatened to check his toothbrush. Troy laughed and his footfalls ran back to the bathroom.

You were still stuck in the same position you were before, hands planted on Terry’s dresser as if his command not to move had to be followed to the letter. You looked down at the pictures on his dresser, of his smiling wife and son.

Yet somehow…fuck her. You didn’t feel any guilt fucking her man in what used to be her bedroom. You didn’t know where she was or if she was even coming back. You didn’t hold any expectations. Only that you wanted what you wanted and you weren’t going to apologize for it. If this was the only thing you got from Terry, then so be it. Because it was…life changing.

Terry re-entered the room and closed the door behind him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder. “We’re going to talk about this.”

You nodded. Yes, there definitely needed to be a discussion about this. “Not tonight,” you said.

Terry tilted his head at you. “I mean…we both need to cool down and Troy needs you. We’ll talk tomorrow? When you get home?”

Terry looked as if he wanted to argue. He rubbed his goatee and sighed heavily. But he had to know you were right. The last thing you wanted to do was interrupt Troy’s routine. Doubly so now that his mom wasn’t home. God, that poor kid had enough to deal with.

Terry nodded but turned you around to look at him. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eyes. “We’re going to talk about this. Tomorrow. When I get home.”

You nodded. Terry pulled you close, giving you a tender, beautiful but way too quick kiss and then let you go. You gathered your nerves and then left his room, looking out for Troy. Not seeing him, you hurried over to your homework and gathered it up, stuffing it into your backpack haphazardly.

You were ten kinds of turned around. You needed to freak out about this before you could have an adult conversation about what happened between you. Time to lock down your emotions and feelings so that when Terry gave you “that talk”, the one about how this couldn’t happen again, you would be prepared. You wouldn’t embarrass yourself by begging, screaming, throwing up for not having another chance to explore more.

But…you said you’d be happy with this. And you would be. You so would be. This was…honestly the best outcome you never planned for. You finished and pulled on your sweater and walked towards the front door.

Terry called out to Troy that he was walking you next door and you said goodbye to Troy. The night didn’t seem quite so cold this time around. Perhaps your body was still flushed, reliving the best orgasm of your life.

Your shoes crunched beneath your dead lawn as you hopped up the porch. Terry stopped you with a hand on your arm. He rubbed his thumb back and forth but didn’t say anything.

What was there to say? He rocked your world? He shifted your axis? Up was down and down was up thanks to the power of his fingers? His fingers. Lordy lordy. Maybe you wouldn’t survive getting fucked by him. You were glad one of you had the presence of mind to be safe and not fuck without a condom.

“Tomorrow,” you promised.

Terry nodded and then waited for you to get inside before trudging back to his place. And no matter how many times you tried to feel bad, the only thing you could think of was his face as he moaned and his fingers buried to the knuckle in your pussy.

I just ain't slowing down any time sooooon. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist:

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@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

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poguehearted77 · 3 days ago

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Tap Out

Just thinking about Rafe's super gorgeous, beautifully breathtaking girlfriend who is notorious for giving people a hard time. Especially him.

She got that million dollar Million dollar oow, oow And all I want to do is touch it Make her tapout, tapout, tapout, tapout,

Rafe stands tall and brooding in front of the bed where you sat while he hits replay on the overbearing series of voicemails you'd left him while he was out.

"Hi Rafe, I know you said you and Barry had to go take care of whatever it was that you said—I don't know; I wasn't really listening, but I just saw this new coach bag online, and I need you to send me a picture of your credit card front and back so I can get it. Thanks in advance baby."

You stay silent and unbothered by the replay.

He plays the next one, "It's almost midnight, Rafe. When are you coming home? I miss you. The bed is so big and empty without you in it. You remember that night we came back from the Blue Diamond charity gala and we barely made it up the stairs? The way you fucked me so good, left me aching for you for days--mmmm, wanna feel you like that again, come home Rafeyy."

Your boyfriend huffs as he moves to play the last one except this one is silent for the first few moments until some lewd sounds can be picked up. It's wet and sticky. It sounds like Thanksgiving mac and cheese being stirred in the pot. Soon, the faintest string of moans can be heard.

Most wouldn't be able to pick up on it, but not Rafe. His ears are trained to the sound of your voice. He's accustomed to every pitch, tone and frequency your pleasure can take on.

You stand, ready to plead your case, "You were gone for hours, what was I supposed to do?" Your arms cross defensively and they suddenly drop when Rafe's big hand is holding you by the throat, squeezing tight enough to have you gasping.

"You think this shit is funny?" His voice is strict, unwavering and serious. "What if Barry heard this? Huh?" Your eyes roll, defences refusing to crumble even with a limited supply of air, "It's Barry, he'd probably thank me-"

You need to learn when to shut up at the end of a rhetorical question because now Rafe had you bent up like a pretzel. One hand is still around your neck while the other holds you at the waist.

Your legs are shaking as he brings you to what you thought was your third orgasm but is actually the fourth (you'd blacked out during the second one). "Rafe- no- s'too much," You murmur, voice broken and weak from all your screams.

"Nothin's too much for you." He groans, punctuating his sentences with a sharp snap of his hips. It sends you reeling and your eyes roll back as you feel that familiar heat begin to unfurl in your core.

You shake your head repeatedly, "I can't--Rafe! Please." You beg, so incredibly turned on by the sight of your hot boyfriend who looked down to where your bodies connected. The way your slick covered his cock down to his balls. It pulls a groan out of him from his core.

You admired the sweat that gathered over the thin hairs on his chest and that piercing blue gaze that would glance up at you from time to time to taunt you like now. "You know what to do if you can't take it sweet thing." You do know what to do, but you refuse to back down, you're so close.

"O-oh shit I'm-" The words escape and your climax is stolen from you when Rafe stops completely and pulls out, his hands move down to your hips, shamelessly displaying his physical dominance over you and flipping you onto your stomach effortlessly.

He grips the flesh of your waist and manhandles you until you're being pulled back against him, the beautiful sight of your plump and juicy ass in his hands is enough to send him to the heavens above or maybe the firey pits below.

You're already too weak to hold yourself up on your arms, so you let yourself fall into the sheets. Your cries muffled into the pillows as Rafe slowly presses back into you, stretching you back open. His rhythm picks up with nothing but urgency and mercilessness.

Your back arches, and you cry out his name when you're blinded by your own orgasm. Coming undone once more and he comes soon after with a breathy chuckle. His hips are still rolling into yours lethargicly when he whispers, "You got one more in you, baby?"

"Fuck no. I'm done." You whine, your fists tapping out on the pillow and his pace slows until he finally stops, slowly pulling out.

"That'll teach you to fuck with my voicemails when I'm not here." He lays himself down beside you, carefully moving the stray strands of hair out of your face to admire you.

Your lips were swollen from all the sucking and biting he'd done to them earlier, your cheeks flushed and your body is spent. You grin, "You know you liked it, especially that last one." Rafe exhaled, even in your drained state you can still find time to be bratty.

"I did, I did. You sounded so fucking pretty playing with that perfect pussy of yours. Had to go rub one out in Barry's bathroom because of you." You smile a little bigger at that. "Good." Is all you say and Rafe can only roll his eyes as he moves to hold you in his arms.

You both lay there, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies until Rafe speaks up softly, "Tuesday." He says, and your head looks up at him with a confused tilt. Without having to ask him, he explains, "The purse you want. I ordered it. It'll be here on Tuesday."

Just when your smile couldn't get any bigger, it does, and Rafe can't help but to be in awe because god you're so fucking gorgeous but you're such a pain in the ass.

His prettiest headache.

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illyrianslut · 3 days ago

Text

Spymaster's mate - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel is away on business for the Night Court, but Y/N needs satisfaction while he is gone. He senses through the bond what his mate is needing and winnows home.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Smut, overstimulation, breeding kink, spanking, masturbation. I think that's it..

Author's Note: I don't write smut a lot, so please be kind xD Ao3 Link

Masterlist | Ao3

You had known it was going to be another long lonely night at home without Azriel to keep you company, but that didn’t make coming home to your empty town home any easier. It had been a rainy, dreary day in Velaris but you’d made the best of it deciding to visit Feyre and Nyx at Feyre’s shop surprising them with treats from their favorite bakery.

Even after spending time with you little nephew the ache of missing your mate consumed you once you were alone. Of course you understood that Azriel’s job as Spymaster for the Night Court was an important one, and one that often stole him away from you for days at a time, it didn’t ever take away the ache of being away from him or not knowing if he is safe.

Throwing your things in a pile beside the door, you enter your home and make your way to the kitchen to begin making something for dinner. Much to your surprise, there is a bouquet of flowers sitting on the table, a card with your name on it is sitting beside it.

You look around your home, feeling that your mate isn’t there causing you to wonder how the flowers got into your -locked- home. The note was clearly written in Azriel’s handwriting, confusing you further. You give a small tug on the mating bond you share with him, but can tell instantly that his walls are up and there is no chance of you getting through to him.

Y/N,

I wanted to apologize for leaving you home alone for so long. You know how it kills me to be away from you. Rhysand needs me to stay here longer, I can explain more when I get home. I am so sorry for being away my love, I will be home as soon as time allows. I love you, Az.

A disappointed sigh leaves your lips, it wasn’t the first time his job kept him away longer than anticipated, and surely wouldn’t be the last. You know not to take it to heart, but that doesn’t take away the sting of missing him.

You give up on the idea of dinner, just wanting the day to be over. Sleep sounds much nicer anyway. You give the flowers a quick sniff and smile, he had always known your favorite flowers to get. But you’d still rather your mate be home than have flowers.

Tomorrow would be one week since you saw him, one week since you felt his calming pretense, and felt him inside you. Your core aches at the thought of your last morning before he left, as always he made sure to satisfy you fully before leaving. You get to your bedroom and throw on one of his shirts and crawl into bed, still thinking about that morning.

He had woken you with his lips wrapped around your clit, and hands on your hips to hold you in place while he devoured you.

You move your fingers to your needy cunt, and begin rubbing slow circles on your clit, remembering the feel of your mate.

“Az.” You moan running your fingers through his hair, hips bucking to meet his tongue that is currently lapping at your entrance as though it’s his last meal.

“Good morning my beautiful girl.” He says, moving to slide a finger inside you. “How many times shall I make you come for me this morning?” He questions, adding another finger.

You can’t help but sigh deeply at the memory of his fingers inside you, tossing your head back moving your fingers faster.

You hum in response to his question, but can’t find any words as pleasure is coursing through your body. He begins sucking on your swollen clit, making a knot form in your stomach. “I’m gonna cum.” You clasp a hand over your mouth to hold back the moan rising in your throat. But he stops, taking away the pleasure he’d been giving so freely moments before.

“Don’t you dare hide those beautiful moans from me, princess.” He pulls your hand away from your mouth and holds it with his free hand, then goes back to lapping at your core. “You come for me, baby girl. Come all over my face.” His words are your undoing, your release hitting you all at once. Your legs clench around his shoulders and you let go, cumming on his tongue as he keeps licking, and pumping his fingers inside you quickly.

A tug is sent from the other side of the bond, a satisfied grin plasters itself on your face knowing that Azriel can feel the please you’re giving yourself. You drop what little shield was left to you, letting him in fully, letting him feel the orgasm you’re close to giving yourself.

“Please, I need more.” You beg him, not feeling fully satisfied, needing his cock inside you.

“Beg for it, Princess.” He commands, placing rough kisses up your body, sucking once he gets to your swollen nipple. “Beg for my cock if you want it so bad.” His hand reaches up to play with your other nipple.

Your body can’t help but respond to his deep, lust filled voice. “Az please, I need your cock inside me. I need you to fill my pussy.” Your voice comes out in a desperate whine while you take in the assault on your nipples.

“Good girl.” He praises you, lining his beautifully long cock up with your desperate cunt.

He doesn’t take but a moment before pushing his entire length inside you, earning a lust filled moan from both of you.

A brief rustle beside you brings you back to reality. You can’t help but startle seeing a dark figure in the corner of your bedroom, but once you recognize the shadows of your mate you continue flicking your fingers over your clit.

“You dirty little slut.” Azriel growls, stalking over to the bed and gripping your ankles to pull you to meet him.

You laugh excitedly, knowing that you’re in trouble, but also knowing the punishment will be well worth it. “What did I do?” You ask innocently, eyes raking down the man before you. His cock bulging through his leathers, wings fluttering as they always did when lust overtook him, and his eye narrowed on you.

“You know exactly what you did.” He leans down, grabbing the hand that had just been rubbing your clit and pulled you to a sitting position. His lips are close to yours, but instead of kissing you he lifts your hand to his mouth and sucks on the two fingers covered in your wetness. “Take off the shirt.” He commands, leaving no room for argument.

You do as your told, and toss the shirt you’d taken from his dresser across the room. He stood above you not breaking eye contact, he loved to hold the power over you in the bedroom, to be in control. “Get your ass in the air.” Another command, causing your needy cunt to clench looking for something to fill it.

You turn yourself around so that your ass is in the air, and shake it for him. A hard smack lands on your left cheek, a moan from you as you savor the punishment. “Please Az, I need your dick inside me.” You beg, wishing more than anything that cock was filling you up like it had before he left.

He sucks gently at your collarbone, sure to leave a nice purple bruise after he’s done. His hips pull out of you teasingly slow before he shoves his cock back into you so hard your body pushes up. He repeats his thrust again and again, earning pleasure filled cries from you. “That’s right pretty girl, take my cock like a good fucking girl.”

You clench around his cock at his words, digging your fingers into his shoulder. “Good girl, clench that pussy around my dick. That’s right, take it just like that.” Another thrust into your aching pussy.

Smack. Your right cheek stings as he slaps it bringing you back to him. “Dirty slut, distracting me from my work.” One more slap to your left cheek and he pulls away, a whine leaving your lips. “Take my dick out, and if you’re a good girl maybe I’ll fuck you.”

You sit up quickly, facing him on the bed and begin undoing the leathers between you and his cock. A satisfied hum comes from him at your eagerness, earning you a soft caress on the cheek. As soon as you’ve undone his leathers and hauled them down you take in the beauty that is his length. Pre cum is spilling out of the tip, you lick your lips before getting to your knees in front of him, licking his entire length.

He groans your name, and puts a fist in your hair tugging at the roots. You open your mouth wide to fit him inside, and dip down to take as much as you could, using your hand to pump the remaining length. “Fuck, just like that princess.” He praises, keeping his grip in your hair while guiding you in sucking his cock.

A glance up at him shows you his eyes closed tightly, and lips parted slightly as his soft moans fill the room. You use your free hand to cup his balls and he stiffens immediately, eyes shooting open to look down at you. “You are my good girl, aren’t you?” He grabs both sides of your head and thrusts into your mouth several times, making your eyes fill with tears, and gag as his entire length is shoved down your throat. Just when you think you aren’t able to take more he stops, and pulls you up gently. “Aren’t you?”

You nod, wiping at the tears that had filled your eyes from the face fuck, and reach behind him to run a gently finger across the base of his wings. “Do you think you deserve my dick?” He questions, shuddering at your touch.

“Yes baby.” Your words sound like a plea. You can’t help but grind against his cock, needing the friction, your dripping pussy aching for relief.

He leans down to your shoulder placing an all too gently kiss there before wrapping his arms under your ass and picking you up. Instinctively you wrap your legs around him, and lull your head to the side as he sucks at the soft skin.

Before you know it, your back has hit the wall, and he crashes his lips to yours. “You are my good little girl.” He lines his tip up with your entrance and without another word, thrusts into you. “Who got your pussy so wet angel?” He asks, pulling out and thrusting back in quickly, his balls slapping against you while he fucks up into you.

“You did Az, my pussy is soaked only for you.” You moan, taking his cock up inside you, grinding as much as you can to create more friction on your clit.

He hold you up with one arm, still fucking you when he reaches between you and uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit. A red hot ball begins to form in your stomach, lewd sounds leaving your mouth as you try to form words around the ecstasy that you’re feeling.

“I’m g-gonna.” You try to get out, but just as the orgasm is about to take over you he pulls out and sets you on wobbling legs. “Az-” You beg, looking up, legs shaking as you’re unable to hold yourself up at the let down from you ruined orgasm.

“Not yet you’re not.” He drags you over to the bed, holding you up as your body comes down from the disappointment. “You’re coming on my mouth first, sweet girl.” He tells you, laying you down and kneeling before you.

His cock is being fisted in his hand as he pushes you down and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “You don’t cum until I tell you to. Is that understood?” His mouth is hovering over your soaked pussy, but he refuses to give you pleasure until you acknowledge his words.

“Yes baby.” You confirm, hips rolling looking for any sign of satisfaction.

He leans in and immediately starts lapping at your soaking cunt “You’re so beautiful.” He says into you, sucking and slurping sending lightning bolts of pleasure rushing through you. Your ruined orgasm coming back, full force.

As though he senses the oncoming orgasm, he tears his hand away from his cock so he can put two fingers inside you, pumping quickly while he continues sucking on your clit. The pleasure is about to burst out of you, and you know you need to ask before you come. “Please let me cum.” You beg, hips bucking to meet his finger thrusts.

“Come for me princess.” With those words you come undone, your pleasure fulled moans filling the room, mixed with the slurping of your pussy in Azriel’s mouth. “Mmm, good fucking girl.” He praises, as your body convulses, letting the orgasm run through you.

You moan his name and a string of curse words, running your fingers through his hair. “Now it’s my turn, and I’m going to cum in that little pussy of yours.” Another wave of pleasure consumes you as he lay over you and thrusts inside before letting you come down from your first orgasm.

He fills you so completely, stretching your cunt to the limits filling you with the most beautiful feeling. His large hand finds your throat, and squeezes just enough to send more pleasure through you, his pace quickening as he fucks into you harder.

You reach back and play with his wings, and close your eyes enjoying the feeling of his hand around your throat. “I’m gonna cum in your pussy and fill you with my seed. You little fucking whore.” His thrusts are becoming sloppy, he releases his grip on your throat and hold himself over you continuing to pump into you.

Your second orgasm burst out of you when he took your nipple in his mouth, the sensation overtaking you. You knew he was close, and the stimulation was becoming too much for you to bare, “Please cum inside me, I want you to put a babe in me, Az.” You knew the words would be his undoing, he’d been attempting to get you with child for years.

Just like that his weight was on top of you in the most loving way and you felt his cum filling you up. Your name continuing to fall off his lips as he kept thrusting to push his seed further inside. As he finished his hips pressed into you, creating an overstimulated cry leave your lips.

As he realized what caused the cry, he began grinding against you harder, a devious grin spreading across his lips. You try to push his weight off you, feeling another unwelcome orgasm creeping up inside you “Az it’s too much.” You beg, your hips betraying you and grinding into his.

The orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, another cry escaping out of you. “You have one more in you, I know it.” He slides down your body, and holds your hips in place while he attaches his lips to your exposed cunt again.

“Azriel!” You cry out, the overstimulation crashing into you, tears falling from your eyes and your cunt clenching trying to hold back an orgasm.

He nips at your bundle of nerves and that is your undoing, your final orgasm leaving your body like an exorcism. Cries of pleasure and pain fill the room as your cunt aches from overuse. “That’s my good girl” Azriel walks away for only a moment before coming back with a warm cloth.

He kneels before you, as your body is trying to regulate itself. “I’m going to clean you now princess, and you need to let me.” He instructs, you can’t do anything but nod as your adrenaline lowers. As he gently wipes at your dripping and aching pussy you want to pull away, but he holds you there getting every drop off you.

You can’t move in the aftershock of your orgasms, so he wraps his strong arms around you and brings you to the head of the bed, tucking you in. “Come love.” He whispers, pulling you close to him, letting you rest your head on his check.

“You were so good for me, you’re such a good girl.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, brushing a few stray hairs from your face. “And who knows maybe I will have finally put a babe in you.” He smiles lovingly at you, and you can’t help but swell with love also at the idea of carrying his child.

#azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel smut #azriel fanfic #acotar smut #acotar x reader

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noonecareslol · 1 day ago

Text

࣪˖ ִ ೀ 𝐀 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Hwang In-ho x Fem! Reader

Summary: When the games aren’t in session, and In-ho is lonely, he finds himself in the first row at the ballet. Watching you. Suddenly he's falling in love.

TW: Channeling my love for older men. Injury. Reader lowkey gets sad for a sec. Age gap (reader is 25 In-ho is 49). Just FLUFF! In-ho learning how to love someone again. Quite literally head over heels for you. Allusions to masturbation. Size kink if you squint.

WC! 5k

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It is quite obvious that In-ho is an old soul.

He enjoys old films, old clothing, old theatre, and old music. The little jazz set that plays, “Fly Me To The Moon” is a cherished possession of his, along with his vintage whiskey decanter.

He wears a musky cologne he’d been gifted by his late wife, and his closet is lined with leather dress shoes and perfectly pressed slacks. His dimly lit room on the island is vastly similar to the one in his Seoul apartment, everything perfectly neat and clean.

Yes, In-ho is an old soul.

And in between the games, when he would return to Seoul, he’d find himself bored. Especially during the night. He’d miss his wife, the whispered hope of a promised future.

