#Masterlist Round-Up
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scottsummersevents ¡ 10 months ago
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Scott Summers Bingo Round 1 Round-Up
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At long last, the Scott Summers Events Bingo Round 1 is being put to bed with this outstanding array of links all celebrating Scott Summers, aka Cyclops, and various connections with other characters, whether it's as platonic or romantic/sexual pairings! Here is the entire collection of our Round 1 Scott Summers creations, under a cut because it's quite a list!
Also if you're interested in climbing aboard our fun and groovy and laid back bingo completely with mini-events, games, and adoptable fun, our Round 2 is still taking sign-ups! So be sure to check out these links as well as all the submissions under the Read More.
FAQ: Who we are and what we're about.
RULES: As laid back and groovy as we are, we do have some basic rules that we ask that you follow. (If you sign up, you'll get the updated dates with the Round 2 sign-up form.)
DISCORD: Please sign up for our Discord group. We're a fun bunch, and there's always room for lively discussions with others who love this character as much as I'm sure you do! Also, for the games and mini-events, this is the place to find them!
SIGN-UP: All that's left now is for you to sign up to get your own bingo card and jump right in. Here's the form for that!
Title of Fill: Moment of Truth Author: ScottxLogan Card Number: SSB-001 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41418771 Square Filled: B2 Running Out of Time Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/James “Logan” Howlett Rating: Teen and Up Major Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Angst with a happy ending, whump, hurt Scott Summers, Protective Logan, Post-Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Blood and Injury, End of the World Summary: After years of training Scott knows his purpose in facing the end of the world. On the verge of extinction and injured Scott Summers is ready to risk it all to do what he's been trained to do, but when he and Logan find themselves in a dark corner away from the war at hand their feelings for one another resurface and they face an even deeper meaning in each other. Will it be the end of everything for Scott in self-sacrifice or will love bring him back to a new purpose beyond Xavier's dream? Word Count: 5791
Title of Fill: The Reservation Author: ScottxLogan Card Number: SSB-001 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41418771 Square Filled: G1: Losing All Inhibitions Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/James “Logan” Howlett Rating: Mature Major Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Awkwardness, Sexual Content, Only One Bed, Mutual Pining, First Time Summary: Scott and Logan have been swamped with meetings leaving them both ready to unwind when the day is over, but when they discover that Emma booked them a room with only one bed, will it make things even more awkward or open the door to explorations they weren't brave enough to face on their own without the nudge from their good friend? Word Count: 3006
Title of Fill: A Taste of Moonlight Author: ScottxLogan Card Number: SSB-001 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42706851 Square Filled: B1: Chocolate SyrupShip/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/James “Logan” Howlett Rating: Mature Major Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Flirting, Comfort Sex, Ice Cream, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Feelings Realization, Post-X2: X-Men United (2003) Summary: After a staff meeting, an angry outburst between Scott and Logan leads to a surprising proposal where the two decide to do away with their usual routine and give in to temptation. Problem is as much as Logan wants to bed his beautiful team leader, he's discovering that there's something more building beneath the surface that guides Logan to want to comfort and protect the broken man before him. Word Count: 6122
Title of Fill: Winner Takes All Author: ScottxLogan Card Number: SSB-001 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43069260 Square Filled: Scott Summers Bingo: B5: Cuddling/Sex Next to the Fire Rating: Mature Major Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Flirting, Innuendo, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Fluff, Game Night, Secret Relationship Summary: Scott and Tony's game night together takes a surprising turn as the two find that winning the game is the last thing on their minds in being this close together. Word Count: 5430
Title of Fill: Rage (Chapter 2) Author: ScottxLogan Card Number: SSB-001 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750128/chapters/108337951 Square Filled: Scott Summers Bingo: Free Square Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/James “Logan” Howlett Major Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Past Child Abuse, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Sexual Content, Protective Scott Summers, Past Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Post-X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009), Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, mention of Victor Creed, Past Violence, Past Abuse Summary: After sharing a night finding comfort in Logan's arms, Scott is left feeling unsettled by how easy it was to confide his unsettling truths about his past to Logan. The next morning Scott makes it his new mission to spend as much time as possible avoiding Logan. When they are unexpectedly pushed together again after circumstance leads them to face a mission in protecting a student, they have no choice, but to work together. Along the way they discover the truth about what they mean to one another can no longer be hidden behind the pain of the past. Word Count: 15701
Title of Fill: Reckless Author: Scottxlogan Card Number: SSB-001 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55457779 Square Filled: O1: Bodyguards Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: Explicit Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Explicit Sexual Content, Past Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Risk Taking, Jean's been killed before the story begins, Scott has a claw kink, Mission Related, Hotel Sex, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Smut, Mood Board, Jean's dead before story begins Summary: The job should’ve been easy. Should’ve been a quick way to make a few bucks and stick around in a place long enough to settle down and consider putting down a few roots after a lifetime on the wrong side of the law had Logan rushing away from the past that he’d been destined to escape. For so long Logan had been wishing like hell that he could start anew and break away from the lonely road he’d been on leading him nowhere so when Charles Xavier invites Logan to take on a bodyguard position working to protect Chuck's former star student Scott Summers, Logan thinks it's the opportunity to do just that. Unfortunately for Logan he soon realizes that life is far from slowing down. With Scott mourning the loss of his former love and putting himself in danger's path to take down the ones responsible, it's up to Logan to find a way to keep Scott from self-destructing. But will Logan soon discover that in doing so he's bound to crash and burn along the way once his own attraction to Scott pulls him in a different direction? Word Count: 11742
Title of Fill: Submission Author: Scottxlogan Card Number: SSB-001 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58143469 Square Filled: B4: Embarrassing Nickname Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: Explicit Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sexual Content, Smut, Fighting Kink, Light Dom/sub, Rough Sex, Submissive Logan, Switching, Making Up, Versatile Scott Summers, Versatile Logan (X-Men), Digital Art, Fic and Art, Danger Room, Danger Room sex Summary: When Logan once again ignores Scott's command on the battlefield things get tense between them leaving Logan longing to find a way to solve the problem. Later Logan's trip to the Danger Room sparks a fight between them that Logan's hoping will settle the score and bring them closer to where they really want to be together Word Count: 6282
Title of Fill: A Cup of Coffee, a sandwich and you Author: Wolfsheart Card Number: SSB-002 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41926587/ Square Filled: I5: Soulmates: Taste (Only being able to taste anything after meeting soulmate) Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/James “Logan” Howlett Rating: Teen and Up Major Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Mentions of Psychic/Telepathic Manipulation and harm. This is not Jean Grey friendly. Also Logan eats really shitty food. I mean really gross combinations. That's gonna bite him in the ass in this one. Summary: Logan has been alive since the last 1800s. He originally thought his lack of taste was from his sickly childhood, but once his mutant healing power kicked in and he heard the stories, he realized that it had something to do with soulmates. Therefore, he’s never really concerned himself over the combinations of food he’s eaten that made others look at him in disgust. Well, most of them couldn’t taste a thing either unless they’d already met their soulmates, so who were they to judge? And then it happened. In the kitchen. After he just took a bite of the latest sandwich nightmare when his soulmate’s presence slammed into him and made him realize that the food he ate tasted worse than shit. The question is how the hell could his soulmate be him? Word Count: 3441
Title of Fill: Out there’s a land that time don’t command Author: Wolfsheart Card Number: SSB-002 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44502667 Square Filled: N1: “Don’t worry. They can’t hurt you anymore.” Also N4: Spooning naked as you fall asleep. Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: Mature Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Trans Scott Summers, First Kiss, Making Out, Mutual Pining, mention of Christmas passing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, mention of a bad break-up, Not Jean Grey Friendly, Not Charles Xavier Friendly, mention of Bobby Drake/Kit Pryde relationship, Trans Kit Pryde, Gay Bobby Drake, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, Transphobic Jean Grey, Transphobic Charles Xavier, Implications of transphobia and homophobia, internal transphobia, depression Summary: After a nasty break-up with Jean, Scott left the school and headed west to his home state of Alaska. For months, he's made his home there, feeling exiled from all the people he cares about. Then a familiar face shows up at his door unexpectedly; the face of his crush. Will Scott finally find some much needed and deserved happiness? Word Count: 4635
Title of Fill: Cupcakes and Gunfire Author: Wolfsheart Card Number: SSB-002 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49728154 Square Filled: O5: Undercover Mission as Lovers to Take Down the Enemy (Also NSFW Card #1 Square 5: Wedding Ring from Summers Splash Mini Event) Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Bucky Barnes Rating: Mature Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Referenced Loki/Tony Stark. Mission Fic, Undercover Missions, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple, Three Team Pile-Up, Team Up, X-Men + Avengers + S.H.I.E.L.D., Snark, Snarky Tony Stark, Humor, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Hydra (Marvel), Flirting, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Sex, Blood and Violence, Fights, Fist Fights, Blow Jobs, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Fairy Godfather Tony Stark, Endearments, Homophobia, A little blood and violence, swearing, blow jobs, sex/implied sex Summary: The X-Men, Avengers, and S.H.I.E.L.D. team up to bring in a Hydra problem that has somehow managed to go even more extreme than Hydra's usual villainy. The mission required a mutant, and that happened to be Scott Summers, and Bucky to go in undercover as newlyweds, and for Scott to reveal himself to be a visible mutant at the right moment. Of course, they'll have plenty of back-up, but until that moment, and even after, the two unlikely partners will find it very easy to play their parts. Until it's no longer just acting. Word Count: 16840
Title of Fill: Scott Summers Bingo: September 2023 Round Robin Author: Wolfsheart Card Number: SSB-002 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50225860 Square Filled: B3: Best friends with benefits Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: Teen Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Pre-Relationship, Past Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Grief/Mourning, Team Bonding, Friendship, Healing, Light Angst, Avengers - Freeform, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff Summary: It’s been a while since Jean’s passing and Scott is struggling with what it means to move forward with life after love. Where will the journey to healing take him? It’s up to you! Have fun being creative with this! Word Count: 5921
Title of Fill: From the land where palm trees sway Author: Wolfsheart Card Number: SSB-002 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43956534 Square Filled: G4: Image Prompt – Scott on the beach by Nick Robles Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Bobby Drake Rating: Teen Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Fluff, Budding Love, Winter, Winter in Hawaii, Warm Winter, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Snow, Snowball Fight, Bobby Drake needs a hug, Scott Summers Deserves Happiness, Scott Summers Needs A Hug, Emma Frost is a Good Friend, Emma Frost is a fairy godmother, Ororo Munroe is a Good Friend, Post X-Men Days of Future Past, Not Canon Compliant - X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014), Fix-It of Sorts Summary: The X-Men team decides to spent the holidays in Hawaii where it's warm and lovely, only not everyone's happy about having a non-white Christmas. Bobby and Scott find common ground in missing the snow, even admitting that Hawaii is really gorgeous and otherwise a wonderful vacation. What happens, though, when Emma and Ororo work together to provide them what they're both missing? Word Count: 2986
Title of Fill: Dance on fire as it intends Author: Wolfsheart Card Number: SSB-002 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44786251 Square Filled: O3: Rough beard on smooth skin Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Thor Rating: Mature Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Asgard (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied Consensual Drunk Sex, Waking up in a strange bed, Scott is a Good Friend, Scott Summers & Emma Frost, Scott Summers & Logan, Scott Summers loves his friends, Scott Summers Deserves Happiness, Cuddly Thor Summary: After a night of partying in Asgard's palace, Scott wakes up in a strange bed with a surprise partner. He can't remember the night of passion he spent with Thor, but he realizes that he's not freaked out by this, and he hopes for a repeat performance. Word Count: 3373
Title of Fill: Color Me Surprised Author: Sivan Card Number: SSB-006 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43133028 Square Filled: B5: Mutual Pining/Idiots in Love Ship/Main Pairing: Logan/Scott Summers Rating: Mature Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Sexual content Summary: “Hey, Storm, who is the handsome blue-eyed vampire?” Logan asked her. “You didn’t recognize his scent?” Storm asked as she raised her eyebrow with a curious look. Word Count: 1326
Title of Fill: Best Birthday Ever Author: Sivan Card Number: SSB-006 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45649237 Square Filled: N2: Cuddling for Warmth Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Bucky Barnes Rating: Explicit Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Omega Scott Summers, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Knotting, Mating Bites, Airplane Sex, Light Angst, Birthday, Bucky Barnes Big Birthday Bash, Bucky Barnes Takes Care of Scott Summers, Domestic Fluff, Rare Pairings, no beta we die like men, Attempt at Humor Summary: “You did it for me?” Bucky asked, and covered his omega with kisses. Word Count: 2298
Title of Fill: The spark of the night Author: Endlesstwanted Card Number: SSB-011 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42953010 Square Filled: B1: Take me out and show me off/and put me on the scene Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Sam Wilson Rating: Teen Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Halloween Costumes, Surprises, Meet the Family, Nervousness, Swearing Summary: It’s Scott and Sam’s first Halloween as a couple, in which they are surprising each other with their costumes and attending the Avengers party. Word Count: 2115
Title of Fill: Scott Summers Bingo: September 2023 Round Robin Author: Endlesstwanted Card Number: SSB-011 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50225860 Square Filled: I3: Cooking a meal together, I1: Loss of voice Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers & Sam Wilson, Scott Summers/Logan Rating: Teen Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Team Bonding, Avengers, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Friendship, Healing Summary: It’s been a while since Jean’s passing and Scott is struggling with what it means to move forward with life after love. Where will the journey to healing take him? It’s up to you! Have fun being creative with this! Word Count: 530, 778
Title of Fill: I Have Doubts, Sometimes, Of Being Real Author: Endlesstwanted Card Number: SSB-011 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51335404 Square Filled: O3: Through the storm, we reach the shore/you give it all but I want more Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: Teen Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Post-X2: X-Men United (2003), Past Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Dreams and Nightmares, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death Summary: Months after the events in Alkali Lake, Scott wakes up from a nightmare to find Logan at the usually empty side of the bed. Word Count: 878
Title of Fill: The Cabin: Scott Summers Bingo Round Robin-Dec 2023 Author: Endlesstwanted Card Number: SSB-011 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53185219 Square Filled: Free Square Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Bruce Banner Rating: Teen Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Holidays, Cabin Fic, Unexpected Visitors Summary: Scott Summers decides to spend the holidays alone in an isolated cabin away from the others, but will fate have other plans for him along the way when unexpected arrivals at his rental prove to put a twist on his solo holiday plans. Word Count: 549
Title of Fill: Baggins and Friends Author: Endlesstwanted Card Number: SSB-011 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53440336 Square Filled: G1: Pillow/Blanket fort Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Bucky Barnes Rating: General Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Modern: No Powers, Bookstores, Moodboard Summary: Bucky is the current owner of the family business, and Scott has enough on his plate being a single parent and working from home. How possibly could a spark rise between them? Thanks to their meddling children, of course. Word Count: N/A
Title of Fill: Resolution Author: Cerylid Card Number: SSB-007 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53440141 Square Filled: B5: I told you so Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: Explicit Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Scott Summers Needs A Hug, Logan is a Softie (X-Men), Sexual Content, telepathic trauma, Not Jean Grey Friendly, Sexual Content Summary: After a bitter argument with his ex, Scott is rescued from his doubts by Logan. Word Count: 2474
Title of Fill: Fifth Times the Charm Author: Cerylid Card Number: SSB-007 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53115751 Square Filled: G1: Party Adoptable replacement - "Celebrating New Year Somewhere Big and Fancy" Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: General Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Scott Summers Deserves Happiness, Scott is Scott, Logan is a Softie (X-Men) Summary: Scott Summers has been trying to ask Logan to the New Year party for a couple of weeks, but it keeps going wrong. When he finally gets the chance, can he overcome he fears to find out if Logan feels the same? Word Count: 2162
Title of Fill: Long Nights Author: Cerylid Card Number: SSB-007 Link: Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53116726 Square Filled: G5: Mission Gone Wrong Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: Mature Tags/Warnings/Triggers: 5+1 Things, Missions, Only One Bed, Pool & Billiards, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Scott Summers, Scott Summers Deserves Happiness, Scott Summers Needs A Hug, Protective Logan (X-Men), Grumpy Logan (X-Men), Making Out, Intimacy Summary: Five long nights that Logan found difficult… and one long night he didn't Word Count: 3791
Title of Fill: New Beginnings Author: Ceryld Card Number: SSB-007 Link: Five long nights that Logan found difficult… and one long night he didn't Square Filled: O2: Beach Ship/Main Pairing: Scott Summers/Logan Rating: General Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Krakoa Era (X-Men), Developing Relationship, Intimacy, Making Out, Resurrection Summary: Mother Mold has been destroyed, and the whole of the new mutant nation of Krakoa has been celebrating. Everything has changed, everything is new, and maybe it’s the chance for new beginnings. Word Count: 1475
Title of Fill: The Sweet Taste of Victory and Wine Author: Cerylid Card Number: SSB-007 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42766353 Square Filled: Father Figures Ship/Main Pairing: Logan/Scott Summers Rating: Teen and Up Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Pre-Slash, Trick or Treat 2022, Trick or Treat: Treat, Past Abuse, Friendship Summary: Not long after they return from the success at Liberty Island, Scott unexpectedly runs into Logan who is searching for something alcoholic to celebrate their victory. Word Count: 2148
Title of Fill: Parting Ways - Turn Left at the Lake, and it’s Straight on to Eternity for saturnina Author: Cerylid Card Number: SSB-007 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42608406 Square Filled: Parting Ways Ship/Main Pairing: Logan/Scott Summers Rating: Teen and Up Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Trick or Treat: Trick, Post X3, Ghosts, Angst, Hopeful Ending Summary: “I think it’s haunted” Kitty whispered, pointing to the closed door in front of them. “That’s the only explanation.” Crossing his arms, Logan briefly closed his eyes then looked up to the ceiling of the corridor with mock despair. “It’s a fucking office, kid” he said with a heavy sigh, turning to face her. “What sort of dick would haunt an office?” Word Count: 4599
Title: Pass the Time and Ammunition Author: Ram Card #: SSB-008 Square FIlled: N2, Spin The Bottle Pairing: Bobby Drake & Jean Grey & Hank McCoy & Scott Summers & Warren Worthington III Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Spin The Bottle, 05 Polycule Summary: "Say, how do we know a gal like you ain't rigging the spins? Did you cheat your way to the grand prize?" "Oh Angel, I would never violate the integrity of spin the bottle for a booby prize like you." Bored while trapped on a mission, the O5 play spin the bottle. Misunderstandings ensue Word Count: 3402
Title: Beside You I'm A Loaded Gun Author: Ram Card #: SSB-008 Square Filled: Prompt: Scott Summers/Bruce Banner Pairing: Scott Summers & Bruce Banner (non-romance) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: AU- The X-Men in the MCU, X-Men as a revolutionary cell, discussion of past suicide attempts, Character Study Summary: Bruce Banner gets snatched off the street by a gang of mutant activists, seeking his cooperation in resisting the Sokovia Accords. But as he's drawn into negotiations, he also finds himself drawn towards their leader, Cyclops. "You're not a human being. You are a weapon. I'm sorry, kid, but the second you manifested, you became a bomb. You need to stop thinking about rights, and start taking more precautions." "Is that how you think of yourself?" Word Count: 5654
Title: The Body Keeps The Score Author: Ram Card #: SSB-008 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42958278 Square Filled: B3: Scars Ship/Main Pairing: Logan/Scott Summers Rating: General Audiences Tags/Warnings/Triggers: Scars, Angst, Character Study Summary: Scott has a lot of scars. On his first night with Professor Xavier, he takes stock. On a morning. many years in the future, he asks his lover for one more. Word Count: 1574
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aromanticbuckybarnes ¡ 1 month ago
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An Aromantic Bucky Adventure Masterlist
Thank you so much to everyone who participated in An Aromantic Bucky Adventure! This event was so fun to create; Aro Bucky means a lot to me. As an extra thank you I've created some badges for participation.
Special shoutout to the wonderful @westiec for their help bringing this vision to life and being so excited with me, this event would not have been possible without them💚
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Without further adieu, the amazing creations:
1. Cool, Fresh and Ready To Mesh by @aerica13 (Aerica_Menai)
Summary (T, Gen, 3.2k):
Bucky is happy with the way things are - or, at least, happier than his ma thinks a relationship would make him. Then one Steve Rogers storms through his door.
2. Hard Times by @altbadumm (BaDummTssz)
Summary (T, Gen, 2.2k):
Bucky's life in Wakanda is great. He has his own place, he has friends, he goes out. He's happy. So why does he feel like a part of him dies whenever he's asked about his romantic life? Or, 3 times Bucky Barnes felt broken because he doesn't care for romance and the one time he didn't.
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AO3 Collection: An Aromantic Bucky Adventure
Please follow this page for future Aro Bucky themed events. I'd definitely like to make others!
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brynnmclean ¡ 9 months ago
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in the core of everything drums a beat - snippets round up post
Actually, not a bad idea to have some kind of post with all the Hellblade fic fragments I've posted so far. In vague order of how they should fit together chronologically in the fic (ETA 21 May 2025, adjusted to accommodate the latest chapter count):
Chapter one -- now posted on AO3
Rough draft of chapter one where ThĂłrgestr is having a lot of fever dreams (there was an earlier post with a small section that I think is still my favorite in the chapter)
Also from chapter one, but I think @eisoj5 asking me for "and" as a word in that WIP meme remains hilarious, so here's that post
Chapter two -- now posted on AO3
Part of chapter two and the introduction of my Irish healer OC Iseult
"She owes me nothing. I owe her everything."
ThĂłrgestr awake and making a very bad joke about getting stabbed, my beloved
First Senua Giantsbane name drop!
"Is my father dead?" "He's alive. He's an exile."
I'm really fond of FargrĂ­mr and I do think he cares about ThĂłrgestr, so this is a nice little moment for that
Chapter three (once upon a time I said I could finish this in 3 chapters, lol) -- now posted on AO3
Intro to the chapter where half-asleep ThĂłrgestr eavesdrops on a conversation between Senua and FargrĂ­mr
There is so much in the game about ThĂłrgestr's dad so why not feature a dream of his mother, here's her introduction
I gave her some very specific spirit vibes :)
You know, lot of emphasis on being your father's child, but Thórgestr is also his mother's son and I think that's important. Also I know surnames are patronymic, but there was that whole thing in the game about the importance of names, chosen names included, and so I really dig the idea of Thórgestr privately thinking of himself as Eindridson. (Also I like prophecies and love the idea of Eindrid as ghostly fate-spirit predicting how Áleifr will die... Honestly, chapter three is a fave!)
ThĂłrgestr probably forgot what his mother's face looked like, so of course he's afraid to look away from her when she appears in his dreams
You ever write a bunch of fun images and then have a friend brainstorm plot developments with you later when you're at a loss on what kind of object you might need characters to go find, so of course your friend is like, "hey, you already wrote what you need." Just me? (thanks @allatariel <3)
Chapter four
The beginning of the chapter
Part of a midnight conversation between Senua and ThĂłrgestr, early in the chapter
A moment I think is cute at the end of that scene
Chapter five
The beginning of an important conversation between Ástríðr and Thórgestr.
"Your father is gone. So is mine. But I’ll have what I’m owed. Tell me, Thórgestr," Ástríðr says, "what is your regret worth? What of your word?"
Chapter six
please I want the beginning of this next scene to be down, I've been struggling
“I am worried that I will be of no use to you. So I am angry with myself. I have many things to answer for.”
working on another conversation between Senua and ThĂłrgestr, but also this is a post where I ramble about some things I want to accomplish in this fic!
Senua first talks about Dillion
Senua finally gets a hug LIKE SHE DESERVES
It sounds simple, but ThĂłrgestr and Senua talk a little bit about being friends and that is important to me
Chapter seven
Another spooky dream :) this one heavily referencing the beginning of the game in ReykjanestĂĄ
ThĂłrgestr waking up from the above dream
Chapter eight
Chapter opener -- ThĂłrgestr is finally getting out of the sickroom!
More than just Iseult survived being a giant sacrifice :) here is the intro to a couple more :)
Small paragraph referencing the voices Senua hears
“I know your fear. But we both want peace—so much that we have bled for it, him most of all. He is my friend.”
my bi!ThĂłrgestr agenda makes its first appearance :)
Chapter nine
originally there was going to be two dreams in this chapter, but this one is getting cut: a battlefield nightmare -- now separately on AO3
Druth Dream Sighting :D
More of that dream
His heart is tangled up in the threads of her story, pulled from his chest and into her grasp like a fish from the sea.
Dillion reference -- I miss him :(
“It’s not you I doubt, but myself. I wish I were whole again for you. I don’t like feeling like the weak arm in a shield-wall.”
Chapter ten
something something Tolkien fandom hair obsession got me thinking about ThĂłrgestr needing a haircut
he's trying to be so chill and it is absolutely not working, lol
ThĂłrgestr starts talking about Druth :)
And the dark rot!
I miss Dillion, okay? Senua has gotta talk about Dillion. And then she asks ThĂłrgestr if he's ever been in love before. (He has!)
Chapter eleven
"Senua Giantsbane, Senua Truthseeker"
A funny part of a conversation with a Bjarg skĂĄld OC who pitches a marriage of convenience between Senua and ThĂłrgestr to his utter bewilderment
Technically this comes earlier in the chapter, but here is another fun moment from my girl Solveig, can anyone tell that I love bards
Hey, remember that one guard that ThĂłrgestr has some friendly antagonism with during the Borgarvirki section of the game? First mention of him over here. He'll be back. :)
Solveig's eloquent yet dismissive hand gesture about Ástríðr makes me laugh okay?
“You want power.” “No, I want influence.”
Many things are out of his hands. But he’ll move forward. He must.
Chapter twelve
I struggled with the intro to this chapter for awhile, but here is a little from the conclusion to ThĂłrgestr and Solveig's meeting
working on a gap-filler / interlude from Ástríðr's POV
That feeling when you have to break up tasks into very small pieces in order to even start getting yourself up out of bed--
Viking Age Area Man has no idea how to say "same hat" to Irish friend
"Is my presence on the negotiating table then, Northman?"
Iseult's internal monologue is essentially, boy you are so stupid.
Stuff from later in the series
One of my favorite parts I've written for the whole damn thing even now -- Thórgestr doing sword drills alone on a beach near Bårðarvik
ThĂłrgestr and FargrĂ­mr conversation snippets one and two that are actually part of a larger scene
Multi / Misc:
Sections from multiple chapters: intro descriptions of OCs!
There was a WIP Excerpts meme going around late Dec 2024, so here is the tag for my responses to asks about that
WIP Word Train posts: SWEAR and then WHALE / BEAST
Two kiss prompt fills: a kiss where it hurts and a kiss in a rush of adrenaline
Other posts:
My fanmix / fic playlist post
Others Narration transcription posts (6 total)
My video games screenshots tag
The overall tag for this fic is hertan writing tag
... also for my own reference, first mention of the fic, dated 04 June 2024 (sighs so heavily about how slow of a writer I am)
LAST UPDATE ON THIS POST: 02 July 2025
Feel free to author subscribe on AO3 if you want to catch the fic drop whenever that happens in the future
Chapter One Tumblr Post | Chapter Two Tumblr Post | Chapter Three Tumblr Post
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steddieholidaydrabbles ¡ 10 months ago
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Anniversary Pop Up Event Masterlist
a new bottom in town by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated E | cw: references to injury | tags: post-vecna, established relationship, top eddie munson, bottom steve harrington, anal sex
Out of Sight, Out of Mind by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: language | tags: Future Fic, Eddie Munson Lives, Or Did He?, He Definitely Did Right?, A Glitch in the Matrix, Shifted Timelines, Parallel Universes, Sliding Doors
A family thing by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated T | no cw | tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Recovery; Disabled Eddie; POV Wayne Munson; Good uncle Wayne Munson; Implied sexual content; Domestic fluff; Found family
Stay tuned for the official calendar of prompts announcement in October!
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flowerparrish ¡ 6 months ago
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PolyPodWeek 2025 Round Up!
Final amount podded: 2:17:50 across 11 podfics! By fandom, I did:
Marvel/DC Crossovers
"how long have you known" | Clint/Bucky/Jason | Rated G | 4.5 mns
a runaway success | Clint/Bucky/Jason/Roy | Rated M | 7 mns
The One With the Kittens | Clint/Bucky/Jason | Rated T | 29 mns
someone lit from within | Clint/Bucky/Jason | Rated E | 9.5 mns
DC Only
Relapse | Jason/Roy/Kori | Rated T | 16.5 mns
Star Wars
shock to the heart | Jon Antilles/Cody/Rex | Rated T | 3 mns
Eclipsed | Fox/Bail/Breha | Rated T | 10 mns
My Heart Keeps Bleeding | Fox/Fives(/Echo) | Rated T | 18 mns
Leverage
(Ours) To Protect | Hardison/Parker/Eliot | Rated T | 1 mn
Sense8
something true | Lito/Hernando/Dani | Rated T | 14 mns
Ted Lasso
open the blinds, let me see your face | Roy/Keeley/Jamie | Rated M | 25.5 mns
And that's a wrap!! Happy @polypodweek everyone!!
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nine-worlds-bracket ¡ 2 months ago
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Round 4 match-ups
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Mastlist of matchups, links to polls, and winners under the cut
Artorin Damara vs Fitzroy Angursell WINNER Fitzroy Angursell | Artorin Damara
Halioren "Hal" Leaveringham vs Ludvic Omo WINNER Ludvic Omo
Jemis Greenwing vs Melissa Damara WINNER Jemis Greenwing
Shoanie vs Raphael | Lord of Ysthar WINNER Raphael
Conju an Vilius vs Hope Stornaway WINNER Conju an Vilius
Peregrine Dart vs Jullanar of the Sea WINNER Jullanar of the Sea
Gaudenius "Gaudy" Vawen vs Buru Tovo WINNER Buru Tovo
Jiano Delanis vs Cliopher "Kip" Mdang WINNER Cliopher "Kip" Mdang
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madamechrissy ¡ 2 months ago
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Baby You're a Star
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Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!
Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader
Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC this chap- 11.5k (longestt)
Warnings- WOW this chap has it all, heed the warnings - filming porn masturbation ( m) oral (m and f receiving) spit kink HIGH KEY, mentions of cum, multiple rounds, switching positions, size kink, swallowing (M and F) explicit sex, feral Gojo, squirting, mating press, tummy bulges, lots of fucking goddamn- Gojo is whipped mutual pining, obsessive Gojo. Angsty asf in places, lots of jealousy
A/N- Taglist closed- This was so smut filled I took MULTIPLE breaks aha, maybe my most smut filled one ever? don't read in public actually - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3
<<<Chapter Two - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Four>>>
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Chapter Three
You can’t escape the desire you have, even in your dreams.
Waking up cumming was not just new, it was ridiculous, and you didn’t even know that happened until this morning. Waking up with your cunt throbbing around nothing, and gushing arousal, as your dream was filled with Satoru kissing you, fucking into you with that thick, huge cock, hitting spots deep inside that felt real even in your dreams.
That’s it, sweetheart, cum all around my cock, hmm? Lemme feel her- there you go, baby.
That had done too much to your sleeping brain apparently, because you couldn’t stop cumming either, crying out and whining when you’d touched your cunt and felt the slick coating everything. After shaking violently from it, you’d peeked and seen a good morning text from him, all while you had to go get cleaned up, trying to compose yourself before you texted back.
Jenna calls now, shaking you out of your reverie, and the two of you plan lunch the next day. “You’re having dinner with him?”
“Yeah, but as a… friend?”
“Oh baby, you’re too cute.” You sigh, leaning back as you stir up some dough for cookies you were baking later, the sunlight filtering in through the little kitchen window you have open wide. You peer out into the sky, thinking it’s not as pretty as Satoru’s eyes.
“I do really feel things, but Jenna I can’t not be near him, if it’s as a friend, then it’s as a friend.” Jenna sighs louder than you did. “Are we having a sighing contest?”
“I’ll win any loud moan contest, but your sighs are cuter.”
“Jenna!”
You both laugh then, and a beep sounds on your phones. “Ah, looks like he’s going to stream. Gonna go watch your friend?”
“You’re an instigator. Maybe.” She giggles again, as you finish preheating the oven, scooping the dough onto the parchment paper.
“Be careful, you’re a grown woman, and things change, but don’t forget yourself, okay?” You pause then, emotions catching in your throat at her words. “I’m not trying to be the ‘mom’ I swear.”
“I know, Jenna. I love you, see you soon?” You end the call after she says goodbye, popping the cookies in the oven and turning them on. You set up your laptop, deciding to do some work for the weekend on a project your friend hired you for, but the temptation of seeing Satoru keeps nagging at your mind.
The man certainly has a pretty cock, but you think it’s the way he looks at the camera that fucks you up, it’s probably why he’s so good at it, his job. And he clearly enjoyed it, even though you know he was having a little difficulty with the last shoot, perhaps he prefers solo lately? To think you had anything to do with that was foolish, so you wouldn’t allow the thought.
The timer beeps, you stand up and stretch, turning off the timer and oven then, grabbing a bright red oven mitt and pulling out the sheet pan, smelling delectable, the steam hot and rising, scent filling your nostrils. You loved to bake, especially when you were stressed, and you suppose you were, having feelings for a man currently stroking his cock for the camera was conflicting at best.
You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s not feelings, that you’re inexperienced and confused, but you know you’re lying to yourself. You eye that silver laptop again, remembering the last time, the image of him sucking his own cum off his fingers is burned deep, a core memory at this fucking point. You shake it off, then sigh, giving into temptation.
You’d just tip him a hundred again to be supportive, you tip Jenna all the time, it’s fine, it’s something a friend can do.
Right?
You log in to the onlyfans platform, the black and blue OF making you just a bit nervous, clicking on the stream then, taking several breaths as you click on it. Fully prepared to be soaking wet, the sight that greets you is not Satoru stroking his cock, it’s another woman, her thighs spread, while Satoru runs circles on her clit. She’s propped on his lap, her head against his bare collarbones, moaning.
Your heart shatters then, and it shouldn’t, no you’re so stupid!
You are Satoru’s friend, and it was your choice to check his stream, to tip and be supportive but ultimately you know what you potentially signed up for. You saw him with Jenna, and for whatever reason that had not bothered you- maybe because it was before he touched you, looked at you like that.
The girl in front of him has two of his fingers shoved deep as he has her feet propped up on his thighs while you blink away stupid tears that shouldn’t exist, there’s no anger but there’s so much jealousy you shock yourself. You’re a girl’s girl, you’re supportive, what is this!? You’d like to rip her right off his lap, and you hate yourself for it right now.
You shake it off, looking away as the cookies fill your home with the sweet scent of sugar and chocolate. It should be a cheery morning, but you can’t even focus on anything but the conflict in your heart. You stare back again, hearing Satoru’s soft, husky voice, watching all the comments in the chat while he grips one of her breasts in his big hand.
Her head falls forward, and the way you vividly imagine it being you instead has you heating up, in more ways than excitement, embarrassment - you’d never be that girl for him, you wish you could be that way. But Satoru and you together felt too special, especially to share, how could you fall when this was your idea!?
You can’t be upset.
You take a breath, shutting your eyes and looking away as his voice resonates through the laptop’s speakers, echoicing in the quiet. If you were crazy enough you’d say it sounded different than with you, that he let go more, that you were even wetter when he touched you, but you’re starting to think you’re delusional.
“So, we wanna hit this spot right here, for any men watching, you’re gonna curl up here, that spot feels good, doesn’t it honey?” Your jaw sets, swiping tears from under your glasses now.
“Ah, y-yes Gojo!” Her moan echoes too much, he pauses then, the squelching of her cunt stops, it’s all quiet as he just stares at the camera like he’s staring at you, his lips parted, eyes widening just a bit, but there’s no way.
You’ve lost it.
You tip him the hundred as you’d intended to, quickly shutting your laptop and damn near hyperventilating. What’s wrong with you!? His job is to fuck women, so you saw him touching one, what do you expect? The man had a gang bang scene just yesterday, and dinner with you tonight. You have to shove it all down then, you have to remember what he does.
It didn’t mean it wasn’t special though, for you.
Did he do things off camera with-
Stop it!
The phone rings a few minutes later and you just stare at it, lost in your own head, wishing you could compartmentalize it so much better, that you could separate the two. You were so stupid for engaging and knowing, but at the same time, to not have Satoru seems like something you can’t compute, even if it is just as a friend, even if you can’t be sexual.
Maybe you read it all wrong, that night.
Satoru calls again, shaking out his hand as his co star is now fucking herself quite expertly on a dildo, since Satoru can’t get hard for anything - it’s worse today than yesterday - he decided to turn it into a guided masturbation video. At least his fucking fingers still work, despite jerking off to you so much his cock is raw, remembering your lips surrounding it.
Even fingering her he’s picturing your pussy, fuck he wants to just bury his face in it again, he knows the two of you are ‘friends’ or whatever the fuck this was, but it’s exceedingly difficult when it’s affecting him like this. He keeps wondering if you all sleep together, will it make it worse or better? Was he all in his head, as if you would go for someone like him if he did date.
What was he thinking lately?
He saw your name in the stream and his stomach had dropped - and why, you’re just a friend, it was fine if you wanted to see a bit of a stream and tip, he knows it is to be supportive. You’re supportive and sweet, so sweet, god your taste and scent still haunt him, he’s been dying to see you tonight, in any capacity, but when he saw the name he felt awful.
He only wants to fuck you, touch you, but he has a career and commitments, to get her to agree to this instead of fucking was already difficult and he was slowly losing it as his cock kept refusing to work. Even if he could get it up, he didn’t like the idea of fucking someone else at all, after the debacle of a gang bang yesterday. But even touching someone was doing nothing for him.
Now he saw you leave so quickly, and decided to gently smack his co star’s ass, smiling as he bent her over, murmuring he needs a break. She eagerly took over the spotlight, the opportunity was a huge one for her anyway as a smaller star. Satoru keeps staring at your picture, sighing as he notices the little reflections in your glasses, touching the screen softly.
You saw him touching someone, did you care, did it bother you-
Why is he thinking like this!?
He calls again, and you answer, much to his relief, as his hands let go of the bathroom counter he’d gripped too tightly. “Hey Satoru, sorry I popped in, I thought it was um… you…”
“Jerking off?” He finishes the sentence, leaning back against his wall and shutting his eyes.
“Yeah, I didn’t know you did um… shoots at home. You should get back to it, why are you calling me, silly? Looks like um… you were, ah… doing… good.” You’re breaking out every voice, cursing yourself quietly, why can’t you just speak? You’re shoving it all down, trying not to cry - there’s no reason to!
“Ah, yeah I thought I’d try to teach people how to make women cum, they fail often you know.” He tries to make it light, as his stomach clenches, a sick feeling when he hears your forced laugh.
“That’s very true. Someone should give you a Nobel prize for this work.” He snorts then, as the laughter becomes a little more genuine. “No you’re amazing at that. Why not show them how?”
“You thought I was amazing, hmm?” His tone changes, cock throbbing when he just hears your sigh, picturing you vividly in his mind, while the sounds of his co-star echo, moans and squelching wetness that does nothing for him.
Didn’t he used to enjoy all of this?
“You know I thought that.” Your heart pounds, you have to remember, Satoru is amazing and just because you’re hurt, you can’t be mad or upset at him. He’s not yours in any way, even if you’re starting to wish he was. “Isn’t your co-star waiting?”
“She’s occupying herself fine. It’s not… sex…” Because I can’t get hard unless it’s you. “It’s just a tutorial.”
“Oh,” your relief shouldn’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but to hear that does make you slump over just a bit, before taking a breath. “Do you want to do dinner another day, it’s already four-”
“No, no!” Satoru panics then, since when does smooth pornstar Satoru freak the fuck out and act desperate? “I mean, no. I want to see you tonight. I have time to shower and get there.”
He wants to wash any of this girl off, frantically actually, he wants you all over him, even if it’s just him pleasing you more. But moreso, even if you just wanted to have dinner and that was it, he’d be happy, though the thought of fucking you with his fingers while you eat dessert is insanely tempting, making his tip drool precum quite annoyingly as he glares in the mirror.
“Okay good, I was looking forward to it.” Your whisper is soft and genuine, as he sees the red on his cheeks, the black pupils, just thinking of you shifts his entire face.
Fuck.
“I’ll start getting ready, I think it’s time you see I can get dressed up.” You tease softly, swiping stupid tears and trying to plaster a bright smile on your face as you stare in your mirror. Your eyes are puffy, the color drained from your face, lips trembling - just seeing that has affected your entire face, taking off your glasses so you don’t even have to look at yourself for a moment.
“I bet you’re gonna kill me, you look so pretty any time I see you,” his voice is hoarse, as he spills the vulnerable truth, and the two of you shut your eyes, leaning against your bathroom counters. “But I’m excited to see you dolled up.”
“Are you, Satoru?” You try to hide the insecurities haunting you, hearing his sexy, heavy sigh on the other line.
“Very excited. I’ll see you soon, sweets.”
The two of you hang up and you sigh, eyeing the clock now - you have about two hours to get ready, and you’re so nervous your palms are sweaty and numb. It may just be two ‘friends’ having dinner, but you want to shove that image back you just saw, and focus, and try to look beautiful tonight.
Satoru’s own hands are numb, as he curses, slamming a hand on his forehead, unable to think of anything but you, barely able to pull himself together. When he walks out, Suguru is there, nibbling in the kitchen, raising a brow at him. “You good, Satoru?”
“Fine, I… you wanna finish that for me?” He gestures to the room, while Suguru sips down water. “I think I have a kind of date or something.”
“A date!? Huh?” Satoru just looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I don’t think it’s a date, it’s friends or something? Maybe... I don’t know. Is dinner a date if it's not with a costar?” Suguru rolls his violet eyes, sighing as he washes his hands now, patting them dry with a paper towel.
“You’re acting weird as fuck lately, that cute little good girl got you simping?” Satoru scoffs, rolling his blue eyes now.
“Suguru, just do me a solid.” Satoru pouts, earning Suguru’s scoff.
“Fine, fine, but you owe me one.” Suguru and Satoru enter the room, as Satoru eases the transition, the notes in the chat are going insane, he can’t help but exhale in relief, before pausing at the thought.
Was there some way to save his malfunctioning dick?
*****
Satoru whistles when he meets you at the restaurant that evening, running just a little late, you're sitting there nibbling on your thumb, peering at the menu when he arrives. Your eyes light up behind a different pair of glasses, these have cute red rims, matching the red dress you're wearing that's making him ache.
He hasn't seen you in something like this, not that you weren't always pretty, but when you stand up and he sees how it fits your body it almost takes him everything to hold back. Vividly picturing bending you right over that table and fucking you in front of the entire restaurant, gripping the red shimmery fabric that drapes across every line and curve of that body.
He can't form a word, notoriously known for never shutting up, but he can't think of anything to say, when you shyly look down, hands fidgeting in front of your lap, and he’s standing there sputtering. It’s awkward even, until the waitress comes up and smiles over at Satoru, gesturing to a seat, saying - ‘This must be the friend you were waiting for!’
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, you look beautiful.” He says finally, pressing a kiss to your cheek, feeling it heat up against his lips. You shake your head with a sweet turn of your lips, kissing his cheek in turn.
“You’re fine, Satoru, I still haven’t learned LA time.” He chuckles at that just a bit, sitting across from you now, before deciding to sit next to you instead, shoulders brushing together.
“This feels more comfy? It feels all formal the other way.”
“Does it feel too… date like?” He falters then, because that was not it, but the doubt has crept in on your face, when the waitress asks you all for your order, and he has to blink back the confusion. “What do you suggest?”
“Want me to order for you?” You nod shyly, god the submissive nature of you makes him ache in way too many ways, knowing how perfect of a girl you’d be for him in every aspect. “We’ll have this,” he says, pointing to the menu now. “And bring two glasses of champagne please.”
“Are we celebrating?” You tease, handing the waitress the menu, Satoru chuckles a bit, shaking his head while you take in how handsome he looks, brushing your fingers against his suit jacket. “You look so good, Satoru.”
“Thank you, sweets.” He holds your hand then, fuck it feels too good, pressing it against the dark red suit jacket that truly only he could pull off, black button down shirt left open, showing enough of his chest to make anyone die over. Your eyes look at it now, a few of the chains he wears resting along the strong muscles, settling between his collarbones. “You’re making me look bad, wearing in that dress.”’
“No way!”
“Absolutely, you are. You’re so pretty, fuck…” He’s brushing back a tendril, as you eye him, that look that drives him insane, the look that’s ruined him since he met you. He tries to smirk, to act calm, teasing, “I look that good?”
“Yes, shit. Sorry.” He laughs softly, shaking his head when you pull your hand back gently.
“We match, great minds you know.”
“Indeed, we clearly coordinated telepathically!” He laughs then, and it's just like that first night, when you and him just hit it the fuck off. It’s comfortable, it’s fun - so fun - that people smile at the two of you, as you laugh like friends for years. It’s how it feels, like you’ve known him, a way you can’t explain.
But you wished it was just the friendliness, not the heat in your tummy when he wipes a droplet of clear, bubbly champagne from his plump lips, if every time his thigh brushed yours you didn’t melt. Someone comes up then, a really pretty girl, and you feel Satoru stiffen a bit, making you tense, sipping on the tart champagne and averting your eyes a bit.
“Gojo, it's been what, a year?!” He smiles with ease, standing and kissing her cheek, hugging her tightly.
“It has been, shit, how you been?” It’s all very Hollywood, their exchange, you feel you’ll never figure it out, the two years you’ve been here after relocating and you still couldn’t get being kissy on everyone.
It makes you think of him earlier, his fingers in that-
Stop that!
He’s saying your name you errantly realize, you plaster on a smile as she looks at you curiously, eyeing you up and down. “Co-star?”
“No, no, she’s my friend. She’s a good girl.” He winks down at you, and she giggles then, holding her hand out.
“It’s awesome to meet you!”
“You too. Are you um…”
“A former co-star, yeah. Satoru is the best in the industry.” Ah, so she fucked him, too. You want to be petty and scowl and you hate yourself for it more.
You never, ever are like this.
You never have been.
She’s touching his shoulder and making you sick, when your eyes catch a familiar face, a man standing with a group of other men, smiling over at you, he’s one of your co-workers that is always working. You wave at him while Satoru finishes his conversation, and he adjusts his tan jacket, touching the arm of one of the men, letting them go as he walks to you.
You tense just a bit, while the girl finally leaves, and Satoru’s sitting next to you once more, as his phone rings. He turns it off, jaw tensing when a blond man takes your hand and bends down at the waist, like some old school gentleman, pressing a kiss to the back of your delicate wrist, the pretty bracelet slides down your arm as he does it, and he watches your blush.
The fuck.
He was trying his best to get that girl to go on, so he could get back to talking to you, but now some random guy has your attention, and Satoru doesn’t like it, not one fucking bit. “Nanami, this is Satoru.”
“Nanami, huh?” He leans back, flipping off his phone again, you look at him curiously.
“Need to grab that?” You ask, and he shakes his head, swiping it off once more, ignoring his manager while this Nanami guy eyes you behind green glasses.
“You look stunning, is that alright to say?” You giggle again, Satoru glares at you, how dare you giggle at him!?
He told you that you looked beautiful. Did you giggle?
He wants to punch this smirking man in the face.
What’s wrong with him!?
“Thank you, Nanami, I guess you don’t see me too dressed up at work, huh? You always dress so well.”
“Oh stop, you’re flattering me. And this is your…” He trails off, looking at Gojo, who has to wipe the glare off his face for a moment.
Say it, Satoru.
More than a friend.
You look at him then, as if you’re waiting for him to say that, to say something, while Nanami’s lips quirk up just a bit, making Satoru want to smack him again. He takes a breath, smiling then instead of glaring, but his hand is on the small of your back. “We’ve become close friends, very quickly.”
“Oh? I’ve known her for a long time,” Nanami says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. You look at Satoru, whose phone starts ringing again, and he curses, rolling his blue eyes. “Need to take that?”
“It’s my manager, they have horrible timing. I’ll be right back.” He murmurs, you smile understandingly, while his manager trips on him about earlier.
He knows his dick doesn’t work, and now he knows he hates touching anyone, but he doesn’t know how to explain it to anyone when he has no fucking clue why this is happening. He’s obsessed with a sweet, shy little thing that is currently getting hit on by a dude buffer than him.
Maybe he’d be good for you.
Satoru is too petty to admit it though, glaring instead while his manager goes on and on. “Listen, I get it, you need content.”
“We need you with women, a lot of your viewers are men, they’re not gonna tune in to watch you solo. Find someone that works for you, I don’t care who at this point, but we’re just not gonna make profit if you keep turning down roles. Or, I heard, you shoved a girl off on Geto.”
“I didn’t… shove her off, I just…” Satoru frowns again, the blond man is sitting next to you in the other seat, your eyes are on Satoru however they turn away when he catches your gaze.
He just wants to fuck you right in front of that fucking man now. God, if you would be interested in starring in something, you’d make bank, it’s not just his obsession, your pussy is the prettiest one he’s seen. Your tits, your body, they’re all so sexy, and your pretty face with those glasses? You’d kill any sexy nerd shoot there was.