Often he would distract himself by putting his whiskey decanter to good use, pouring the aged whiskey into his glass over and over again. He would linger by his shelf full of movies he’d seen hundreds of times, tracing his fingers along the cases until he landed on a title. A small smile would play on his lips before popping it into the DVD player and taking a seat next to his beloved cat.

He would find himself mumbling the lines as the actors spoke them on screen, his hand absentmindedly petting his cat. When the movie is over, and the quiet resumes, he’d move to his bedroom.

He’d ensure his cat followed before changing into his expensive pajamas and climbing into the king-sized bed. His cat would join him and he would drift to sleep, dreaming of, well, nothing.

He would close his eyes and wake up without any dream having occupied his mind.

This routine became comfortable. Each night he would get home from whatever he’d been doing before, drink, watch a movie, play with his cat, and sleep without any dreams.

But this night, this night was different.

It was a cold night. And all In-ho wanted to do was drown in glasses of whiskey and watch “Dial ‘M’ For Murder” with his cat.

But as he walked past a line of people waiting to enter a theatre, a poster caught his attention. He blinked once, twice, before walking toward the lit-up frame.

A strikingly beautiful ballerina caught his attention first. She held her arms elegantly above her head, her leg pointed behind her, her other leg resting on pointe as she looked to the side. She was breathtaking.

The Seoul Ballet Company Presents: Swan Lake

Opening Night November 1st

Suddenly the thought of whiskey and Alfred Hitchcock left his mind as he joined the line. I mean, who would miss out on opening night?

Especially when the lead was so pretty.

“We have one ticket left in the front row.” The woman behind the ticket booth clicked her pen unenthusiastically as she watched In-ho pull his leather vintage wallet out of his coat pocket.

A grin rested plainly on his lips as he fiddled with his cash, “That’s perfect. How much?”

The woman slowly turned and punched a few numbers into her register before turning back to him, “80,000 won.” She clicked her pen again.

“Do you have change for 100,000?” He held the two 50,000 won in front of him, watching as she stared at him blankly.

She blinked once before snatching the bills from his hands, “Nope!” In-ho sighed. For someone so slow she took those bills awfully fast.

In-ho drew his lips into a thin line before taking the ticket and placing it in his wallet, “Thanks.”

“Yeah enjoy the show or, like, whatever.” The woman took out her phone and began to text as he walked away, obviously not giving a shit about her job.

But as In-ho walked through the double doors, his breath caught in his throat. The theatre certainly did not disappoint his love for old architecture.

The large barrel vaulted ceilings were beautifully ornamented and adorned with intricately painted designs. Gorgeous crown molding edged the ceiling and stretched to the floor. And a large crystal chandelier rested as the centerpiece, warmly lit and inviting.

In-ho took his seat, a smile evident on his lips as he sighed contently. However, he hoped his cat wasn’t too worried about his whereabouts. Maybe she could come along next time? She is a very sophisticated cat, after all.

As the chandelier and house lights began to dim, the crowd became quiet with anticipation and excitement. And it would be dishonest to say that In-ho wasn’t a little excited as well.

He looked to his left at the woman sitting next to him. She was a small elderly lady with a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were filled with excitement as she scanned through the pamphlet, a wide smile plastered on her face.

She wore a vintage necklace around her neck, layered with pearls. In-ho smiled, it was nice to see someone who also had a knack for old taste.

The soft notes of Swan Lake began to play, and In-ho watched as the curtains opened, revealing the beautifully decorated stage. Large trees with hanging vines arched over the set, greenery and flowers blending into the painted backdrop.

A foggy mist flooded the stage as dancers began to move elegantly across. But the lead had yet to make an appearance.

In-ho watched rather impatiently, and failed to notice the woman next to him lean in, “Right now, the prince is going hunting with his crossbow. But he will find that the white swan has turned into a beautiful woman, and has fallen under a curse.” The old woman pointed slightly to the prince, her voice whispering just loud enough for him to hear.

His eyes trained on the prince as he danced with his crossbow, “Thank you. I must look confused.”

The old lady gave a small laugh, “I used to dance for this company, i’ll never miss an opportunity to explain the ballet.”

In-ho watches as she subtly mimics the prince's moves, her hands moving elegantly in front of her. Her eyes were closed, the sound of the music bringing emotion to her face.

Her eyes flick open as the music changes softly, “Look.” Her eyes lighting up as she nods slightly to the stage.

In-ho watches as you finally take the stage, fluttering your feet as you move elegantly toward the prince. Your hands held high above your head, moving gracefully as you bourrée.

He watched as your back muscles contracted, moving as if you had wings. His eyes trained down to your legs and to your pointe shoes, watching as you danced with ease.

Your white feathered skirt moved along with you, the bodice elegantly framing you perfectly. The feathered piece in your hair catches In-ho’s attention, causing him to study your face.

That poster was nothing compared to your beauty.

You held a soft look, but In-ho didn’t fail to notice the focus that caused your eyebrows to furrow slightly. Your movements were soft and graceful, your demeanor innocent and melancholic.

You were perfect as the white swan.

You were perfect.

He wondered if you were just as innocent as you portray yourself to be, “God, she’s beautiful.”

The elderly woman hummed in agreement as she watched In-ho’s gaze remain sharp on the white swan, an all-knowing smile spread across her lips.

As the ballet continued it seemed that the rest of the audience had disappeared. In-ho felt as if you were only dancing for him. No one else.

He swore you looked at him a few times, him being the focus point of your graceful turns.

And when you transitioned into the black swan, all thoughts in In-ho’s head became dark.

Oh, how he liked this side of you.

Your movements were sharp, determined, and seductive. And he found himself adjusting in his seat as his slacks became increasingly tight. You were so close to him. Just a few feet from his touch as you danced on stage. He could take you right now. He could fuck you, make you feel things you’ve never felt before.

And as you leaped on the stage, the white swan jumping to her death, In-ho felt a tear slip from his eye. You were magnificent.

The audience filed out of the theatre, fanning themselves with their pamphlets and discussing the ballet. You had received a standing ovation, and In-ho took pride in being the first one to stand and clap.

He had finally caught your attention. And when you locked eyes with him as you bowed, you felt your brain turn to mush.

He was handsome. Like, extremely handsome.

His face was perfectly chiseled. His eyes crinkled as he flashed a perfect smile, his hair slightly falling in front of his face and covering his dark eyes.

You didn’t blink once as you remained under his gaze, and it wasn’t until another dancer pulled you up that you realized you were bowing for far too long.

You avoided his eye contact as you walked off, embarrassed he had made you turn into putty just by his stare.

And as In-ho exited the theatre, he took his time lingering by the lamp post. He’d secretly hoped to see you leave.

He doesn’t know what he would say if he did see you. Maybe he would compliment you, or ask you a meaningless question. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d push you against the lamppost, and let his desire consume you.

He’d just wait a little bit longer.

10 minutes.

15 minutes.

30 minutes.

The woman from behind the ticket booth locked the door as she brought down the metal gate, “Excuse me, did the woman who danced as the white swan leave yet?”

She turned around smacking her gum, “Yeah. Why?” She sized him up, placing a hand on her hip as she cocked an eyebrow.

In-ho felt his face flush, “I was just going to compliment her.” He put his cold hands in the pockets of his coat, shifting his weight onto his other foot.

“Yeah well,” The woman smacks her gum as she walks up towards In-ho, handing him a flier, “They have open practice every Friday. Tickets are only 10,000 won.”

He took the flier from her hand, folding it and sliding it into his pocket, “Thanks.” She nodded her head and walked past him, slipping into her jacket.

In-ho turned and started his walk to his apartment only a block away. When he arrived, he heard the familiar sound of meowing by his front door.

And as he opened the door, he came face to face with his cat waiting on the couch, “I’m sorry Elisabeth, but I’m too tired for a movie tonight.”

She gave an annoyed meow before reluctantly following him into his room, hopping onto the pillow beside his. In-ho got dressed in his pajamas, ready for another dreamless night as he slipped into the sheets next to Elisabeth.

But this time, it wasn't dreamless.

In fact, he had dreamed a very vivid dream.

He had dreamt of you.

And as In-ho woke up the next morning, his hand immediately went to his nightstand, picking up the flier.

It seems that the pretty ballerina has stolen his heart.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Plié! Ron de jambe, retiré! Good!" You held your arms in front of you, your right leg coming up at a bend, "Pas de chat, écarté! Don't rush it, Fiona!"

Your ballet teacher weaved between you and the other students, her tight bun sitting perfectly on her pointed head, "Développé, demi-pointe! No! Not pointe, demi pointe!"

Her thick French accent bellowed throughout the theatre, "Good y/n! Très bien!" A wide smile painted your lips as you continued your dance, your friend Fiona rolling her eyes at your praise. You giggled as you went into second, your arms outstretched to the side.

"Well done! Take a water break and stretch, we'll take five." You brought your hands to your knees, leaning over slightly as you caught your breath.

Fiona dramatically flopped on her back, a hand coming to her forehead as she breathed heavily, "I've died, she's killed me." You tossed her water bottle into her hand with a laugh as you sat next to her, your eyes scanning the theatre.

Familiar faces met your eyes. Elderly couples, former dancers, and little kids with their moms. Oh! And the man who you haven't stopped thinking about.

Wait.

You hit Fiona's shoulder hard, not taking your eyes off him, "Fiona. Fiona, look." She sat up, holding her shoulder as her eyes trailed to where you were subtly pointing.

"Oh, it's the hot dilf." Fiona took a drink from her bottle, watching as In-ho looked around while taking in the architecture.

You slapped her shoulder again, "Shut up! What if he hears you?" You get up from the ground, pulling Fiona up with you and tossing your water bottle back into your bag.

She followed suit, taking one last drink before tossing it in her own, "First off, stop hitting me. It's abuse." You rolled your eyes as you both took your spot by the barre, "Second, he's in the back corner of the theatre, he's not hearing shit. Except for our teacher's constant yelling."

You didn't respond, instead, you continued looking at him. His black turtle neck sweater hugged his biceps perfectly, and you didn't fail to notice his empty finger where a ring would sit.

"Okay! Lets continue! Tendu, plié! Ron de jambe, plié!"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It had been two months since In-ho first started spending his Fridays pining over you.

Each Friday, he would come home, change into an outfit he had dry-cleaned and pressed, feed Elisabeth, and head to the Theatre. He would take his spot in the far left corner, and watch as you danced and laughed with your friends.

He found himself looking forward to Fridays. Which is strange, because he's never looked forward to anything before. Well, besides the games. But he had been so focused on you, that he had fallen behind on his work. Something he'd never done before.

You plagued his mind.

He dreams of you. When he's asleep and awake. He'd find himself walking by the Theatre on other days when you were practicing, hoping to see a glimpse of you.

He found himself listening to Etta James and Nat King Cole more often than not. 'A Sunday Kind Of Love' and 'Unforgettable' filing his apartment as he cooked his dinners. 'My Fair Lady' and 'Gone With The Wind' replacing his classic mystery movies.

He even found himself stopping by flower boutiques, smelling the tulips and Orchids. He wonders what your favorite flower is. Perhaps it is Lilies, the flower that represents innocence and purity.

He wondered a lot if you were a virgin. Often imagining the feeling of your body under his large one late at night when he can't sleep, and when his hand finds itself under his pants.

You had him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you didn't even know it.

Vice Versa, you found yourself looking forward to Fridays as well.

It was the only day you could see the stranger who you had been thinking about constantly.

You liked his style, the way he carried himself with a confidence that intimidated you. His large frame towered over everyone, and he stood out from the crowd. He was perfect. It was as if god himself sculpted him with his own hands.

And oh my god.

You were down bad.

Fiona constantly teased you about it. Making fun of how you stopped wearing your loose cover-up, "Im just hot, that's all Fiona. It's warm in here." You lied. And Fiona was obviously aware of that.

You started offering to stay late with your teacher and help clean up, hoping to catch the stranger before he left. But your teacher always insisted you should go home and rest, and who were you to disobey her.

You've always been perfect. At school, at dance, at everything. When auditions came for Swan Lake, there was no question in anyone's mind about who would get the lead.

But since opening night, things have been slightly different. You often got distracted during practice, your eyes always finding the man in the back corner. You started falling out of your turns, forgetting to bring your pointe shoes, and, worse of all, you had been forgetting to point your toes.

And here you were. Walking to the center of the stage, ready to run through your variation in front of everyone. It was an easy variation, but the end was complicated. You had to do several pirouettes, which you have always been good at. But today you decided to test yourself.

You knew your teacher was becoming increasingly disappointed in you, it plagued your every thought. So, as you spun perfectly, you decided to see how many pirouettes you could perform.

17, 18, 19, 20.

Your leg is wobbling, but you choose to ignore it.

21, 22, 23-

You hear Fiona call your name as your foot slips out of pointe, twisting as you fall on top of it, "Oh my god!" The sickening sound of your ankle cracking causes your heart to drop. The stinging feeling of tears replaced by the overwhelming pain that was now shooting up your leg.

Everyone huddles around you as the teacher runs to call an ambulance, but Fiona kneels at your side, "I know this isn't the right time but, the dilf is running over here right now."

You close your eyes, trying to control your rapid breathing. You wished the stage would open around you and swallow you whole, just put you out of your misery.

In-ho jumps with ease onto the stage, his sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbow, "Move." He pushes past the dancers huddling over you and grabs your face.

Your eyes flick open at the feeling of warm hands pressed against your cheeks. Oh my god, he was holding your face. Your heart fluttered but you didn't notice, you were too worried about the fact that your ankle was bent the wrong way.

In-ho's hand softly brushes over your ankle, causing you to wince. At first, he's skeptical about touching you. Was it too fast? Too sudden? Too bold?

But he didn't have time to think it over as he put his strong arms under you, lifting you gently as he stood. Fiona watched with a smirk on her face as she saw shock fill your eyes, his biceps flexing as he pulled you close to his chest.

Without a word, In-ho steps down from the stage and carries you through the exit, "I have an ambulance coming!" Your teacher ran after him yelling, her typically neat bun somewhat loose and frizzy now.

In-ho motions to his pocket and Fiona responds, grabbing his car key and unlocking his Mercedez-benz, "It will take too long. I'll drive her."

For a split second, you catch his eye, and you could've sworn to god your pain disappeared for a moment. And if it were a different circumstance, In-ho would kiss you. He would kiss you right here with you in his arms.

But the shared look was short-lived as he very carefully sets you in the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt gently. Your ballet teacher leans down to the window, "Don't worry! Fiona can dance for you!"

Your heart shattered.

And tears began to flood. You ignored In-ho's words of reassurance as he took off, speeding to the hospital. The drive was quiet except for your soft cries. And In-ho wanted nothing more than to cradle you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

"Im sorry im getting your car dirty." You looked at the tear-stained headrest you laid against, wiping your sore eyes with the back of your hand.

In-ho cuts a car off as he turns, ignoring the beeps from the angry driver, "It's okay. I have another one." The subtle money brag wasn't missed by you. In-ho just wanted to impress you.

"What are you? Like a CEO or something?" You turned to face him, giving a pitiful sniffle as he gave another sharp turn.

He chuckled, and you felt your heart beat faster. Was it because of the adrenaline? Or was it because the man whom you've become obsessed with is quite literally acting like your night in shining armor, "Im... Im a game show host."

You nodded, an impressive smile growing on your face, "That's cool. Im y/n by the way."

He flashes a smile, the same smile from the night you first saw him, and a blush creeps up on your tear-stained cheeks, "You're sitting there, with a fucked up ankle, and you're making small talk?"

You suddenly feel embarrassed. He's just some random guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time, nothing more. "Sorry. Just trying to distract myself."

In-ho frowns. Did he say the wrong thing? His grip tightens on the steering wheel, "No! Don't be sorry. If I'm being honest, I've been dying to know your name."

His eyes flick to you before looking back in front of him, "Im Hwang In-ho." A small smile creeps onto his lips as he pulls to a stop in front of the ER.

"Well, Mr. Hwang, it's nice to meet you."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Well, it looks like you have a fracture." You give a long exasperated sigh as the Doctor holds up the X-rays, "The fibula is fractured below the level of the syndesmosis, which is the joint between the tibia and fibula."

You look at In-ho, who, for some reason, seems more stressed than you do, "What's the healing process like? Will she need surgery?" Your head snapped to the doctor at the mention of surgery. Surgery for dancers is like a death sentence.

No. More. Dancing.

"Fractures like these are considered stable, meaning that they are unlikely to worsen with correct treatment and management. You'll just need to wear a boot for a while." The doctor noticed how your concerned look didn't falter, and gave a sigh before placing a hand on your shoulder, "You can still dance."

The breath you were holding escapes your lips as you feel a heavy weight fall off your shoulders, "Thank you so much." The doctor rubs your shoulder before leaving, instructing the nurse to fit you for a boot.

In-ho watches as you close your eyes, a smile resting on your face. He cocked his head, how could you be so beautiful in a moment like this? His eyes take a minute to trail down your body, taking you in, something he's grown fond of doing.

Your hair is a mess, your cheeks are red and tear-stained, your ankle looks like a snapped twig, and you're picking at your cuticles. But god.

You are perfect.

Just as beautiful now as you were months ago.

An unfamiliar feeling has taken over his chest ever since he saw you. A tightening, warm feeling that he hasn't felt in years. At first, he ignored it. Maybe it was just heartburn? But as it progressed, he got worried. The next thing you know a doctor is laughing in his face.

Calling it 'love'.

In-ho immediately left after he heard that, making sure to write a very passive-aggressive review on Yelp. What doctor diagnosed a patient with 'being in love'?

In-ho was not in love.

...

Right?

It wasn't until he watched 'Funny Face' that he realized the estranged doctor was correct. The moment Fred Astaire saw Aubrey Hepburn and was immediately captivated by her beauty, he knew it was true.

He didn't care that he was more than twenty years older than you, or that he had bigger things to worry about, all he cared about was you.

And that made him so confused.

You had managed to captivate his heart, soul, and body. And he felt like a teenager with his first crush all over again. So as he saw you look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, he couldn't help what happened next.

He stood from his chair, taking large steps towards your frame. You furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him stand between your legs, careful not to hit your ankle.

His big hands reach down and grab your face, slamming your lips into his own. Your eyes grow wide, confusion flashing across your face before slowly giving in, pulling his head down lower.

His touch was gentle, the opposite of his kiss. His hands softly caressed your red cheeks, while his lips hungrily chased after your own.

You tugged at the baby hairs that rested on the back of his neck, desire and hunger feeding off you as he slipped his tongue into your pretty mouth. A low growl escaped his swollen lips, and you felt arousal begin to pool between your thighs.

You whine as he removes his hand from your face and steps back, crossing his arms. His gaze has always been intimidating. But now that he's seen you fall on your ass, cry, and melt under his touch all in one day, it is much more intimidating.

You've been vulnerable in front of him. Something you could never do before. But you didn't care if he saw your flaws, you were perfect to him.

He saw a future when he looked at you. He saw a family, something he had longed for many years ago. He saw hope, love, and promise.

He saw you.

Beautiful, perfect, irresistible you.

And as he looked at you, only one question entered his mind.

"Do you want to meet my cat?"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

a/n: chat. its 2 am. but i am DETERMINED to post this. i just love you guys sm mwah mwah. also, wasn't in a smut mood. still getting used to writing smut LMAO.

also random disclaimer: i have never done ballet. so if any terms are wrong or if my spelling is trash PLS LMK!

@bohemiandelilah @menabuser16 @verouys @speedymagazinewhispers @metalbaby2 @nellabear @marymun @orihime188 @nanascupid @fnl9zer @chasinghxran @crystalizia @auspicious-lilana @machipyun @cdej6 @namelesslosers

#hwang inho x reader #hwang in ho #in ho x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #hwang in ho x reader #in ho #squid games #lee byung hun x reader #lee byung hun #001 x reader #young il x reader #young il #front man #front man x reader

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thecoochiefairy · 1 day ago

Text

baby phat. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.K word count. blackfem!reader, pregnant!fem reader/kink, drabble, onyankopon, grumpy!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, masturbation, phone/facetime sex, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, kinda aggressive dirty talk, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ my brain is foggy from real life so just wanted to give y’all a lil something to leave you hot and bothered. if i gotta suffer, you do too. love you.

THE SCENT OF CASHMERE VANILLA, COCOA BUTTER AND BROWN SUGAR WAS WHAT YOU USUALLY WOKE UP TO. Unfortunately, that scent was missing within the bed. You sat up tiredly as you took a deep breath, raising your fingers over the smooth swell of your belly—you were now eight months pregnant, and your husband wasn’t home as much as you wanted him to be.

With a sigh, you pull yourself out of bed to prepare for the day. Onyankopon had been in contract with the New Orleans Saints for only a couple of months now. Becoming pregnant was an accident—but spending the rest of your life with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. You’d practically traveled to every part of the state to be there with him for games—a baby wasn’t too far along after.

The only unfortunate part of this situation was his absence. With him just being signed, he was around the state with press conferences, practices, essentially in the hazing part of his successes. You were happy for him as you knew this was all he wanted, but you missed him, and so did the baby growing inside your belly.

Thankfully, you did have the support of his mom, who was there for you as if you were her own daughter. She was there to help you with your daily routine—feeding Ony’s two large Dobermans since she was terrified of dogs, going with you to your ultrasound for the day, and dragging you into every store she saw with infant clothes. You enjoyed your time with her—but you still missed Onyankopon.

It’s not like the two of you didn’t communicate. You had your ways. Texting when he wasn’t busy, phone and video calls into the night, pictures of daily activities, or all of those options in more…intimate times. It opened up a new exploration of your relationship as you were more shy to the nastier suggestions, but as more time was spent away from him, you’d do anything to show how much you missed him.

Speaking of, it was your favorite time of the day. Your daily phone call with him was closer to the evening time, the sun beginning to set within the state of Louisiana. He was only a couple of hours away as they were in Mississippi, days away from preparing to play their kick off game against Ole Miss—but it felt like he was across the country at this point.

You adjust the bow that ties against the halter of your yellow sun dress, silver cross sat between the swell of your breasts and constantly hardened nipples due to your hormones. You were going for a more natural route with your hair, flip-over sew-in under midnight black curls, dragging all the way down your back, framing your flushed and freckles cheeks.

You back yourself up a bit as you’re seated within the master bedroom, blood red IMAC brightening against your caramel skin, camera reflecting back at you as the call rang. When it connected, you were met with the familiarity of his hotel room—seeing as the room was slightly dim, the TV’s light against his brown skin, full lips even more delectable through the grainy camera. His durag protects his hair, goatee connected perfectly, jawline prominent under his stoic gaze. He was edible.

You wave, “Hi, baby! Can you see me?”

“I can,” he mused.

His deep timbre voice was comforting as he greeted, “Hey, my pretty ass baby. Look at you,” His eyes flickered over your face, breasts, and your swollen belly, making your thighs press together, “How you’ feeling?”

You sigh, pulling your hair behind your ear, “I’m okay. You’ like my dress?”

Your voice was soft, already feeling the tiniest bit insecure as you’d just gotten back into form fitting clothes. You’d cried as your body changed in the earlier months.

Onyankopon smirks, shifting on the chair where his knees spread, “Pretty as fuck, Mama. Bout’ to bust that shit open with all that ass,” he grunts, which makes you giggle as he continues, “I miss you.”

“I miss you more, baby,” you exhale, trying not to make yourself upset, “You need to come home soon. Your big ass wolves that you call dogs are scaring your mom.”

“Oh? Now they’ my dogs. You ain’t say all that when you wanted them,” he retorts, licking over his lips.

Your eyes follow the movement of his tongue as you shift on the chair. He looked handsome as ever. You can’t help but stare at his full lips, the small dimple in his cheek, and the dark hue of his eyes as he leans towards the computer desk, pulling out rolling paper as he prepares to roll a blunt. You weren’t sure why, but it was always the sexiest thing to watch.

You blink as your eyes scan the screen, clearing your throat a bit as you raise an eyebrow, “They’ ain’t drug testing y’all?”

Onyankopon shrugs, “It’s preseason, Baby,” he murmurs as he begins to break down the tree on the rolling paper, “Besides, all I’m doing is smoking. That ain’t so bad.”

“Mhm,” you roll your eyes, “Well you better cut that ain’t so bad habit before our little Pumpkin comes,” you run your fingers over your belly.

Your eyes run across his mouth as he licks over his joint, sealing the end, “Don’t call him that shit. That’s my son,” he grabs for his lighter, “My lil’ man been kickin’?”

“Your lil’ football player has been punting in my damn stomach,” you blow out a breath, “He’s moving down to my bladder. If he shifts anymore, imma’ need a walker.”

Your fingers grip around the cross hanging between your breasts, “…You’re my Pumpkin too, y’know.”

A chuckle leaves Onyankopon as he brings his freshly lit joint to his lips, inhaling as he holds off the urge to laugh. A cloud of gray leaves his lips as he blows.

“He gon’ have my long ass legs.”

His eyes flicker up momentarily from the screen, making it fog, “You my pumpkin, too,” he replies, exhales into the camera.

You didn’t want to interrupt as you watched him—the haze of his red eyes already becoming apparent. He’s sexy. Fuck.

Your fingers absentmindedly trail along your belly, feeling your cheeks become warm as you bring your eyes down. You ask softly, “How was practice?”

"We got a new tight end, nigga think he somebody. But besides that, same ol'. Just drills and shit really,” He banters, shifting forward in his chair as he stares up at you, "You know I'm bored as hell right now, Mama."

You could see the haze in his eyes grow as he slowly takes another hit of his joint—Uh oh.

You narrow your eyes, curls swaying over your shoulder, “Oh, am I boring you?”

"You?”

Onyankopon leans back against the chair, exhaling into the computer. He grins a bit as the camera is engulfed in smoke, "Nah. You could never, baby.”

You watch him with curious eyes as he shifts in the chair, groaning slightly which makes your mind wander—The only thing you could see was his face, shoulders, chest and what you could assume to be his stomach. He wears a white long sleeve, clinging to his muscular frame. You knew all the tattoos that hid under his top. But something was under the computer table…

You give him a soft, awkward smile. You know how he got when he was high. This was your husband, yet he made you nervous like a schoolgirl.

You then say, “Oh!” Standing as you search for your purse, ass directly within the camera as you question, “I got the ultrasound photos, baby! Wanna see?”

Your husband hums, low and deep as he says back to you, “Mhm,” You feel his lustful eyes on the screen, “Come show me.”

Your hands tremble as you search, almost excited for him to see the photos. Or maybe you were just nervous—again.

You drop the brown Telfar on the side of the desk, it only takes you three steps to be in front of your computer again, holding the black and white printout up to the screen.

You can hear a faint laugh as Onyankopon murmurs once again, “Bring it closer, girl.”

You fully sit down again, leaning forward as you point your acrylic nail against the sonogram, “See, that’s his little toesss, and that’s his little fingers!” you giggle, “You see?”

Onyankopon’s face breaks out into a smile as he groans slightly, “Goddamn. I lied, he got my fingers. Musta’ got your toes, Mama. Can’t see ‘em too good.”

You hum, “Guess he won’t be too good for basketball then,” you tease.

Onyankopon snorts at that as he says, “Basketball she says— You know what? Just ‘cause you said that, he’s not playin no sport. Imma’ get lil’ man his own studio.”

You giggle a bit at that, “My child ain’t finna’ be no damn rapper. You can kill that thought.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s gonna’ be a singer. Got your pretty ass voice, I know it.”

You roll your eyes, “You’ just flirting, boy. Cut it out.”

Onyankopon chuckles at that, but he doesn’t deny it. His eyes fall back to that serious gaze he had before, a soft tint of red within them.

“You’ got me thinking about you.”

His voice, it’s almost like it’s own way of peer pressure. Your hands run over your belly anxiously as you blink, “Me?”

"Yeah,” Your husband draws out, eyes flickering up and down the screen in anticipation, “Don't play all shy.”

You can see him shift in the chair as he leans back, and his eyes stare back at the screen. You can tell he was waiting for something.

At the same time, your body becomes…significantly warm. Before he was signed, you and Onyankopon had sex almost every single day. You couldn’t get enough of each other, never did. Your mind flashes to those memories, and your thighs rub together a bit. At the same time, the door to the master bedroom opens, allowing you to exhale for a second.

Gray curls come into view, brown skin and familiar eyes that belonged to your mother-in-law. She held a bowl of food with a smile.

She walked towards the camera, “Hey, Honey-Bun, you alright in here? I made you some jambalaya—“

She pauses, looking towards her son on the camera as her eyes immediately narrow, “I know your big headed ass better put that joint away.”

Onyankopon groans as his mother comes into view, “Yes ma’am,” he coughs, hovering a fist over his mouth. He was still high—which you could tell based on his flushed appearance and tone. His mother was very anti-weed, so he always tried to hide it as much as possible. You can see some movement under the table, which you assumed was Onyankopon putting the blunt away.

“Why’ the hell do you think it’s a good time to be smoking, Onyankopon? They don’t drug test y’all?”

Oh god. You knew your mother-in-law could easily begin complaining, and you wish she’d walked in at any other time as you placed a calming palm against her arm.

Onyankopon clears his throat, making his face close to the screen so you could really see his eyes, “Ma—Ma. I’m in the preseason. Ain’t got no games for a couple days. They ain’t doin’ that, they ain’t doin’ all that.”

“Preseason? The ‘hell does that mean? Are y’all playing or not? If you’re not playing then why can't you come back home to check on your mother and your pregnant wife?” She comes closer to the camera, you can’t help but sigh lightly to yourself.

Onyankopon groans again as he leans back in the chair, “Momma, I’m not finna’ get into it with you again. You and Baby know. You jus’ gon’ talk over me if I start speakin’ anyway.”

He can’t help but tongue his cheek momentarily, and your heartbeat increases with just his simple movements—but you’re brought back to reality when his mother speaks up even quicker.

“Are you at least eating? Did you get the care package I sent you? I got all your soaps, and that little teddy bear you had as a baby—you never went anywhere without Mr. Snuffles,” which makes you giggle at the familiar toy, something Onyankopon hated being reminded of.

He mumbles, “…I’m good, Momma, got your care packages. Lawd. Stop with all that…”

“Thank you for the food, Momma,” you give her a smile, “I’m not super hungry at the moment, do you mind leaving it in the fridge?”

Onyankopon’s mom gives a smile back, “Of course. I’m actually gonna head back home for the night, do you need anything else?”

You shake your head, “I’m perfect. Just gonna’ keep talking to Ony for a little while longer.”

Onyankopon sighs as his mother says her goodbyes, exiting out of the room. Now, you notice his eyes flickering up and down your curves, which makes you squirm under the spotlight. Onyankopon then repeats, “I miss you bad as fuck, girl. You miss me?”

You hate yourself for the emotions that produce randomly at times. The conversation between your mother-in-law and Onyankopon, the way he made you easily giggle, the imagery of his warmth surrounding you but not actually being there—it didn’t feel the best.

The dark fluff of your cat-eye lash extensions flutter as you nod your head, using your knuckles to lightly swipe your watery eyes as you nod, “I miss you so much, Ony…”

Your husband’s face softens slightly. He hated to see you so emotional due to his absence, and would rather be anywhere else. But you always supported his dreams, and wanted to build the perfect life for your baby boy. He mutters, “Stop all that crying, baby. Wipe ya’ face. You know I’ll be back.“

You shakily sigh a bit, nodding your head as you kneel your face down to let the tears fall that way, “I—I know, it’s just hard sleeping without you,” you sniffle, “Lil’ Pumpkin likes when you rub my stomach to sleep…”

Onyankopon sighs, “And I love rubbin’ your stomach, baby.”

He then says, “Soon as I get back, we gon’ sleep for a whole week. Ain’t nobody gonna’ bother us. I’m all yours.”

Your heartbeat increases—Onyankopon always had a way to make you emotional without even being near. It also made you somewhat…aroused.

“I miss you like crazy. I miss ya’ voice, I miss ya’ smell. I miss ya’ pu—“ he cuts himself off before he goes into that territory, which makes your body heat up slightly.

You watch as he brings the blunt back up to the camera, pulling another drag of smoke, the move always so efficient as if it was nothing. His eyes are back to being low—it makes you shift your legs again. He cuts on low background music to play, and a familiar song catches your ears, She Will, by Lil Wayne.

You hum softly, “You love this song.”

You take a moment to recall why the song gave you such a sense of Deja Vu. But as you remember, you halt.

The memory was at a family event— Onyankopon’s going away party. His family irritated him by being loud, over talking and messy—a black family’s usual antics. He’d managed to sneak downstairs with you to the car for a moment of silence, the two of you smoking, the song faintly playing in the back. You’d…remembered this vividly.

Your mind glazes over the moans you produced in that backseat, the sound of your skin connecting, your vulnerability, your legs trapped over his shoulders…

Your mind comes back to reality as you’ve been watching him this whole time. Your hand had somehow made its way to your chest…rubbing over your exposed skin, clutching your pendant again.

“Mama,” Onyankopon murmurs as he brings another drag of the blunt back on camera, blowing the smoke into screen as he spins back to his sentence earlier, “‘Got me thinking about you bad as fuck.”

He was high as hell.

Your eyes run over his large silhouette as he leans back against the chair, knees spreading out further as he makes himself comfortable, head tilting back a bit as he watches you.

Your mind wanders again, back to that song—back to that night. Your mind can’t stop. Your head is spinning with the memories, it physically makes you whimper, squeezing your thighs, tugging your pendant fully.

Your husband’s gaze grows in lust as he leans forward a bit, whispering, “Talk to me. Whatchu’ thinkin’ about?”

The hand clutched around your pendant squeezes a bit tighter as you glance towards the camera, “The song…makes me think of that night in the car…” you softly admit, rubbing your fingers over your collar bone, your fingertips bringing you warmth.

He brings the blunt back on camera again before a stream of clouds leaves his lips, “You miss that night, Mama?”

You nod your head, your entire body now hot. You could feel your nipples poking through your top again, aching in a way that almost becomes painful. Your thighs are so tightly together, as you adjust the seating position, you grind against yourself a bit, making the tiniest gasp pull from your lips.

Onyankopon groans through the screen, and you can hear his voice say, “You in our bedroom?”

He was becoming impatient.

"Go to it. On the bed," he murmurs, "Hurry up.”

“Too far from you, Ony,” you pout, bringing your hands against your breast, giving a squeeze to them, trying to relive how full they feel.

There's a pause before a deep exhale leaves his lips. His tone goes deep again, "Go."

You shudder as you stand, your legs feeling numb. You tilt the monitor more towards the king sized bed, silky black comforter set along the oversized mattress. You crawl along the sheets, turning towards him again, your knees along the bed as your dress begins to hike against your soft thighs.

His eyes flicker downward at you, and you can feel his gaze run up your smooth, caramel skin. His gaze burns into yours, giving an intense look.

You hear his voice again, “You gon’ do what I say?”

You nod your head, lightly digging your teeth against the pink of your soft lips.

“Always listen to you, Ony…”

Your man growls, “That’s right, ‘cause you good. You gon’ be good for me?”

Your hands squeeze the flesh of your breast, your nipples never being this sensitive before your pregnancy. You gasp in a soft tone, but the sound is heavier. You nod your head, “Bought something I w—wanna show you…”

You hear his breathing pick up, “Yeah? Show me,” he murmurs. “You look so muhfuckin’ good right now, baby.”

You reach behind you as you pull a toy from under the pillow—it’s pink, silicone, almost looking like glass. Big, just as big as him.

“Pretty like you, Daddy…”

"Look at that," You hear a deep noise escape his lips before there's a shuffling noise, you couldn't exactly make out what it was—then it was followed by another noise. This one you recognized; the strings of his sweatpants. His dark pink tip slaps along the sculpted muscle of his stomach, practically making your mouth water.

“You like it?” You ask softly.

You take the object and graze it lightly along your body, seating yourself fully along the bed. You’re at the most perfect angle to spread your legs.

“Yeah, baby,” he grunts, letting more of his body come into view as he’s in a reclined position. You can begin to see his toned chest come into view when there's some shuffling noises again, his breathing picking up, “Love it.”

You pull at the string of your dress, letting the halter fall over the swell of your belly, material hanging in between your stomach and hips. You were now bare at the top, hair swaying over your body and face as you shuddered a bit, “They’re starting to fill with milk, baby… sensitive…”

You can hear a deep, deep groan echo in the screen, almost sounding frustrated, “Fuck. You’ playing right now. Put that shit in your mouth.”

You bring the toy up to your mouth, spreading your full lips apart as you let it slide on your tongue, coating it with your saliva. At the same time, you spread your legs, showing off the glistening arousal bedaubed on your pussy. You were wet.

“Fuck, baby....” he growls lowly, beginning to stroke himself, “Pussy so pretty. I can feel that shit on my tongue. I’m just slurping your shit up.”

His voice is rough with desire, each word punctuated by a squeeze of his fist around his thick tip.

“Get you’ a pillow for your lower back, baby. ‘Know it hurts sometimes.”

You listen, pulling the satin pillow behind you for a bit of support, feeling the small ache in your back beginning to decrease.

“Comfortable, Mama?” He questions, you nod your head.

“Good. Rub that dick all over your clit.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you imagine his lips dropping kisses against your clit. He’d go from your inner thighs, teasing you. He’d watch as you’d squirm with every suckle of your skin, your entire body shuddering as his hot breath fanned over the hood covering the pink nub, being pulled up by his lips, being kissed by his tongue. You brush the toy against your clit that throbs, spreading your legs a little more as you whimper, lightly dragging the tip in circles on your upper pussy. The sound it makes, your pussy keens.

His hand begins to pick up speed as he pumps through his fist, “You like that, huh? Rubbing this big ass dick all over your clit?” He grunts, his voice strained with pleasure, “Slap that shit on your pussy. Get them’ pretty ass eyes rolling back."

He knew everything about your body. Including the way you’d spasm at this action, so you listened, slapping the heavy toy against your clit, your legs trembling in response, eyes rolling to the back or your head. You groan a bit, head falling back, eyes fluttering before you bring your attention back to your arousal that pools beneath your thighs, pulling your legs wider to show the gummy pink of your pussy.

The anticipation builds as you tease yourself, circling your clit with the toy, then dipping it inside your opening just enough before withdrawing again.

“Why that shit so fuckin’ wet already?” His jaw clenches, head tilting back, fist rotating on his tip, dragging down every couple of seconds.

Your folds wrap around the toy every millisecond as you slide the outsides of it against yourself, teasing so much that your eyes haven’t stopped rolling back.

The swell of your belly shifts a bit as you whine softly, “Ony…”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, “Ain’t even put that shit in yet. Where’ my lil’ nasty bitch at? She would’ve been droolin’, dropping herself all on my dick. Just drenching my shit. Quit playing.”

“Right here,” you whimper, nodding your head, digging your teeth back into the plump of your lips. Instead of dipping the toy in to tease yourself, you take a palm to pull one of your legs up in the air, using your other hand to drag the toy towards your opening, separating the aching stretch of your folds as you begin sinking it’s tip inside.

You’re gasping as you watch it go in, unable to see more, yet you feel every inch swelling your walls, disappearing under the sight of your large belly.

You whimper, “It’s in there, baby.”

"Get it all the way in, baby. Bury that shit deep," he commands, pumping faster now, his breathing ragged. You’re dropping it in, inch by inch, your inhale deep as you pull it halfway out, toes curling as you sink it back in, an air pocket gushing as your arousal sops around the pink toy.

Your eyes are fluttering chaotically as you shudder, “Fuck, agh—“ you don’t stop, fist brushing over your clit as you’re dropping it down into you.

He’s talking, "You remember when we first met? Couldn’t even handle my fingers. Now look at you,” A low chuckle escapes him, "Now I got you stretching that pussy out. Dick just drop, drop, dropping in that shit…”

His words trail off into a grunt as he quickens his strokes, “You my lil’ freaky ass bitch, huh?”

You whimper, pouting at the way your pussy cries its tears, sobbing out in waves of arousal that pool each time you pull the toy out, painting the pink silicone white. You squeal lightly as its balls slap against the outside of your pussy, the fleshy sound splattering up more of your wetness as you petulantly whine, “Yeah, Ony…”

"That's right, baby. Take that shit like a good lil' slut," he says, voice dripping with lust as he watches you work the toy deep inside yourself, “Rubbing that pretty ass clit while you're stuffed. Fuck, you look so damn good."

He picks up pace, stroking harder and faster as he nears his own climax, “Gonna give you all this fuckin’ nut. You want it?”

“Want it,” you tremble, in and out, the toy’s just going in you at this point, disappearing without a trace, lost in your pussy. You’re just gushing. The sound is like a mouth blowing raspberries into one’s palm, fleshy, nasty.

“Can’t cum without you,” you pout, “Need you….I need you,” you’re opening your mouth, the sob coming deep from your chest, fucking yourself even harder, one leg shaking violently as it’s held in the air, eyes possessed as they’re rotating. You loved these moments—but they were never enough. Not even for him.

“You don’t need nothing,” He groans, his words coming out more raspy, “Keep that pussy wet as fuck. I’m coming.”

#onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x black reader smut #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon x you #aot onyankopon #onyakapon #attack on titan smut #aot #onyankapon #anime oneshot #onyankopon smut

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uravitypng · 3 days ago

Text

𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐲

pairing: yandere satoru gojo x chubby reader

summary: at the beginning gojo made your life hell when he first sees you because you won't give him attention. then it all changes, he just hated seeing you cry and he'll use all his resources and power to love you and spoil you

word count: 14.7k words

a/n: okay okay! i'm back! with something incredibly longer compared to every other oneshot i've written. i started this before gojo's birthday but it just kept getting longer and longer, then came the holidays and then i got ill too but it's finally finished, yay! i hope you all enjoy this and of course like always make sure you read the warnings before reading x

content warnings: gojo is a yandere!! friends to lovers, hints of stalking, gojo manipulates everyone, mentions of breeding, fingering, rough unprotective sex, cumming inside, gojo calls her 'silly girl' in his head and thinks she thinks to much (kind of like 'you don't need to think or make decisions or earn money because i can do that for you'), dirty talk, dumbification, objectification(?), submissive reader, dominant gojo, petnames: princess, sweetheart, (good girl) (if i've missed anything please let me know because it's very possible with 14.7k words - mdni / 18+

everyone flocks to satoru gojo, girls and guys alike, they want his attention, if only for a second, and want to be noticed by him. he's the beating heart to every social situation, with an ability to draw every single eye in the room on him, feeding off the spotlight and admiration. whatever he wants he gets it, he has since he was a young child so why are you being so difficult?

there's not many who he considers his equal, if he had to pick out one it would be his best friend from childhood suguru geto, two families telling their children to talk to the other in hopes to form more connections. gojo remembers to this day being five years old dressed up in a suit that was too stuffy for any five year old to wear, taken to a party with his parents. everywhere he looked there were elites and politicians, anyone and everyone with power. he remembers the nudge his mother gave him towards suguru's direction, telling her son to make friends. others at the university are lesser than him, but they're entertaining for a short duration, before he gets bored of them and tosses them away for someone else, that is.

then there's the nobodies, the lowest of the low. uninteresting in every way possible with nothing to offer him, nothing to pique his interest and in terms of satoru gojo you're a typical nobody but even the nobodies look his way when they think people won't notice. even the really shy ones or the stubborn ones who always say how much they despise how everyone adores him will momentarily glimpse in his direction when they think no one's looking.

but you... you look right past him, and it pisses him off. do you think you're better than him? even people in long term relationships eyes drift to him, most would break up with their partner for just one night with him. this 'most' mainly means all, everyone wants a chance to be with the man whose sexual escapades are spoken about frequently in such a high regard.

it's not like you don't know about his existence, you do, but you want to keep yourself to yourself. even your closest friends talk about the famous satoru gojo but he gives you the shivers for some reason. you've never spoken to him and you don't intend to, even if it's everyone's dream, it's not yours, something's just not quite right about him. you live in completely different worlds, different universes, and you prefer to dream about things more realistic, maybe dragons and flying saucers on occasion but never satoru gojo. not only is associating with him unrealistic but just the thought of him makes you shudder. he's too cocky, too self-assured, too arrogant, too loud, too... attractive, it doesn't seem right that someone would look that good. it's like he's hypnotised everyone bar you.

first it's irritation when he notices your behaviour, it's clear when you're acting the complete opposite to everyone, then it's anger when he sees you pay attention to someone that isn't him. something must be wrong with you if you're laughing at a joke that he didn't make, a joke told by another nobody, not just a nobody but someone a year younger. his actions are fuelled by his anger and his annoyance towards you. he makes sure every friend and acquaintance you have stops talking to you, it's easy really. all those so called 'friends' leave you alone after 'overhearing' hushed voices talk about how gojo's more likely to talk to someone when they're not friends with someone who's like you. it was easy to orchestrate it, all he needed was two girls who constantly fawn over him, perfect for doing his bidding.

"gojo never talks to yumehara, even though she tries so hard."

"yeah, it's because she's friends with moriyama. associating with someone like her is a no-go."

"moriyama?"

"yeah, you know that girl in class a, the one who thinks she's better than everyone and doesn't care about gojo."

you now sit by yourself and walk the corridors alone- easy. if he was more sympathetic towards you he'd almost feel bad that all of your friends would stop talking to you so readily.

next was your grades. the gojo family funds the university meaning that he had much more power than the average person, even more than people who also come from wealthy families. professors know it's in their best interest not to get on the bad side of the heir of the gojo family, not just for the university's sake but for themselves as well. one wrong move and they'll be fired, blacklisted throughout town unable to get a job. one wrong move and the university could lose all their funding. he wields more power than the headmaster.

you already get average grades, typically b's and occasionally c's but if he plays his cards right he knows he can lower those c's another extra grade down to an f and he knows just who to start with. professor iura: a man in his mid-thirties who's respected by all and he knows you like him. he's been told you try extra hard in his class, taking double the amount of notes in his lectures than you ordinarily do. he knows getting an f in his class first would be more hurtful than over all the other classes.

"professor iura don't you think the girl who wrote the paper on-" he stops mid sentence, what did you write about again?- "something so boring it hasn't even sunk in. i remember everyone else's but not hers." he only remembers his own and there was never any reason to see what a nobody like you wrote about.

the professor's eyebrows furrow before quickly schooling his expression back to impassive. satoru has used his influence before but iura's never heard about him using it as payback for whichever poor soul's caught his ire. "who is it?" iura thought you deserved an a this time, it's disappointing that he'll have to give you an f.

all these things start stacking up and you feel like the universe is against you, you don't understand your sudden drop in grades or why your friends won't talk to you. you do your best to put on a brave face but you feel alone, you have no one to turn to, you don't understand why everyone gives you the cold shoulder and why they pretend you don't exist, your facial expression dropping when someone ignores you for the umpteenth time. you don't understand how your water always seems to spill in your bag all over your things even though you swear you've put on the lid securely, screwing the lid on the bottle so tightly your hands suffer the consequence, almost raw, from how tight you've tried to make it. you can't afford to buy another textbook and you don't have enough time to rewrite your essay.

you don't understand how things go missing every time you look away. you glance to the window when you see a falling leaf, burnt orange and crimson red litter the floor outside. autumn is so beautiful, a season of harvest and abundance but it's a reminder to you that nothing lasts forever, leaves fall and people leave. people talk about how autumn is maturing but omits the melancholy idea that it's just growing old, that burnt oranges and crimson reds are just rotting on the ground. your whole world is rotting with every second, the universe has it out for you and by the time you look back into the room your pen is missing.

gojo takes pleasure from seeing your face at these times, that puzzled look and biting your lip in frustration as you've lost another pen or that pout when your friend ignores you, he thinks it looks pretty on you. not that he'd ever admit that of course.

his pleasure twists though, into a new emotion- a darker emotion. you got another f and you look... sad... distraught. satoru enjoys seeing your pout when something goes wrong for you, he thinks it's pretty but he's watching you like a hawk right now, he can't take his eyes off you, he can tell you're trying desperately to hold it all together but you can't stop your eyes from welling up, it's impossible to stop your waterline brimming with tears, overflowing like a broken tap, hot tears running down your face, you attempt to quickly wipe your tears away with the back of your sleeve in hopes that nobody has seen but it's too late for that. he thought he would take pleasure in seeing you cry but instead it's pure rage. even though he's the one that's convinced all of your professors to give you f's, all he feels is fury for them making you cry. he doesn't want you to cry, he wants to keep you safe, wants to make you all his.

in the following weeks professors leave the university without announcing it to students. leaving studies and classes in a limbo for awhile. not just the professor who made you cry is gone but also iura and several others.

with that limbo period came more group projects to fill in the space of the lack of lectures. a 'little' push from satoru to higher ups and you were paired up together, leaving you no choice to spend time together and have your first conversation with each other. at this point he needed to be near you. you sit across from each other after class and you introduce yourself to each other, even though you both know who the other is, you didn't expect him to know you and he acts like he doesn't. "oh i know you, i really liked your last paper. you got an f, right? i can't believe that, it was the best one." after all your friends avoiding you and all those f's getting validation makes you shyly smile, your cheeks feel warm and you're starting to understand why people like him.

things start to change after that. your f's go back to normal and people are kinder, with everything going back to normal satoru makes sure you're still alone though, makes sure your friends continue not to talk to you. he's the only one that's allowed to do that. your friends still don't spend time with you, instead gojo does and honestly you don't mind that change, you appreciate that change, you don't know what happened with your friends but you like how gojo doesn't dismiss your emotions and opinions like they used to do.

you previously had that inkling that something was wrong with him but his easygoing smiles and playful words make you enjoy your time with him and his once overconfidence that you always used to observe which once bothered you now makes your heartbeat go crazy in your chest, like marching drums hammering away against your ribcage.

satoru notices this change in you and he takes advantage of it. this change doesn't make him lose interest in you, maybe if you were someone else it would but not with you, if anything it makes him more interested because he learns more and more without you, some with your consent and knowledge others without it. he thinks you look so cute when you smile and he loves hearing you laugh. he never really liked music but he's listened to all those music and songs you share to the world like the ones you love that you play in cars and talk to people about them, plus the more secret ones hidden in your likes and private playlists. he loves the things you do that you don't realise you're doing, the soft sighs you make when you put on a warm coat when it's cold or the hums when you drink a hot drink. how you bite your pen when you're deep in thought and linger by the door before leaving the house and locking up, mentally checking you have everything you need with you. the little moans you make when you eat something that you love, at those times satoru has to restrain himself from kissing you. he loves it all. he loves you.

you see each other whenever possible and if you can't you'll be texting, he'll send you emoji's at the end of messages that you don't understand the context to and will send you selfies and photos of cats he's seen while around town.

after the first few times at the library you tend to see each other at café because they're more relaxed and you can talk as loud as you want to. he starts paying for your lunch whenever you're together, you always used to insist to pay yourself but after the first few times you relented, he could buy you breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday for the rest of your life yet it still wouldn't make a dent in his wallet. not only does he buy you lunch now but it's much more extravagant then you could afford for yourself.

you're walking together past a store front window and gojo sees something that catches his eye, stopping where he is and pulling on your sleeve to stop you too. "look at this!"

your eyes scan the window not knowing what he's talking about, all of them are designer clothes but none of them are men's. "what are we looking at gojo?"

he grins and points to a blouse, "that would look so good on you, you'd look so cute!" 'doubtful' you think. you scoff, that is a cute blouse but no way. "hey, what was that for? it's true." he insists.

"i don't even need to go in there to see that it's way out of my price range, plus designer brands like that never have my size anyway."

"you didn't say you didn't like it."

"me liking or not liking it isn't the point."

you carry on the rest of your day like it didn't happen and you forget about the whole thing. gojo doesn't.

all of gojo's fans start to get jealous of you, it's been over three months, the limbo period is over and new people have been hired, group projects are finished but you still spend all your days together. his previous relationships have been no more than eye candy only lasting a couple weeks yet you don't even seem to be dating so why is he always smiling when you talk and is walking you everywhere. they can't comprehend it, you're a nobody.

satoru loses it one day. you've gone to hand in your library book, it's overdue and you had forgotten about it, you needed it for when you and gojo were working together but you forgot all about it. gojo's waiting outside for you, you know the librarian likes you more so you've told him it's better if you go on your own, he knows that isn't true but as long as the librarian is kind to you he won't intervene. 'if the librarian knows what's good for her she'll let it go and not upset you.'

someone gojo vaguely recognises as a cheerleader who suguru slept with a few times spots him and goes over to him, leaning against him and pushing her breasts up against him. it disgusts him. "what are you doing here gojo? don't tell me that friend of yours is making you wait for her." she says in a sickly sweet voice and his eye twitches. he doesn't reply, she should get the idea and leave. "if i were her i'd never do that. why don't you come hang out with me? me and my friends are having a party later we'd love it if you'd come. normally i wouldn't come up to you so boldly but i think i'd be able to show you a good time, not like that girl you're always spending time with, you're so out of her league." she runs her hand along his arm but he grabs it tightly making her wince.

"don't ever fucking talk about her again," gojo responds coldly. he squeezes tighter and she yelps. he lets go of arm and pushes her away, almost in revulsion that he touched her. she stumbles and leans against the wall, looking shocked. at that time you push open the door with a relieved look on your face. satoru ignores the girl, acting like she doesn't exist, he smiles brightly at you. "everything okay?"

"yeah, she was surprisingly very understanding," you return his smile and shut the door behind you. when you shut the door you see the girl leaning against the wall staring at gojo and you wonder why. you've seen lots of gojo's fans but none of them have looked at him like that. you turn your attention back to gojo, not really wanting to engage with the girl if you can help it, you've never seen her before but you can tell that she's someone who would make your life hell if you knew each other as teenagers. "is everything okay?" you ask him, vaguely gesturing to her.

he grins and strolls towards you lifting up his sunglasses and lifting up your chin to look at him, forcing you to make eye contact and in doing so you get flustered and frazzled. gojo would sometimes put his arm over your shoulder when your walking together or grab hold of you quickly from behind unexpectedly, making you jump but this is the first time it's ever been so intimate. it's also rare for you to see gojo without his sunglasses on. "everything's fine." he grins and pats your head jokingly making you glare and pout. he snickers as he sees your reaction and lets go of your chin, slinging his arm over your shoulder.

"alright, if you say so, but for lunch i'm getting extra for that, i'm not some pet." you grumble and walk off together. satoru's mind flashes with images with you on your knees, 'i think she'd make a good pet. maybe i should buy her a collar.' he snickers again and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, "what's so funny?"

"nothing," he smirks. as you walk away he turns back around to look at the girl still standing there paralysed and glares hard at the girl. normally people would be swooning when they see his bright blue eyes like the clearest spring days but not right now, they'd all be wrong, his eyes aren't clear like any warm day they're frozen over and icy, with flecks of white and all that girl feels is despair and dread. he looks at her so cruelly, it makes her unable to move- frozen in place.

you haven't seen gojo for the last few days, it's the longest you've gone without seeing him since you became friends. even if you've both been busy previously gojo makes sure to have seen you, even if it's only for a minute, but you've both been too busy. gojo has had basketball practise in the day and in the night his family demands his attendance whilst discussing family affairs and you on the other hand have been busy studying, wanting to make sure you don't get any f's again. you don't realise you won't though, everything could be incoherent with each other word being spelled terribly and you'd never get an f again, gojo's made sure of that. he won't let anyone make you cry again.

you rhythmically tap your fingers, fidgeting on the table where your laptop and textbooks are, 'i want to see him.' satoru's scored another goal, this time a three point line goal, normally he goes for slam dunks but as long as he's the one scoring it doesn't really bother him. he's got a big game coming up and you're going to be there, you're going for him, you've never been to any of the games before, not having any real interest in the sport but now your friend is the star player so you're not going to miss any games. he'll score every single point his team makes so your eyes have no option but to focus on him and after the match you'll compliment him. the coach asks him something but it's all white noise to him, 'i miss her.'

you get a text on the fourth day of not seeing him and when you read the message you smile so wide your face becomes sore. 'the last few days have been so long without you! i know we normally go out for lunch but do you want to go for dinner?'

you don't hesitate responding, 'i'd love too!'

'i'll pick you up an hour before our reservations, i've brought you something.'

'reservations? did you plan tonight? and what's this about buying me something? you already pay for my lunch.'

'i've pulled some strings xoxo see you tonight.' you scowl when you read that he's blatantly ignored your comment about buying you something and if he's went out his way to pull some strings for this meal it must be more than a fast food drive-thru or the equivalent. you didn't really expect him to take you somewhere where you can eat in your car or it's acceptable to wear a three day old top and a hoodie that is a little too small but for him to go to the effort of pulling strings this must be a sophisticated place.

half an hour later you hear your phone again, multiple messages being sent one after another, five buzzes. 'shit.' 'I FORGOT' 'i forgot to send a time!' 'i'll see you at 6.' 'pretend this never happened.' you cover your face with your phone and giggle.

by six you're ready, it's taken you longer to get ready then you'd like to admit but you wanted to look pretty, it would be embarrassing to underdress. compared to gojo anything you or any 'normal' person would wear looks cheap in comparison to all his designer clothes but you spent hours making sure it would be suitable.

it's ten past six when you hear a knock on the door. opening it you see gojo in all his glory, his attractiveness on full display and his wealthiness showing, wearing an all black giorgio armani suit with a white shirt underneath, his sunglasses look different than normal, fancier, you think you can make out a ray-ban logo. he's wearing a rolex watch which is more than double your monthly rent. his hair looks shorter than the last time you saw him, he must of had a haircut in the last few days. it's obvious the way your eyes linger on him, checking him out and gojo grins as you unknowingly fuel his pride and ego.

"awe, you look so cute princess," gojo says playfully, smirking. princess- the first time he had called you that you malfunctioned, your eyes had widened and you forgot to breath. no one else has ever called you a term of endearment before and you didn't expect your friend, satoru gojo, to be saying it. you didn't ask why he called you it, why would you? it made your fingertips tingle and the inside of your chest to warm up. "can i come in?" you nod your head and move to the side to give him enough room to come in and close the door after him. "you really do look beautiful," he says gently, you don't think you've ever heard him speak so tenderly before.

"you look good too gojo, you always do but- but tonight as well," you tell him, bashfully smiling. he grins and his eyes gleam with glee at the genuine compliment. he loves when you compliment him, it feels different than the vapid ones others offer him, even if you compliment him with only a few words it means a greater deal.

behind his back he's carrying a sleek black box with a scarlet red chiffon ribbon wrapped around it in a bow containing his gift to you, your eyes narrow when he hands it too you, although your voice is soft and quiet when you say, "it's not my birthday gojo, why are you buying me things? you don't have to do that," your voice gets quieter with each word spoken.

gojo takes your hand in his and places the box in your hand. "i can buy you things because i can. i have enough money and i want to spend it on you," he tells you firmly and your stomach flutters with butterflies but you don't know why, his hand is awfully soft maybe that's why your heart is racing or maybe it's because he spoke to you firmly like there's no room for arguments. gojo cups your cheek with his unoccupied hand and strokes it, your whole body melts at the action, "just open it 'kay?"

you nod your head and hum, relenting- just like you did when he began paying for your lunch. you delicately unwrap the bow, not wanting to ruin the box, and open it, you didn't know what to expect, you could of been given a hundred guesses and a hundred days to guess what he brought you and you still would have no clue. you pause as you open up the lid, your heart skips a beat and it's almost as if the air was stolen from your lungs like deflated balloons as you breathlessly say, "satoru! what's this?" inside the box is the blouse you were looking at all those weeks ago, the one you said was too expensive, the one you said would never fit.

'satoru' it's the first time you've ever called him by his given name and it sounds so angelic coming from your lips that he's forgotten to breathe, everything pausing and not moving. "do you like it?" he finally asks.

you nod your head in an almost daze, you're in awe that he'd really give you something so beautiful, that he would go out of his way to buy it. "i- i don't deserve this gojo."

he steps closer to you, "uh uh, what's with calling me gojo again?"

your eyes widen as you realise that only a second ago you called him by his given name, "oh! i'm so sorry! i was just in shock, i didn't mean to call you that gojo," you ramble.

he smoothed out the wrinkles of his forehead rubbing it with his fingers, which is currently caused because he finds your lack of awareness disconcerting. "that isn't what i meant princess, i want you to call me satoru. i want to give this to you."

"oh... okay," you're quiet and you've pressed your lips together to stop yourself from smiling. it won't be hard to start calling him satoru, you already call him satoru in your head. after a long pause of you trying to put your thoughts all together you start speaking again, "are you sure about this satoru? this is bound to be expensive, right? it's- it's ralph lauren isn't it? isn't this too expensive too be spending on me." gojo has to hide a smirk at that, 'has she forgotten how rich i am?' "and, and i don't want you to think that i want to spend time with you because you have money or anything!" 'ah she's adorable, i could just cancel our reservations and have her on her knees the whole night to say thank you for the blouse... i couldn't do that though, not right now... if i don't see her in that blouse in the next five minutes i'll go insane.'

"of course i'm sure about this princess, i know you'd never spend time with me for clothes from ralph lauren." he resists the urge to pull you in by your waist and kiss you, he doesn't want to overwhelm you, not at this moment.

you take the blouse out of the gift box and hold it out in front of you, there's a twinkle in your doe eyes as you look at it in wonder, knowing that this is yours, whispering, "pretty," it's barely audible. "wait, i didn't think this store went up to my size? did you go to a different store? and... how do you know my size." you ask him confused.

"i have my ways," he answers and winks at you, you scoff at the wink and narrow your eyes.

"seriously satoru," you press him. 'ah she could ask me anything and i'll tell her if she keeps calling me satoru.' "actually i know you know my size from when you've seen my coats and jumpers lying around but-" 'oh yeah... that's totally how i know...' "- how did you get it in my size?"

"annoyingly they don't actually make that particular blouse in your size... how ridiculous is that, sadly i don't have enough money and connections to make them ruined and bankrupt." he says nonchalantly, casually waving his arm around. you bark out a laugh thinking that he was joking. he wasn't. if even one article of clothing isn't made in your size it should only be fair for the brand to lose all their money and reputation, no matter what the brand is.

"hold up how do i have this if it doesn't come in my size?" you cock your head to the side quizzically and for the second time gojo thinks about buying you a collar, maybe with a matching lead...

he grins and flicks his eyes back and forth between your face and the blouse you're holding up. "obviously i got it custom made,"

"that's- that's obvious?!" you splutter and he laughs.

"obviously." he reiterates, enjoying your reaction- dumbstruck and lips parted in near disbelief.

"it'll take us thirty minutes to get to the restaurant princess and our reservations in about forty minutes." he lets you know and you snap out of your stupor.

"i'll just get my bag."

"hang on!" satoru rushes out before you can leave to get your bag. "you look beautiful right now princess but don't you want to see how that blouse looks on you?" you shift your weight from side to side, heat rising to your cheeks. 'do i really have time to get changed? i spent so long choosing this outfit too.' before you can say something gojo stops you, not wanting to give you an opportunity to say no or think to hard about it. he wants you to do it, you don't have to have an opinion on the matter, leave that him. sometimes you can't be trusted when it comes to these things. "come on princess, i'm the one who brought you it. just wear it, please. i want to make sure it fits properly."

you yield, "okay let me go get changed."

satoru smirks, 'good girl.'

as you come back out of the bedroom adrenaline bursts through his veins. you twirl around, pausing when you circle back round to gojo and picking up the hem of your skirt playfully with one hand and doing a half curtsy, it's such a happy coincidence that the blouse pairs so well with the skirt you're already wearing, "how do i look?" 'beautiful, stunning, breathtaking, ethereal.'