“Satoru!”
Shit.
He can’t get the vision of you in some slutty ass librarian outfit from running through his head.
“Yeah, I got it. I’ll try to get something going, I mean I was gonna do a solo tonight anyway.”
“That’s fine, but remember you’re a lot more than just Onlyfans. You’re a star, Satoru, that comes with a certain level of appearances. So whatever is going on, you gotta get it together, or we’re both not making shit.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall now, eyes going back to you, giggling at something he’s said.
He’s too close to you.
Why does he mind so much?
“I’ll get a shoot done.” The words feel horrible, the thought of fucking anyone else just seems like an impossibility, and he doesn’t know how to compute it in his mind.
What did you do?
“Alright, I expect some video with a woman - not with Suguru. Though…”
“I’m not fucking Suguru.” He chuckles as people look at him a bit, running a hand through his white locks. “He is pretty but not my type.”
“He’s gonna be your type if you turn down every other actress.”
“Ugh.”
“Mmhmm, talk to you later.” He hangs up, frowning at his phone, trying to gather himself before he does something so stupid, jealousy filling him and for what?
You’re talking. You’re not his. He had his fingers buried in a girl this morning, why does he care if you did anything? He knows you’re not that girl, though, but you choose to be with him. It makes him feel far, far more special than he’d admit, the fact that you want him, that you trust him. Was he mistaking the look in your eyes, was it just desire there?
“If you are single, would you mind a date sometime? I haven’t had so much fun talking in a long time.” Nanami says softly, making you look down shyly, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks from the soft lights hanging above you in the dimly lit, pretty restaurant. “Am I too bold?”
“No, no. I just haven’t been on a date in forever.” Satoru feels like he’s been punched in the chest as he hears, nearing the table and acting like he didn’t wanna yank you to him and kiss you then and there.
But he chose to tell him you’re friends, that’s what you were, a friend he wants to fuck all night in every position imaginable. Then lick his own cum out of your cunt, abused from his cock, and fuck you all morning. God he can’t stop thinking about them all, have you dragged on his face, his hands on your waist, let you ride his mouth till he couldn’t breathe.
Real fucking friendly.
Satoru’s hands grip and release while he hears your answer, “I will think about it, Mr. Nanami, it may be fun.”
That’s almost a yes.
Fuck.
“Think about what?” He asks with a smile, leaned back in the booth, a hand brushing your bare thigh under the table, where your dress had slid up from you sitting, he feels it tense while he drags his fingertips across it, eyeing you then.
Was Satoru trying to confuse you more? You look at him again, some toxic part of you that you don’t recognize wants him to claim you, what the fuck was that!? You have never been that way, you’ve never been a lot of things until you met this blue-eyed man, however, and even with a handsome Nanami flirting, you can’t get Satoru’s moans out of your mind.
Snap out of it!
“A date with your lovely friend. You two are just friends?” He looks between the two of you now, and Satoru opens his mouth, but what can he say?
It’s what you ‘are’.
Would he be worthy of dating you if he wanted to, when his job was fucking other women? You didn’t deserve that, you deserved to be the only one, fuck you literally had become his one singular, consuming thought. He smiles good naturedly, eyeing you now, watching you bite your lower lip, teeth digging into the plush of it, while your thighs tremble just a bit.
“We just met at a party a few weeks ago, but we are really close. Quickly.” He murmurs.
“Can’t see you partying.” Nanami’s hand comes to touch your other thigh, and for a girl who hasn’t had any in forever, the sensation of two big hands on your thighs is addling your mind. “No offense, darling you seem a little straight laced…” his words are trailed off with his hand squeezing gently.
Satoru scowls at him.
Is he touching you!?
Do you like it?
“I don’t party, it’s true.” You smile now, a hand over his, thumbs brushing his knuckles, while Satoru’s squeezing so hard you wince before he realizes it, letting go of his grip, but the hand staying on your knee. “I think we could go on a date sometime, as long as it doesn’t make work weird.”
“Not at all, all right I’ll leave you two to hang out then,” he stands, holding out a hand for Satoru, he squeezes the shit out of Nanami’s hand with a forced smile, only for Nanami to squeeze tighter. And fuck he’s strong. Then, he takes your hand, murmuring a - “I’ll see you at work, then,” and kissing the back of your hand. “Darling.”
Darling.
Satoru will show him darling.
You giggle, only pissing him off more, nodding shyly, fuck you’re cute even when you’ve made him furious. He’s shared women so many times he can’t count, even girls he got closer to, regular girls that you could almost say he ‘dated’ he’d still regularly bang out with his friends. He’s not possessive in general, he’s open minded and a free spirit.
Or he was!?
“Sounds good, Mr. Nanami.” He hates how you say his name, when the man in the khaki suit and dumbass cheetah tie leaves, finally. “He’s so sweet.”
“Yeah, so sweet.” You look at him then, narrowing your eyes curiously.
“You don’t like him?”
“I don’t know him. Seems boring, pretentious.” You blink in confusion, eyeing the retreating figure walking out, he even waves at you, which you return.
“He doesn’t seem like either to me. Satoru, you said we are just friends, are you worried that we won’t… do all that we do if I date someone?” Your words drop to a quiet murmur, and he sighs.
“Yes I would be very upset if I didn’t get to taste you again, why wouldn’t I be? It’d be a fuckin’ tragedy, sweetheart.” His words are too husky, when he leans against you, turning just so, his fingers slipping up your inner thigh, a side of sweet, nice Satoru you hadn’t seen yet, you almost think he looks…
He can’t be jealous.
Right?
You're delusional.
“I don’t just sleep around, so if we went on a date I wouldn’t do that. But, if I hit it off, and got serious, I wouldn’t continue our… lessons. I can only be with one person at one time.” He tenses then, is he going to lose you before he even gets you? “I don’t care if you do the same, I know it’s your job, but I couldn’t.”
“I’m not fucking anyone right now. My manager is bitching at me about it.” You tilt your head curiously, the chandelier earrings dancing in glittering prisms along your neck as you study him. “I’m having issues on set.”
“Is everything okay?” You ask, concern in your voice now, as he shakes his head. “Satoru, what's wrong?”
“I’m not in a good headspace it seems, the gang bang I failed, and I pushed the girl this morning on Suguru. So if I don’t give my manager something, they’re gonna be pissed. And no money for us if I can’t show up.”
“What’s wrong though, you seemed fine with Jenna in what I watched? Is this a new problem?” God you’re clueless to your effects, aren’t you? You touch his thigh too, instantly making his cock hard, looking down and getting flustered, he feels your heat, just making him harder. “You seem to work fine to me. Are the cameras getting too stressful?”
“I don’t know, but it really is a problem. Do you think… you could help your very handsome, amazing friend out?” You look up at him, curious.
“Help how?”
“Your good video skills, film a hot jerk off stream, good angles? Maybe that will get enough money he’ll chill some until I get over this.” You look away, the images of Satoru stroking his cock are burned in your brain. “Too much?”
“No, no. I can help, I feel I am taking up your time-”
“You’re not.” He cups your face then, turning it to him. “You’re never taking up my time, I enjoy being here. Okay?” You exhale, fuck had you been worried about that!?
How could you not know how badly he craves your presence?
“I feel bad that you’re going through this, is it the lesson?”
“The lesson did bring your taste into my mouth, and maybe no one tastes as sweet, it’s true,” his thumb brushes across your jaw line, smiling at how embarrassed you get then. “I think your taste would help me out.”
“Then, I’ll film you, but I can’t guarantee the quality.”
“It’ll be impeccable.” He raises two fingers, making your mind go to places it shouldn’t, you know another ‘lesson’ or session, or any time at all with Satoru was dangerous.
You’re teetering on the edge of feelings constantly, but you can do this, right, separate the two? He seems so good at it, at being your friend and then doing more, and you almost failed completely. You almost couldn’t say yes to Nanami because you are currently so delusional you think this star is so interested in you for more.
You have to accept him for who he is, no matter what, this was your choice to join his life at all. You take a breath now, trying to flip that switch off, the one that can’t stop thinking how much you’d love to kiss him, every minute of every day. The side that’s upset his fingers were inside someone, you have to throw her aside, and enjoy what’s here while it’s here.
He makes you question so much constantly, like every minute spent under that cerulean gaze brings out a side of you that you never knew of, some inner sexual side that only he can ignite. It’s so beautiful and special, his breath against your lips, you want to press them to yours, but so unsure, was he not about to be affectionate in public with you?
Was this just left for home?
He changes your thoughts when he kisses your forehead, far too sweet, then your cheeks, hot to the touch, down to your nose, making you giggle, relax. “You never ever waste any time.”
“I needed that.” You exhale, kissing his lips quickly as he smiles against your lips, and you pull back quickly. “I’d love to help you out.”
“I’ll make it worth your while, pretty.” His thumb brushes the slick on your upper thigh, right by your panties, watching your lashes flutter shut, as you take a shaky breath. “Come back to my place?”
“For the night or…”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure-”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Satoru’s paying the bill, signing a signature and leaving a hefty tip, then, holding out a hand for you.
“Did you drive here?” You shake your head, and he smiles, snatching up his phone now. “Perfect, I’ll have my driver take us over.”
*****
The second time coming to Satoru’s home was a little different, you were more comfortable, slipping off your heels now, he bends down to help you again, kissing your knees as he does, hands slipping up your thighs. Your hand brushes a lock of his white hair back, the unreal way you feel this comfortable, this drawn to him, makes your heart ache.
You’re so scared you’ll get hurt more, but you can’t stop yourself from being near him, from him looking at you like you’re the only fucking girl there is, are you so delusional?
Just enjoy it.
You close your eyes, sighing as he stands, kissing your lips again, easing your hand bag off your shoulder, brushing his thumbs across the mark it’s left on your shoulder. “Want another drink?”
“Yes please, if I’m going to be a porn director.” He laughs softly, shaking his head and taking off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of a chair when he pulls out the same bottle you’d sipped last time.
“You liked this one, hmm?” You nod, surprised he’d remember, taking the sweet liquid in the crystal glass, fingers brushing now. “Don’t get drunk though, I can’t have a shaky ass camera.”
“So demanding already, you really gonna make it worth my while you say?” You’re trying to tease back, like you can breathe or function in his presence, he just sighs, brushing back your hair behind your ear.
“That and more, sweetheart. We have hardly started doing things together, there is so much I can think of,” his hands slip lower, down the side of your neck, watching the goosebumps raise as he does, sighing at how perfect you look in his kitchen. “So many positions.”
“How many are there!?” He laughs now, at your embarrassed little look, pressing a boop to your nose.
“You’re endlessly adorable. Corruptible.”
“Oh!” He’s taking his own glass now, guiding you by your hand.
“Suguru’s out for the night, so we won’t get interrupted.” He’s leading you to his room, yanking off that black top, pausing as he sets up the ring light and grabs the camera, handing it to you, fingers brushing against each other. “You ready?”
“Ready,” your squeak of an answer makes him pause, taking your free hand, putting it on his bare chest as your heart hammers, trailing the hand lower to his belt and swallowing. “Need help?”
“Yes, I do.”
He needs you.
He’s desperate for you, fuck.
You’ve helped him undress, on your knees on the soft, plush carpet, when you start the stream, and he starts stroking that long, thick length right in front of you, he keeps looking at you, even when you gesture to the camera. He’s moaning, spitting on his tip, making it slicker for his big hand which still can’t come close to covering it, twisting and moving it all for you.
For his fans.
It’s hard to remember them when your cunt throbs, when you’re so overheated you can hardly stand it, and Satoru’s talking, low and hoarse. “Gonna cum so much, fuck…”
When he’s cumming you damn near do just looking, thighs pressing together for that friction, mouth fucking dry when your shaky legs nearly give out, while you come from a lower angle, reading the comments of his spurting cum, shooting up against his silvery happy trail, sticking all over, making you ache to drink it up.
“Fuck, I’ve made a mess, need someone to clean me all up.” Satoru whispers, while you barely are able to hold up the camera any longer, the livestream is avid with questions, namely - who is filming Satoru Gojo? And offers from many viewers to lick every bit of him up.
Satoru should stare at the camera, but he’s looking up into your eyes instead, stroking his cum soaked length slowly, just pumping more cum out of his tip, so much it’s ridiculous, dripped down to his balls and inner thighs. You swallow nervously, tummy clenched with desire, knowing you needed to stay quiet for the stream of curious viewers.
Satoru murmurs cut then, and  you do just that, shutting off the feed, and setting down the phone with a shaky hand, clearing your throat. “They loved it I think.”
“C’mere.” He crooks two fingers, and you eagerly obey, walking up to him now, tempting him to no end with the way your eyes drink him in. “On your knees, sweetheart.”
You obey again, eagerly in fact, looking up at him under lowered lashes as his clean hand slips up the side of your pretty neck, then around to the nape of it, entangling in your locks. Your soft whine and shift of your hips are all he needs to know you’re enjoying it, your hands obediently on your thighs, as if waiting for his every order, so sexy he feels his cock twitch back to life.
“Do you want to clean me up?” He asks softly, but the command in his tone is there, you nod and he exhales, tugging you towards him then. “Then do a really good job, sweets. Lick every bit clean like a good girl, and I’ll reward you.”
“I’ll do a good job.” Your whisper wrecks him, as he guides your head down, and you suck him, still hard, into your hot, eager mouth. Your soft whine vibrates around him, his head falling back as your mouth moves.
He can’t help but think of earlier.
A date, you were gonna go on a date, and he hates the idea, no, he fucking detests the idea in fact, the rage alone making him fuck your throat deeper, harder, feeling you gag and choke on him instead of anyone else. He shouldn’t feel possessive over his friend, a friend who’s sucking his cum, who’s swallowing him up, all he can think is his, his, his.
But you weren’t his.
How could you ever be?
Satoru’s never felt anything better than your throat, except he’s a million percent sure your cunt is better, he knows it would suck him up so greedy. When tears fall from your pretty eyes, it’s hotter than any blow job he’s had on set, the eagerness and desperate need to please far surpasses experience, your glasses fogging up when you pull back to take a breath then.
Satoru looks at his slick, spit covered cock, to thin trails of saliva disintegrating between your lips as you pull back, swiping at your lower lip. “How did I do?”
“Perfect.” His whisper is genuine, the words feel too good, you know you should stop, that you already wish he was yours, but you’re too addicted to how those blue eyes make you feel like you’re the only girl there is.
Even if it’s an illusion, a trick of your brain, or a practiced look.
The feeling is too euphoric not to be corrupted by it.
“You did such a good job, look at it, not any cum left. You sucked it all down, so greedy huh?” His hand comes under your chin, squeezing your neck gently yet so possessive, he wants to say it - his - but he knows he can’t. But it’s too easy to teeter off the edge, when your breaths come faster, breasts pressed up in that dress, rising and falling with each one.
“Satoru… I can keep going.” Your soft voice nearly ends him, little hand stroking his cock again.
“I was thinking of something, but if you don’t want to, it's okay.” You blink a bit then, tilting your head, tendrils falling against your bare shoulders.
“What is it?”
“A scene with me, but not showing your face at all,” your gasp and pull back makes him sigh. “It’d be like me eating your pussy, we could have it zoomed so no one sees your face.”
The thought, along with Satoru's sweet cum down your throat makes your tummy clench, while he brings out more and more of you that you didn't know existed. Your hands tense on his thighs now, taking a shaky breath, fingers along the downy hair on his thighs. “I don’t… Satoru you have a million options for costars-”
“I want yours. It’s the prettiest I’ve ever fucking seen.”
“Satoru…”
“It is. Wanna argue about my expertise here?” You just get more flustered and flushed, looking down nervously, but he tilts your chin with his big hand, angling your gaze upward. “I’ll split all the pay, you get eaten out, and anonymously. I’d never tell anyone, I’d never risk your career or anything. But I do need to do one, and I hate the thought of it not…” Satoru trails off now, the words sinking in.
“You like eating me out that much?” Your whisper makes him chuckle then, nodding and swallowing nervously.
“That pussy is perfect. How about we film it, and you watch it, and if you don’t want to, I just keep it to jerk off to…” Shit, he said that.
He’s so desperate and pathetic.
But you flush again, surprising him with your nod.
“Shit really!?”
“We can film it for us to watch, and… I doubt I’ll be okay sharing it, but we can see if you- ah!” Satoru’s got you lifted so fast you barely can blink, unzipped and turned in moments, leaving you in the prettiest red lace lingerie that makes him groan, his fingertips trembling on your skin. “I said probably not, don’t get excited.”
“I’m excited to bury my face between your thighs again, sweetheart.” You cry out when he’s pressed you on the bed, spreading your thighs and groaning, fingers tugging at your panties.
“How can you make sure my face isn’t there?” You ask softly, he grabs the camera and the stand then, cock just swinging around, balls smacking his thighs, so used to being naked he doesn’t realize his effects. You can’t stop staring when he gets it at the perfect angle, clicking his tongue.
“Just like that,” he murmurs, viewfinder showing your pretty cunt up close, he’s almost furious to think anyone could see it like him, but his career is teetering on the brink of nothing, and if you truly were okay with it, he only sees it as a win.
You broke his dick and now he’s begging to just lick you, and split pay with you, he never thought he’d be so pathetic, but it’s no wonder, thumbing your pussy and spreading it, sighing. “Mnh!”
“So, to keep it anonymous if you decide to show this, don’t speak too personally, okay sweets?” You nod shyly, gasping as he shoves your thighs up. “Also, hold them up high, so all we’re getting is a view of your pussy.”
“Yes, sir.” You tease, but his cock starts leaking again, earning his moan.
“Don’t speak too much, to be safe, I don’t ever want you to feel like anyone would know it’s you. Speak when we’re done, though, you can absolutely moan.” You nod, so nervous, what are you doing!?
It’s as if Satoru Gojo brings something insane and wild out, because there is a thrill of your pussy on camera suddenly, and knowing he is about to worship you, potentially in front of people has your cunt drooling for him. He hits record then, angling his face so his tongue was in perfect view lapping up the arousal, exhaling now as he shoves your thighs up higher.
Perfect, you’re perfect.
“God, look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs into the camera, parting your folds so all that syrupy arousal can pool out, he hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your red nails pressing into the plush of your thighs. His cock is already back hard, he has to stroke it and whines out as he laps you up, making you gasp.
He's slurping you then, head tilted just so the camera can see, smacking your clit gently, watching you jerk, pressing your thighs up higher and tilting the camera so it's higher, right over his head, looking at it and the reflection of your perfect cunt while he slips the tip of his tongue up. You're moaning at the sensations, twitching hips bringing your cunt more in his face.
Satoru can't stand it, how good you taste, he wondered if it was an illusion but no, you are the sweetest thing he's ever had. “You're so wet, god, take a look…” he's fingering you now, and you hear it while he watches it, glimmering from the soft ring light glowing on your perfect pussy. Making him so dumb he's just burying his face then, forgetting he's filming.
“Mnh!” You're trying not to call out his name, thighs still so high you can't see his face, to protect you from getting seen, until he adjusts it, spreading your thighs further, leaning up to look down at you under lidded eyes, chin coated in your slick. “Satoru…”
“You okay sweets?” His whisper touches you, his concern for you even during this, making sure you're okay. You nod and he exhales in relief, kissing you for a moment, knowing it's what you need, brushing your hair back, sighing as he looks down at you. “You're doing so good. Can you cum for me, baby?”
You nod again eagerly, and he’s dived back down, fingering you with two curled right in your cunt, hitting that spot that blinds you every time, his moans so filthy, guttural while he watches, angling his wrist and hitting something then, you feel so much pressure you panic, gasping, writhing under him.
“Oh my - ngh! Fuck!” You’re struggling to keep your voice a whisper, palming your mouth while you shatter.
“That’s it, right there, cum for me, lemme drink it up. Let everyone see how much you love my fucking tongue.” Pornstar Satoru was ridiculous to handle, hitting you with his fingers and the tip of his tongue on your clit, when the pressure releases, and your orgasm hits so hard you can’t help but scream, twitching as he pulls back in surprise. “Fuck, you’re squirting f’me?”
You have no clue what he means, you don’t see it as it starts pouring all over, making a mess, wet spot under you even as Satoru grabs you by the fat of your ass, licking up as much as he can. You’re a twitching, soaked little mess, your hands gripping his hair now, screams echoing in the room while he eases off you just a bit now, ready to fuck your slick, messy cunt.
He trembles as he pulls back and does one more shot, pressing a sweet kiss to your pussy before shutting off the camera, and leaning up, kissing you, so desperate, while your slick thighs rub together, and you feel the mess. He pulls up and takes a breath, flipping you then, making you gasp, handing you the camera while he kisses the backs of your shoulders, hands on your ass, spreading it wide.
“Watch it, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing across your shoulder blades, brushing your hair to one side while you barely have the strength to press play, and that’s when you see it. “Look how perfect you are.”
Your pussy right on camera, and him eyeing it like he’s worshipping it, like you’re his fucking altar and his mouth is that offering. Your cunt starts throbbing while he works you, kissing every inch of your body as you fall more and more into the abyss of sin, of lust, of desire- of Satoru Gojo.
“You love it, don’t you baby?” His words are hot against your ear, while you watch him on the screen licking your cunt, watch your thighs tremble, all while he’s behind you, sinking his two fingers so deep in your quivering hole again. You arch your back, moaning now, it feels so good you can’t stand it, so erotic watching this video you two took, while he’s fucking you with his thick fingers.
“I do, but it’s insane… ah! Satoru…” He sighs now, taking his fingers out, pressing them into your mouth for you to suck, which you quickly obey, eyes fluttering shut, the image of his tongue fucking you reflecting in the darkness.
“Keep it for us, or share? It’s all up to you. I’ll never pressure you either way,” he’s soft then, turning your chin as he lays heavy weight over you, and you eye the phone now, hand shaking just a bit, to close it out or to share, he takes your hand, steadying it. “It’s fine to be how you are, you’re perfect, okay?”
“It’s fine to be how you are, Satoru Gojo. A… question, though.” He sighs, leaning close, while he keeps holding your hand, hovering just so.
“Mmhmm?”
“Would I be your favorite co-star?” Your teasing question makes him laugh at the ridiculous nature.
You’re the only one he can even get hard for.
“You’re the prettiest, yummiest, sweetest co star I could have,” his words are just a little broken, as he almost says more. That he hopes your date sucks with that Nanami guy, that he’s planning to show up at your work tomorrow to glare at that man, that he’s become fucking obsessed, but instead - “How could you think you’re not?”
“And we’re… still friends…” You ache for him to say - no, it’s more - but he nods, against your neck, pressing kisses against it. “Even if we fuck?”
God.
He’s dying.
“You think I wouldn’t be your friend anymore? I’m not the guy to get what he wants and go. I promise.” You nod then, smiling just a bit, and tap the share button then, surprising both of you.
“Holy fuck, I did that…” Your whisper is met with Satoru’s kisses now, as your video plays for all to see, your moans on camera mixing with the ones induced from his play, one arm wrapping your body as his cock presses insistently against your ass, hot and heavy.
“Stop me now, because I can’t think of anything but fucking your pretty pussy raw right now,” his desperate words and dilated eyes just serve to ruin you, when you arch your ass up. “Fuck, you sure?”
“I want you inside me, please,” he eagerly leans back, gripping his cock and lifting your thigh, pressing into your tight ring of muscles, almost cumming from the fucking tip. “Ah!”
“You’re so tight, relax I don’t want to hurt you, please.” Satoru whispers it as he grips your chin.
You nod, as he is slipping a little deeper from the back, the stretch burning so deliciously, you’re convulsing while the viewers are going wild over Satoru’s devoted pussy eating skills with his mysterious, faceless co-star. His silk hair brushes your cheek as he exhales heavy in your ear, whispering your name.
You eye the video, the comments, vision blurry, while he sinks his cock deeper, and he moans as he reads the comments to you, filling your cunt so full of his cock, inch by inch - and there are so many, each thrust deeper while you cling to his wrists, his arms wrapping you. He keeps reading them, even as he shoves in all the way, making you jerk and gasp.
“Perfect pussy, look at Satoru go, god she’s so wet for him, she’s cumming so much - is she squirting? Look at that, you’re a regular star, huh? F-fuck…”
“Mnh!” Your eyes roll back in your fucking skull now, lost in him, lost completely. So deeply unraveled under him you can’t remember what this is, that it’s a friend, that it was a scene, that you’re now the girl who did that, anonymous but to know it’s you on that screen with Satoru devouring you does something, fuck it does too much.
He’s murmuring more comments, and his huge cock is stretching your slick, tight heat beyond its means. “That’s it, you love it, huh? They all want to be in your place, or they want to lick you instead, but it’s me, isn’t it baby?” He shouldn’t be possessive, he tries to tell himself it over and over, but how can he not be, when he’s shoved in so deep, he feels the bulge of your tummy, groaning. “Feel me, sweetheart?”