"perfect," he replies dreamily and you giggle, thinking he isn't being serious and is exaggerating.

"i'm serious satoru," you tell him, it was meant to sound firm and like you won't back down until you get an answer but it just turned out sounding a little whiny.

gojo smirks and leisurely saunters to you, stopping when coming up close in front of you, "you look truly beautiful sweetheart." 'sweetheart' he's never called you that before. you don't know if your heart can keep taking it all. satoru's your friend, your close friend, but at times like this it's hard to remember that.

you bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling- admittedly unsuccessfully. the corners of your mouth still quirk up and your round cheeks become more predominate. you fight the desire to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, instead opting to twiddle your fingers. "sh-should we get going?"

satoru grins at you, "sure thing."

the whole drive you're both stealing looks at each other when you can get away with it while making small talk and satoru's not letting you know where you're going saying that it's a surprise. whenever there's a red light gojo takes his time to admire you and as you step outside into the night you're astonished at the restaurant in front of you. satoru's handing his car keys to a valet to park his car but you're distracted from that, finally knowing where you're eating tonight. you know this place, well you know of this place. never in a million years would you have thought you'd be dining here, it's so lavish that the cutlery is more expensive than buying a house that's already furnished. "are you okay princess?" you snap out of your daze and nod your head. "alright then, let's go inside."

you follow closely behind gojo, nervous as you enter, you don't think you've ever felt more out of place. satoru doesn't even give his name, the man at the desk recognises him straight away, "ah mr. gojo if you'd follow me." the man leads you upstairs and you hear him asking satoru questions but all that's going through your mind is 'please don't trip, please don't trip.' you're quite accident prone and falling down these stairs would be too much to handle. he takes you all the way to the fourth floor and near the window where you can see the city lights shining below. "here you are."

when the man leaves satoru pulls out a chair for you and you're startled by the gesture. you take your seat and he takes his. "you're more gentlemanly then i expected you to be satoru, pulling out my chair for me," you pause for a second mulling your thoughts over before adding, "or is that normal etiquette?"

"i'm very chivalrous, i'll have you know," he replies pouting and you raise an eyebrow at how fake his answer sounded. he throws his hands up with a smirk, "well, i'm not always chivalrous but if a pretty lady is in front of me than i can become very courteous." you chuckle, trying not to hone in the pretty part for your own sanity.

you glance at the table and worry because satoru might know proper etiquette but you don't. you know the general rules and ideas but why are there two knives and forks next to your plate and a spoon as well? why are there two glasses, a wine one and a normal one? why does the napkin look fancy? does that mean it's just for decoration, what if you need it? you're worried that you'll leave smudges in places where there shouldn't be and what if the table cloth rips? maybe this was a mistake...

"hey," satoru says softly catching your attention, when you look back up at him you see his smirk has turned into a frown and you don't think you've seen that expression on his face before, it doesn't fit right. he's taken off his sunglasses and placed them down, hanging them out of his suit pocket. his striking baby blue eyes glinting when the chandelier droplets move in the light. his snowy white hair looking soft and subdued under the glow of the light and the wavering flame of the candle. "sweetheart, whatever you're thinking right now isn't true."

"how did y-"

he cuts you off before you can finish asking. "because i know you and i know that look on your face, that overthinking look, i can see all those unnecessary cogs turning in your brain."

"i just..." you look away from him, not wanting to look into his eyes any longer knowing you'll crumble but gojo's not allowing that. with how long his arms are it's not difficult reaching over the table to you, placing his fingers below your chin and tilting your head around to look at him.

"just what? sweetheart." satoru presses you.

bunching up your skirt into tight fists you take a shaky breath and try again, "i'm worried i don't belong here. this is a really lovely place satoru and i just... what if i embarrass you? i'm not like you, i don't know when to do certain things or say specific things, i don't know why the table is placed like it is or any of it," after the words stop spewing out your mouth you take another breath, this time not shaky and deep. you look relieved to get it out.

'silly girl.' "do you really think i'd get embarrassed because of you sweetheart? nothing you could do would make me embarrassed. i'm lucky that you're with me right now. i don't care if you don't know all the rules and you shouldn't either, all that matters is that we're here together and we get to finally see each other after some hectic few days," gojo tells you earnestly, his body close to the edge of the table, leaning forward further near you, his voice low and intimate, like what he's saying is a complete secret for your ears only. the days were hectic and finally you're getting to see each other. those tedious meetings with his family and hours of basketball that seemed to stretch on and on but finally- you're together again.

your shoulders sag, you weren't even aware that your plush figure had tensed up in the first place. when satoru saw how you relaxed your posture he picks up one of the menus, "everything okay now?" he asks you, his eyes soft as they gaze at you.

"yeah, i think so." you lick your lips, wetting them after getting dry, the intense spike of emotions throwing your body threw a little bit of a loop, dry lips, moist eyes, with shaky fingers.

gojo grins and leans back on his chair, seeming more casual than a minute ago and hands you a menu. "what are you thinking about getting? i might go for the lobster."

you're browsing the menu but when you hear him you put it down momentarily to reply, "oh please, like you care about the lobster, you just want dessert," you say grinning wide.

gojo gasps and places his hands on his chest in mock offence. "dessert? i think you mean desserts." you laugh, eyes crinkling in amusement. "i want you to enjoy this meal just as much as i'm planning to, that's why i intend to get the lobster, i don't want you to feel like you have to rush while eating just because i want dessert and i don't want you to even think about a silly thing like money." 'so he's ordering one of the biggest and expensive dishes? ...that does sound like satoru actually.' although you would be none the wiser about the prices of these meals, it's one of those high-end restaurants that doesn't have the prices on the menu, satoru must have been here often enough to know how much the lobster costs compared to other dishes.

"i don't know what to do about drinks, i hear they've got a fine collection of wines, maybe we should order a couple bottles? do you like wine?" he already knows the answer to that but you don't know that. "they've also got a wide selection of spirits and non-alcoholic drinks too, i believe."

you both order what you want, making idle conversation while waiting.

by the time your food arrives satoru has tried to convince you that you should've ordered a bigger meal, you're content with your choice in the end though and it's not the most surprising that when your food does arrive there's also a side dish for you to which you didn't order.

"i didn't order this satoru," you raise an eyebrow.

gojo smirks, "i know you didn't, but i did. i didn't want you to be hungry and we haven't had lunch together in days have you been eating properly?"

"are you suggesting that because i'm eating food in my price bracket instead of yours that it's not good enough? the food you pay for is definitely better but poor people food taste good too."

he chuckles and smiles at you fondly before replying, "that's not what i'm saying and you know i'm not. I am however asking have you been eating three meals a day?" you wince. "i thought not."

"i've been busy with studies, i didn't have time to eat three meals a day every single day," you try to justify.

"that's exactly what i mean. i won't take any excuses though, you shouldn't have skipped any meals." satoru lightly scowls you but don't take it too seriously, you should have though. 'silly girl, she really can't look after herself properly. it's a good thing i'm here to keep an eye on her. she just can't be trusted on her own.'

you pout at his reasoning, it's not often that gojo reprimands you or anyone you've seen for that matter. knowing that you don't have a leg to stand on you keep quiet.

when you eat the first bite of your food you hum blissfully, so close to being a moan and it's music to satoru's ears, 'god she's adorable.' he doesn't even realise that he isn't eating until you noticed that he's unmoving. "satoru are you okay? you're not eating."

"i'm fine sweetheart just thinking about something," he responds with a smile.

"okay- if you're sure but make sure you eat soon or it'll get cold."

"yes ma'am," satoru gives you a cheeky smile and picks up his fork.

your face heats up in embarrassment and you lose any composure that you previously had. you avert you eyes and focus on the tablecloth, suddenly finding it very interesting, focusing on the material. you never knew being called something would make you feel so strange, it was the complete opposite to gojo calling you princess or sweetheart.

even though satoru picked up his fork and began eating he didn't take his eyes off you at the corner of his eye, he wanted to see your reaction to that name. he wanted to test how docile you are, his theory that you are submissive and it seems he was right, although even if he wasn't and his theory was proven wrong he'd just mold you into what he wants. 'of course she's so perfect that i don't need to change her, she's such a good girl.'

quickly ma'am leaves your head with the more delicious food you have but you can't help some negative thoughts enter your mind. everything starts to feel too good to be true, the twinkling lights and the flickering of the candle on the table, the scenery and the ambience, the delectable food and the amazing beverages, the dream company with someone who you care so very much about, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else and... it just all feels too good to be true.

'how many girls does gojo come here with? they knew who he was without giving his name. i know i'm not his girlfriend. it's not like i'm jealous it's just- i want this so bad to be special. am i one in a long line?' you have to ask, you have to know. if you're not special you need to know.

"satoru-" you start by getting his attention.

he looks up at you and sees the pensive look on your face, he puts his cutlery down and ceases eating, directing all his attention to you, "yes princess?"

"can i ask you something?" you ask, hesitant and more meekly now you have his attention.

"of course you can princess," he smiles and waits for you to ask whatever it is. he truly doesn't know what it could be right now.

"am i special? i mean- wait- not special. i mean do you take lots of girls here? they seemed to know your name already so do you? i know we're friends so it wouldn't be the same as you taking other girls here but do you take lots of girls here?"

he doesn't even try to stop the smirk that creeps onto his face, you're jealous and what's even better do you even know that you're jealous. satoru can barely contain his excitement.

not once have you brought up other girls, not once. you've never asked if it's true that he doesn't date anyone for longer than a month or that he's gone through half the school. you've never asked about the crude gossip about how big his dick is and how he's the best anyone has ever had even though he knows you've definitely heard those rumours. but right now? right now your words hint of jealously and insecurity.

satoru tells the truth as he replies simply "i haven't brought any girls here." gojo dangles the small piece of information in front of you, it isn't a question of if you'll take it and ask further questions he knows you will but he wants to hear you ask for more, it thrills him.

"you-you dont?" you ask for more explanation.

he grins, "nope," he pops the 'p'. "i go here with my family and on occasion suguru but only sometimes with suguru because it can be kind of intimate with two people," he explains and you giggle at the thought of the two of them sitting across from each other here. he carries on his explanation, "i would never go here with other girls, of course you're special," he tells you honestly and your lips part, hanging onto every word spoken.

'i'm special.' you press your lips together but the corners of your mouth still manage to lift up into a small smile. your brain then fully catches up with everything he said and your heart beats erratically, just now satoru said a dinner here between two people is intimate, he didn't word it in that exact way but if a dinner for two with suguru is intimate, a dinner for two with you might be considered intimate too. overall you're pleased with the answer you were given, gojo thinks your special and he doesn't take other girls here.

you eat the rest of your dinner without incident, enjoying every single mouthful and letting gojo know that it's tasty, thanking him. when you order dessert it's no surprise that satoru goes a bit overboard nearly buying the whole dessert menu, not that you would ever complain about a thing like that, the more time you've spent with gojo the more of a sweet tooth you've become yourself.

satoru doesn't attempt to hide the bill, he enjoys the look on your face when you see the amount in the corner of your eye. for him the money is trivial sum but to you it's shockingly high. he gets a power trip when he sees your eyes widen at the money.

"do you want to come back to mine?" satoru asks you while you leave the restaurant and you agree not thinking anything of it. he's been to yours before but you've never been to his. you don't think there's anything behind his question, you don't even consider he's suggesting something and gojo's well aware that you don't realise.

you don't speak much on your way back, you're leaning against the window and watching the city lights, it's starting to drizzle and you feel at ease in your current company, your eyes fluttering, slightly drowsily, as you hear the rain. gojo taps his fingers on the steering wheel and smiles thinking about how adorable you look right now.

the journey back to satoru's could've taken ten minutes to an hour for all you know as your mind wanders and your eyelids get heavy. when you arrive and he parks up and you get out of the car, you shiver a bit as the cold air hits you, giving you a shock and getting rid of any lingering tiredness and satoru walks around the car to be next to you. he pouts as he bends down to look at you, his sunglasses still in his jacket pocket, "pretty ladies aren't just supposed to have their chair pulled out for them, they're meant to have doors open for them too."

you giggle and bump against him, "flattery will get you nowhere mister." it does. luckily you'll be able to blame your flushed face due to the bitterly cold if gojo questions you on it.

"let's get inside sweetheart, it's cold." 'sweetheart' something else you can luckily blame on the weather. you're not expecting satoru to randomly touch your face though so you think you're going to be okay.

you follow him inside and the size of his place is a large as you thought it would be, you're learning to expect everything he owns is extravagant. the interior however is something you take note of, you've only entered one room but it seems barren. the walls are drab, painted slate grey and off white with only the bare necessaries of furniture and nothing more. devoid of any human presence. you're not even sure if he's lived here long and when he looks at you he can see those unnecessary cogs turning in your head again. "is something on your mind princess?"

"um-" you don't really know if you should bring it up but your curiosity gets the better of you. "have you lived here long?"

"a couple of years," satoru leans against the wall and smirks.

"i just- there's not a lot of stuff in here, it looks like you still have unpacking to do."

he pushes himself off the wall and goes over to you, "do you think i should get more stuff? like cushions for the the sofa and posters on the wall?" you feel gojo's breath against your skin as he leans down to talk in your ear quietly, it's so intimate, your mind draws a blank finding it hard to think with him so close to you. satoru is playful and he's teasing and you've heard rumours that he's a flirt but he's never been this close to you before, you've never been able to smell his cologne and been this close to feel his warm breath against your neck. "maybe we should go shopping together and you could help me pick out some stuff?" you're holding your breath, not being able to breathe anymore. "or maybe it would be better if you just stayed here and brought your stuff along? you do always complain about your rent being high."

you take a sharp intake of air and move a step away from him so you can look back at him in the eye. mentally shaking your head to forgot about his remark. 'did gojo just say about me being his roommate? i'd get to see him everyday... wait... i'd have to hear him all the time when he brings home girls and does he even clean after himself properly?'

"did you have too much to drink tonight satoru? you know you shouldn't drink and drive," you reply with light tone, reminding yourself not to think too hard about the situation, almost being successful in your mission.

satoru just watches you and smirks as he sees you try to ignore his comment. "anyway i don't think you need a roommate." 'roommate? yeah i don't need one of those...'

"and for all i know you might steal my food from the fridge and not wash up the dishes. plus i always forget my towel when i shower." you say the last sentence flippantly, but satoru's mind fills with thoughts of you... 'walking out of the shower into the living room with a small towel on, barely covering your body, body damp with water dripping down your neck, onto your shoulders down to the valley of your breasts...' he's getting hard just imagining it.

"are you okay satoru? you're a bit red." you question and the topic of conversation changes.

satoru moves back away from you, "i'm okay princess, probably thirsty. do you want a drink?" he's glad of this change, he'd like to tease you more but there'd be a real chance you'd see his erection, he could probably tease you about it if you'd notice it but he doesn't think you're ready yet. he wants to make sure you're relaxed and comfortable. you've got a long night ahead of you.

"sure."

following him into the kitchen you take a seat on one of the kitchen counter stools. "what would you like to drink?"

not wanting to ask for something he might not have or cause a fuss you respond with, "whatever you're having is good with me."

'she's so predictable.' he pours both of you your favourite drink, he knows all your preferences, of course he's stocked up on everything you like. he hands it to you and you smile wide, "this is like my all time favourite drink, i didn't know you liked it too."

in situations like this he switches his answers up from time to time not wanting you to get suspicious. "do you like these too? the amount i get through weekly is crazy." he makes sure to separate things into two categories, things you've told him and things you haven't but he knows anyway. he wouldn't want to mention in conversation about how he remembers that you like these drinks when you've never told so.

satoru likes when he tells you things that subtly suggest, 'look how much we have in common. we like all the same music and drinks!'

he prefers when he tells you he remembers something you told him, you quietly replying to him once about how much it means to you because "no one has ever cared about me to remember something so mundane about me." he swears that he'll remember everything about you, he swore he'd never forget a single thing.

gojo takes his place next to you, sitting on the stool and purposely brushing his hand against your rib, under your breast, and he gets pleasure from seeing you straighten up your back.

you both enjoy your drinks and kick your legs in the air. "i feel bad because you've been driving me around all night. when i go i'll get an uber or cab or something."

gojo frowns, "are you going now?"

"n-no! unless you want me to?" you don't want to overstay your welcome and you have a feeling that if gojo wanted you to go he'd let you know and you want to look around the other rooms if you have a chance, perhaps not his bedroom for privacy reasons but you want to see if his other rooms have plain decoration and if the bathroom has any noteworthy products in, you have always wanted to know how his skin looks so good all the time.

"i'm definitely not telling you to leave princess... in fact why don't you stay the night? you can stay in the spare room. no pressure though. you don't have to but there might not be anywhere you can get a lift because of how late it is and how it's the other side of town adding that all onto it's now pouring down. i'd offer to take you back myself but i'm not a huge fan of driving in the dark, especially if the roads are slippy 'cause to the rain. it's your choice. i'm sure you'll get someone to take you eventually but it might be less effort to stay here and leave tomorrow?"

he knows you don't want to wait forever getting home, he knows you want to take him up on his offer but something is stopping you, he doesn't know what is it for a moment until he figures it. "it's absolutely no bother, i don't mind and i've got clothes that you can wear, i think i wore them to lounge about in on tuesday so i haven't had time to wash them yet but i don't think that's a huge problem. i wear them a lot but they're too big on me, you should fit in them."

that small comment might have upset you more if it came from someone else but you don't think gojo meant it maliciously, you think it came from a good place, however you couldn't help thinking about it, the words 'they're too big on me, you should fit in them' ring around your head, about how you should fit in them. you know that satoru didn't mean anything by that but you've never worn someone else's clothes before so it gives you a bit of anxiety and satoru can see that.

gojo speaks again in an attempt to stop you from other thinking. "if you did want to go i'll give you the money to get a cab but if not you can stay, it's no problem, in fact i would enjoy it." your eyes snap up to look at him and you see a soft smile adorning his face. "we could watch that new film you were telling me about and i don't mean to brag but my shower is amazing, nothing compares, even five star hotels." you crack a smile but your mind still lingers on the clothes. satru can see that still not fully convinced and there's something stopping you, "is this about the clothes?" you shift your eyes away nervously not wanting to admit how you clung to a few words. gojo stops himself from sighing in exasperation. "if you'd feel more comfortable keeping the blouse and skirt on you can, you do look good in them but you shouldn't overthink about wearing my clothes. i know i said they're not clean but i've only worn them once since they've been washed it's not like they're diseased." you giggle and satoru gets less exasperated after hearing you laugh.

"they'll fit you if that's what you're worried about and honestly even if they are a little tight you'd still look good in my shirt, it would just hang onto your hips a bit." your mouth parts, the previous throwaway remark being swiped away like smoke by his hand, instead being replaced by insurance that it will fit and if by the off chance it doesn't then it's not the end of the world. he hopes it doesn't fit.

it quells your mind and you agree to stay. "thank you satoru, i'd appreciate staying, over the hassle of getting home."

he grins at your answer, hands itching to take off your blouse. "do you want a shower now so we can watch that film?"

"sounds good." you follow him into the bathroom and it looks like the living room, crystal clean, newly moved into, the only difference is his electric toothbrush on the side and moisturiser. gojo doesn't leave when he shows you into the room, he doesn't leave when he makes a quick explanation about how the shower works, in fact he didn't tell you at all. instead of telling you he turns the shower on, adjusting the handle to change the temperature to the one you prefer and pressing a button next to the handle, keeping his finger on it for a few seconds before removing it, changing the water pressure. "here you go princess," he grins and turns back to you. you think to yourself about how you could of figured out how to work the shower but you don't vocalise it, you've been in enough showers to know how they work but satoru's one is probably different if he did it himself.

"oh, the shower wash and shampoo is there, i don't know if you want to wash your hair but it's there if you need it. you'll have to use my one." he then leaves, before placing a towel on the sink for you to grab when you get out. he owns all the soaps and scents you use but you can't use them, he doesn't want to share. if he gave you them you'd be suspicious and there would be less for him to use when he misses your smell, groaning in the shower after he gets home from basketball his hands massaging your shampoo into his scalp, one hand in his hair the other fisting his cock. he'll buy you new perfumes and soaps for the holidays, he would never change any of your signature scents but you deserve more expensive products in his eyes.

a part of you still can't help but think about the clothes but when you step into the shower your eyes close and body relaxes, somehow it's the perfect way you like your showers. all of it melts away and as you pick up gojo's shower wash your body heats up inside. you're going to use the same soap as gojo uses and once you recognise how you reacted you shake your head to get away from all those thoughts. everybody at your university would likely have the same reaction as you but you're not just anyone, satoru is your dear friend and he deserves more respect than you just gave him. you don't spend long showering, wanting to not use his soap for a long period and you end up not washing your hair.

you dry yourself but panic as you can't find clothes anywhere, did satoru forget? maybe the plan was for you to put your clothes back on until he's gave you them. opening the door ajar you peek outside, you're planning on seeing if you can hear satoru, asking him about the clothes but before you can you see a shirt on the floor next to the door. picking it up, you close the door quickly and breathe deeply, glad that you noticed the shirt before calling out to gojo.

when you start to slip into the shirt you feel a repeat of the shower, it smells so much like him. you didn't realise when you agreed to this you'd have to be concerned about this but you are and it's making you feel guilty. like you're no better than those girls who throw themselves at him, only based on appearances alone. you put it on as quickly as you can and try to ignore the smell but the entire room is filled with it. it smells different to the soap, it smells more like him, 'his natural scent?' you ponder. it effects you differently than it would his fans though, they'd be filled with thoughts that are less than appropriate, like being pushed into his pillow while he's taking them from behind or not wasting time with getting completely nude but to you they're innocent, the smell is comforting like when he surprises you by suddenly grabbing you from behind or crowding your space as you worked on projects together. it's not the smell of satoru gojo, famous 'womaniser', 'manwhore', 'heartbreaker', with a reputation that would make a nymphomaniac blush, it's the smell of satoru gojo- your gojo. and annoyingly your gojo, your friend, smells really good.

satoru was right about the shirt. because of how tall he is it reached down to your thigh, you were slightly worried about accidentally flashing him but it was long enough not to worry too much about it. he was also right about how it clung to you. even though it clung to you it didn't make you feel uncomfortable, the fabric stretched a tad around your hips and chest but it didn't make you feel uneasy, you doubt satoru would even notice. he, of course, does. and takes great pleasure in it.

you fold up the towel and leave it in the laundry basket. exiting the room you hear satoru and go to him. he hears you near him entering the room and looks up from the sofa, "you okay?"

you smile sweetly and nod your head, "i'm okay, it was a good shower."

he returns your smile, "i'm glad."

satoru doesn't hide his staring as you move to the sofa to sit down next to him. you're so cute and you're so hot all he can do is stare and he's so thankful that you agreed to come to his and stay. he's never let anyone wear his clothes before, it's a boundary that he doesn't cross. his previous relationships weren't allowed to wear his clothes, if it was cold outside and someone didn't bring a coat he wouldn't give them his, he never cared about them that much to do things like that but when you walk in wearing his clothes his heart jumps with joy. he never thought about how much he'd love seeing you wear his shirt, it's not just a shirt it's a statement, you're his, he owns you. it barely covers your thighs and he knows if he gets you to move and bend down, even if only slightly, everything will be on display. his shirt is clinging to your curves and he's practically salivating as your hips look so grabbable.

you're none the wiser of this and when he turns on the film you previously spoken about he was paying more attention to you than the television, every so often shuffling a little bit closer to you. he doesn't wait long, it's been about twenty minutes through the film before he puts his arm around you, he slings his arm around your shoulder when you walk together sometimes so it's not the first time this has happened. this is regular behaviour in your eyes.

forgetting his arm is even around you you become invested in what you're watching, you were right to mention it to gojo, it's exceeded your expectations. you have no reaction to satoru taking his arm off your shoulder and instead placing it on your plush thigh. he has more of a reaction that you do, biting his lip to stop any noises that could come out because you would likely notice if he groaned. after a couple of minutes of his hands being still he starts moving, making small patterns on your skin and stroking you. his hand gets higher, reaching the hem of his shirt before stopping and leaving his hand there.

as the film ends you become more aware of where gojo's hand is resting but you choose not to say anything. you're flustered but you think he's put his hand there absentmindedly while watching the film so you keep quiet.

"did you enjoy the film princess?"

you smile brightly at him and respond, "i did! did you?"

satoru starts making patterns on your skin lightly again. tapping his finger on his chin with his other hand like he's thinking and making a noise, "hmmm i did enjoy it although i was distracted through most of it."

that catches your attention wondering what it was that he was focused on instead. "oh, what was it?"

he smirks, "it's hard to pay attention to anything other than how pretty you look right now."

satoru had called you a pretty lady earlier tonight but this feels more personal, your brain refusing to work and it's exhilarating for him to see it happen.

he cups your cheek in his hand so you're making direct eye contact with each other, he doesn't want to look away from him. "do you want this sweetheart?"

your heart is pounding in your chest like a hummingbirds wings and you worry that satoru can hear it, swallowing before replying, "w-what do you mean?"

he leans closer to you and feel like your body is buzzing, tiny zaps of electricity shooting through your veins at his proximity to you, "do you want me?"

"i-i," you're stuttering over your words and nothing makes sense. do you want him? want him to do what?

"sweetheart do you want me?" he reiterates putting more emphasis on the 'want' and slivering his hand up further along your thigh, inching under your, his, shirt. you wait with bated breath, wondering if he'll go further, wondering if he'll say more.

"satoru are you... are you coming onto me?" you're quiet when you ask, you're unsure, you worry that you're wrong and gojo can't help but laugh.

"obviously i'm coming onto you. i thought that was pretty clear."

"you are?" you're still quiet.

"yeah," he smirks at you however your eyes drift away from him feeling shy but gojo's not having that, he pats your cheek before saying, "look at me princess." you do what he says and make eye contact with him again, "there she is, "he smiles at you and kisses your nose making your whole body heat up, your lips part open in shock and he smirks.

"i'm going to ask again, do you want this?" lowering his voice he continues speaking, "because i want this."

'he wants this. he wants me... but do i want him? everyone wants him. do i want him? if we do this it might never be the same again, we might stop being friends... satoru is really attractive, he's hot, he can get anyone he wants but will this mess everything up... i don't know.'

he can see those unnecessary cogs again, how silly, how useless.

he doesn't wait for you to answer, he's given you time and instead of answering you're thinking, overthinking, not being a good girl at all. instead of waiting any longer he closes the space between you two and slots his mouth against yours, licking your lips in a silent request to open your mouth, you oblige his request without any more thought and just simply do what feels right, do what feels good, and kissing satoru feelings good.

his lips are soft, probably softer than yours but you can't tell with them against each other. imaging the kiss you'd think gojo would kiss someone slowly, languidly. you imagine he wouldn't put a lot of effort or passion in the kiss but it would still be the best kiss anyone has ever had. you never thought he'd be a passionate kisser. you know from rumours that his relationships don't last long, it seems to you that he's never been invested in any of them so what's the point in kissing someone like you can't get enough of them when he's going to move on to the next person in a week, so what's the point of kissing passionately but right now that theory is blown out the window. his movement is rushed, it's hungry, it's unexpected. you didn't think he'd be so greedy. his skilled tongue is against yours and he's completely dominating the kiss. satoru's not even stopping for air and he's not letting you either, he's been waiting for this for so long now and a stupid reason like needing to breathe isn't going to stop him.

satoru's leaving wet kisses down your jaw and pulse point anywhere that's visible he's kissing. leaving little nips in his wake and trying to find a good space for him to start leaving marks and hickeys so everyone will know you're his.

the hand that was holding onto your thigh squeezes gently and a shiver runs down his spine because you feel so soft. he pushes you down on the sofa and he's above you looking down, knocking your thighs open and kneeling between them. he's swears he's never seen a more beautiful sight. you get nervous when you look at him, the way he looks at you tenderly with those vibrant blue eyes, that unbeknownst to you hold so much love for you.

you're gasping at every new sensation gojo's giving you, never having felt like this before as his continues his path up your thigh moving the shirt up along with it and now he's finally touching your plush body he thinks he may be in heaven with a gorgeous goddess with him and the more he moves the shirt up the more he thinks so. both of his hands moving to your hips and pressing his fingers into your skin watching them spill over and it's making him dizzy. never has he felt anyone with your body before and it's driving him crazy. he wants more, he needs more.

satoru brushes his knuckles over your underwear making you whine and he smirks, "feel good princess?"

"uh huh," you reply nodding your head up and down rapidly, head fuzzy and wanting more, wanting him.

"yeah?" he asks smugly. " ' course you do." he taps your hips just above the line of your underwear, "lift up for me sweetheart." you move up so he can pull down your underwear and he pockets them in his jeans saving them for later. he doesn't waste anytime as he unzips his jeans and takes them off, pulling his shirt off after, the only reason of the shirt being off is that he wants you to see how hot he looks and to check him out, he knows he looks good and he wants you to know it too.

he presses two fingers into you and you moan. "i'm going to prepare you sweetheart." it wasn't a question but you nod your head anyway. his slender fingers are longer than yours, reaching placing you can't, he's leisurely taking his time, watching as you squirm, eyes starting to glaze over.

only after four minutes and he's had enough of this leisurely pace fingering though, he just has to have his dick inside you now. he would promise to go slow but he knows he can't promise that. you don't see his dick before he goes into you, if you did you'd say something but instead you feel it. more girth than most and nine inches long thus as he starts to thrust into you you let out a moan that soon fades into a silent scream.

with each inch you feel that it must be it but then there's more, he knows he should've spent more time getting you ready for him but the idea of waiting even a minute longer was torture.

at the same time of being fully inside you, you wince, and satoru places a chaste kiss on your lips. there's a fleeting thought as you wince about how you think his cock has broken you, so far he's in your guts. he keeps his hold on you as he thrusts shallowly a few times testing the waters and playfully pinching your nipple to see your reaction.

you try to speak but the words get caught in your throat and it doesn't take long for gojo to speed up, not even a minute and he's already thrusting hard and fast into you, a creamy white ring already forming at the base of his cock. his pace doesn't falter, in fact it gets more rough as satoru sees your face. it's hard for you to even think, you've never been this full before, you're eyes are glazed over and you've got your mouth open drooling a bit, he thinks you look so adorably dumb. "look at you princess you look so dumb right now, so stupid. you don't even have one thought in your head do you? it's so fucking hot. not thinking or worrying, all that matters is this, you don't need to think i'll do it for you."

satoru lifts up one of your thighs and puts it on his shoulder, at the new position it feels like he's reaching even deeper. you whine so loud that people walking outside would hear. "my cock's making you lose braincells huh?" he grins, tapping your cheek gently to get your attention. you look up at him in a daze and he sniggers. "not a thought behind those eyes."

at the new angle you try to grab hold of his arm but struggle to focus losing grip straight away, squealing, "ah it feels s' good 'toru!"

satoru is pleased that you've spoken something, that you've been able to form an legible sentence, he's even more pleased at how good you sound squealing, knowing that he's the one who's made you sound like that. however more than all of that he's overjoyed that you called him 'toru' it sounds so perfect from your mouth.

"i know, i know, you're so good for me princess, such a good girl." he keeps slamming into you at a brutal pace and he wants you to come undone around him soon before he cums. "hear that princess, your pussy is so wet and sticky for me. she knows what she wants huh," he grins and starts pinching your nipples, watching as your eyes roll back.

he's fucking you so rough that your body is moving up and down on the sofa, jiggling with each thrusts, and as he watches your body bounce he gets closer and closer. he normally lasts so much longer but he can't help it with you, it's impossible for him to keep his regular time when your warm wet walls are wrapping around his cock, when he's inside you.

satoru can't wait any longer removing his hand from your nipple and bringing it to your clit, rubbing harshly as you shriek from the sudden extra stimulation, as you get tighter around him he sucks his teeth so close to cumming, "are you going to cum for me sweetheart?"

you don't say anything, you don't have time to answer him because instead the coil in the stomach that has been winding up for the last half an hour snaps, with the added help of gojo touching your clit, you arch your back, and your eyesight goes fuzzy seeing white dots. you've never had such an intense orgasm before, it drowned out noise and made everything hard to hear, you didn't even know cumming could do that. everyone was right about sex with satoru.

feeling you spasm around him was even for him to finish as well, a few more thrusts into you and he lost it cumming too. if he was a better man he would've pulled out but satoru knew that he would never pull out when it comes to you. he's seen birth control in your bathroom before and when he saw it he frowned, he hopes that you missed it today. either way he's making sure to bury himself in you as deep as he can get hoping that even if you did take birth control today it won't be good enough to stop his intention- his deep desire to breed you. thoughts racing through his head, 'silly girls don't need to go to university they should just stay at home. i've got more than enough money to look after her. she'd look so good, her body even softer than it already is. she'd make such a good mama.' as he comes his body goes taut and he groans loudly saying your name and stilling.

you're both catching your breathe, not speaking for a minute, recovering for the most mindblowing sex both of you have ever had.

he wants to stay where he is but he knows he can't. when he moves you whimper, feeling empty all of a sudden, and it makes his ego rise, "sorry princess, i'm going to get you a towel okay." satoru kisses your forehead before rising and getting a towel from the bathroom, coming back and kneeling, swiping the towel gently over your inner thighs and pussy. kissing your hip and looking back at you, "are you okay?"

you're breathless as you reply, "yeah."

satoru smirks, "that's good."

you cover your face with your hands, timid with the way gojo's focused on you. putting the towel down he holds onto your hands and removes them from your face so he can see you again, smiling at you sweetly and kissing your forehead again.

"satoru what's going to happen now?" you're almost silent, if he wasn't so laser focused on every movement and thing you do he might not have heard.

"we could watch another film but it's getting late."

"no... i mean with us..."

satoru furrows his eyebrows, not understanding the question. "us?"

"yeah i-i mean are we s-still friends?"

"friends?" he looks at you like you've grown an extra head and your stomach sinks, if you knew this would've been the outcome you would've done something differently.

you don't want to lose gojo, you really don't want to lose gojo. you don't want to cry in front of him, you don't want it to get misconstrued and him to think that you're trying to manipulate him or change his mind but the idea of not having satoru in your life is heartbreaking. wait... heartbreaking? however the tears still come and the words get lodged in your throat. you manage to get some words out but it's barely audible with how erratic your breathing is becoming and how you keep swallowing every five seconds. "can i do anything to make us be friends again? i don't want to lose you." you're sniffling and you know you sound needy and probably desperate too but that's not your main focus right now.

"lose me?" he squints and gently wipes the tears from your face. "why would you lose me?" he cups you cheek, "princess how do you feel about me?"

your mouth parts open, you're glad that he's suggesting that you're not going to lose him but that's completely overshadowed with the question he's asked. you stay silent, not moving a muscle, how do you feel about him?

'satoru's my friend, my best friend! so... i feel that he's my friend? did i feel this way about my other friends? i lost my other friends and it was awful, i hated it but if i lost satoru... i think it would be worse than awful. maybe soul crushing is accurate... heartbreaking sounds more accurate. can someone be heartbroken about a friend? can i?'

you can't say anything, you don't know what to say, all your thoughts are muddled and you feel lost. gojo's still cupping your cheek, now stroking it with his thumb. "alright then princess, let me tell you." you don't know how he's going to tell you, you don't even understand yourself. "you don't see me as a friend anymore." he says simply and your eyes widen, and he holds onto your elbow with no force with his other hand to stop you if you try to draw away.

"do you know why i know that princess?" satoru asks you, his voice tethered, borderlining on husky. unsure you shake your head. "because friends don't act like you do. they don't get jealous about the thought of me taking girls out to restaurants, they don't check me out when they think i'm not looking. friends don't make a photo of us together as their lockscreen and wallpaper-"

at that you interrupt him, "you have me on your lockscreen too!" but he puts his fingers to your lips to gesture for you to keep quiet.

"not finished yet sweetheart. friends don't send each other good morning texts as soon as they wake up and they don't memorise my order at cafés we go to. friends don't stare at my lips and compliment my eyes all the time. friends don't look at me longingly. friends don't go to romantic restaurants alone together."

he pauses watching with rapt attention as you look down at your lap, he doesn't make you look up at him this time and waits for your response. when you decide to look back at him you calm your breathing as much as you can, "b-but you do those things too satoru..."

satoru grins brightly, "yeah i do, sooo... that would mean what?" he presses you to answer him.

"do you- do you- am i more than a friend to you satoru?"

"bingo!"

you feel like you're dreaming, nothing feels real. you could never of guessed that gojo feels that way or that you're his type. "is that why we had sex?"

satoru chuckles, not answering but instead replying, "you're so cute!" it makes your face heat up. "do you want me to tell you a secret?" you're nervous and dubious but you nod your head softly. gojo moves even closer than you, "you're more than just my friend princess," he leans closer to your ear and whispers "i love you."

you blink at him- once, twice, three times. you understand now that gojo is more than a friend to you and you recognise it's been this way for a very long time but through all his speech you didn't consider he felt the same. maybe that's why you didn't understand your own feelings, because if gojo acts the same as you do and calls you his friend you never questioned about if you really felt friendship towards him.

how long as satoru known all this and has kept you in the dark? what if he choose not to ever tell you? would you end up in a relationship with someone else only to break their heart when you finally realise that you're in love with satoru. your mouth is dry and you lick your lips swallowing to wet them, your voice still sounds a little hoarse though as you say, "why didn't you tell me?"

"because you'll understand and accept your own feelings and mine. i wanted to tell you but i know you, i knew that you would just deny it and ignore your feelings and it could result in something changing with us and that was the last thing i wanted sweetheart, it would kill me but i knew that it was time. i knew that you'd accept both of our feelings," he asserts and he's so close to you that you can feel his body heat.

you know what he's saying is true but you can't help but pout. "how do you know me better than myself satoru?"

satoru chuckles. well he does spend a great deal of his time loving everything you do...

"plus i couldn't keep it in any longer princess, i swear i was going mad. i would probably have folded soon and tell you," he whines and you giggle.

you take a deep breath and look at him straight in the eye, your whole body feeling fuzzy, "satoru i love you."

'yeah i know.'

gojo grins and wipes his forehead dramatically, "thank god." he holds onto the nape of your neck and pulls you to his lips so he can kiss you hungrily, as he pulls away he asks "do you still want to sleep in the spare room tonight? my room is more comfortable... and there may be some boxes on the bed that i haven't moved."

your eyes widen, "say you're joking 'toru!"

he throws his hands up and grins "well..."

you don't stay mad at him long, you've both confessed your love to each other it's not like you can be annoyed at him, you grin back, "i can't believe you."

"i swear it wasn't planned just a happy coincidence... that i chose not to tell you about... but it's okay because we can just use that room for any of your extra stuff when you move in."

you open your mouth wide in disbelief, "i cannot believe you satoru!"

"aw come on you know you love me!" he chuckles and you glare at him before be pokes your cheek and you start laughing too.

ko-fi <3

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nottswitch · 3 days ago

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⋆˙⟡ you and drummer!mattheo film a sex tape before he goes on tour

still obsessed with drummer!mattheo. he would definitely want to have something to jerk off to while he’s away and you can’t join him for some reason

warnings: 18+ mdni, unprotected p in v, slight belly bulge, filming a sex tape, cursing

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list ; drummer!mattheo

"fuck, baby– so wet, so fucking wet for me…" mattheo groans, his hard cock sliding up and down through your folds, coating it with your slickness. you whine in response, wiggling your hips in an attempt to finally coax him inside, your hands grabbing at his sides and pushing him closer.

"yeah, baby, i know… just wait a sec, yeah?"

as much as he wants to slip right into you, mattheo finds it in himself to lean to the side and grab his phone from the bedside table. he’s knelt between your spread legs as he quickly opens the camera app, angling it down, towards the place where you bodies will soon be connected. the view through the lens is simply perfect – your trembling naked body on full display, tinted red in the glow of the led lights on the ceiling of his bedroom, his free hand holding you down as his thumb rubs circles on your clit.

"shit, you look good enough to eat," he murmurs, pulling his hand away to grab his cock and give your pussy a couple of wet slaps with his twitching length. the friction makes you squirm, and you impatiently take a hold of his wrist, pulling at it.

"matty, please," you whine, and mattheo can’t hold back anymore. he presses his tip against your entrance and pushes inside, bringing the phone closer to capture the sinful view of your glistening cunt swallowing his cock inch by inch, stretching around his girth like it was made exactly for that.

"so fucking tight, so pretty for me…" mattheo’s voice is hoarse from pleasure, a needy growl escaping him as he bottoms out, the tip resting snugly against your cervix. "gonna miss your perfect pussy, shit–"

your eyes roll back, and you moan loudly as he starts moving his hips in an out, each thrust deep and hard. your walls squeeze him in the best way, both of you unabashedly vocal as his pace picks up.

"love it when you’re dripping for me, baby girl." mattheo’s hand shakes a bit, making the picture on the screen somewhat blurry and out of focus. he steadies it, determined to capture every single moment of your passion, and angles the phone towards your face for a second. he knows he’s going to miss the way your lips part, the way your forehead creases, and your tongue sticks out slightly to wet your drying lips. "fuck, you’re so beautiful…"

the camera returns to your pussy, sucking his cock in so damn well. the slick and slapping sounds of your bodies connecting get effortlessly picked up by the mic, and mattheo already knows he’ll get some great use out of his airpods in the band’s travel bus during the lonely nights.

your shared moans and groans grow louder, mattheo’s hand roaming over your waist and sides, marking every inch of your body with his blunt nails. he flips the phone, lifting his hand up to capture his own body moving along with yours. his toned abs glow neon red, coated with a thin layer of sweat, the tattoo of your name right above his heart clearly standing out against his skin.