You can’t speak, just nodding desperately, while the feed goes insane, watching your cunt squirt on Satoru’s face while he’s buried inside you, filling you to the hilt, stretching you out so good you forget to breathe. “Toru!”
He pauses at the nickname, your slurred words and pulsing cunt ending him, he could almost cum then and there and he has amazing stamina, but he has to hold back, wrapping a hand around your throat and leaning up on an elbow while you gush down his cock. Satoru kisses up your neck hungrily, eyeing your pussy on the video and then your face, your eyes almost black with pleasure.
“Only I can hit that spot, hmm?” His tip drags along your spongy spot now, and you’re twitching, nodding, so consumed as he surrounds you, breath against your neck, moans in your ear, hand squeezing your throat just so under your chin. His cock twitches as he shoves deeper, impossibly deeper, while you helplessly grip the blankets beneath you. “Answer me, like a good girl.”
“Y-yes.” Your whisper drives him insane, feral, the way your walls quiver around his cock is exquisite, that grip unreal, but more than anything it feels perfect.
“Made for this cock, aren’t you pretty?” The words fall out before he can stop them, and your eyes rolling back, drool spilling out of your mouth while your cunt is pulsing is his answer. “Perfect, fuck…”
“Mnh!” You can’t take it, his words urging you when he shoves his cock so deep, the tip bruising your cervix, making you scream as his guttural moan fills the room, his hand squeezing just enough pressure to make your orgasm blinding, white hot.
“Cumming all over me, so good, listening f’me, hmm?” You just nod weakly, gasping when he flips you to your back, lifting your thighs and shoving them wide, slapping the tip on your slick cunt and groaning. “Wanna watch me fill you up?”
You nervously nod, swallowing now, and he sees it, you’re overwhelmed, he leans down, kissing you, and you’re desperately clinging to his back, eagerly kissing him despite being damn near slack jawed. You exhale nervously, eyeing him is even more intimate, impossibly more, his plush lips still tasting like your honeyed arousal from earlier.
“If it’s too much, tell me, I want you comfortable.” It’s hard for him to speak, but he does, making sure to reassure you, kissing your forehead before he leans back.
“It’s intense, Satoru but… I want it.” He moans at that, sliding his cock back inside, sucking in a breath when you’re gripping him fucking tighter this time, slipping in slowly, inch by inch. “Ah! Satoru, so d-deep!”
“I am, huh? I can get deeper, baby.” You cry out when he shoves his cock in deep with a sharp thrust, and then pauses, eyeing that bulge in your stomach. “Look.”
“Look at… oh.” You’re heating up at the image, and he’s all about angles, he makes sure your eyes catch every bit of his slow thrusts, filling your tummy full of his enormous cock, too much to take, but your cunt is willing and eager, struggling to take his size.
“Fucking you so deep, see it? Your body is so small compared to my cock, pussy stretched too much, f-fuck… god look at you…” He’s losing it, he was trying to talk sexy to you, which comes naturally, but now he’s just obsessed with the image, thin white brows lowering over his eyes, while he slams inside you, your thighs trembling as they wrap his slutty waist. “Oh my god…”
“Satoru… ah!” He’s done, he’s fucking lost in you, in your eyes when he shoves your thighs up, gripping your face with his huge hands while he’s got you bent in half, slamming so hard you scream. “Too much!”
“I need all of you, fuck… can you take more?” His eyes are so bright blue they burn to look at, but you can’t stop yourself, nodding and cupping his face in return.
“Kiss me please.” He moans at that, slamming his lips down when he rocks his hips, cock filling you so deeply you scream into his mouth, hands slipping to his hair while he’s got his heavy weight over you.
“I can’t control it anymore, baby, if it’s too much just fucking hit me at this point,” he’s nonsensical, leaning up now, hands on the back of your thighs in a mating press, fucking you hard now, powerful strokes that take you the fuck out, cumming in moments with a few strokes, making him whimper.
That’s a sound you know he’s never made.
You may be delusional, but you’re sure you’ve only heard him whimper for you, you’ve never seen that look in his eyes on any video or stream, not when he’s staring right into your fucking soul and slamming his cock deep over and over. You’re barely able to cling to the earth, so much pleasure rushing through your body, you feel every vein and ridge of that huge cock as it fucks into you.
“Perfect, pussy is perfect, fucking knew it but god. God… fucking feel her,” he slams into you again, head falling back, giving you a view of his throat before he eyes you once more, shaking his head and slamming his cock harder. “Can she take it?”
You just nod, you’d take anything, the way it feels to be ruined by Satoru Gojo is far beyond his balls slapping your ass, his cock stretching your cunt, his hands bruising your fucking thighs, no it was more. You want to be filled by him, folded under him, you want every bit of it, losing yourself in him, in his bright blue eyes, in his filthy fucking words, in his cock slamming your cervix.
You were ruined, and you knew it.
You feel too much, far too much, when he’s leaned back, holding your thighs high and watching his cock pull out and enter, slowing and rubbing your abused clit. “F-fuck, cum one more time, I’m close… your cunt is so fucking perfect, shit… c’mon, like a good girl, there you go baby…”
It’s like that goddamn dream.
Word for word.
You cum harder than you have, when he shoves into the hilt, stuffing your slutty little hole, blinded and dizzy, hardly able to breathe, while he watches you shatter under him, so fucking beautiful he can’t take it. Your brows drawn together, that sweat making your skin glisten, your mouth open in the sluttiest O, he can hardly stand what the image does to him.
He knows it then, he’s fucking beyond destroyed, and terrified at that fact, at the power you’re oblivious to over him. He almost busts inside you, something he has never done - he doesn’t even go without condoms - the thoughts of filling your cunt full are far, far too tempting. He stops himself, cursing and holding his slick cock at the base while you’re spasming around him, back arching.
“Where do you want all this cum, sweetheart?” He manages to ask, you’re so fucked out you’re dizzy, blinking Satoru’s white hair and pretty face into view as he pulses inside you, just thickening and making you whimper.
“W-what… where… you want, I… mnh!” You’re still cumming, aftershocks rocking you, making your skin so sensitive when he eases your sore thighs down, parting them and pulling out finally, stroking himself as you catch your breath, watching him spurt thick white ropes all over your cunt. “Oh! Oh…”
“Fuck, fuck… god… oh my…” He’s moaning as he’s desperately jerking his slick cock, so much cum it seems impossible, since he just busted so much, and you watch him, enthralled as the hot sticky sperm is coating your cunt. “God, look at it, fucking look at us baby.”
He’s too much, he’s too much.
You thought him eating you out fucked you up mentally, what is he, his insane ass eyes bright as he trembles, strong muscles bunching and tensing, a work of fucking art pouring his cum on you. You’re stuck, at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing, brain not even functional as you look up at this man, knowing this isn’t just sex, it fucking couldn’t be.
It can’t be like this with someone.
You almost spill every feeling then and there, lost in him, in his desperation when he rests his head on yours, moaning against your lips, tip brushing your engorged clit and making you whine out. “God, your pussy is too perfect, it’s… you’re too perfect, feel too good, look too good…”
“Satoru, are you okay?” You whisper softly, he’s slurring his words, almost hard to understand in their hushed whispers in between his pants.
He can’t even answer, pulling back and looking at your pretty cunt, all abused from his cock and puffy, covered in his white ropes. “Can I have a picture? Please, just for me.”
“Y-you want one?” He laughs softly, breathless, nodding, and you heat up at it, looking down shyly. 
“Only you can be adorable with your pussy beat up and coated in cum, huh?”
“Oh god!” He can’t take it, how cute you are, the affection eating at him, as he takes a deep breath, leaning back. “Just one.”
“Fuck…” He takes the phone, eyeing the amount of comments and tips while your breasts heave, trying to catch your breath, sticky cum dripping across your folds when you shift your hips.
“What is it?” You ask softly, he shows you the number, and your eyes nearly bulge out. “Holy fuck!?”
“This is good even for me, shit. Pussy is made for porn.” You’re blushing harder, biting your lower lip when he angles the camera, taking several photos and exhaling at how pretty it looks. “God, look at you.”
“Are you talking to me or my pussy?” He grins then, so boyish and charming it’s as if he wasn’t just fucking you into a mating press and filming your cunt. “Also I said one!”
“Sorry. I’ll make it up.” He’s kissing your thighs then, lapping some of his own cum off your slit, you gasp at the sensation, his tongue on your sore, overstimulated pussy now. Your hands entangle in his hair as he groans. “Fucking taste us.”
“Satoru you’re in-insane and- mnh! Fuck!” You’re shaking when he laps more off of you, desperately lapping at every inch of your cunt now. “Satoru!”
“Gotta clean my pretty costar up, she’s only my costar you know, only one I’ve ever-” He pauses, stopping himself, when you eye him, breasts still gently moving up and down as you eye him.
“Only one you’ve… ngh! Satoru!”
“Taste us.” He’s lapped more of his cum and yours, murmuring for you to open, which you eagerly do, letting him spit his cum and yours in your throat. “Swallow, there you go, see it’s perfect, huh?”
You’re lost then, in the filthy string of words, when he’s back down cleaning you up with a tongue that’s lethal in its precision, rocking his cock on the bed, hard for the third time with you as he moans desperately against you. He’s latched onto your clit, sucking, while you can’t stop cumming, pushed past overstimulation, but not once do you tell him to stop.
You want it.
You need it.
In tears from how much you’ve cum, desperate for more, swapping his cum and yours mixing, against your tongues as he talks you through it, as you lose yourself, Jenna told you not to, she told you not to forget. You are trying to keep it separated, but how the fuck can you?
It felt worth losing yourself, for him, under him, him inside you - around you - taking over everything, while he’s back inside you, his lips murmuring desperate, dirty words into your sweet mouth. When you’re so fucked out you actually pass out blissfully in his arms, you can’t even remember the girl you were a few weeks ago, waking up just to be filled by him again from behind.
Being in his arms, you hope it’ll counteract the pain when he moves on, when he’s kissing you while fucking you from the back, sweet little nothings against your lips filling the room along with the squelching of his cock filling your cunt again. Every inch of your body kissed by him, licked by him, head to your fucking toes, shifting you to some other dimension as you drink each other in, exhausted and desperate.
You’ll think about that pain later, for now it’s all pleasure, aside from the ache in your heart for more, endlessly more.
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The love on this story is so sweet, it's FAR from over. Please be patient as these are long chaps and I have other projects, if you're not on the tags you can subscribe to me on ao3 or turn on notifs <3 Can't wait to hear your thoughts
Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay
9K notes ¡ View notes
lay-z ¡ 2 months ago
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Simon Riley, who discovers (and accepts) that he has a raging Mommy kink on a random Saturday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly as he checks out the new flavours of Ramen noodle cups.
And his spine goes rigid, when you address him directly.
"Big lad like you needs a proper meal," you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. "In my humble opinion." You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.
Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.
His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a "Have a good day, love." and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.
By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.
And he doesn't quite know what he's feeling in this moment, but he puts the Ramen back into the shelf, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.
Oh, Simon's going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping you'll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.
➥ READ MORE × | [ SUGAR PLUM PROMISES MASTERLIST ]
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screampied ¡ 6 months ago
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PARTITION! g. satoru
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ৎ୭ sum. your sugar daddy, satoru’s worst fear happened. he fears you’re too much of a spoiled rotten brat. screw riding in his expensive private limousine—you wanted to ride something else instead. (him, duh)
wc. 7.3k
warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy gojo! au, age gap (early twenties + thirties), car sęx, bratty reader, unprotected, getting eaten out the window, tít job, reverse cowgirl, doggy, cunnīlingus, nanami cameo, slight alcohol consumption, size kink, cęrvix kissing, possessive themes (wearing waist beads w his initials), implied multiple rounds, he’s sooo whipped, bręeding.
➤ sd! gojo masterlist
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“meet my baby here, sweets. charlotte.”
“satoru, what.”
as satoru had an arm slinked around your waist, brushing a thumb across the jewels that stuck against of of the many designer blouses he’s bought you within the past week, he hums. the two of you were staring straight at a limousine. it was icy blue like his eyes with a plethora of dark-tinted windows. to even top it off, it had ‘G.S limousine service, inc.’ carved into the side of one of the doors in bright, blue cursive.
you huffed, smearing your glossed lips together. “you named your limousine?”
“heh, well she’s yours now,” he hums, guiding you toward the slid open doors. “c’mon, there’s a club i wanna take you to. if we leave now, we can beat the press.” and satoru takes a peek at his gleaming, pricey watch. he helps lifts the back of your long skirt from touching the ground before you step in. immediately, you’re hit with flashing lights inside the luxurious car and its plush red seats.
“where to, sir.” a blond chauffeur adjusts his mirror with a sigh, taking a short glance at you.
satoru throws an arm around you, tugging lightly on his tie that’s tucked neatly in his suit. “ah, kento, meet my girl. and please—drive us to my private lounge,” satoru kisses your cheek as you sit, whispering in an impish, low tone. “buckle up, sweetheart. ‘s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
the seats were oh-so-soft, a violent hot color of maroon as the entire limo was lit up with nothing but dim flashing, flashing lights.
it was bright, the size alone was probably bigger than a simple normal bathroom. satoru saw you taking in the luxurious life like you always did, craning your head from left to right before peering at the empty wine glasses in front of you both.
“it’s so pretty,” you hummed, your head resting against his shoulder.
once you’re laid against him, you’re smacked with his signature loud cologne scent. it was always a scent you’d never forget, nor could you get used to.
it’s strong, making you take the citrusy manly aroma in silence every time.
with a raised brow, you look up at the white-haired man before timidly murmuring, “wait- what do you mean this is mine? like.. the whole thing?”
“yeah, silly girl,” satoru brushes a thumb around the center of your forehead in invisible circles.
you’ve grown to get weak with his tender touch every time. cerulean-iced eyes lock against you lovingly, and that’s when that cunning grin spreads at each side of his crooked lips. “think of it as an uh- surprise gift for the new year.”
with a pout, you open your mouth to complain. “satoru- last week, you just bought me-”
“a convertible, and i’d do it again in a heartbeat,” satoru whispers, planting another kiss near your temple.
your incoming words come to an abrupt pause, and the cute speechless look you gave him always made him hum in amusement.
one of the many things satoru liked- no loved about you, was that you were always so humble.
you were forever grateful, but you couldn’t help but be hesitant sometimes at how much he’d constantly spend for you. satoru continued to shower you with compliment though—constantly reassuring you that he wanted to splurge his money on you.
you were living the dream - literally.
embodying the life of a rich girl, a type of rich girl where you’d usually see in cheesy movies or sung in iconic songs by artists like gwen stefani.
even though it’s been a full-blown year, you’ve started to grow accustomed to the sweet luxury of being a sugar baby.
satoru gojo’s sugar baby.
but he wasn’t starting to see you as just his pretty ‘lil sugar baby though, that much was apparent.
satoru didn’t expect you to not only take his money but his heart too.
and he never minded.
he couldn’t put a price on that anyway.
“besides,” he grabs a clear, empty glass and an unopened bottle from underneath the fuzzy, red seat. with a flick, satoru removes the cork that is plugged near the top with just his thumb and middle finger. as he pours a small portion of wine inside, the velvet-colored liquid stains against all sides of the glass.
“what’s mine is yours, baby,” he takes a sip before sighing at the cassis flavor hits against his tastebuds, “ ‘s what my sweet thing deserves.”
as you’re still pouting, the limo continues to drive.
the windows were tinted, but it was clear as day when you looked through them to take a quick peel. as usual, the roads were quite busy with rush hour but it was a smooth ride nonetheless.
however though, you had to admit, you were getting a bit… bored.
satoru sat man spread, both of his wide legs taking so much unnecessary space before he contemptibly sighed again. with one of his arms still wrapped around you, you took a moment to take in his suave, handsome appearance.
he always was draped in nothing but tuxedos—
after all, without the whole sugar daddy side thing, you sometimes forget how satoru was a literal well-known businessman.
he never really went into the specifics of his work, but you knew he was the CEO of some private company.
satoru was a very powerful man, a man with a big net worth … but an even bigger heart.
the shoes that satoru wore were dress shoes of his own brand, of course. in the luminous, glittery lights of the inside of the limousine—the shoes were visibly spit-shined from top to bottom. his suit’s dark black, and the handkerchief that stuck out of his front chest had the imprints of your lipstick on it.
of course he kept that.
his hair..
it’s messily ruffled but somewhat presentable, slicked back as usual with a faint side part. over time, you started to notice how he was growing facial hair too.
it’s subtle, and you’d have to squint but you saw it. you saw how specks of white hair were trying to form down near his chin.
it was attractive nonetheless, and the thought of satoru growing a stubble had you squeezing your thighs together in shame.
after all, he was in his early-thirties so he was bound to grow some facial hair at some point. he’s always been a well-shaved man, but the image forever plagued your mind.
“yeees, sweets.” he snaps you out of your little fantasm, the near-empty wine glass still in his hand. he sits the expensive bottle of ‘screaming eagle’ near the limo’s bar that was covered with dozens of tiny, pretty rhinestones.
“h.. huh?” you stammer, blinking thrice.
shit.
the way you stared at him was like a deer in headlights. caught red-handed!
that same wry grin that stretched so slyly pried at both cracks of his lips before satoru tilted his head. “you’re starin’ y’know,” and you felt his hand placed on your thigh. “is my baby bored?”
“a little,” you admitted, hearing the loud screeching of tire wheels and screaming horns of other cars in the background.
only satoru could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world..
slowly, satoru dragged his pink tongue over his upper lip which was a bit damp from the scarlet-colored wine.
you sucked in a raucous breath - your thoughts turning more ‘n more filthy by the second.
his lips.. they were so perfect, naturally glossed, and forevermore had a plump downward curve. you could stare at them all day, and your eyes widened once a drip of wine started to trickle down the right side of his lip.
“ooh- excuse me. guess ‘m a bit messy today,” he throatily chuckles, feeling the coldness of the red droplet race down his skin. “would you be a doll ‘n lick that up for me, sweetheart?”
“okay-” you comply right away, positioning yourself on his lap.
satoru titters, cocking his head lazily toward the left as you get comfortable. cute, he thinks.
he could already tell how eager you were. also, he didn’t tell you the duration of the ride but it was probably about a good hour.
like hell could you even wait that long.
it felt like time was so cruel - standing still as you inched closer and closer toward his face. satoru laid man spread the entire time, eyeing you closely with his gaze never leaving yours.
he paws a big hand near your waist, hearing your pretty airy breaths pick up.
“stop looking at me like that-”
“aw, is it a crime to stare at my gi-”
satoru’s fatally silenced with a kiss.
it’s a rough one, and you couldn’t wait to run your tongue across the remnants of cherry-flavored wine that now started to drip down his chin.
it tasted sweet - a spicy cherry flavor, and you moaned once his knee aligned itself between your thighs.
his thigh was so bulky too, even underneath the lanky, slender slacks he wore. satoru was a particularly ripped guy in general — you knew his workout routine like the back of your hand, and sometimes he’d even let you do sets with him.
(sets that mainly consisted of you sitting on his back while he did push-ups orrrr sitting on his abs while he used barbells in his private gym)
“mhm~” you moan against his lips, hearing the competitive sounds of teeth rudely smacking against each other in vigorous sync.
each tongue’s on a dangerous mission, desperately trying to dominate the other and you couldn’t help but melt.
your twisting, hot tongue started to wander, creating a slippery snail trail near the crack of his mouth before nibbling on his bottom lip. “sa- satoruu.” you’d breathe, one hand giving his tie a needy, impatient pull.
“heyyy, you know i don’t speak whine,” he whispers, breaking away from your lips for a second.
your lips were already swollen, slickly shining with saliva that could’ve been an easily replaceable substitute for lip gloss. “use those words, sweetheart,” and it was like the more he spoke, the deeper his voice seductively pitched.
the knee that still rested between your sprawled open legs didn’t make things easier either. “tell me what you want ‘n maybe i’ll give it to ya, hm?”
with a huff, you mumble a soft, “you-”
“well yeah, me silly! elaborate for me though.”
“i want- i want you.. i want all of you satoru. right now,” you go into more detail, leaning in to paint a slope of wet kisses down his neck. satoru’s collar was a bit unkempt—some exposed skin showed above his collar which you then brought upon yourself to attack with kisses. “pretty please.”
“hah- but.. you already have me,” he inhales, groaning once he feels you starting to grind against his lap.
satoru’s touch was pure static..
his fingers couldn’t help but mindlessly roam, tickling against your bare skin that protruded through the minuscule squares of your ripped fishnets.
the stare you two shared was just so intimate, and he could almost already smell your lusty, loud arousal..
“mhm- y’know, what i want too?” satoru huskily whispers against your ear, grunting as your hips slooooowly rubbed against his visible boner.
hugely, it stuck out through his jet-black slacks. leave it to you to always make him hard.
“tell me.” you reply with a chastened frown, sliding a hand up his loose button-up. your hand enters underneath his shirt and his skin is so warm that it feels like his entire body is on fire.
right away, your curious palm gets a taste of his hardened abs that were nearly akin to the texture of a damn brick.
rigid, flexing muscles of satoru’s relax at your touch before he grabs a nice chunk of your ass.
“oh, nothing! ‘m just a.. ‘lil thirsty, sweets..”
♡ ♡ ♡
“ohmygod-” you’d squeal, cupping a clammy palm over your mouth.
when satoru said he was thirsty, you surely didn’t expect him to have you hanging out the window with your ass perfectly perked out.
with a single hand, he pulled up your skirt, raising it to the brink of your waistline while dragging your pretty lace panties to the side with a single thumb.
you were partially hanging out the window - safely though, he’d never let you fall.
satoru had an arm wrapped around your waist, one hand sliding down your thigh. vehemently, his tongue swirled circles around your clit before giving it one looooong suck.
his lips puckered, and he could already feel your hips starting to stutter against his mouth.
“mng- ‘toru,” you’d heave, wriggling your ass around his face. the tip of his nose started to rub up and down your slit too, and he’s shamelessly getting a whiff of your candied mess.
he was always so nasty, proudly spitting on your pussy, lapping it up before it dripped onto the thousand-dollar seats.
“mhh- wiggle that ass a little more for me baby, dance with my.. haaah- tongue,” he whispers airily, thumbing a fat finger near your pulsing clit. satoru found it so cute how you’d pulse every time he’d smear slippery circles around your pussy.
you just couldn’t help it!
you’re sucking in each ‘n every breath, sinking the edges of your teeth into your bawled knuckle to suppress your moans.
a strong gust of wind strikes you as the car continues to move, and you’re just meekly smiling at the cars that pass by.
from their points of view… the drivers are just seeing some random girl slightly hanging out a halfway-lowered limousine window.
in reality though,
you were getting eaten out while dozens of cars speedily drove past you.
through your slightly blurred peripherals, you saw satoru’s chauffeur who you remember hearing him address as ‘kento’ earlier, giving you a peer through his side-view mirror. he had his hands firmly on his steering wheel, scoffing to himself with a head shake.
he mumbled something under his breath as he looked away, focusing his browned eyes on the talking GPS that read him the directions to the destination.
from your sweet, repetitive moans, you couldn’t exactly make out what he said but from a quick read of his lips, you’d probably guess it was something like:
“i don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
as you’re still hung out the window, your legs part a bit - causing your eyes to widen.
satoru’s slurping you clean, skipping frisky plump fingers down your thigh before cupping his plump lips around your pussy. his head, it moves back and forth, ferociously shifting side to side like a damn madman.
you probably looked soo stupid. your mouth stayed open the entire time with your jaw forever dropped—dangling like an earring.
“fuh- fuuuck,” your trembling voice pitches higher, and you claw a hand near the back of your ass.
tightly gripping at a piece of your ass, it fits around your hand entirely before you turn to look back at satoru.
already, his chin’s got a pretty coat of your juices pouring down his jaw. his tongue was just hungry, wanting far more than just a few sips of his expensive screaming eagle..
you were far sweeter than any beverage, and satoru continuously took big, big gulps.
he treated his lips like a straw, pursing them to suck before slurping every single drop of you clean until you could barely hold your legs open.
“mhm- look at alllll this pretty fuckin’ ass,” he groans, removing your hand that was gripped on your rear.
with a whack! he hits it, humming at the cute ‘lil jolt of your shimmying body.
your skin jiggles in his face instantly, and you feel his curving tongue precisely slow its frantic pace down by the second.
there….
the tip of his pointed tongue stretched itself so far out that it clicked itself against your precious g-spot. “mng- spread y’rself wider, baby. ‘m not done with my.. hah- drink.”