"i’m close, baby… so close–"

"yeah? gonna cum for me, pretty? gonna cum on my cock?"

you give a frantic nod, and mattheo brings the phone back down. the screen is now filled with you, your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts that turn faster and harder, his hand firmly gripping your waist. the camera picks up the movements of his cock under the skin of your stomach even in the dimness of the room, and mattheo swears he’s never seen a sight better than that. it almost makes him cum too, but he’s determined for you to go first.

a few moments later, you’re screaming his name as your release momentarily takes you out of this realm. mattheo quickly pulls out and gives his cock a couple of pumps, and it’s all it takes for his sperm to coat your belly in strings. his chest heaves with labored breaths as his length twitches in his hand, not softening just yet. your body sinks into the bed, a blissed out smile lifting up the corners of your lips. you’ll definitely have to ask him to send you the footage later.

#— witch’s works ☾#drummer!mattheo #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fanfiction #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys drabble #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys fanfiction #support banner by cafekitsune

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pboogerswbb · 17 hours ago

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DON'T KNOW HOW

Paige Bueckers x reader In which Paige is high off a great game and wants to celebrate by fucking you in her jersey. Warnings: sexual content (SMUT, FILTHY FR BEWARNED), strap, slight humiliation, breeding kink, language, etc etc Wordcount: 4K A/C: this is my 1K followers surprise for y'all! YOU FINALLY GET STRAP ik you guys been begging for it (freaks). anyway thank you so much for all of you for supporting me and reading what i write, i appreciate it a lot more than you guys even know. never thought i'd have 1k followers on here so tysm, ily all <3 now go have some fun reading (ok especially to my moots ilysm, i am so fucking happy i met all of you i love each and every single one of you so bad and i always always always got your back, ty for being the best people in the world)

“And it’s good, another three for Bueckers.”

“She's on fire. Been hitting those all night and making it look effortless too.”

“Seventh three of the night wow.”

The entire evening Paige had been like a sniper, shots going in with even more ease than normal. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her blonde ponytail, the wide shoulders nearly too big for the navy Uconn jersey, glistening with sweat as the fourth quarter comes to an end. 31 points. You couldn’t be prouder to call her your girlfriend.

The crowd stands up, you jumping up and down and clapping with them, the white jersey tucked into your bra to crop it, proudly carrying your girl’s name on your back. Another victory for Uconn, as your girlfriend allows herself a small smile after the extraordinary game she just played. You wait patiently. What feels like close to an hour of the blonde shaking hands, signing jerseys and giving out interviews she finally meets your eyes from the opposite side of the court, jogging towards you.

“Babyyy!” You gleam as she wraps her strong, sticky arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Seven threes is crazy,” you praise your girlfriend.

“Yeah?” Paige asks, a smug grin on her face as she pulls back and looks at you. “Missed two cause my girl look so fine.”

An involuntary blush spreads to your face as the girl’s blue eyes scam your body up and down.

“You like?” You ask with a sly smile, twirling for her. Paige lets out a low whistle, hand coming to hold your waist.

“Fuck you look hot in that jersey,” she murmurs, eyeing the way it sits on your body. You can see it in your girlfriend’s eyes - the way they were darkening in the way they always did when she needed you.

Feeling flustered, you decide to change the topic, knowing she shouldn’t be eyefucking you in front of these cameras and fans. “So are we still going out with the team tonight? We should celebrate your big win baby.”

Paige laughs hoarsely, in that fuckboy way she does. “We ain’t going out mama, we going straight home.”

You know exactly what she means. Exactly what would happen when you get home. The idea is already making your stomach flip.

“Paige… It was a big night for you, we sh-”

“No disrespect but you need to shut up,” she sternly silences you. “You really think you’re gon’ look like this and not be folded in half in about an hour? Baby, c’mon.”

“Paige stop!” You giggle, her hands holding your waist underneath the jersey, fingertips against your bare skin squeezing as she kisses your neck hungrily. Your hands are fumbling with the key, attempting to open the door to your apartment. Something you were finding extremely hard as the blonde behind you presses her hips into yours, sucking a dark red mark on your neck.

“Open the door,” Paige pants, her voice breathy and hoarse. It’s more a command than a request. Finally, you turn the key and the girl pushes you in with urgency, closing the door behind you.

Before you can say a word, the blonde is throwing you over her shoulder, making you squeal and giggle.

“Put me down!”

“No ma’am,” she laughs, long strides heading towards the bedroom fast. With a grunt your girlfriend lowers you onto the bed, landing you on the soft mattress. Both of you are giggling as she eyes you on the bed, licking her lower lip.

“Wait here baby,” she coos, disappearing into the walk-in wardrobe. Once she returns, there’s an apparent bulge underneath the grey basketball shorts. Your imagination begins to go wild, heat growing between your thighs at the idea of what she had strapped on underneath. Paige had done it before, coming up behind you, the strap poking into your ass under her sweats to let you know what she was in the mood for. It drove you completely wild each time.

“Take your clothes off,” the blonde commands from the doorway, pulling her hoodie off and throwing it on the floor. You know what happens when Paige wants something and doesn’t get it, so you kick off the boots and denim skirt you’re wearing. Your girlfriend follows every move with watchful eyes, tutting once your fingers begin to tuck the jersey off.

“Leave that shit on,” Paige says, walking over to you on the bed. You lie on your back, watching up at her in the sheer white panties and white jersey and an unbearable ache between your thighs.

Paige’s shoulders look broad and filled out in the black sports bra she’s wearing, lower lip trapped between her teeth as her fingertips brush against the soft skin of your thigh.

“Look so fucking sexy,” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy. You needed her, badly. So you bring your hand to her core and just as you expected, feel the thick, purple strap underneath the fabric. Wrapping your fingers around the bulge, you rub it as if it’s her actual dick, just like the blonde liked to imagine.

Paige lets out a low groan, squeezing the skin on your thigh.

“You want it?” She asks. It’s not a genuine question, she knows the answer. She can tell by the way you’re squirming, rubbing your thighs together. The way your brows are furrowed in desperation.

“I do,” you whimper, biting your lip and blinking up at the girl with round eyes in the way that drove her crazy. Works every time, and this is no exception, your girlfriend letting out a breathy sigh and throwing her head back.

“Yeah? How bad ma?” She asks, hand slowly inching closer to the edge of your panties, fingertips nearly sliding underneath.

“So bad baby,” you whine, arching your back, hand still working the strap through her shorts. “Just feel,” with a whimper, you grab the blonde’s hand teasing you and slide it inside your panties.

Both of you moan, your wetness covering her fingers the second she feels you.

“Fuck, you this wet just for me?”

“All for you baby,” you whimper. “Love watching you play.”

Paige grins, rubbing gentle circles on your clit already growing puffy and sensitive from how bad your body aches for her, the idea of her strap buried deep inside you making you eager, the wait nearly unbearable.

A sigh spills from your lips as the blonde pulls her hand away, her fingers coming to your mouth and slipping past your lips making you taste yourself. Your eyes flutter shut, lips wrapping around her long digits. Paige hisses, watching closely.

“That shit ain’t fair, I need to taste you too.”

With that, Paige is pulling you to the edge of the bed by your legs, kneeling on the floor face to face with your core. With a swift movement, the blonde’s fingers hook onto your panties and pulls them down.

“Holy shit baby I ain’t even fuck you yet, why you this wet?” Paige groans at the way your cunt glistens in the light, her arms wrapping around your thighs to hold you still for her. You could feel just how wet you were, your slick spilling out of you right under your girlfriend’s gaze.

“Couldn’t help it,” you whimper, attempting to buck your hips but for nothing. You weren’t going to be touched until Paige decided so.

“Yeah couldn’t help it cause you’re such a slut huh?”

The blonde’s lips roam your inner thighs, nibbling and sucking on the skin leaving behind little red marks as a reminder of the night for later.

“Answer me,” she demands, but it barely registers, her hot breath on your core forcing goosebumps to form all over your skin. It’s driving you wild, every inch of your body on fire for her.

Suddenly a hand reaches to your jaw and firmly grabs it, Paige tilting your face towards her.

“Answer me.”

Suddenly even more flustered, your face turns red, needing her even more. “Only for you Paige.”

“Good girl, now lie down.”

The girl lets go of your jaw and suddenly her mouth is on you, tongue everywhere in your folds, licking you up like she’s been starved for life. A loud moan escapes your mouth, hands immediately flying to the blonde, soft hair of your girlfriend.

She’s hungry for it, the victorious game leaving her starving. Her lips wrap around your clit and suck harshly, making you gasp and yank on her hair. But she won’t quit, hands coming to spread you further apart, trying to find a way to get closer in a moment of desperation.

“Oh… fuck baby,” you whimper, legs already shaking as she eats you, tongue swirling in your folds, moving from side to side. Paige hums against you, the sound vibrating against your cunt. She has you leaking like a faucet, not wasting a single drop as she kisses her way down, circling your entrance before her tongue slides in.

“P-paige,” you cry out, overwhelmed by the pace she was moving at, not giving your body time to adjust, leaving you breathless. But she couldn’t care less about your protest, eyes rolling back as she presses closer to you, the bridge of her nose pressing against your clit.

You’re squirming, legs shaking and eyes rolling back as you tug on her hair, whimpers quickly turning more high pitched.

“Perfect pussy,” she groans, practically just to herself. Her tongue presses flat against you in long licks along your slit. Biting your lower lip you look down at the blonde girl kneeled on the floor between your legs and for a moment your eyes meet hers.

With an arrogant smirk Paige brings her tongue flat onto your clit and shakes her head back and forth skillfully, knowing it drives you crazy each time. The glimmer in her eye doesn’t help, making your back arch and head tilt back against the mattress.

“Gonna fuck this pussy,” the girl murmurs against you, the tip of her tongue speeding up on your clit, flicking it back and forth. She’s determined to make you cum. And when Paige was determined, there was nothing that could stop her.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes and your entire body’s writhing under Paige’s mercy. She’s desperately eating you up, taking turns working you with her tongue and mouth, sucking and licking everywhere. It’s overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as her tongue circles your clit.

“You gonna cum ma?”

“Yes, yes, fuck baby.”

Your hands are tugging on her hair hard, but the blonde doesn’t mind. The moans spilling from her mouth reveal quite the opposite. The familiar pit somewhere deep in your gut begins to burn, forcing your back to arch off the bed. The jersey on your body hikes up, Paige’s hand scratching on your lower stomach as she keeps working tirelessly, like the strain in her jaw wasn’t there.

“Paige I’m go-”

“Cum for me mama.”

And that’s enough, the coil in your stomach snapping the moment her words register in your hazy mind. The heat from your core spreads all over your body, waves of pleasure washing over you. The room is filled with the sounds of your high pitched moans, and the satisfied hums of the blonde between your legs sucking on your clit. Sweat drips down the back of her neck but it doesn’t matter. She’s not even close to done.

Paige stands up from the floor, leaving you trembling before her, still getting over your orgasm.

“Cmere,” Paige says, licking her lips hungrily and sliding her hand into her shorts to stroke the strap as if an extension of herself. Body still recovering, you do as you’re told knowing the blonde didn’t like waiting. Kneeling on the bed, your eyes flicker from the bulge under the fabric to her blue eyes looking down at you. They’re heavy and dark, her jaw prominent and chest heaving with need.

“Take em off,” she demands, your hands wasting no time finding the band of her shorts and pulling them to her ankles, revealing the purple strap underneath. Paige’s hands wrap around it and stroke, tapping the tip all over your face. Without much thought your mouth parts, eyes locked onto your girlfriend’s.

“Push your tongue out, be a good girl,” Paige groans, brows in a deep frown as she tries to catch her breath but it seems impossible with the way your big eyes stare up at her with your mouth open. She’s dizzy with want.

The moment your tongue slips out of your mouth, Paige is slapping the tip on it and moaning as if she could feel it herself - your warm mouth wrapping around her cock.

“That’s it, fuck ma,” Paige hisses, watching your tongue circling the length of the strap. “Get it wet for me.”

Bopping your head forward carefully, you take more of the strap into your mouth, saliva quickly building up and dripping down the corners of your mouth.

“Look so pretty baby,” the blonde coos, gathering your hair into her fist and holding it back for you. “You like sucking my cock?”

With a slight smile you nod with the strap still filling your mouth. The sight is enough to make your girlfriend moan, and her grip in your hair tightens as she forces the strap down your throat, making every inch disappear into your mouth.

“Mmph,” you whine, tears quickly welling up in your eyes. The sound of you gagging mingle with Paige’s low grunts, your nails digging into her muscular thighs. Paige can’t look away, you look too pretty to look away. Finally pulling on your hair, she allows you a second to gasp for air before returning and guiding your mouth on her cock, never breaking eye contact until your eyes roll back. Surely the strap was wet enough already, spit spilling from your mouth all over its length. But Paige is enjoying this too much to stop.

“You wanna get that pussy fucked huh?” The blonde grunts, pulling your head back with a string of saliva dripping down onto your chest.

“Please,” you whimper, your cunt throbbing, begging to feel the plastic inside you.

“Think you deserve it? Think you deserve my cock?”

“Baby need it,” you cry out, letting Paige rub the soaked tip against your lips and face, messing up your makeup. She always thought this was the best you looked, desperate, eyes red and glossy, mascara flaking underneath your eyes and begging for her. She couldn’t resist any longer.

“Turn around,” she murmurs and you do as she says, facing the other way on your hands and knees.

“Should I take the jersey off?”

“Keep that shit on ma,” Paige says sternly, hissing as she rubs the tip of the purple strap against your soaked folds. Already whimpering, you grip the soft sheets tightly, feeling the blonde’s hands caressing your ass and waist, lifting the jersey just enough to see your lower back. “Fuuuckkk baby,” she praises, watching as the strap begins to glisten just from the sheer wetness spilling out of you. “She crying for me huh?”

“Yes,” is all you can muster to say, stomach flipping as the tip teases your entrance, everything you wanted so close yet so far. Your slick is already dripping on the plastic, Paige letting out a shaky moan behind you at the sight.

“Shit, this pussy loves me,” she groans, gripping your hips and at last sliding the length inside you. A loud gasp escapes your body, the stretch so intense and powerful.

“Oh shiiiit,” Paige hisses, watching the way your cunt stretches around the strap, swallowing her up. The trembling of your body is immediate, the blonde leaning down and kissing over your shoulders and neck. “Feel good mama?”

“Y-yeah baby,” you’re still breathless, body slowly adjusting to the size.

“You tryna get fucked?”

“Mhm,” you hum, needy for your girlfriend to begin moving behind you. But she remains still.

Her big hand grips your ass harshly, slapping the skin leaving you with a slight burn. “Work for it mama, show me how bad you want it.”

You immediately know what she wants, craving to have you whimpering and pleading before she’ll give you what you crave. Paige always had to tease you just a little further than you could handle.

So you begin to move forward and back again, slowly pressing your ass against her. The strap slips in and out easily, but the size keeps you overwhelmed, slick dripping onto the sheets as you throw it back for your girlfriend, arching your back just right.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, legs already feeling weak, hands balled into fists as your girlfriend’s hand slaps your ass again, the sound echoing around the room.

“Look at that,” she praises, letting out a shaky low moan as the vibrator against her clit buzzes. But you can barely hear, mind spinning and not a single coherent thought in your head anymore. “Such a fuckin’ slut.”

The nickname makes you whine, craning your neck to see the blonde behind you, eyes locked onto where your body is swallowing her strap up. Her mouth is wide open and cheeks burning red, she wants it just as bad as you do.

Her blue eyes travel up your spine to the jersey, grabbing a handful of your hair to hold up. To allow her to admire the way the jersey fits your body. Her name, her number on you as she fucks you. It’s enough to get her bewildered.

Meeting your eyes the blonde smirks, chest heaving with need. “You like that? When I call you that?”

You nod, maintaining eye contact as you grind your hips back into her.

Paige shakes her head in disbelief, hissing again as the vibrator angles against her just right.

“Course you do, fuckin’ slut.”

Your upper body crashes against the bed, too tired to hold it up, ass remaining in the air.

“Paigeee,” you whine, begging for her to take control, legs too shaky to continue.

“What’s wrong mama?”

It’s almost sadistic, her tone. She knows exactly what’s wrong. But it wasn’t enough, Paige had to hear you say it, getting off on humiliating you just a little longer.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You whine again in frustration, wiggling your ass in the air. But Paige remains stern.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, making the blonde smirk and lick her lower lip.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

You nod in desperation, letting her pull your face up from the sheets by your hair, other hand coming to hold your hip.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” she leans down and groans into your ear. “Gon’ fuck you until you cry.”

With that, her hips slam into you, the intrusion so intense you can’t help the way your eyes roll back. You gasp, Paige letting go of your hair and standing back up behind you, both hands on gripping your waist, fucking her hips into you at such a pace it’s making you see stars.

“Ohhh shit,” the blonde grunts, watching the way your ass jiggles as her hips slam against you. The sound of skin clapping and the squelching of the strap deep inside you fills the room, only thing cutting through are your joint moans.

“Baby fuck-” you cry out, part of you wanting to push her away from how crushing her thrusts are, the strap buried deep inside your soaked pussy.

“Look at you takin it, fuck baby,” Paige groans, right hand smoothing over her last name on the jersey. Over the number she wears each game. “Takin’ my dick while wearing my name. So fucking good f’me.”

Your cunt is throbbing, squeezing the strap making it hard to think clearly. You wanted more, wanted less, you weren’t sure. But you could feel your eyes growing wet against the sheets. Paige’s hand travels all the way up to your hair, grabbing it harshly and shoving your face into the mattress.

“You take it like a slut huh?”

You moan, feeling your slick dripping down your thighs, surely covering Paige’s legs now as well.

“Your slut baby,” you whimper, upper body pressed snug against the soft cotton as the blonde pounds her strap into you.

“Aww fuck- good girl,” Paige gasps, the vibrations having her legs shaking. With a swift movement, the blonde manhandles you onto your back, placing your legs onto her shoulders, sliding the purple strap back inside you.

“Need to see your face,” she groans, eyelids so heavy they’re barely open as she keeps fucking you. “Need to see you cum on my cock.”

“Baby, so big,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the blonde kneels on the bed and leans forward, folding you over with ease.

“Take it so well tho,” Paige coos, bringing her face to yours, hand wrapping around your neck as she keeps slamming her hips into you. That athlete’s stamina could have her going like this for an hour. “Gonna cum inside this pussy.”

Her words leave you a moaning mess, your hands scratching at her shoulders leaving red marks behind. “Fuck,” you whimper, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fucking you so hard you’re gon’ have my kids.”

The squelching becomes louder, wetness dripping out of you as Paige’s strap hits deeper than before, making you gasp and scratch her soft skin harder.

“Aw- fuc- shit, ma that’s it. So deep in your guts,” she rambles, eyes beginning to roll back, trying to hold back on her orgasm. She brings her fingers between your legs, thumb beginning to rub lazy circles on your clit as the strap slips in and out of you, fucking into you at a rapid pace.

“P-Paige feel so good,” you cry out, gushing around the plastic desperately. Paige’s head lulls back and forth, fighting her orgasm.

“Mama I need to cum inside you, needa fill you with my cum,” the blonde whimpers, voice growing more high pitched as she nears the edge, fucking her hips into you with such force you think you might black out. The familiar burn ignites at her words, pussy throbbing around the plastic, muscles beginning to coil in your stomach.

“Shi- baby I need you to cum on my cock,” she gasps, eyes squeezing shut, grip around your neck tightening enough to make you lightheaded.

“Paige I-” You cry out, Paige’s thumb pressing into your clit and the tip of the strap hitting the perfect spot with each stroke.

“C’mon ma, lemme fill you up,” she whimpers desperately, legs shaking but never easing the pace. You can’t hold it anymore, letting go and allowing the fire to take over your body.

“Paige I’mma cum,” you gasp, the blonde letting out a moan of relief.

“Gonna cum inside you,” Paige grunts into your neck, as you lie underneath, helpless. Your back begins to arch off the bed, the blonde squeezing the sides of your neck and pinning you down, hips slamming into you. “Gonna fill this pussy aw- up- fuck.”

With that you’re both gasping, rolling over the edge as your climax takes over, pussy squeezing the strap tightly and gushing around it, all over the sheets and Paige on top of you.

“Oh shit-” Paige gasps, breath hot in your ear as she finishes, your mind blank as the ecstasy takes over your body, leaving you trembling underneath the girl, eyes shut tight.

“Holy shit,” the blonde murmurs, trying to catch her breath. Your chest is heaving and your face flushed. As your eyes flutter open, they’re met with the blue of Paige’s irises. She scooches both of you up the bed, crashing on top of you, the plastic still inside you, almost soothing. You wince as she pulls it out carefully, leaving you with an uncomfortable emptiness.

“You’re so great baby,” Paige sighs, resting her head in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms and legs around your girlfriend, pressing a gentle kiss onto her forehead. “My number one girl.”

“You really like this jersey huh?” You chuckle as her pink lips kiss your collarbone, neck, jawline and finally your lips.

“Let’s everyone know you mine,” she coos, nuzzling her nose into you and rubbing the skin on your midriff where the fabric has hiked up.

“All yours baby,” you hum, body worn and tired but heart fluttering with love.

“All mine ma.”