“suh- sssatoru,” you’d drag out your whiny, pathetic words.
your brows formed into a furrow as your hands grabbed onto the edges of the rolled-down window. sweaty, perspiring fingertips imprinted the fogged glass as he licked every wet orifice thoroughly.
thankfully, some music was blasting in the background—seemingly drowning out your constant, pleading whines and whimpers..
satoru’s designer tie even gets a bit wet - you’re drip drip dripping, tears of glossy slick pouring flawlessly from both sides of your legs. he brings a thumb toward your hole, feeling your cute wriggles before spitting down your pussy.
slowly, the webby string trails a straight, sloppy line down and he licks it up — removing his thumb and starting at your hole before lapping his tongue down the bottom part of your pussy.
he’s wholeheartedly feral - animalistic, working his tongue until your brain turns into mush.
eventually, you ended up crawling back into the spacious limousine and landed on your back.
with your legs still spread, satoru lifts your thighs, continuing his feast. “mmph- get back here, sweets. ‘m not haaah- done,” he’d jibe each time he’d squint to see your cute weak pulse up close.
you’re impatient - desperate for your release so much that you could almost taste it..
it tasted sweet with a bit of tang, and the more you fantasized about your inevitable orgasm— the more more more you were starting to blank out all on his tongue.
“mnh- attaaaaa girl, let ‘toru get a nice good sip.” he’s still slurping you, a few excess juices smearing against his cheek.
satoru’s long, white lashes flutter open and close as he relishes in your treacly taste.
you just couldn’t stay still though.
with the way your hips cutely tossed ‘n turned each time his tongue delved inside of your sopping cunt, he’d think your middle name was ‘squirmer.’
time drags by for a looong time, not as long as satoru’s tongue though.. not by a long shot..
it flicked its way through each spot, munching proudly against your clit before your tummy tucked inward. your brain haywires, and with your mouth wide open — the only sounds that escaped were small, labored breaths.
you’re cumming, and your lashes frantically blinked at so many blinks per second. your muscles that were once tense relaxed as you’re finally succumbing to pleasure.
you squealed out that final, harmonic battle cry before your head plopped into the edge of the limo’s seat.
“fuck- fuck, fuuuck,” you’re whimpering, repeating the same swear like a broken record as you feel him grab ahold of your writhing hips.
his tongue’s length curved its way everywhere, creating a path to remember as it made itself known at all tender areas of your pussy.
“uh huh- that’s it, good girl. ride it out, riiiide it out, i gotcha,” he groans, laying his tongue fully flat. it’s a rose-like pink, soddened tastebuds sizzling in contempt once you’re ‘quenching’ his thirst with your sweetened arousal.
buzzing sounds went in and out of your ears as you just released huff after puff through your lungs. satoru’s lips were glossed with nothing but your slick, even more than they already were.
he gives your poor, convulsing clit its last finally smooches before reluctantly breaking away.
“hah- never a dull moment with her,” he licks his lips from top to bottom, grabbing out his lipstick-stained handkerchief before patting underneath his chin. “you okay, sweetheart?”
“ ‘m okay,” you breathe, still feeling tingles surge through every one of your veins that ran down your wobbly, numb limbs. your legs had it the worse.
you barely felt anything, and satoru helped you back to your feet.
it was a limo, so it wasn’t like you could exactly stand but you sufficed by crouching just below the fuzzy-made hood.
satoru lies slouched back - giving his lap a few playful pats before tilting his head at you. “c’mere, sweet thing,” and his voice was dripping with erotic silk.
his ocean-strong eyes zero down at your body, trailing up up up before eventually stopping just about your waistline.
your skirt was now off — pulled to the floor and so were your panties. you only had your matching blouse on. you got an idea though, and satoru watched you get on your knees. “oh..?”
“ ‘toru,” you speak in shortened puffs, still trying to get over your recent teeth-shattering orgasm. every sensitive axon and nerve located in your body was screaming at you, aching for more stimulation as time passed.
as your hands casually spread his long legs wider across the cushioned seats, you hummed. “remember those waist beads you ordered me a few weeks back?”
“mhm,” he nods, eyes never darting away from your wriggling body for a second.
satoru wondered what your game was.
as he was trying to prevent himself from smiling, he was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe you were starting to get just a liiiiitle bit spoiled.
as his legs were fully sprawled apart, you brought your hands toward the hem of the designer blouse that stuck against your skin. you honestly lost count of just how many clothes satoru’s bought you within the past year.
he watches closely - zeroing down at your figure, nipping on his lip as he stares at you leisurely pulling the piece of clothing off of you.
satoru’s seen your skin countless times, but there was just something about your body that he just couldn’t get enough of.
couldn’t get enough of you..
if he was being honest, he could stare at you all day.
“look. it fits perfectly,” you speak in a sweet tone, your thighs stuck together as you were still dripping from the inner crevices. you could feel yourself throbbing, and it took everything in you to not let out a moan.
satoru tsks, kissing his teeth once he’s now exposed to your skin.
the damn beads,
they wrapped around your waist and indeed fit your entire torso. his eyes studied the gold that went around your raised hips, whistling once he saw those two crystallized initials - his initials.
‘G.S’
the small two letters hung on one waist bead that was drooped low near your naval and an extra twin pair near the charms behind your back. “fuuuck- know that’s right,” satoru huffs, his breathing starting to get a bit heavy.
“all mine, heh- looks so damn pretty on you,” and as his eyes continued to meander down your skin, satoru’s head rests back against the softly cushioned seat. “hm- how ‘bout you model for me? show off that gorgeous body a little more f’ me.”
“say ‘please’,” you’d get on his lap, wrapping your arms around him. satoru looks up at you with a mere pouting scowl, a hand instinctively attaching itself to your hip.
“pleaaase, oh-pleaseeee sweets. don’t tease me too bad, you’re bein’ a bit of a spoiled girl right now,” he whispers, bringing wet, cold lips toward the corner of your neck. you moaned, feeling satoru’s free hand strum a few fingers down your waist beads.
they clank clank clanked, creating pretty jingle sounds at each faint movement before you started to move your hips.
“goddamn-” he holds in a breath, practically wordless as his eyes continued to rove.
briskly, you slowly turned yourself around, teasingly popping your hips to the dropping beats of the song that played through the limo’s speakers.
satoru’s suddenly short of breath, circling a thumb around the left cheek of your ass. he’s so hard, and you could feel it the more you rubbed your ass right up against thaaat particular spot.
he sucks his teeth once more, grunting as he feels the cloth knead against your skin so good..
“woman, you’re bein’ such a bratty tease right now..” and he could taste that round, large lump forming near the very back of his throat.
satoru shivers as your hands place on the crown of his knees, and you’re starting to rock rock rock back ‘n forth his throbbing boner. “hmph. the things i let ‘cha get away with, lucky ‘m not.. haah- fuck, bending ya over my lap, baby.”
“you talk a lot for a guy with a boner this hard, ‘toru.” you shrug, continuing the sensual jerking of your hips.
he’s grunting at every swift turn of your body, hearing his heart loudly thump through his ears.
the limo’s speed picks up a few miles and you could hear the grumbling from underneath the vehicle as you stayed quiet for a few seconds.
“mmh- fine, since you said please.”
as you’re still facing the other way, you reach for his buckle with your fingers brushing near the cold straps. you couldn’t see, so he grabbed your hand—guiding you where to unbuckle his slacks.
“f.. fuck, hurry up. you rubbin’ against me isn’t helping matters at all, y’know,” he tries to laugh but it comes out very dry.
satoru just wanted to be inside you, making you remember your place with a few sloppy strokes.
you giggled, hearing his pants and boxers sliiiide down to his ankles with a thud before jostling your rear way back against his leaning cock. it hung so cutely, and its tip was swollen with veins protruding at a few girthy sides.
with satoru still having a hold of your hand, he makes you touch the leaking head. “ooh,” you hum, twirling a thumb around his tender frenulum.
as you do so, he moans out the sluttiest moan, pretty white lashes squeezing shut for about three seconds to savor this moment.
“heh.. little girl,” he gutturally prowls, aligning his dick in between the crack of your fleshy mounds. it’s very hard, and you hummed at the warmth he provided. “go on then.. ride me in reverse, sweets. this the ride you wanted all along, hm?”
“yeaah,” you played along, almost seeing the weary smirk unfurl across his lips as he spoke.
you couldn’t wait any longer either.
you were throbbing persistently, every fiber of your being longing for satoru to ease his way inside of your pretty, sobbing cunt.
he was so big that your hand could barely wrap around the entity of his length. instantly, your palms met with various veins as you raised your hips moderately.
his vermillion-shaded tip carefully hovered over your dripping hole, and satoru’s just heavily breathing at your stilled body.
“mngh-” you released a rough, jagged breath once you were slowly making your way down on his cock.
like usual, you’re presented with that loving tiiiiight stretch that lasts for about a good four seconds.
satoru’s tip alone was big, and it pummeled through your insides as his inches started to leisurely disappear.
it’s such a lewd scene - a scene he wouldn’t mind replaying over ‘n over again in his head..
your pussy sings out sloshes of wet high notes in harmony, trying to take in his weighty shaft.
your mouth opens up on its own, and you’re breathing out colorful swears of ‘ohhh fuuuck’ ‘s as you continue to sink your way down.
from the both of you, countless breathy breaths were drawn from both raspy lungs as the mouthwatering penetration continued.
it felt like a squeeze pinching near your insides, tickling around you from the inside before adding pounds of pressure pressure pressure..
your hands go back to being placed on his knees, whimpering as his slick cock eases its way inside of your pussy. spongy, clamping walls hugged around him like a vice and your teeth were starting to feel that familiar chatter.
“god- always s- so fuckin’ big, ‘toru,” you moan, your bratty ‘lil façade shortly faltering once he’s finally buried balls fuckin’ deep.
the pit of your tummy was constantly heaving, cowardly sucking itself in and out at the sheer weight of his size before you eventually relaxed.
“perfect fit for my perfect… hah- girl.” he grunts, taking a quick peer down at your unbalanced thighs that struggled to move at first.
gradually, your hips started to move and greeted satoru’s lap with a sharp, rude slam. once you started to adapt to a rhythm, your hips rolled and rolled.
“agh- that’s i.. iiiiit,” he choked on his saliva, playing with the waist beads that danced against your torso as you moved.
satoru moans, feeling his fat base smush its way against your ass once you sat down. your hips were reeling, winding back into his pelvis like a wind-up toy.
with parched, hot skin amongst skin - the sounds echoed against the limo, nearly sounding over the music that played in the background.
satoru’s watching as you plop straight back into him before you sprightly wriggle your hips in a seductive circle.
“my, ain’t you a naughty girl..” he tosses his head back in overwhelming rapture, feeling his dick twitch inside you as the sloppy sounds continue.
it was hard not to hear - if it was anything satoru knew about your pussy, he knew that it was always, always vocal with him..
you’re slamming back against his lap every time, squeezing your palms against the crowns of his knees with your body twirling and falling back into his inviting lap.
if you kept riding him like that, he’d really be head over heels.
“ugh- yeah, girl. ride it, ride this dick like it’s yours because it fuckin’ is,” satoru grunts, feeling your cunt tighten for a second at his exact words. “heh- did my messy girl like that? like hearin’ that ‘m yours, sweetheart?”
“mhm,” you’d nod with your lips clamped shut.
he’s just so big, stretching through your insides with such ease. the once slow and steady beats of your heart were now thump thump thumping!
satoru’s bulbous-shaped tip had a hooked upturning curve, and fuck did you feel every sloping curve as you bounced up ‘n down on his cock.
it’s so good that your mouth’s pathetically watering from the inside, and you’re already starting to feel that burning sensation electrify through your aching, stretched muscles.
“mngh- look at this body, s… so damn-” and he pauses, clenching his jaw at the sloppy wet feeling of your barriers bear-hugging around his cock.
you’re just working your hips like it’s a full-time job, throwing them around in a circle so fast that even satoru could barely keep up.
with thighs upon thighs upon thighs, your skin sticks against his like glue. a trail of colorless slick smears down satoru’s leg and he moans at the loud slaps of zealous, clapping skin.
you’re sticky still, and he’s moaning louder once the speed of your hips quickens.
“yeah? yeah, better- fuckin’-ride-me,” and even though his voice faintly cracks, satoru still manages a sort of poised, cocky persona.
multiple ‘encouraging’ swats hit against the cheeks of your ass and you’re whining, putting your all into the movements of your jerking body. satoru’s snowy brows contort before he gives your waist beads a soft tug.
“do it, fuck me, baby. ‘n while you’re at it..” and as you’re still moving your hips, you feel a bit of paper rain down your back that’s starting to perspire with sweat.
“fuck-” satoru grunts smokily, staring as hundred dollar bills fall down your bare spine. “forgot ‘ta give you your allowance, might as well give it to you now.”
“hngh- satoruuu,” you whined, his cock hitting its way through every spot. it french-kisses near your clit before passionately making out with your cervix.
it located both spots easily, and the feeling had your toes curling inside of your four-inch heels.
satoru ended up tossing those same bills down your back, staring as it prettily fell down your body before landing on his lap and the limo’s cottony carpet.
“ ‘m gonna cum i think,” you moaned, slowing your turning hips in hypnotic, carnal arcs. satoru’s hands were brought to your waist with two thumbs pressed at each side of your hips. “ ‘m cummin’ satoru.”
“me too, s.. sweets,” he swallows, hissing silently at the unsteady bucking of your bouncing ass.
your rear jiggled at each slamming thrust, ricocheting against his thighs and it was just so mesmerizing to watch.
satoru’s feeling the scorching tip of his cock grow hot, and he’s starting to feel all types of contractions arise within his muscles. “god- tell me where to tell me where.”
“inside,” you moaned, bringing your hands toward your chest to cup to bouncing tits. you squeezed them, smearing a thumb around your hardened nipples before making yourself even more aroused.
it’s just so much to process.
your rutting hips, the loud squelches of your pussy, satoru’s dick driving through you repeatedly.. oh, you were in a daze.
“f- fuuuuck. be a… hah- good girl ‘n take it all then.” he groans, elated euphoria swelling within him.
you stuck against his lap so good, slickly sliding your ass back before going forward, then back into his pelvis again.
your movements alone left such a good taste in his mouth, and once he feels himself about to burst - he fuckin’ bursts.
a massive load spurts out of satoru, shooting deeply into your fluttering womb as your hips come to a freezing still.
you’re cumming too - whimpering as you’re gushing down on his cock while being absolutely filled.
wads ‘n wads of milky, gooey cum floods inside of you, plugging you to the fullest. you’re both moaning lowly, rocking against each other in rushed unison before you arch forward.
your ass was fully bent over, and satoru stared openly as he was still shooting such deep, frothy amounts inside of you.
you looked so pretty like this that he couldn’t help but mentally take a picture, widely peering at the foamy droplets of cum that started to trickle their way down his overwhelmed base—creating a sparkling white ring.
it’s still as thick - still as veiny, and satoru makes you raise your hips ever-so-slightly.
doing so, he stares at your soddened pussy that’s lewdly spitting out a few heaps of cum before hearing that cute wet ‘plop!’
“fuckin’ dirty girl..” he huffs, one hand softly caressing your waist beads. he takes a glance at the ‘G.S.’ initials that were engraved near the back side of the many other charms, and he sighs.
right as you’re pulled up to where his creamy tip was juuuust about to slide away from your soused opening, satoru gives your stuffed pussy a soft pat.
“don’t know who’s dirtier…. herrrr,” he mumbles, swabbing a thumb around your cum-covered hole before bringing it up to his mouth.
with a wet smacking ‘ccht’ of satoru’s lips coming together—he licks his thumb clean, cooing silently at the taste of himself like the filthy, filthy man he was. “or you.”
♡ ♡ ♡
after many, many positions, you found yourself losing multiple rounds with your shallow breath as if even breathing was a mere contest. he’s had you in position after position, folding you like a freshly baked pretzel. it’s almost like the two of you weren’t literally in a limousine.
you hoped his chauffeur nanami didn’t hear. that would’ve been well, embarrassing.
the drive felt like forever.. but, you honestly didn’t want it.. this to end.
you’re a mess, stuffed to the uttermost fullest with ribbons of satoru’s freshly hot cum messily tearing down every slick crevice of your thighs.
currently, satoru had you in one of his favorite positions.
doggy.
part of the reason why he loved it so much was mainly because of the perfect, jiggling view.
your ass - he loved seeing how it would react from each rude smack, swatting his palm over and over again at your cute, tender skin. the pads of your hands pressed firmly into the limo’s seats as he’s just giving you the pound of a damn lifetime.
“mngh!” you’d whine out, drooling from the sides of your jittery, spit-slick lips that refused to stay shut.
he’s effortlessly reaching all the right areas, swiftly pumping his way past that cute taut ring of your entrance that he’s grown to love.
that brief tight stretch nearly makes him lose his mind, and satoru then brings his hands toward your waist. “right there, right fuckin’ th— mmph!”
“shhh, you’re gonna.. hah- miss the best part, sweets,” the white-haired man cups a hand over your mouth.
slow strokes - deeper thrusts..
your eyes rolled ‘n rolled back, gasping against his palm once he sneaks a hand in between your wet thighs. with your waist beads tickling against his wrist, satoru gives your pussy a soft smack.
your wetness ‘splashes’ against the center of his hand, and it even pops out a cute sound too.
“uuugh- ‘m gonna… cum agaiiin,” you’d raise your ass in the air just a bit more, your voice turning more whiny within seconds.
your words were still a bit muffled with his hand covering your mouth, but he still made out your whiny, inaudible words—just barely. .
the sounds of fierce, sharp hips brutally clashing against skin every time made him groan. it’s a booming resounding ‘pop!’ or ‘pap!’ noise every time that makes your entire body ring instead of just your ears.
his cock’s searching through your wet, gripping walls as if it had some sort of life purpose.
“hah- me t.. too, sweetheart,” and fuck, satoru’s drowning in his sweat. “phew-” satoru brings the back of his wrist to wipe some from his forehead. glancing down, he stares at your jouncing ass before giving you one, snappingly deep thrust.
“pussy’s a fuckin’ workout- oh shiiiiit.” and satoru’s feeling you clamp clamp clamp down on him, giving his dick the work of its life.
you could feel the individual staticky pulses of your clit signaling messages to you that you’re just so close and you’re nearly salivating inside of your mouth.
soooo good.. for a moment you forgot the two of you were still in the back of a limousine.
he’s fucking you so good that you could barely think straight.
satoru’s still playing with your pussy, giving it spanks in between his robust thrusts.
his rotund tip beat red, an oxblood blush of red as he continued to ram a heart-shaped sloppy kiss toward your clit.
at that moment, your legs cutely retreated and your chest collapsed forward. “feels s.. sooo good satoru, ngh- ‘toruuu!”
as your body spasmed at the onslaught of his reckless, sloppy thrusts - your hips were all the way raised against his lap.
you’re losing track of thoughts as you’re harshly creaming down his shaft, murmuring out cute little babbles of ‘ooohs’ once you feel his angle deepen.
satoru brings a hand down your fleshy back, staring at your skin that was wetly decorated with sweat while studying the goosebumps that ran down your spine.
“ ‘m gonna.. hah- cum,” he groans, a few stubby fingers thrumming down the gold waist beads that wrapped around your waist.
he brings his thumb toward the tiny ‘G.S.’ initials before pressing his honed-shaped pelvis wholly into you with just a single, barbaric thrust.
“all mine, my pretty… hah- wife.”
wife?
you heard that — you definitely heard it, but part of you wondered if maybe satoru was just overly pussy drunk as usual.
but the thought alone - the thought of actually being his wife of satoru gojo, your sugar daddy, didn’t seem too bad.
as the image of you walking down the aisle crossed your mind, your throbbing brought you straight back into orgasmic reality.
“wait.. hnng- pull out,” you’d moan, another idea popping into your head. instead of satoru usually finishing inside, you had a better idea.
“haah- ‘kay,” he pants, his snapping hips working overtime as they continually mercilessly plunge deep into your heated core.
his rhythm was far slower, but his thrusts were always in such a hurried frenzy.
he’s close - so so close.
you’re still covered with his cum from before from the legs down, and it paints such a pretty canvas on you.
a lewd, erotic canvas maybe..
quickly, satoru ends up pulling out with a hand wrapped around his cock that painfully throbbed. it scrunched up a bit at the sudden coldness, already missing your clingy warmth before you flip over.
“h.. hm?”
“ ‘toru, put ‘em between here.” you spoke in a hushed tone, sinking your knees into the limo’s velveteen-made seats.
he hungrily stares at you with nothing but lust surrounding the entirety of his rounded, dilated pupils. at your sweet, breathy word of ‘here,’ you brought two hands up to your breasts.
“naughty… temptress,” satoru clicks his tongue. aligning his swollen dick in between the crack of your sweat-dripping chest, it easily sliiiiiides its way through.
he watches intently as you squeeze your tits together, glancing up at him with those pretty, siren eyes of yours that were starting to droop.
“mmh,” and as his tip disappears between the slot of your chest, you hang your head down, flicking your tongue across the tender slit of his shaft.
“f- fuck, ‘m gonna cum. can’t- hold it anymore, sweets,” satoru groans, his words so guttural ‘n low that they sounded almost like a growl.
he knew he wasn’t gonna last much longer, not when you were on your knees—stuffing his dick right between your perked tits.
he’s sloppily starting to thrust his cock in and out between the valley of your breasts and felt himself throb at each cute jounce they created amongst each other.
so …. soft.
satoru’s achy tip was forming into an angry shade of bloodshot red, and the entirety of his shaft was smoldering from the stimulation. after a few long milliseconds though—he finds himself shooting white blanks again.
he’s fucking between your tits as you held them together, spraying a nice sum of his load onto your chest. you gasp, a bit landing on your lip and you lick it.
satoru’s moaning - no, grunting as he’s finishing against your breasts. he drags a shaky hand through his tousled, white hair before letting off a deep, heavy sigh.
“ohhh… fuck,” he grumbles, the tips of his ears burning a fiery pink.
his limp cock now remains idle, still buried between your tits before you slide your tongue across the leaking creamed tip.
it’s so glossy, dribbling from all sides with his pasty mess plastered on the upper part of your chest. “didn’t know i had.. such a dirty sweethe- fuck.”
satoru pauses for theatrics — holding his breath, thinking he was still cumming, but he wasn’t.
his mind was simply playing tricks, and his jaw clenched once you lapped up the remnants of bittersweet tasting cum that splattered on you. you used your thumb to reach the spots your tongue couldn’t, and once you were finished, satoru bent down to pull you into a fervent, deep kiss.
you moaned against his lips as the limousine still created miles upon miles. you lost track of time, but you’d guess it’s probably been well over an hour's drive.
“mng-” satoru grunts into your lips, feeling your arms wrap around him. he still had his button-up shirt on the entire time along with his suit just above his torso. he’s tasting himself on your lips, grunting once he felt your hand tug on his ruffled black tie.
your tongue was sticky, swirling a circular pattern around the inside of his mouth before you sucked on his.
satoru allowed you to make him get underneath you, and he felt your legs crawling on top of him.
as you’re both still deeply making out — fighting each other with sharp slaps of teeth smacking against each other, you gingerly pull away.
“i’m your wife now?”
“h.. hm?”
“earlier,” you lick near the corner of his lip. “you said ‘m your pretty wife.”
satoru gives you a sleazy lopsided grin. he looked so pussy drunk that he almost forgot about that tiny piece of dialogue that spouted from his lips.
“ah, i did call you my wife, didn’t i, sweets?” and as a thumb caresses around your cheek, he hoarsely whispers. “well, do you want to be?”
bringing a wet, torrid kiss toward his bottom crooked lip, you hummed. “i do.”
“wish you would’ve told me sooner though,” he sheepishly says, giving his tie a few meek pulls. “i could’ve proposed the right way but.. this is fine too, i gues-.”
“shhh-” you silence him with yet another barrage of kisses, cupping his face.
satoru grunts, hearing the little jangles of your waist brands yet again as your hips laboriously swayed against him.
your forehead is pressed against his and its hit with a bunch of sweat from satoru.
satoru moans from your ardent, vehement kisses, his lips being left all plump, reddened, and not to mention swollen all because of you.
his dick twitches—a prominent vein striking near the left side as you steadily moved your dripping pussy against it in slow, ravishing rocks. “lie back,” you whispered, playfully pushing him back against the seat.
satoru reclines back with a ‘hmph’ and he raises a silvery brow at your audacity. “lie back ‘n let your fiancé ride you again.”
“heh.. yes, mrs. gojo.”
9K notes ¡ View notes
dmitriene ¡ 16 days ago
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cw: breeding kink.
simon ghost riley asks you for a baby, with his cock a heavy weight against your fluttering, glossy folds, glistening wet with pooling slick at the seam of your cunt, smeared along your clenched, supple thighs, the leaking tip of his cock is right there, teasing over your twitching lips, sopping, parting around his meaty girth with viscous strings of your gathered arousal, his muscular, beefy chest plastered against your arching back, as he tugs you forcefully, grasping at your supple sides.
pleads you to give him it, and you can't think, not with your woozy mind floating somewhere distant, lightheaded, his cock filling your pulsing hole just in time as your pussy gushes down, slicking down the root of his twitching, swollen cock, breaching inside of you, stretching out your thin, sensitive walls and feeling how you squeeze down tight, making his hips jump, flat against your plump, round ass, the heaviness of his taut balls right there, brushing over your puffen folds.
you sob and moan, feel the searing, blooming heat just below your belly, coiling, burning a patch to the neglected, warm nub of your clit, as your hips squirm, pushing back, sinking down, slick heat of your pussy clenching around his ramming, girthy cock, clutching him in, chocking along the gummy ridges of your squelching hole, as simon ruts in, your leg gliding along his, shivering at the feel of his short hairs fuzzed up, his hands mapping over your body, calloused palm flat over the fat of your tit, fingers sinking in, groping.
simon's voice is broken behind you, panting against your parting mouth, when your head lolls aside to meet his kisses, his tongue licking over your pouting, wobbling lips, coating them in drool, sticking his tongue against yours, suckling, flesh of his lips chapped, tissued, and you hiccup in the feeling, as he fondles with your tits, alternating messily between all this lovely fatness, snarling, growling that you will look good with them lactating, full with milk for the baby you would nurture in your womb.
he wants a family, wants you going around with your belly full, bloated out because of the pregnancy, and he needs your cunt to take every drop of his cum, thick ropes of seed spurting against your cervix, his tip butting in, twitching and filling your seizing, gushing cunt, your whole body quivering, writhing at every fresh, steady roll of simon's broad hips, cock plugging your creamy hole, as he shushes your overstimulated, breathy cries, your orgasm still haven't left your body, cramping in your stomach.
it's gotta take in, hoarse, gritted voice rings in your ears, your body long gone boneless, limbs light, easily arranged as he makes you curl, calloused hands smoothing over the dips of your body and your soaked thighs, his cock sliding even deeper, a short, smooth glide, as you hiccup in the pillow at your right, bleary eyes searching for simon, as his thumb presses under your jaw, directing your face aside, where you meet his smoldering, softened gaze, nuzzling in his bristled cheek, and just like that, you pass asleep.
main masterlist. quidelines.
4K notes ¡ View notes
sceletaflores ¡ 1 month ago
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HEY THERE SUGAR BABY!
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|| pedro masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||
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ೃ⁀➷ PAIR: Harry Castillo x fem!reader
ೃ⁀➷ WC: 10k
ೃ⁀➷ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, smoking, drinking, boss/employee relationship, reader is a personal/executive assistant, very much a work husband/work wife dynamic, inescapable sugar daddy tendencies, no actual sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship despite how the title and previous tag makes it sound lmao, harry castillo is a cool boss, romcom tropes cause i’m feeling romantic, slow dancing, first kiss, heavy petting in a limo, oral sex (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, p in v, porn with way too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.
ೃ⁀➷ NAT’S NOTE: i usually don’t like to write for a new character before i’ve watched the movie but you dangle the idea of a hot billionaire work romance in my face and expect me not to bite at it? i’m just not that strong. also i have zero idea what his actual job in the movie is, i think it’s a basic ass finance bro wall street type job and that bores the hell out of me so he’s an architect because i said so. he's my barbie i can make him do what i want! this whole thing was mainly an excuse to write about my satc, carrie and big vibe slash fantasy but way less toxic. hope y’all love it, mwah!
ೃ⁀➷ NAT’S HEADPHONES: MATERIAL GIRL - Phlotilla
dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!
an architect and his assistant walk into a gala…
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You’ve been working with Harry Castillo for four years, two months, and thirteen days.
You know this because his calendar starts and ends with you.
Your name’s not embossed on the front of the seventy story building sitting pretty on 57th street, not splashed across the cover of Architectural Digest, not signed neatly at the bottom of those pristine renderings that get passed around in glass boardrooms and land multi-million dollar deals.
But you know the build order of every project in the past five fiscal years. You know which of the project managers can’t be trusted with deadlines, which board members need their egos stroked, and every single name attached to each of the contracts spanning across five continents.
You were three years out of school and six months into a soul sucking accounting job that felt more like glorified coffee-fetching with a minor in emotional labor when Harry called. 
Well—technically, his HR director called, but Harry noticed you, or noticed your resume stacked with respectable internships and juicy recommendation letters. Or maybe it was the fact that during your third round interview, you corrected one of his junior partners on a misquoted quarterly budget breakdown.
Either way, two weeks later you were standing in a glass top floor office owned by one of the most powerful men in the city. 
And yes, you knew who he was before he hired you, of course you did.
Harry had been New York’s golden boy since the early aughts, when his first building went up in Tribeca and every magazine with a spine declared him the second coming of Frank Llyod Wright.
He was a genius, innovative. One of the youngest Pritzker Prize winners in history who got the kind of press coverage that made people think “architect” was synonymous with “celebrity”.
Now, at 47, Harry Castillo is an institution in the world of design.
Castillo Atelier is the best firm in the city, maybe even in the world, depending on which Real Estate Digest cover story you read. His name alone makes most clients practically foam at the mouth and drop seven figures without seeing a single blueprint.
You’ve been his executive assistant longer than it took you to get your shiny Business Administrations degree from Colombia, and if anyone knew Harry better than his mother or his therapist, it was you.
You have every number of his black American Express card memorized, front and back. You have every password to every account imaginable tucked away neatly in a file labeled “BLACKMAIL MATERIAL” on your desktop. 
You schedule his life down to the minute, from site visits in Abu Dhabi to dental cleanings in Midtown. You know his shoe size, the name of his best tailor's teenage daughter, which marble supplier he trusts in Verona. You know the entry code to his West Village brownstone and you’re on a first name basis with the doorman at his Fifth Avenue penthouse. 
You know he drinks his coffee black but only before noon and he switches to espresso, that he smokes Marlboro Golds even though he swears up and down he’s quit, and that when he’s stressed, he starts sketching towers with spiral staircases that’ll never pass code.
It’s morphed into a strange kind of intimacy. Not romantic, but not exactly a normal boss-employee relationship either. 
He's the kind of boss who makes you want to roll your eyes at the word, because it's not that simple—not that sterile.
It's late nights spent in his dimly lit office where he sheds his suit jacket and hands you a perfectly poured wine glass without asking when you're the only two left in the building. It's sitting shoulder to shoulder on a leather couch, going over zoning permits while his arm rests behind you, not on you, but close enough to count.
Harry’s careful with you, in a way that’s not always obvious. He buys you the books you idly mention wanting to read in passing and custom David Yurman earrings fitted with your birthstone. If he was ten years younger and you were ten years dumber, you might’ve mistaken it for something else. 
As it is, you just tell yourself he likes spoiling things that work well. Like his thousand dollar espresso machine. Like his Aston Martin. Like you.
You should feel like an accessory.
Instead, you feel like a centerpiece—like you’re the sun that his life revolves around. 
You can’t tell which is worse.
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Today, like most days, starts with you getting to the office an hour before him.
You take the elevator up to the seventy third floor, unlock his office, and flick on the lights. The space is gorgeous, minimalist in a way that doesn’t ever feel cold. Floor to ceiling windows, sleek dark wood floors, and exposed beams. 
There’s an open notebook on his desk from the night before, a few handwritten notes scrawled in sharp, narrow pen strokes that he gave up on halfway through and started sketching in the margins.
You roll your eyes, smothering a fond smile as you walk out of the room and to your own desk. It’s less than six feet from his door, close enough that you can always hear clipped phone calls or the soft sounds of Prince playing from his sound system.
You drop your bag, start up your desktop, and begin triaging the day. Your inbox is in a constant state of full to the brim no matter how good you are at your job—bursting with emails from developers, calendar shifts, a client breakfast cancellation. 
The whole office smells like bergamot and bergdorf. Someone sent over a Diptyque candle and Harry hasn’t stopped lighting it. Luckily for you, it’s strong enough to keep the scent of lemony luxury permeating long after it’s been blown out. 
It’s still not enough to magically cancel out the stress of pushy demands disguised as business and city bureaucracy, but you can still pretend it is.
You’re bouncing between five open tabs and sending increasingly frantic texts to the head of operations about a late shipment of imported glass by the time you finally hear a soft ding from the elevator followed by crisp footsteps coming your way.
Harry rounds the corner holding a pastry bag, Ray-Bans on, hair still wet from the shower and curling around his ears. “Good morning, sunshine.”
You don’t look up from your screen. “You’re late again.”
“No,” Harry tuts, leaning his hip against your desk and dropping the bag in front of you. “You’re just early.”
“I work here.”
“Funny, so do I.”
“Do you?” You finally look up, brow arched. “I forget.”
He’s wearing that suit. The one that makes your job harder in the most inappropriate HR violating ways. Deep blue pinstripe with the burgundy Gucci tie you handpicked last year. It’s fitted like it had been tailored by the hands of God.
He tilts his head, peering at you over the edge of his glasses. “Is that any way to treat the man who bought you breakfast?”
Your eyes cut to the white paper bag, Mah-Ze-Dahr. You don’t need to look inside it to know what it is, a twenty dollar pistachio crunch croissant. Your favorite.
You don’t have time to respond before Harry drops his glasses on your desk, settling into the chair across from you. “Remind me never to take a meeting in Soho before noon again.”
You set the bag aside and continue typing with a soft shake of your head. “You said that last week, and the week before that.”
“And yet I keep doing it.” He rolls his head on his shoulders with a soft sigh. “That’s insanity, isn’t it? Doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.”
“That’s Einstein,” you say, pointedly ignoring the way he’s looking at you. “Maybe you just like the punishment.”
Harry huffs, amused. “I pay you too much to psychoanalyze me.”
You open a new tab, click on a high priority labeled email and turn your screen in his direction. “Yet you don’t pay me enough to deal with your ex-wife’s lawyer hassling me before seven.”
That certainly gets his attention, his spine straightening as he leans forward, squinting at your screen. “She didn’t.”
You nod, resting your chin on your palm as his eyes flit over the lengthy body. “She did.”
You watched the divorce unfold like everyone else. It was loud, expensive, and painfully public. She was a former model turned gallery owner with a sharp tongue and better connections than half the industry. When she aired Harry out in New York Magazine the tabloids had a fucking field day.
The headlines were vicious. Castillo’s Castle Crumbles. From Manhattan’s Favorite Power Couple to Demolition Duo. Architect of His Own Downfall?
“Christ.” Harry sighs, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. “She promised she’d keep you out of this.”
“She lied.” You turn your screen back around, grabbing a pen to quickly scrawl the lawyer’s number across the front of a Post-It. “She wants her name off the Lakewood project or she’ll go to the press about the Montauk property.”
He drags a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking hell.”
You slide the Post-It note across the desk. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” 
He doesn’t thank you, not out loud, but the way his eyes linger on the note before he tucks it into his jacket pocket says enough.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says, and it’s almost a throwaway comment—but his voice dips a little, gets low in that way that always makes you want to chew glass or scream into a designer throw pillow.
You shrug. “You say that a lot, but I don’t see any new raises.”
His grin is lazy, charming. “You know I’d bankrupt this company to keep you.”
You roll your eyes so hard it should count as cardio. “Please don’t. I like having dental.”
Harry laughs—really laughs—and it’s unfair how good it sounds, how it worms under your skin and stays there.
You turn away, forcing the warm feeling in your stomach to the back of your mind, and pivot. “You have a conference call with Dubai at eleven, lunch with the Fairstein developers at Cipriani, and there’s some plans in the Berlin file that still need to be signed.”
Harry nods once, shifting into business mode at the drop of a hat. “Well, I’ve got my marching orders.”
He checks his watch, stands, and straightens his jacket with a lazy kind of grace. You hate the way your eyes catch on the curve of his wrist, the way the cufflink glints in the morning light. Custom Cartier, a gift from some foreign diplomat client last Christmas. You remember because you signed for the delivery. Wrapped it, even.
Just before he steps into his office, he pauses. “I mean it.” His voice softens, and for a flicker of a moment, he looks at you like he’s trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. “This place doesn’t work without you.”
You glance up, heart skipping in your chest, ready with some practiced quip, but he’s already gone—door shut, his silhouette framed behind the frosted glass like a shadow you can’t shake.
This is how it always is—business talk sugarcoated in flirtation, or flirtation buried under years of knowing exactly how the other one works. If he weren’t who he is, and if you weren’t so damn good at ignoring how often he looks at your mouth when you talk, it might’ve gone somewhere dangerous already.
Instead, it lives in the margins. Like the ones he doodles spiral towers into. Like the ones in the secret planner buried in the very bottom drawer of you desk where you write down things like:
Remind Harry to eat something before 3.
Book flights for Hong Kong.
Don’t fall in love with your boss.
That last one’s underlined. Twice.
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The rest of the morning floats by, you busy yourself with three different screens and sporadic bites of croissant and sips of coffee until one of the newer interns shows up with the mail.
You thank her and flip through the small mountain of envelopes until one catches your eye. A sleek black one with loopy silver lettering on the front. To Castillo Atelier, with a familiar logo stamped on the corner. You rip the gold seal, and slip the card out.
The AIA New York Chapter cordially invites Harry Castillo & Guest to the prestigious 2025 Architecture Gala | The Metropolitan Museum of Art | Black Tie.
You blink, and read it three more times before a deep sigh rips itself from somewhere deep in your chest. You skim the rest, going over fine print and steadily sighing louder the more you take it in.
You really should have known, it’s around that time. Award season, charity galas, old rich people stuff. Only this year, Harry Castillo and Guest are in separate states, in separate houses, and very much not on speaking terms.
Nor will they be on them in time for Friday night, or any other night in the foreseeable future.
You stand, letter in hand. Your heels click against the floor until you’re standing just outside Harry’s office, mulling over how bad it would reflect on your part if the invitation mysteriously found its way to the bottom of your trash. You knock anyway.
“Come in,” came the reply—his voice low, rough like it always is after the lunch rush, like velvet dragged over concrete. 
You stepped inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click.
Harry is at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, Dior frames perched halfway down his nose as he looms over the stack of blueprints you left on his desk a few hours ago.
You don’t let yourself look at the tan column of his neck as you lean against the door. “You got a minute.”
He looks up, relaxing in his chair. “For you? Always.”
You hold up the invitation like it’s a warrant, shaking it gently. “You’ve been summoned.”
Harry’s eyes bounce from your own to the thick card stock, you watch the recognition register in his eyes. He sighs, “The gala.”
You nod, crossing your feet in front of you. “You’re being honored.”
He shakes his head with a laugh. “I was hoping they’d forget about me.”
Who possibly could?
You arch your brow. “It’s a lifetime achievement award.”
“I’m not even fifty.”
“Apparently, they’ve run out of old white men to honor.”
Harry chuckles, but it’s a tired sound. He rubs slow circles over his temples, tousling the salt and pepper hair scattered there. “Tell them we’re busy, send a fruit basket.”
You can’t explain the feeling that floods your chest, a mix of something like compassion and pity. It makes your heart ache, just a little bit. Enough to make you really feel it, enough to make you bury it before you can really dwell on why it hurts so much.
Harry puts on a spectacular front, but you know him too well. You know that the divorce has weighed on him, that’s it made him question himself. You know it was a massive shot to his self esteem, as both a person and as a company. 
You also know deep down it’s not the company that you care about.
“No.” You shake your head, making your way over to his desk.
He looks up at you, brow raised. “No?”
“No,” you emphasize, setting the invitation down on his desk. “You may think this is pointless, and that you’re too young—”
“Watch it.”
“—But you deserve this,” you finish, tapping a manicured nail on the card. “You deserve a whole room full of people fawning over you for no reason other than the fact that you’re you.”
Harry's eyes find yours again, slower this time. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you—really looks at you. And for a second, it’s too much. Too focused, too quiet, too…tender. It’s the kind of look that makes your skin prickle, your stomach twist. 
But you don’t flinch under the weight of his stare. You never do.
He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Okay.”
You blink. “Okay?”
“Okay.” He nods, lacing his fingers together. “I’ll go.”
It feels anticlimactic somehow. You expected more of a fight—more pushback or maybe even a snide comment about black tie events like this becoming less about the accolades and the charity and more about new wave firms bustling around like show ponies scuffling over who signed the best contract with the most zeros tacked neatly on the end.
Instead, he just says okay. Like it’s simple. Like you aren’t the reason he’s saying yes.
You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “Just like that?”
“You make a compelling case." Harry shrugs, reaching for the invitation. “Besides, you know I love it when you compliment me.”
You huff, shaking your head, but you can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth as you lean on his desk. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So I’ve been told.” Harry nods, but he’s smiling wide enough to outdo your own.
He looks down at the invitation, scanning over the text languidly. He hums as he reads, dragging his thumb across the raised font. 
You let yourself watch him, cataloging all the details you’ve already memorized a thousand times. Your eyes trace the shape of his brows, the deep set lines that fan out from the corners of his eyes, the strong arch of his nose, the soft curve of his lips.
When he’s done, he taps it against his palm once and looks back at you. “And who, pray tell, is coming as my guest?”
You tilt your head. “I can get you someone,” you offer, even if the words make your stomach churn as you say them. “You want blonde or brunette? Bashful debutante or discreet NDA?”
Harry doesn't answer right away.
He leans back in his chair, looking at you like you're a puzzle he’s not quite finished solving. Like you’re a building he’s still sketching, still drafting, still trying to figure out if the foundation can handle the weight of what he wants to build on top of it.
“I don’t want someone,” he says finally.
The words land softer than you expect, but they still hit like a hammer to the chest.
“You should bring someone,” you deflect, professional, clean. “It’ll look good. The press will be there.”
“I’m aware,” he says, still watching you. “Which is why I don’t want just anyone.”
You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with the way his voice sounds—quiet, certain, threaded with a dangerous kind of warmth that makes your pulse kick.
Harry reaches up to slip his glasses off his face. “I don’t want someone,” he says again, voice even. “I want you.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like your pulse doesn’t trip itself up three times over.
You blink. Once. Twice. Then scoff, forcing a laugh. “Excuse me?”
“Come with me.” 
It’s too sincere, too heart stoppingly warm. 
Your stomach drops. Then flips. Then rises again in the same way an express elevator does at fifty floors a second. “Harry—”
He cuts you off. “Don’t make that face.” He points at you with his glasses, shaking his head. “You’ll look incredible in black tie. And I trust you more than any PR wrangled plus–one they’d set me up with.”
You shake your head, brows pinched. “This isn’t just some client dinner at Nobu I’m playing third wheel at, Harry. This is extremely important. It’s the goddamn Met for architects.”
Harry just smiles, squinting at you. “When have I ever let you feel like a third wheel?”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
You just stare at him, lost for words. The city buzzes beneath you, the familiar noise of traffic and life blending together.
Harry doesn’t look away, he keeps your gaze, quietly drumming his fingers along his desk. It’s infuriating, the way the setting sun bathes him in a soft golden light, illuminating the smile on his face. A smile that makes it clear he knows he’s already won.
It makes you hesitate, the weight of it. Because it would be a date. Maybe not on paper or by any certain labels—but in every meaningful, messy, deliciously complicated way it matters, it would be. 
Harry Castillo and guest, you filling the role perfectly. 
You hold his gaze for a few moments longer, dragging it out just enough to make it seem like you’re putting up a real fight.
Finally, you cross your arms over your chest with a low sigh. “Okay.”
He cocks his head, smug grin on his lips. “Okay?”
“Okay,” you repeat, raising a shoulder more casually than you feel. “I’ll go.”
“Really?” His tone is suspicious, but his smile doesn't budge. “There’s no catch?”
“You made a compelling case." You push off his desk, smoothing your hands down the front of your pencil skirt. “Besides, you know I love it when you compliment me.”
Harry laughs, a rich, warm sound. “I should’ve known.”
“I’ll need a dress,” you say, slowly making your way to the door. “I think the rest of the evening off should give me plenty of time to find one, don’t you agree, boss?”
Harry shakes his head, easy as anything. “I’ll take care of it.”
You pause, hand on the doorknob. “Tell me you’re not trying to play sugar daddy, the interns are already gossiping.”
He arches a brow. “If the shoe fits.”
“Harry.”
“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in surrender, another laugh spilling from his chest to make the room just a few degrees warmer. “I’ll handle it. Trust me.”
You roll your eyes, pulling the door open before you do something stupid like smile back. “Do I really have a choice?”
Just as you go to leave, he calls your name—softly. It stops you mid-step.
You glance over your shoulder.
He doesn’t say anything else right away. Just looks at you like you’re something he’s still trying to figure out how to know, even after all this time.
“Thank you,” he says finally. Quiet. Sincere.
Your throat tightens. Not because of the words—even if you give him shit for it, he’s said them before—but because of the way he says them now. Like he means it for more than just the RSVP. Like he means it for staying. For putting up with the late nights, and the stress, and the divorce fallout, and the birthday gifts he forgets until the day of.
You nod, once. “You’re welcome.”
And then you slip out the door before the silence swells too much and gives you away.
You’re not in love with him. Not yet, but something about the way he looked at you—like you were both a solution and a problem—makes your chest ache in a way you don’t quite know how to ignore anymore.
You’ll go to the gala. You’ll wear something ridiculously expensive, if Harry has any say on the matter. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll let yourself enjoy it.
Just a little.
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The package arrived that same night.
A man in a suit knocked on your door and had you sign for a box bigger than your work desk. He had to help you drag it into your hallway and denied the tip you tried to give him, assuring you it was already taken care of.
There were no labels on the box, no receipt or return address or anything other than an obnoxiously large gold bow wrapped neatly around all four sides.
Well, that and a note taped to the front. 
Your name was written in a familiar, looping handwriting that you’d recognize by touch alone. You peeled it off with careful fingers, and with more ceremony than necessary, flipped it open.
“Make them think I built you myself - H.”  
You stared at it for an embarrassingly long amount of time, not bothering to stifle the smile on your lips as you ran your thumb over the ink. You were alone anyway.
The box groaned a little when you finally opened it, layers of black tissue paper rustled softly as you peeled them back.
And there it was.
Midnight blue. Backless. Heavy silk. The kind of thing that knew how to behave under dim lights and the weight of eyes.
You could already feel it—how it would cling to your waist, slip along your thighs when you walked, turn your skin into something luminous. You didn’t even need a mirror.
Of course he picked this one. Of course he knew your size.
You reached for it, fingertips grazing the fabric like it might evaporate, still slightly dazed. There was an overwhelming aura about it—like this wasn’t just a dress, but a thesis.
A statement. An intention, signed and sealed in French seams.
And somehow it still smelled faintly of him. Not in a creepy way. In a way that made you wonder if he’d touched it before it left the boutique. If he’d looked at it and pictured you, just for a moment too long. If he’d smiled when he imagined what you’d say.
You unfolded it like you were handling a newborn, held it against your body and turned toward the hallway mirror, half laughing at yourself, heat rising to your cheeks.
You turned this way and that, staring at your reflection in the dim light, pretending—just for a second—that he was behind you, watching.
Your phone buzzed on the counter. One sharp vibration, tearing you out of your little fantasy world and back to the present.
You crossed the room still holding the dress to your chest, and bit your lip when you saw his name at the very top of your screen.
Hairy
Try not to cause a scene unless you want to make headlines. I’d like to keep your promotion rumor free, for now.
You laughed softly, thumb hovering above the keyboard for just a moment before you started typing.
You know this is deranged behavior, right?
You hit send before you could overthink it, watched the read receipt pop up a second later before the three little bubbles came to life.
They vanished, then reappeared.
Hairy
I’m aware.
But I have impeccable taste. That absolves me of quite a lot.
See you at 8.
You swore softly under your breath and set the phone down like it was overheating. 
You looked back at the dress. At the mirror.
God help you—you were going to wear the hell out of it.
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Friday comes both too fast and too slow.
You glide through the whole rest of the week pretending this is normal—just another event, just another night of shaking hands and schmoozing.
You tell yourself it doesn't mean anything, but the butterflies in your stomach don’t listen quite as well.
You hardly see Harry at work, most of his time spent across town busy with clients like he always is near the end of the week. You can’t tell if it would have helped or hindered your nerves to see him before you both showed up to one of the most prestigious events held in his field, together. 