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#paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x fem reader #paige bueckers fanfic #wnba smut #wnba x reader #Spotify

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pacofprunes · 3 days ago

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THANOS & NAMGYU NONCON HEADCANONS

WARNINGS — noncon fucking everything, drugging, i mean it’s fucked up obviously, thanos & namgyu seperate headcanons

THANOS

never in a million years did he think he’d end up in a scenario like this. he’s had tiny thoughts of doing such things when he’s gotten rejected, but now that he’s actually doing it, oh he fucking loves it.

loves to manhandle you. holding your wrists tightly in one hand, forcing your legs around his neck, having the absolute tightest grip on your hair, he absolutely lives for it.

whispers sweet nothings into your ear like this is all normal. cooing at the tears spilling from your eyes.

“no need to cry, i’ll make ya’ feel realllll good.”

marks you up everywhere. hickeys, bites, bites that draw blood, marks and scratches on your hips from his grip on you when trying to keep you from getting away…

definitely slips a pill into your mouth when he kisses you, not pulling away until he knows you’ve swallowed it.

he would love to be able to make you ride him. holding your wrists behind your back while you bounce on him. if you refuse to do so however, he’ll take his other hand and grip your hair, pulling it up as high as possible so you have to make yourself move up to stop the pain and then he just pulls your hair right back down so you smack against his balls. after he’s done that a couple times, he’s sure you’ll decide to just bounce on him without his help.

he takes pictures and videos as a souvenir. presses a deep kiss against you and snaps a picture. he snaps a picture of you on top of him while he has the tightest grip on your wrists. films a slow video showcasing all of the marks littering your body before debating weather or not to post it to his highlights or his private story.

loves slapping your pussy and cupping it in his hands. it makes you flinch away from his dick and right back down on it, doing the work for him. makes his dick twitch so much.

occasionally he likes to let go and let you try to push him away, knowing all of your efforts will be futile. it makes him laugh. but don’t push him too much. if you hit him too hard, he might loose that playful fucked up persona and just be straight fucked up, quickly becoming insanely mean. if you slap him a little too hard on the face, oh, you better believe he’s slapping you ten times harder. and as soon as he’s done and the tears slip from your eyes, he cups the red spot on your cheek, giving you a pouty lip.

“baby, shouldn’t have hit me, don’t cry at something you did! you shouldn’t live with regrets.”

this won’t be a one time thing. in fact, he wants to be with you in a relationship. it’ll probably end after like three months until he misses the times like this and forces you back in him, but this is not the last time you’ll see him. he might even rent out a hotel for a week and force you to stay there with him within those days. he’ll let you leave after the weeks up and his moneys all out, but he’s still going to stay glued to your side. makes you introduce him to your parents like he’s this perfect boyfriend when really he’s made your life a living hell and you want nothing more than to get away from him. if you tell anybody what he’s doing, the next time that he takes a quick photo with his hands wrapped around your throat, he’ll be sure to keep them there instead of letting go. you won’t even get to tell your poor family goodbye.

NAMGYU

he doesn’t particularly have fantasies of doing shit like this, but he can’t handle rejection. he’s thinking of you the rest of the night, thinking about how much of a bitch you were for saying no to him and pushing him away, his friends teasing him and pissing him off even more causes him to go through and fuck you out of your mind weather you want him to or not.

he definitely drugs you. slipping a pill that he honestly barely knows what it is into your drink. the moment he notices you have a bit of a wobble in your step he pulls you away from everyone around, leaving you oh so vulnerable to him.

he has a hand on your mouth the entire time (or his dick in it.) he doesn’t feel like listening to you bitch.

loves seeing your tears and the fear in your eyes. he hopes he fucks you up for the rest of your life. hoping that if a guy you hate asks you out, you’ll think twice about rejecting them and saying no, remembering this moment.

he doesn’t feel like having to hold you down. he wants to press his hand into your hips while the other remains on your lips, so he just gives you a simple threat.

“there’s a knife in my back pocket, i’m sure you don’t want me to use it, right? right, so i’d suggest you don’t hit me or push me away and we’re all good.”

sure he knows with the drugs in your system that your hits will do no harm to him, but he doesn’t care. don’t piss him off and maybe you’ll live and give him another chance to do this to you. also, he probably doesn’t even have a knife in his back pocket, but you didn’t need to know that.

tauntingly licks every tear that rolls down your cheek and onto his hand as he slams his hips against you, sending a taunting smirk your way.

also takes pictures and videos as a little souvenir. shoves the camera all in your face, making sure the flash is on while he adds commentary in the back.

“look at this dirty slut cryin’ all over my dick,”

“pulled me away from my friends and begged me to fuck her brains out, ain’t that right?”

of course you couldn’t respond, but so what? he simply starts laughing when you try to shake your head no. but he easily puts an end to that as he presses his palm even harder against your face, practically putting all his weight on it, threatening to break a tooth to keep you from moving your head an inch. it makes you want to reach out and stop him by grabbing his arms, but what if he really had a knife in his pocket? he told you not to touch him…

he’s a dick usually because his friends are around and he wants to impress them, but now he’s a dick to prove something to himself, to prove something to you. if you had just said yes, he’s sure he would’ve been nicer, and he lets you know that, throwing all the blame onto you.

“this is your fault you know? i asked you nicely, but you just had to be a giant bitch about it. those tears ain’t for me, they’re for your stupid decisions.”

definitely chokes you as he starts to cum in you, the end of your assault nearing. you poor thing, still so scared he’s gonna kill you that the moment you reach your hands up to stop him, you let them droop back down to your sides. the drugs already clouded your vision, the choking just darkened it even more.

when he’s done he zips his pants up before pulling yours up and dragging you to stand. he pulls you back inside the club to where his friends were, pressing a kiss against your neck in front of them.

“just had the time of our lives, didn’t we baby?”

you just nod your head as well as you can, it getting heavier and heavier by the minute. bragging to his friends about how they clearly shouldn’t have doubted him. he throws you on a chair somewhere and goes about his night. if some other guy wanted to have a turn with you, he gave them all the tools they needed. wasn’t his problem any longer!

he expects that next time he sees you at a party (or somehow in public) and he asks to fuck, you won’t say no. don’t make it any harder than it needs to be.

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fragilefawn333 · 3 days ago

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boarding school ⟡

f!arcane characters x f!reader - girl’s boarding school AU- hall-monitor caitlyn, straight-A student mel, athletic vi, rebel jinx, teacher cassandra x fem!reader (fluff and kissing)

cw; kissing w/o explicit permission, weed, teacher/student. also i wrote this instead of sleeping in the middle of the night so! (3k words)

Caitlyn - Caught

Smoke spills from plush-lips, curling into cold air. The stall-room’s door is scribbled and graffitied; etched with phone numbers and corny messages. You shuffle on the edge of the lid, allowing bitter tobacco to hit your throat again - exhaling the scent into the girl’s bathroom. You’re halfway through a particularly thrilling daydream when a knock at the door startles you into the world. Stubbing the cigarette on the toilet, you call out to the intruder;

“I’m pissing, leave me alone.”

An extremely annoying, posh and very familiar accent rings off the tiles;

“No you’re not, I can see the smoke. No smoking in the girl’s toilets. Come out.”

You stand up, flushing the toilet for dramatics, and unlock the stall door. Deep-blue eyes, framed by furrowed, pissed off brows, stare back at you.

“Hello, Kitty-Cait,”

She frowns at the nickname, and you shoot a sickly-sweet glance at her, sing-song voice. Before shoving past her and turning on the tap (again, dramatics - got to sell it.) She glares at you through the mirror, towering behind you as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“That’s two misdemeanours, you know; one for smoking and two for missing class.” She clicks her tongue, face shifting into a half-smile, “And I’m pretty sure that makes your third offence of the week. Which adds up to an hours detention.”

“I told you. I was using the bathroom. Is that a crime?” You shut off the tap, turning to face her.

“Ok, where’s your toilet pass?” She persists. God, she’s so annoying. With her dark, shiny hair always in that tight-ass ponytail and her pink, glossed lips. For a minute, you catch yourself wondering how soft they are — but you shake that thought out of your head. She’s annoying, that’s it.

You rolls your eyes, and press your own lips together. “Fine. Write me up.”

“I could,” Something shifts in her tone, and she smirks — flashing gap-toothed smile, “Or, you could do me a favour. And I might - forget - about it.”

“Favour?” You scoff, “Like what?”

“Kiss me.” She says, and your eyes widen. What?!

You stutter, trying to find the right words to say — yet they all get caught in your throat. Finally, you swallow your surprise, “Fine.” And she smiles.

She saunters towards you, until you’re caught between her and the wall between the sinks. Glancing down between her impossible long, dark and perfect lashes - lips parting slightly.

Caitlyn closes the gap, albeit hesitant, and presses her lips against yours. The bitterness aftertaste of tobacco and the sweetness of her strawberry lipgloss intertwines as her tongue finds your mouth. Long fingers find your nape, pulling you closer as warmth engulfs you — contrasting the cold tiles of the walls sticking to the back of your knees.

Eventually, Caitlyn pulls back, lips swollen and panting. She smiles another toothy-dopey smile into your flushed pink cheeks, before pushing back. Straightening her uniform and tightening the ribbon at the back of her head, Caitlyn turns on her heel. You stare after her, wanting to say something — anything. But the kiss has left you half-dazed and your thoughts too much to collect and make sense of.

Caitlyn glances back at you, still pushed against the wall and dizzy.

“Don’t let me catch you again. I might not be as — lenient,” She giggles, licking your taste off her lips and skipping out of the bathroom. Leaving you unable to do anything then gape after her because, goddamn, her lips are soft.

Mel - Copy-cat

Ticking echoes through the room. The old clock nailed to the peeling wallpaper a reminder of the thirty minutes you’ve spent doing fuck-all. Shit, you really wished you had studied longer. Last night feels so long away as you mentally curse your past, sleepy self for making excuses rather than picking up the textbook. You told yourself that this was nothing but a mock-exam — not a real test, but now that you’re sitting in the exam room, it feels real.

You find yourself still making excuses, telling yourself you can’t focus because of the unrelenting clock or the constant coughing in the far end of the room. Even though it’s not true, you can’t put pen to paper because you have no clue what to write. Meaning you are going to fail, again.

A quick glance around the room and you feel even worse, as everyone else seems to be completely fine — especially your desk-neighbour. Typical, straight-A student Mel Medarda is scribbling away, already questions deep into her paper. From your position next to her, you can make out some words. In pure desperation, you find yourself leaning ever-so closer.

You check on the teacher, finding him engrossed in his book, you out of sight at the back of the classroom. Ok, you can do this — just a few answers.

Your eyes flicker to the sheet of paper again, catching a few words and writing them down. Back to the teacher, who is still distracted. And back again to her paper, lingering too long on her long, delicate fingers, tipped with manicured nails. Her wrist is adorned with golden bracelets, travelling down to her knuckles — where equally beautiful, and expensive, rings are. Her arms are bare, allowing your eyes to greedily run over her exposed skin. To where the push of her shoulder blades forces a hollow in the material of her shirt. To her hazel eyes, flecked in gold — staring right at you. Fuck.

She stares at you, eyes wandering from yours to her paper to your paper. Pieces of hair frame her face as she turns it back to you, gold clasps keeping it twisted together glowing against her dark-skin. Honeyed voice spills from plump lips as she whispers;

“What are you doing?”

You just shrug, stupidly. Too entranced by her presence, her eyes on yours, to come up with a reasonable excuse. Shuffling back a bit to your seat, making it look like you’re not obviously copying off her work. Mel gapes, opening her mouth again and huffing at your lack of response.

“Are you copying me?”

Now that prompts a response. You almost jump out of your skin at her words. Failing class is one thing, but pissing off one of the richest pupils in the school will have your head on a spike. You filter through your mind; searching for something to absolve you of your crime. You falter, and your body acts on its own, lunging forwards until your lips meet hers — this will keep her quiet, surely.

She tastes like mint, her lips tender as she lets out a muffled squeak. For some reason, she doesn’t fight nor pull away. Instead, her lips turn upward and when you pull away, she’s smiling? You exhale shakily;

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

Mel laughs, in a way that is so angelic you forget to breathe for a second, before slamming her hand over her mouth in an attempt to silence herself. She murmurs, voice low;

“I was going to ask if you needed some help.” She flashes white teeth, nibbling on the end of her pen, “I tutor, and you’re cute, so I wouldn’t mind.”

You turn crimson, nodding fervently — still embarrassed you kissed her in the middle of class. She chuckles again, quietly this time and tells you to meet her after class. The taste of mint still lingers at your lips.

Vi - Locker-room

The faint smell of sweat and Victoria Secret perfume resides in the locker-room. You sit on the edge of the bench pushed to a corner, nursing a large scrape on your knee. Diving to catch the ball was a stupid idea, especially considering you did it to impress a girl who barely looked your way.

You take the wet paper-towel and try to clean up remaining blood, stuck to skin and wound. The pain comes in sharp waves radiating from the scraped knee, and you are so absorbed in fighting the urge to cry you barely notice the door swinging open. Strong scent of spicy aftershave spills into the room, burning at already tear-struck eyes. The plastic bench dips slightly at the weight shuffling next to you. You peel your gaze away from stained towel and to your right, only to be met with grey-eyes. A hiccup escapes your lips, and you tense as a calloused finger wipes away wet cheeks.

“Vi?”

Vi grins, a hum of confirmation. She grabs a small piece of hair cascading down your face and moves it behind your ear.

“I came to see if you were okay. That looked nasty.”

She cocks her head towards your injured knee, red hair brushing over her shoulder. Before you can register her movement, she reaches out and takes the soaked paper from between your fingers. Vi wrings it out slightly, moving to place it back to your knee — inspecting the cut. She lets out a puff of air and furrows her brows. She’s so close to you, that you can feel the heat radiating off her body — it lulls you into a comforting daze. A sudden pang of embarrassment radiates in your chest, becoming increasingly aware of your disheveled appearance and tear-stained face. Reluctantly, you pull away from Vi’s soothing presence.

Vi notices the shift in your attitude, raising an eyebrow and meeting your face. “Everything ok?”

You nod, rubbing the last of your sobs away with the back of your sleeve. “Just… hurts a bit, that’s all.”

“Hm.” Vi chews at her bottom lip, pink-tongue darting out to wet parted mouth. “This might seem silly, but it used to help my sister,” she leans towards you — an unspoken ask for permission. You nod.

She bows her head to meet your knee, now clean from grime and dried-blood. Pressing chapped lips against the gash. It stings a bit, and you jerk back subconsciously. Yet, the warmth of Vi’s lips and the tenderness of which she kissed your injury makes up for the small pain. She smiles up to you, eyes kind and touch soft. “Still hurt?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pondering her question. It hurts less after being cleaned, but the feeling of her lips on your skin lingers — and you want more. You nod your head. “Maybe again?”

Vi laughs at that, leaning back down to kiss the graze again. However, the break of contact is only momentary as her mouth meets your leg again, only this time slightly higher up. Your breath hitches as her fingertips follow the path of her mouth, up to rest on your cheek.

“Still hurt?” She asks again, only this time you shake your head. Looking into powder-blue eyes, you lean into her palm rubbing circles into your skin. There’s only inches of space between you, making your heart thrum as you run your tongue against blunt teeth. It takes a second, but eventually she closes the gap — capturing your lips with hers. The kiss is rough, less soft than the one to your knee. Vi pushes you against the wall of the locker-room, and you palm at her shoulders, her biceps sculpted under your hand. You pull away to breathe, inhaling deeply — the scents of the locker room filling your lungs.

The door bursts open again, and the rest of the class rushes through, ready to change and get on with the day.

Jinx - Rule-breaker

You shift in your bed, turning to face Jinx’s side of the dorm. Moonlight bleeds through open window, shining into the room and creating patterns on wooden floor. You slip out from underneath the sheets, socks padding on planks as you move to the open window.

Perched on the windowsill, Jinx rests back against the wall. Joint wrapped gently around lips, you watch as she breathes slowly, stomach growing taunt with each breath.

“Is that… weed?”

You hesitate, fingers reaching out to hold the support of the window. Jinx giggles, taking another inhale and holding the smoke in her lungs. You swallow, stomach fluttering at way she sits so relaxed. Her abdomen bare as her shirt folds above her ribs.

“That’s against the rules. If you get caught — you could get kicked out,”

Jinx rolls her eyes, slumping back to the wall. “You’re so whiny, loosen up a bit.”

She pats the sill next to her, beckoning you to sit next to her. You shuffle opposite to her, leaning back and watching as her nimble fingers take the blunt from her own mouth and holds it in-front of yours. She raises an eyebrow questioningly, cocking her head — daring you.

You turn your head to stare at the flickering lights of the other dorms. And Jinx huffs, pulling the blunt away and to her own lips. You exhale sharply at the sight of her cheeks hallowing, her mouth puckering around the edge of the rolled paper.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes.”

She sticks her tongue out mockingly, waving the blunt around. Mischievous round-eyes meet yours, and you flush — turning back again to the light dotted around the building, like man-made constellations twinkling against darkness. You feel her feet prod at your legs curled up to your chest. Her nails are chipped blues-and-pinks, another rule-broken.

She finishes the joint, flicking the butt out of the window. Blue-braids cascade down thin shoulders as she leans forward. She takes a painted nail and drags it down your sternum, feeling the way your heart thrums against the skin. “What am I going to do with you?” She whispers into rosy-cheeks.

Jinx is the definition of insolent. A risk-taker, adrenaline-junky. Doing things for the sake of it and not really caring for consequence. She raises slender fingers to your face, dragging it down lips, watching as they part at the feeling of her caresses.

“I would ask if I could kiss you, but it’s against the rules. And I know how you love to follow orders.”

You swallow your anxiety, the intimate tension creating a lump at the back of your throat. You glance down to her lips, swollen with bites and small cracks. They’re cherry-red, flushed with blood as she drags her tongue along the bottom.

“Do it.”

Jinx smiles, brushing her nose against yours. She presses herself to you, and you can taste the faint-weed on her tongue. She kisses like she’s hungry, always been hungry and it feels amazing when you let her have you. You take your hands and hold her cheeks, running your thumb in soothing circles. Your noses brush together again as she moves her head.

Teeth scrape against rough skin, and a raspy chuckle vibrates through your mouth as Jinx laughs. You pull back, staring into ocean-blue eyes — watching as they glimmer under the shine of the industrial galaxy.

Cassandra K - Teacher's pet

You place another textbook onto the pile, shuffling them onto the middle-shelf at the back of the classroom. As you continue collecting the remaining books from the desks, the light shifts as the noon continues. Fragmenting onto the floor, creating patterns at your feet filtering an orange-pink glow through the half-shut blinds.

You decided to stay behind after class, being the one elected (and volunteering) to help your teacher clean up. Ms. Cassandra Kiramman sits at her large, oak desk — pen scratching onto paper as she writes or marks something. Occasionally she looks up, watching as you glide around the classroom, throwing away abandoned paper or cluttered books. The sun catching your face, illuminating features in a soft, dewy haze. You look angelic like this, she thinks.

You’re a good help, a benefit to the class. Always willing to do whatever it takes to secure a good reputation, educated mind. There’s also the added benefit of your teacher being insanely attractive.

You peek over the stack of equipment, pretending you are preoccupied with ‘helping,’ and find that Mrs. Kiramman’s eyes are locked on you. Deep, blue drags over your figure, greedily taking in your form.

She sits, perfectly poised, with contempt superiority. Blazer tight around her arms, and her chest. The navy cotton suits her, frames cerulean eyes and soft, pale skin. It’s a shame that it’s your last year at this school, you’re definitely going to miss this. Her stare, flickering towards you in the middle of a lesson, and the way she calls your name — sweetly spilling from thin, neatly coloured lips.

You put the class-equipment away, smiling at her in a slightly flirtatious manner. “All done?” She chides from the front of the classroom, resting her head on her fist and watching you through half-lidded eyes. You nod, sheepishly making your way to her desk.

“You’re a good girl. Thank you.”

The compliment makes you blush, fidgeting with the ends of your hair. Ms. Kiramman sucks in, hollowing her cheeks, as she pensively stares at you. For a minute, the room is quiet — only the hushed wind and chiming notifications from the computer filling the room. Suddenly, she straightens and examines the window to the hallway. She looks as though she expects someone to burst through the door, but the hallway remains bare, no pupils or teachers alike in sight.

Cassandra beckons you over with her index finger; long and neatly trimmed. Pushing herself from her sitting position, she looks down to your blushing face.

“For your hard work,” she says politely, yet her voice shakes ever-so-slightly.

She leans down, pecking you on the corner of your mouth. You stifle a gasp, holding your breath as your eyes dart to meet hers.

“Uh, thank you,” you manage to squeak out between quickened breaths. “…thank you.”

You raise your hand to touch where her lips just were, heart fluttering at just the recall of light sensation. You barely even notice that she’s back behind her desk, pen in hand and brows knitted together as she continues her work. As though nothing happened.

You feel giddy anyways, turning to leave the classroom. Stepping through the parted shadows, a golden-glow kissing at your face.

#arcane #arcane x reader #caitlyn x reader #mel x reader #vi x reader #jinx x reader #cassandra x reader #writing #boarding school

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