Maybe it’s better this way.
Now, you’ve spent the better part of the evening after work pacing the floor of your apartment in a silk robe, nerves reaching a fever pitch. 
Your phone is blowing up from its spot next to you on your vanity with calendar alerts and panicked texts from Harry about the misplacement of a single Prada tie he just has to wear even though he has hundreds of others to choose from lining an entire wall of his walk-in. You know that, you’re the one who hung them.
You do your hair and makeup on what feels like auto–pilot, the playlist you put on to distract you playing softly in the background until your phone lights up again, buzzing with a text that cuts through the static like a wire to your nerves.
Hairy
Found the tie, crisis averted. 
Just need you now. Be there in 15.
You take a deep breath, exhaling through your nose and sending a quick thumbs up before you're standing on shaky legs.
The dress has been hung safely on the back of your bedroom door since you unboxed it. You take a second to just stare at it, before reaching for it with reverence, like touching it too fast might break the spell of the whole evening. 
It slips from the hanger like water through your fingers, the fabric heavier than you remembered, or maybe that’s just the weight of new expectations.
You slide it on slowly, smoothing it over your hips, tugging the zipper up with a practiced hand. It fits perfectly, almost like it was made to your exact measurements.
Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror. You barely recognize her. Poised, elegant, flushed with anticipation. You look like someone who belongs next to a man like Harry Castillo.
The thought alone makes your pulse thrum a little faster.
You swipe on lipstick last—something deep and sultry, a few shades bolder than you usually wear, because tonight is different.
You’re not just the assistant tonight. You’re his date. Sort of. Kind of. Not really.
But he asked you to come, he wanted you there, with him.
The buzzer sounding from your door slices through your thoughts.
With one last deep breath, you grab your phone, your keys, and the clutch you’re borrowing from a fashion editor you sometimes get drunk with at Bemelmans, and you walk out the door.
The click of your heels echo as you make your way down the hall to the elevator.
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Harry is the first thing you see as the doors to your building slide open.
He’s leaning against the limo waiting for you, the door open next to him as a cigarette dangles between his fingers. He looks like he stepped straight out of a GQ spread. His Kiton suit fits him like a glove, the charcoal velvet hugging broad shoulders and tapering at the waist like it was stitched directly onto him. 
You make your way down the stairs until you’re standing on the pavement. Harry looks up at the sound of footsteps.
The cigarette stops halfway to his mouth.
For a moment, he just stares.
You can feel his eyes on your body like a caress, ghosting from your heels all the way up to the Cartier necklace he bought you after you saved a merger in Thailand, resting gently on your collarbones. 
The silence stretches, taut like a violin string.
You clear your throat, fighting the urge to squirm on the spot. “Is it too much?”
Harry blinks, like the sound of your voice broke him out of a trance. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head distractedly. “It’s perfect.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, fluttering wildly like a Monarch trapped beneath a mason jar. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Castillo,” you murmur, trying for playful, but your voice comes out too soft, too breathy.
He smiles at that—slow, crooked, absolutely devastating. The kind of smile that makes your knees a little weaker than heels this high should allow.
“Well,” he says, flicking his cigarette into a nearby trash can. “We’re already late, we might as well make an entrance.”
Harry offers you his hand, and without thinking, you take it.
“We might as well.”
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The Met is bathed in glowing opulence—decked in gold and white, chandeliers like constellations above you. There’s jazz swelling from a live quartet near the Temple of Dendur and the room comes alive with it.
You glide through marble halls on his arm, greeting developers and designers and too rich donors who want nothing more than to be photographed with nights' most respected attendant.
Harry is a natural here—effortless. He laughs, he charms, he plays the part of the adored genius.
You also play your role perfectly.
You smile. You exchange polite hugs and shake hands. You whisper names into his ear just before he needs them. 
The two of you work the room like a well oiled machine. Not a screw out of place.
“You do realize they all think I’m sleeping with you,” you murmur as you pass a table full of ancient structural engineers throwing pointed looks at the two of you.
“Let them,” he says, not missing a beat.
“Isn’t that bad for business?”
Harry looks at you sideways. “Who’s going to call us on it?”
You don’t answer. You don’t look away either.
There’s champagne, and a brief moment where a reporter mistakes you for his fiancée. Harry doesn’t correct her. You do, of course, all while violently fighting the heat crawling up your neck. You don’t miss the way his mouth quirks when you do.
Dinner is some overly fussed beet amuse-bouche followed by lamb you barely taste. You’re seated next to Harry at the center of a table surrounded by board members and art world fixtures who all speak in the same Upper East Side cadence that makes everything sound like a question and an insult.
But Harry listens to you. He lets you finish your thoughts. He asks you what you think of the new public art installation in Battery Park and snorts when you call it “egregiously derivative” even when the rest of the table frowns.
“You’re such a snob,” he murmurs, voice low against the shell of your ear.
You smile behind your glass. “And yet here I am, slumming it with my boss.”
He grins bright enough to rival the candle light. “Lucky me.”
At some point, about halfway through a debate about the authenticity of modernism in design, you notice the way his knee brushes against yours under the table and stays there. You don’t move. He doesn’t either.
It’s become a theme. The touch. The contact.
Harry kept his hand on the small of your back most of the night, it was practically glued to the spot before dinner began. This is no different, except for the fact that this touch is hidden. It's shielded from the prying eyes of members and photographers and reporters. 
It’s just for you.
The awards are handed out shortly after. 
Harry’s name echoes across the room to rounds and rounds of applause. The speech is short, tasteful, elegant, moving. He stands under a golden spotlight and says something about legacy, about cities and their hearts and how architecture is just the blueprint of human longing.
You watch him from your seat at the table, heart caught in your throat. He looks radiant on stage, confident and alive in a way you haven't seen in months.
You clap until your palms sting.
When the speech is over, he doesn't have a foot off the stage before many of the other attendees swarm him. You let out a slow breath as you watch him receive hugs and kisses and claps on the back.
You only slip out onto the terrace when everyone at your table has left to join in, clutch in hand.
The cool night breeze is a welcome escape, soothing as it blows across the bare expanse of your skin and seeps into the rich fabric of your dress.
It’s not that you weren’t enjoying yourself, that you weren’t enjoying watching Harry. You just found it, almost hard to breathe all of a sudden. The range of different emotions swirling through your stomach certainly didn’t help, but that was a problem you could repress and compartmentalize for sometime in the near future.
You’re maybe five minutes into your emergency cigarette when he finds you, your heels kicked off as you sit on a marble bench.
“You never smoke.” he says, setting his award down next to you and plucking the cigarette from between your fingers, taking his own slow drag. His lips seal directly over where your own were just a second ago, circling the ruddy lipstick stain wrapped around the filter.
You look out to the city, exhaling a steady stream grey. “I also don’t usually wear a custom made, six thousand dollar dress or fake laugh at old men who won’t stop calling me ‘darling’ while they openly stare at my tits.”
Harry hums at that, amused, the smoke curling lazily from his lips as he tips his head back to look at the sky. “You handled it like a pro, you were brilliant tonight.”
He holds out the cigarette, reddened embers float down from the tip, losing color as they fall until they’re nothing but a black speck on the pristine sea of white beneath your feet.
You take it, your fingers brushing against his. “I’m very good at pretending.”
His eyes shift to you, the kind of look in them that settles somewhere deep and heavy in your chest. “I know.”
There’s a beat of quiet between you, filled only by the wind brushing through the terrace hedges and the distant echo of jazz from inside. The city glimmers out past the railing, a mirage of light and motion.
You clear your throat, raising the cigarette to your lips. “You didn’t have to come find me.”
“I know,” he says again, softly this time. “But I wanted to.”
You turn to face him fully. “Because you couldn’t remember Natalie Rebuck’s name, or because you were worried I’d throw myself off the balcony?”
He doesn’t smile. He looks at you too seriously for either of those to be one off jokes. “Because you’re the only person I wanted to see.”
That stills everything in you. Just—stills it.
There’s nothing ironic about the way he says it. It’s not teasing, not playful. Just a quiet truth. And somehow, that’s more disarming than anything else he could’ve said.
“You saw me fifteen minutes ago,” you manage, your voice not quite as sharp as you want it to be.
“Yeah.” He shrugs and says it again, slower this time. “And I missed you.”
It’s that same tone. Soft, reserved. Gentle enough that it makes you feel like the only person in the world and sick to your stomach all at once. The cigarette hangs limply by your side, dwindling to nothing between your fingers. You wonder, idly and far too late, if you can even smoke in a dress like this.
The silence stretches on like taffy. You’re just about to respond when the music starts up again inside. It’s something old and very romantic. Maybe Sinatra, or Ella. You can’t quite place it.
Harry seems to, perking up instantly. He glances through the open door, where many couples inside are pairing off and filling the dance floor one by one. He looks back at you, eyes glinting dangerously under the terrace lights. “Dance with me.”
You can’t help the laugh that bursts from your chest, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
“I just won a very important and highly coveted award given out only once every single year.” He takes a step closer, offering you his hand. “You’re telling me I don’t get one dance?”
You shake your head, inching back the tiniest bit. “I don’t dance with my boss.”
He winks, warmth sparking to life in his eyes just beside the glow of the lights. “Good thing I’m off the clock.”
You stare down at his outstretched hand for a second too long, lips parted in soft protest, breath caught somewhere behind your ribs. There’s something so deeply unfair about the way he’s always been able to make you feel like the only woman in a city of millions. Even now. Especially now.
You give him your hand.
You still hesitate even as you stand and slip your heels back on. You glance at the terrace doors and wearily eye what feels like a sea of people. “Out here?”
“No,” he says, turning your hand over in his and brushing his thumb along your pulse point like it’s nothing. “Inside. Just one song.”
You hesitate again. Not because you don’t want to, but because you do. Too much. And that terrifies you.
But then his hand tightens just slightly around your wrist, grounding you. His palm is warm, and you realize—of course he knows. He always knows. Knows how to read a room, read a blueprint, read you. Better than he probably should.
He tugs gently, and you let him lead you back inside.
The terrace doors hush closed behind you and the city disappears, replaced again by the ambient, golden warmth of the Met’s grand hall. You weave through the swaying bodies with ease, like they part from the sheer energy you must be oozing as you find a spot in the center of the room.
Harry draws you in close.
Too close for coworkers. Too close for anything you could explain away come Monday. But not close enough for the ache it sparks low in your belly. One hand finds the dip of your waist, the other laces your fingers in his. His touch is elegant. Familiar. A little too knowing.
You slide your arm around his neck and let him sway you into the rhythm. You’re too aware of every point of contact. The velvety fabric of his tuxedo beneath your hand. The graze of your thigh against his leg. The way he smells—Tom Ford, Tobacco Vanille. But there’s something else, something hidden under it that’s just Harry.
The rhythm is slow. Intimate. His hand is an inescapable plane of heat on your back, just beneath the dip of the dress, the pad of his thumb draws tiny, absent circles against your spine.
He hums the melody under his breath as you move together, you can feel the deep rumble of it against your chest.
“You’re trembling,” he says suddenly, quietly—whispered against the shell of your ear.
“No I’m not,” you lie, pulling back to meet his gaze. “It’s probably the nicotine.”
Harry laughs, the corners of his eye crinkle endearingly as he does. “Is it?”
You nod. “It is.”
The music hums all around you, but you hardly hear it. It fades away into the soft air of complete nothingness, same as all the people around you wane and dwindle until you’re almost certain you and Harry are the only two left standing.
You can’t break away from the weight of his gaze, drawn to it like heavy metal to a magnet. His gaze sweeps across every inch of your face, like he’s seeing you for the first time.
“You look so beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, so softly it nearly melts into the melody. “You always do, but tonight…” His voice tapers off as if he can’t quite land on the word. He doesn’t need to.
“Harry…”
He shakes his head. “I mean it, you are absolutely gorgeous.” He spins the both of you slowly, his eyes never straying from you. “And that’s the least interesting thing about you.”
It feels like a physical blow, but it lands in the softest way possible. His words washing over your skin feels a million times more luxurious than the miles of silk encompassing you.
You wonder if this is how it starts—not with fireworks, but with slow dancing in a museum full of strangers with your boss whispering something like worship in the space between you.
It’s nothing. It’s everything.
“Well,” you reply, voice shaking and almost far away. “You did hire me because my resume reads like a Vogue spread. You said it yourself, the firm doesn’t work without me.”
It should ruin the moment, bringing up work—where your relationship actually stands in the real world, outside of this fantasy of a night—but Harry doesn’t let it.
He just shakes his head, brows pinched together like he’s deep in thought. His hand tightens around yours, he’s so close now that you can feel the steady beat of his heart. 
Can he feel yours?
“When I look at you, and I think of all that you are…” Harry trails off again, the chocolate brown of his eyes shining under the twinkling lights as he holds your gaze. “That doesn’t even cross my mind.”
Your breath stutters, and you know—you know—that if you speak, it’ll all come tumbling out. Everything you’ve been trying not to say, not to want. The feelings you’ve tried to laugh away or roll your eyes at or bury under hundreds of deadlines and calendar alerts buzzing from two separate phones and all the plethora of ways you’ve told yourself this can’t happen.
“I…”
And then he kisses you.
And then you can’t speak at all.
It’s slow at first, but not hesitant, not unsure—deliberate. Harry kisses you like he’s been carving space for it, like it’s been trapped in him for too long. His lips are soft, but sure, coaxing rather than claiming. 
His hand slides from your waist all the way up to cradle your jaw, leaving behind a trail of heat along the plane of your spine. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, you can feel the faint callous left behind by countless pens and pencils.
Your hands bury themselves in the soft curls of his hair as you melt into his body. It’s so simple, the shift. You’ve spent so long running, so long lost in the dark waters of denial that you almost can’t believe how easy it is—how perfectly you fit together.
It’s like the last piece of a puzzle finally falling into place, slotting into all the others that came before it.
Harry exhales shakily, lips barely parting from your own. “Christ,” he whispers, forehead touching yours. “You’re—”
You kiss him again before he can finish.
His lips part under yours with a sigh that borders on desperate, and the heat crackles between you now, undeniable. Dizzying. When your mouth opens to him in turn, he groans low in his throat, like the first taste of you has broken something open inside him.
Slow becomes hungry. Your hand slides to his jaw, thumb brushing the rough edge of stubble. He tastes like champagne and citrus and the heady edge of smoke
The kiss turns molten under your fingertips.
You feel it in your knees, in your chest, in your core—the sharp, sudden ache of need blooming within you that has nothing to do with polite society.
When you finally pull apart, it’s only because air insists you do.
Harry rests his forehead against yours once again, his eyes still closed when yours slip open. His cheeks are flushed, his lips slick and smeared with the barest hint of your lipstick. You can feel his breath puff over your skin in short, quick pants that you match.
He opens his eyes, and your knees nearly buckle at the look in them. His pupils are blown, wide and black as ink under the lights. Your pulse is a drum in your throat, beating just as loud and fast in your ears.
He swallows hard. “We should leave.”
Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s just as firm. “Yes.”
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The ride back to the office is a blur.
You’re not even sure how Harry got you out of the Met so quickly, how you made it past the new swarm of admirers once again trying to shake his hand or take a photo or congratulate him.
The limo was already waiting by the time you made it out the doors. You barely remember the valet, just the cool feeling of the seats beneath your thighs and the sharp click of the partition going up behind Harry’s head.
His eyes pin you to your seat, hot and heavy and impossibly dark as the hum of the engine carries you through the city, velvet wrapped and haloed in streetlight.
He hasn’t even touched you yet, not really, but your skin feels like it’s blistering beneath your dress—your pulse high, your thighs pressed tight together in anticipation that makes your stomach twist and flutter.
“Come here,” Harry says, voice low, rasped from restraint and heavy need.
Two words. That’s all he says.
Your legs move before your brain catches up, straddling him in the backseat like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands come to your waist as you settle into his lap, and fuck—he’s hard already, thick and burning a plane of heat against your high.
“You have no idea,” he breathes against your neck, mouthing at the skin just under your ear, “what you do to me.”
“Tell me,” you whisper, even as your eyes slip shut, hips rolling forward instinctively against him
Harry groans—deep and pained and real. “You walk into a room and I can’t think. Not clearly. Not rationally. It’s all static, it’s all you. Your eyes, your mouth, your fucking mind—” He nips your jaw, tongue chasing the sting. “You kill me.”
You moan, your hands digging into the strong muscle of his back. It draws a ragged growl from Harry’s throat, his fingers twitching on your hips.
“Are you wet for me?”
You’re nodding your head before you even realize it. “Yes.”
He curses under his breath, burying his nose in the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already making a mess.” His voice is rough velvet, soaked in lust. “What do you think that says about you, sweetheart?”
“That I want you,” you breathe, already half-gone. “So fucking badly, Harry.”
Harry lets out a slow breath through his nose, his touch slides down your thighs, bunching your dress. “What I want…” He trails off, slipping his hand under your skirt. You gasp as his fingers skim the waist of your panties. “is to spread you open, taste how needy you are. I want to make you come with my mouth before I even think about fucking you.”
His fingers brush over the soaked center of your panties and he groans, low and dark. “Fuck.” He presses the pads of his fingers into you through the fabric—just enough pressure to tease, to leave you gasping. “This all for me?”
You whine, high and light in the back of your throat as you nod frantically. That’s not enough for Harry.
His eyes narrow, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Use your words, baby. Who made you this wet?”
“You,” you whisper. “You did.”
“That’s right.” He slides the lace aside to run two fingers through your folds slowly. Your hips jolt, and he grins against your throat.
Your head drops against his shoulder, hips bucking against his fingers. He holds you in place with an iron grip, not letting you grind down for friction just yet. You feel the twitch of his cock beneath you, straining against the fabric of his tuxedo pants.
“Harry—” you gasp, breath breaking as he circles your clit with the barest pressure. Just enough to tease.
“Mm, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your throat. “I know what you need, but not yet. I want you squirming by the time we get to the office. Can you be good for me and wait, hm?”
Your stomach clenches in anticipation, your cunt throbbing between your legs. You’re not sure how much more desperate you can get, grinding on your boss in the back of a limo while his hand is up your skirt seems like the highest form of desperation. 
Still…
You nod—barely—because your throat is tight with need, but Harry clicks his tongue.
“I said use your words.” It’s not mean, the demand. The tone of his voice. It’s strong, rich with the same power and authority you’ve seen countless times over the past few years.
“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’ll be good. I’ll wait.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, brushing his mouth over your jaw like he’s proud of you, like he’s already rewarding obedience.
He keeps his hand there the whole drive—just resting. No pressure. No movement. Just the heat of his skin against your soaked center, the weight of his hand where you need it most, while the city blurs past the tinted glass. It’s maddening.
Every bump in the road jolts you slightly. Every turn shifts your hips, makes his fingertips graze your clit. It’s not enough. It’s torture. You bite your lip raw trying not to move, not to grind down and take what you want.
It would be so easy, you’re pathetically close to the edge as is. 
But you told Harry yes, breathed it against his shoulder in soft surrender. 
You promised to be good, and you’re dying to see what it gets you.
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Getting up to Harry’s office is a mess of stumbling feet and frantic hands that refused to stop touching any longer than they have to.
Harry kisses you against the door, your back pressed to the frosted glass. His mouth is hot and hungry and unrelenting, like he’s trying to make up for the months of waiting with every glide of his tongue.
You’re the one who breaks away just long enough to fumble for the keycard clipped inside his jacket, but Harry’s already sliding it free with one hand while the other stays around your waist. 
The lock beeps open and you stumble through the door, breath ragged, dress askew. Harry kicks it shut behind you, his lips never leaving yours as he walks you backwards until the tops of your thighs hit his desk.
You barely have time to gasp before you're lifted—effortless—onto the surface of his desk, papers fluttering to the floor beneath you as he spreads your legs apart with both hands.
“Lean back,” he says hoarsely, helping you as your hands fumble for balance. The cold glass of the desk kisses your palms. “Let me see you.”
Your dress is hiked up around your waist, pooling all around you like ink, your thighs parted. Harry looks at you like he’s starved. His eyes drag up your body like a man measuring the cost of ruin and deciding to pay it gladly.
He makes quick work of his jacket, only needing to shuck it off his shoulders after you made quick work of the buttons back in the elevator. He collapses back into his chair with a shaky breath, sliding in between your legs. 
His hands find the waistband of your ruined panties, eyes glued to your core as he peels them down your legs. “Fuck,” he mumbles, running his index finger through the wet mess that greets him. He kisses the inside of your thigh once, then higher, and higher. “So beautiful.”
His mouth is on you in a second—hot, wet, consuming.
He licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’s tasting something decadent. 
“Shit.” Your moan is loud, hips jolting off the desk. “Harry—”
“Christ,” he groans against you. “You taste—Jesus. I could stay here all night.”
He takes your legs in his hands, throws them over his shoulders and he devours you—there’s no other word for it. Messy, greedy, reverent. His tongue works in tight, filthy circles, alternating pressure, pulling gasp after gasp from your throat.
He sucks your clit, slow and deep, lips sealing over it and pulling it into his mouth. His tongue flicks once, twice, and your hips jolt off the desk.
“Fuck, yes—right there—don’t stop—”
His hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs digging into soft flesh as he groans into you, like you’re the thing getting him off.
Your head falls back with a cry, hands burying themselves in his hair. “God—Harry—”
“That’s it,” he mutters against you, voice vibrating into your core. “Use my mouth. Take what you need.”
You don’t even realize you’re doing it—rocking forward, grinding down on his face like it’s instinct. His nose bumps your clit perfectly, the stubble on his jaw sending aftershocks through your skin. He hums with satisfaction, like he knew you’d lose control, like he wanted it.
You’re already squirming, already close all over again. Your head lolls back as you cry out, desperate and high and wanton.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice muffled. “Right here. I need your eyes on me, honey.”
You do.
You look down and see him between your thighs, hair mussed, lips slick, eyes nearly black. He’s never looked more beautiful. Or more ruined.
Your fingers tighten in his curls, yanking—he groans like he likes it, grinding his mouth harder against you, tongue flicking over your clit until you cry out, arching into his face.
“Harry—Harry, I’m gonna—”
“Come,” he commands. “Let go for me.”
And you do.
Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave—sharp and blinding. You cry out, thighs trembling, nails digging into the wood of the desk as Harry keeps licking you through it, gentle now, savoring every second.
Only then does he pull back, licking his lips like he’s just finished dessert. He rises to his feet slowly, towering above you.
“Beautiful,” he pants, voice rough and heartbreakingly earnest. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
You can barely breathe, your chest rising and falling with every sharp inhale. But you still reach for him, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt. “Please.”
Harry doesn’t hesitate. He undoes his belt with one hand, the other bracing beside your head as he kisses you again—filthy, deep, you taste yourself on his tongue. “I need to be inside you,” he says, voice wrecked. “Now.”
You shift, moving to turn onto your stomach.
“No,” he says sharply, hands tightening on your hips. “No, I want to see you.”
Your lips part on a soft breath, something dangerous squirming to life under your skin. “Okay…”
The sound of his zipper rings in your ears, and you glance down just in time to see his cock freed from the soaked cotton of his boxers. It’s thick and flushed, rosy tip already slick with precome. Your breath catches when he strokes it once, twice, eyes pinned to your cunt like he’s imagining exactly how you’ll take it.
“You ready?” he asks, soft again, lining himself up with your shaking entrance. “I need you to say it.”
“Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Harry.”
He pushes in slowly—so slowly—and your back arches, a shocked moan catching in your throat at the sheer stretch of him. He’s thick, unrelenting, and your body clamps down around him greedily.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. “You feel like fucking heaven.”
You gasp, nails digging into his arms as he fills you. “Oh god—Harry—”
“That’s it,” he groans, teeth gritted as he bottoms out. “That’s my girl. Taking me so fucking well.”
He doesn’t wait long after that. The first thrust is slow, the second is harder. By the third he’s fucking into you like he can’t get deep enough, the desk creaking beneath you, the sound of skin on skin filling the dim office air.
You clutch at him, gasping as he hits every spot that makes you see stars.
Harry fucks you with purpose, with hunger, but he never loses that softness—his thumb on your cheek, his lips pressing kisses to your jaw, your shoulder, the hollow of your neck, the swell of your breast. He cradles your head in his hands so you don’t knock it into the glass.
It’s all too much. Too much and not enough. 
It feels like home, like this is where you should have been instead of running every chance you got, like a coward. Your hands dig into his shoulder, his name falling from your lips over and over.
“Yes.” He kisses you again, bruising and messy like he’s trying to taste the way it sounds right off your tongue. “Say my name.”
“Harry—fuck—Harry!”
“That’s it,” he growls, fucking into you faster now, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the office. “You’re mine now, aren't you? You're finally going to let me have you?”
“Yes—yes—oh my god—”
“Say it.”
“I'm yours, Harry—yours—fuck, I’m—”
He pulls you tight against him, fucking you so deep it’s like he’s imprinting himself inside you. “Come for me, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel.”
You come with a sob, clenching around him, unraveling completely beneath his weight and his words and the unbearable sweetness in his eyes as he watches you fall apart.
“I’m gonna come,” he grits out, thrusts growing erratic. “Where do you want it, sweetheart? Tell me.”
“Inside,” you whisper. “Want to feel it. Please, Harry…”
That’s all he needs.
He spills inside you with a groan—deep and raw—thrusting once, twice more before spilling into you, his mouth dropping to your shoulder with a quiet, reverent moan of your name.
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New York’s skyline shines through the window, bathing you both in a shimmering light. 
The only sounds filling the office are the light, gentle breaths as you both come down. The dull hum of the city underscores it, muted and fuzzy around the edges.
Harry’s hands don’t stray from your hips, his thumbs absentmindedly draw small circles over your bare skin. The night plays through your mind in flashbacks, each snapshot of all the moments where things shifted like a slideshow behind your eyes.
The stairs of your building, the touch of his hand on your back, the looks from across the room, the terrace. 
“Fuck,” you say suddenly, raising your head off the desk in alarm. “Harry, your award. You left it on the terrace.”
It’s quiet, until his shoulders start to shake and the unmistakable sound of laughter fills the space between you.
“It’s not funny!” You slap his shoulder, but you’re still smiling. “That was the whole fucking point of tonight.”
Harry lifts his head, meeting your gaze. “Was it?”
You look back, puzzled. “Wasn’t it.”
Harry chuckles again, shaking his head fondly. He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, slow and indulgent. “I’ve already got the only thing I wanted tonight.”
Your heart does a small, dangerous thing in your chest. “Well, this is definitely going in my yearly review.”
Harry hums. “I look forward to reading it.”
You don’t muffle your laugh, you don’t turn your face to hide your smile. You only raise your hand, carding your fingers through the sweaty curls laying on his forehead. 
Harry turns his head, pressing one last kiss to your palm.
You’ll email the AIA tomorrow, for now, they can wait.
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MINI NAT’S NOTE: if you would have told me a year ago that i would be writing for a pedro pascal character in a movie that chr*s ev*ns is ALSO in, i would have laughed in your face, HARD. oh how the sands of time can change us.
anyway this actually wasn't the harry fic i originally wanted to post. i was working on something completely different when this idea manifested in my brain and i immediately jumped ship…but in my defense this is the fastest i've written something since the semester ended so ofc she's being uploaded. thank you so much for reading, love you!
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athenalvss ¡ 30 days ago
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SHE JUST WANTS TO F**K ME ALL THE TIME ▬▬ ( Dick grayson )
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tw:sex, nothing too explicit cause I'm afraid of success
summary:Dick loved sex, and thought no one could surpass how high his sex drive is, until he started a relationship with you and you are all the time trying to get him to fuck you.
pairing:dick grayson x fem reader
open request ‐ dick grayson masterlist
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"I tried to leave the house but she won't let me out."
"Again? "
The morning had been a bit rough for Dick, he'd woken up to your ass moving painfully on his cock, leaving him ready for their usual morning fuck.
Dick is shirtless, sweaty, his hair a mess, and the sheets still stuck to his back. He shakes his head, chuckling as you try to drag him back toward you by the waistband of his boxers.
Your fingers play with the elastic, and your eyes are begging for one more round. “It’s your fault,” you murmur, leaving wet kisses on his abdomen. “You shouldn’t look like this right after we finish. You tempt me all the time.”
He lets out a hoarse laugh and drops back onto the bed, propped up on his elbows. "You're literally draining me."
"You're more than fit, Nightwing. You can handle another one."
"You think so?" In a second, his expression changes. Dick grabs you by the wrists, twists your body with ridiculous ease, and leaves you beneath him, one knee between your legs and your arms pinned above your head.
"You know normal people only get one round?" he mutters playfully.
He slides his mouth down your neck, to your collarbone. He sucks right where you know he'll leave a mark. His hands release your wrists, but only to run his rough hands all over your naked body, stroking that impatient, dripping pussy of yours.
"That's it," he whispers against your ear. "You're going to make me late again, you know?"
You don't answer. You just moan under his touch, and that brings out a cocky smile from him. He knew the answer. He always does.
His fingers sink into you without warning, moving with a delicious rhythm that forces your back to arch. But he gives you no respite.
"Did you want another round, gorgeous?" he asks, his lips brushing against yours, barely touching you. "Then you're going to earn it."
Before you can say anything, he's already sliding down. He spreads your legs with ease and begins to eat you out with a mixture of hunger and devotion that leaves you breathless. His tongue works as if it has a damn mission. And in part, it does: to leave you so trembling that you can't drag him back down for hours.
Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging unintentionally as your body writhes beneath his mouth.
"Dick... please..."
"Please, what?" he asks in a husky voice, his lips wet, his eyes shining with perversion. "Did you want another one? I'll give it to you. But I'll ruin you first."
▬★
"She wants me at the party, she wants me at the mall"
Dick Grayson always looks impeccable, but there was no better version than Dick Grayson in a tailored black suit, his blue tie, charming smile, and his usual confident posture. He's an expert at moving through high society without losing that mischievous air that distinguishes him. And, as always, he has the attention of every woman in the room.
You just watch him from a distance, drink in hand, dressed in that dress he'd picked out for you once. The one that left him spellbound, so he couldn't take his eyes off your chest. And every movement you made made Dick want to forget about the gala, about Bruce, about all of Gotham.
Since he looked so good in that white shirt that perfectly covered his hard-working body, the one you slept in every night, you should definitely make him wear more suits.
You approached him through the crowd, Dick interrupts his conversation kindly once he sees you closer.
“Can we talk for a second?” you asked, in the sweetest tone you could muster, not letting on any malice you had in mind.
Dick nods immediately, and reflexively follows you without asking any questions.
You lead him down one of the hall's side corridors, to a quiet area, away from the hustle and bustle and prying eyes. The light is soft, golden. The sound of the music barely reaches you. Dick crosses his arms, curious.
“What's up?” he asks with a smile. “Are you bored without me?”
You chuckled softly and shook your head, taking a step closer. Your eyes were brighter than ever, with that mischievous reflex you usually had when you wanted to tell him something in secret. You fiddled with the fabric of your own dress, lowering your gaze slightly, as if you were embarrassed by what you were about to say.
“It’s just… I don’t know if I should say this now,” you whisper, biting your lip.
Dick leans in slightly, intrigued. “Tell me what, swet heart?” He runs his hand gently through your hair, gently tucking a strand behind your ear.
You looked up, looked at him with those good-girl eyes he knew so well. And you let go, softly, sweetly, as if you were saying "I love you" for the first time.
“I want to suck your cock.”
The silence is immediate.
Dick blinks. Once. Twice. The air suddenly feels thick. He stands there, staring at her, processing the sentence. Because it wasn't just what you said. It was how she said it. So cute, so damn sweet.
“You…” he begins, a nervous laugh escaping him. “You can’t say that like that, not here. Not with that voice.”
You tilted your head, pretending not to understand. “What did I do wrong?”
“What did you do wrong?” he repeats, his eyes darting around, as if he were already deciding which wall to use. “Do you know what you do to me when you talk like that?”
You shake your head with completely feigned innocence. “What if I just… walk you to your car? Just a second. Just to… distract you, you look a little overwhelmed,” you say, running a finger along his tie.
Dick closes his eyes for a moment, as if it takes all his willpower not to drag her down that hallway right now. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”
Dick didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took your hand firmly, and without looking back, led you through one of the side doors that led to the building's private parking lot. No one saw them. No one dared to stop him.
The car was just steps away. One of Bruce's. Tinted windows, total luxury… and, above all, privacy.
He opened the back door without a word, and before you could even mock his urgency, he'd helped you in carefully, without wrinkling your dress too much. He closed it behind him and stared at you, still kneeling in the seat, breathing heavily.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he murmured, unable to stop staring at your mouth.
You, with the same innocent sweetness as before, leaned towards him, brought your hands to the knot of his blue tie and slowly loosened it.
“I have a couple of ideas, but we need more space.”
Your fingers moved down his white shirt, unbuttoning the first button, then the second… but Dick was barely breathing. His gaze burned, fixed on you, somewhere between exhaustion and on the verge of collapse.
Slowly, you knelt between the seats, your smile as soft as it was dangerous.
“Is this okay?” you asked in a low voice, unbuckling his belt with a skill only someone who knew him so well could possess.
Dick let out a stifled laugh, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat. "Now you're worried about that?"
You looked at him once more, as if seeking confirmation that he really wanted this. He looked back at you, completely lost in you.
And then you did it .
Slowly, as if you were tasting a sweet treat for the first time. Caressing him with your lips, with your tongue, with that tenderness and adoration that only you knew how to turn into torture.
Dick placed one hand against the fogged-up glass of the car, the other on the back of your neck, not pressing you, just holding you, as if he needed to hold on to something real to keep from losing control.
Your every move was measured, precise, delicate, and devastating at the same time. You knew him so well that you knew exactly when to speed up, when to play, when to stop for a second and look down on him, with that angelic face that had already earned its place in heaven...
▬▬★
"She just wants to fuck me all the time"
The sound of gloves hitting, the creaking of mats, and the rhythmic panting of labored breaths filled the space. you were in the middle of a sparring session. you and Dick, face to face on the mat, exchanging measured but intense blows.
He was focused, sweaty, his black T-shirt clinging to his body, his arm muscles flexing with every movement. Every kick, every spin, made him look even more irresistible. There was no way to hide it: you were distracted. Very distracted.
The roll of his hips as he kicked. The way he panted. The deep sound of his voice as he gave orders. Your mind wasn't on the practice. It was on his body above yours.
At one point, he takes a few steps back to give you space. He cranes his neck, wipes the sweat with the back of his forearm, and looks at you.
"Your turn. come on"
His voice snaps you out of your trance, but it's too late. You're horny. Too horny to be honest.
You stand, hiding it as best you can, but as soon as you get close, he notices. Dick always notices. Your dilated pupils. Your breathing. The way you lower your gaze directly to his neck.
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Are you okay?”
"Perfect" you lie.
"Then fight," he smiles, giving you the first soft blow with his glove, as a provocation.
But as soon as you're in front of him, you give in to temptation. Your hand doesn't go to the glove. It goes to the collar of his shirt. You get closer than necessary. Your lips brush his ear. "You're all sweaty... it smells so good..."
Dick lets out a grunt and in a second he has you cornered against the mat wall, his forearm blocking your way. "Are you horny? Here, while we're training? such a needy whore" he whispers, his voice tense and dark.
"It's not my fault you're so fucking sexy when you give orders."
He looks you for a few seconds, assessing. Then he shakes his head, a crooked smile crossing his face."You're impossible."
He quickly spins you around, pressing your body against the wall, his hard crotch already resting against your ass. His hand moves straight down to your crotch inside your leggings, and when he feels how wet you are, he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus Christ… You’re soaked."
Dick already had his hand inside your leggings when you reacted with a sly smile.
"I'm not going to let you win that easily," you whisper to him, just before turning around abruptly.
He didn't expect it.
You hook him with a swift kick to the thigh and take advantage of his slightest distraction to pull on his arm, knocking him off balance. You both fall to the mat with a thud, but you remain on top, with your knees on either side of his hips.
Dick snorts, clearly surprised, and looks at you with a mixture of pride and annoyance. "Are you playing, or do you want to fight for real?"
"this is my foreplay " you say, with a mischievous smile. You lean over him, placing one hand firmly on his chest while the other goes straight to his waist. He doesn't even move. He just watches you, his eyes narrowed.
"Don't even think about it… "
But you don't let him finish. With a swift movement, you push your hips down, positioning yourself right over his erection through his clothes. The moan he lets out isn't from pain. It's pure instinct.
"What are you doing?" he growls, grabbing your hips. "This is a workout, not an invitation to fuck me with my clothes on."
“Then take me down,” you challenge, starting to move slowly, pressing your core against his member with a friction that draws a low sigh from you.
He grits his teeth. His hands tighten around your waist, as if he's struggling between pushing you off him and pushing you closer. "You're a fucking temptation," he says, his voice deep and husky. "A fucking distraction with legs."
"You're too weak," you tease. "Look at you, you can't even concentrate."
He flips you over with a ferocious snarl, trapping you underneath him in the blink of an eye, his body pressing yours into the mats.
But just as he's about to rip your leggings off...
"Richard." Bruce's dry voice comes back through the cave's speaker.
The silence falls. Dick rests his forehead against your collarbone. He says nothing.
"Five minutes until you are dressed and out."
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xoxojisu ¡ 1 month ago
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CRASHOUT CENTRAL!
synopsis: katsuki has no idea if you like him or not
notes: bubbly + affectionate reader. umm implied hetero girl i think? but could also apply to not hetero i have no idea im sorry im just writing. idk if men crashout the way girls do but i like to think so. a lot of excessive unnecessary swearing bc it's katsuki. this is so ooc bc lets be fr when does katsuki talk abt *puke* feelings
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he’s pacing.
shirtless. agitated. hair all mussed from his own frustrated hands.
kirishima’s lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, watching his best friend spiral for what has to be the third time this week.
“she said i smelled good,” katsuki huffs, whirling around. “who says that? who just..! says that to someone?”
“people who think you smell good?” kirishima offers helpfully.
katsuki glares at him like he’s the dumbest person alive. “she said it while huggin' me. and she said it in that sweet fuckin' singsongy voice.”
“right.”
“and then laughed when i didn’t say anything back. all fuckin' giggly and stupid.”
“you like when she’s giggly and stupid,” kirishima points out.
katsuki makes a noise in his throat. “not when i’m trying to figure out if she’s in love with me or just likes everyone.”
kirishima hums. “well. she is kind of a naturally affectionate person.”
“exactly!” katsuki snaps, flinging his arms out. “what if i’m just one of her little fuckin'.. plushies she likes huggin' or some shit? what if she’s going around being all sweet and smiley with everyone and i’m here thinking she wants to marry me? like, seriously. i've seen her cuddle with fuckin' pinky and round cheeks too, and she's always so.. giggly! and when i think she's flirting, she says it so fuckin' casual. like it's nothing. and i must be fuckin' delusional to think that it's anything more.”
kirishima snorts. “well, ashido and uraraka are both girls. and she doesn’t cuddle me the way she cuddles you.”
katsuki freezes.
“…you think?”
“bro, she lies on top of you like you’re a mattress. more than that, she like really curls in to you. no one does that platonically. that's just not a thing.”
katsuki makes another miserable groaning sound and throws himself down into the beanbag chair like he’s been wounded. he drags his hands down his face, muffling a scream into his palms.
“i don’t know anymore,” he mutters. “she calls me ‘kats’ like it’s just a nickname but then she’ll say it in that soft fuckin' voice like it’s something else. she’s always touching me and smiling and calling me cute but she does it so casually, like it’s just her being her. i don’t know what’s real. i don’t know if i’m hallucinating. i think i’m losing my goddamn mind. like, it's the tone. she goes all 'aweee, thanks kats!' in that stupid fuckin' sing-songy tone. i hate it! fucking..!” kirishima has no idea what katsuki's trying to punch to death. the air, maybe?
after watching him flop around like a dying fish for a moment, he offered gently, “why don’t you just ask her how she feels?”
katsuki sits up. furious.
he says nothing, but kirishima can tell what he's trying to say just from his look.
“well then,” kirishima shrugs. “guess you’ll just have to keep suffering.”
and katsuki does. every time you brush your fingers over his knuckles or play with his hoodie strings or grin at him from across the room with that stupid sweet look in your eyes, he suffers. quietly. dramatically.
because he wants you to mean it so badly.
but he has no idea if you do.
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masterlist
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steddieholidaydrabbles ¡ 2 years ago
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WARM UP ROUND 4 MASTERLIST
This was a sweet challenge! Thanks to everyone who participated this week as well as the previous warm up rounds.
The real challenge starts on December 1st and I am so excited to see what everyone's come up with and share what I've been vigorously working on for two months now ❤
the last cupcake by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: vomiting mention (not graphic) | tags: getting together, friends to lovers, baker steve, musician eddie
A flock of elephants by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated T | cw: sexual tension and innuendo | tags: Baker Steve, Rockstar Eddie
here you are, standing there by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: flirting, meet-cute at the farmer's market, baker steve, writer eddie
5.30 AM by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship, baker!steve, itinerant ogler!eddie, steddie husbands, fluff, modern au
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | no cw | tags: pre-steddie
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cherrygirlfriend ¡ 5 months ago
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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ morning wood
pairing: rafe x bsf!reader synopsis: rafe wakes up with morning wood next to his best friend . warnings/tags: smut, somnophilia?, piv a/n; i think this was my most popular fic in my old blog and it was also amongst one of the first smut fics i wrote so this brings me back! new fic coming friday btw!! originally posted 08/01/2024
rafe masterlist ♡
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wherever rafe went, you followed; and even though it annoyed some of his friends, they didn't dare to say anything about it to rafe, because the one time they did, he got so angry they thought they were getting their asses kicked.
everywhere, also happened to include his bed. it had started after you had accidentally passed out on his bed from how much you drank, and he didn't care if you were there or not, he was sleeping in his own bed. now, it had gotten to the point where you couldn't sleep without him, and vice versa.
but you weren't a couple, of course not. rafe wasn't one for relationships, and you were just his friend since childhood, and even if he fucked you into the mattress a couple of times per week, or the fact that he never allowed any other girl to be in his bed, or that he thought of you whenever he hooked up with someone, it was just friendship.
"come on, wake up pretty girl..." he mumbled into your shoulder as you started stirring awake, rafe holding up one of your thighs up slightly as his hand rubbed his hard cock against your panty-clad pussy.
"come on, rafe..." you mumbled sleepily, and the blonde pressed a small, warm kiss on your shoulder over the fabric of his t-shirt. "why'd you wake me up? can't you see that 'm tired..."
"princess.. i need you..."
"rafe, we already went three rounds yesterday..."
"please, baby..." rafe mumbled, pressing soft kisses to your neck, the action causing shivers to go down your spine, and you could feel your panties starting to get wet, sticking to your puffy folds. "i'll do anything... just need you so much right now..."
you looked at him with half-lidded eyes as he pressed lazy kisses on your neck, "anything?"
"anything for you, princess. including murder."
"will you buy me those vivienne westwood earrings i want?"
"hell, i'll get a matching necklace."
and that's how you ended up with your best friend on top of you, pounding into your already sore pussy from the night before, your face pressed against the sheet as you let out moans that got muffled by the pillow, a handful of your hair around his fist as you closed your eyes in pleasure, your fists gripping the sheets to try and anchor yourself as he spoke in a low tone with every thrust "such a good girl for me... you're mine... this pussy's all mine... no one's gonna fuck this pretty girl like i do..."
yeah. just friendship.
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strangerexee ¡ 2 months ago
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ꜱɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰɪɴᴇ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
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Set in 1932 Reader x Bo Chow (Smut | NSFW | 18+ | Kissing | Light Choking —barely | F!Receiving) ᴡᴄ : 4ᴋ Masterlist
The bell over the door gave a tired little jingle when you pushed it open, stepping in from the heat and dust of the street.
𝓑𝓸 𝓒𝓱𝓸𝔀 & 𝓒𝓸 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐀 ɢʀᴏᴄᴇʀʏ & ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ Your shoes were worn thin. Your dress was simple cotton, sticking to the back of your knees.
And you were tired, bone-tired, from chasing one dead-end job after another across this godforsaken town.
You needed work. Or a miracle. Or both.
The store smelled like tobacco and dry wood, with a hint of something sweeter, maybe the candy in the jar by the counter, or the bright bruised apples piled up in baskets.
Shelves lined the walls, packed with everything from flour sacks to pistol rounds. It was the kind of place where a man could buy a loaf of bread, a hammer, and a coffin without walking more than twenty feet.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, wiping sweat from your forehead, trying not to look as desperate as you felt. It was quiet inside, but not empty.
There, behind the counter, sleeves rolled up over strong forearms, stood a man.
And Lord Almighty. You almost forgot how to breathe.
He was fine. Broad through the shoulders, lean through the waist, and the worn suspenders crossing his chest did nothing to hide it. Dark hair, a little mussed like he'd run his fingers through it a hundred times that morning already.
Sharp jaw. Sleeves pushed up. And a cigarette dangling careless between his lips.
He watched you over the top of the ledger he was scribbling in, one eyebrow tilting up slow, like he wasn't quite sure if you were real or a heat mirage rolling in off the road.
"You lost, darlin'?" His voice was rough, low. Not unfriendly. But not soft, either.
You swallowed. Your cheeks burned hotter than the sun outside.
"No, sir," you managed, clearing your throat. "I'm lookin' for work.”
He tilted his head a little. The cigarette bobbed between his fingers as he tapped ash into a tin. There was a long, heavy pause, stretching thin between you like taffy pulled too far.
He leaned forward, arms braced on the counter, and you caught the faint scar along the side of his throat, a rough, pale line disappearing beneath his shirt.
He smelled like leather and, something familiar you couldn’t name.
"Ain't much work left 'round here," he said finally."Dust's got more jobs than we do."
Your heart sank. You started to thank him anyway, ready to turn, ready to leave with your pride shriveled up tight inside you. But then he said, almost too casual:
"You know how to tally numbers? Take stock? Keep folks from stealin' when I ain't lookin'?"
You blinked up at him. Nodded fast.
"Yes sir. I can read, write, count. And I can run a register." (You prayed you didn’t sound as breathless as you felt.)
Bo Chow smiled then, real slow, real lazy. Like maybe he hadn't smiled all day until now. Maybe longer.
And damn if it didn’t feel like that smile was just for you.
"Might have somethin' for you after all," he said, nodding toward the back room. "Mornings, couple hours. Pay ain't much, but it's clean work. And you get first pick if any more fruit comes in."
You tried to smile back, tried not to look like a fool.
"I'd be grateful," you said. "Truly."
"Name's Bo Chow," he said, holding out a calloused hand across the counter. "Most folks just call me Bo."
You put your hand in his, and he squeezed it firm, just enough to make your stomach flip once, twice. His skin was warm. Rough in the right way.
Your name felt small and clumsy on your tongue when you said it.
He repeated it once under his breath, tasting it, like he was putting it away somewhere safe.
You heard boots scuffing behind you, a couple old-timers coming in, hats low over their faces, and Bo dropped your hand slow, like he hated letting go.
"Be here six sharp tomorrow," he said, voice dropping a little lower. "Don't make me come hunt you down."
And Lord, the way he said it, like it was a promise, like it was a threat, like maybe he wouldn't mind hunting you down at all.
You walked out of that store with your heart rattling around in your ribs, a stupid grin tugging at your mouth. The dust hit your boots. The sun hit your eyes. But you hardly felt it.
All you could think about was him. About the man named Bo chow, the cigarette smoke curling around his smile. About how maybe you’d found something, or someone, worth staying for.
The next morning, you showed up just before six, hair pinned back, boots polished best you could manage, apron folded under your arm.
The sun wasn’t even fully up yet, just a pale silver smear over the flat line of the fields.
The streets were empty except for a stray dog.
You hesitated at the door, heart hammering. What if he changed his mind? What if he realized you weren’t worth the trouble?
But the second you pushed inside, the warm smell of tobacco and cedar wrapped around you like an old blanket, and there he was.
Bo Chow.
Behind the counter, sleeves rolled again over those damn forearms, shirt tucked messy into dark trousers, suspenders hanging low on his hips like he hadn’t bothered to fix them yet. He was counting cash, cigarette stuck lazy between his teeth, the smoke curling up in slow silver ribbons.
He glanced up when he heard the door, and you swear, you swear, for a half second he smiled. A real one. That soft kind, just at the corner of his mouth. Just for you.
"You're early," he said, voice rough with sleep. "Good."
You nodded, setting your things down behind the counter.
Your hands shook a little, but you kept busy, dusting, sweeping, checking the register like he told you. He didn’t hover. Just gave quiet instructions here and there, moving around the store slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world.
And it was the little things. God, it was the little things, that drove you a little crazy.
You noticed it first when he leaned down to pull a crate from under the counter—how his shirt stretched tight over his back, fabric pull against muscle.
How a lock of dark hair fell over his brow and he huffed it out of the way without even noticing.
You caught yourself staring. Snapped your head down fast, pretending to reorganize the fruits and vegetables.
Then it was the way he stood, shoulders wide, hips cocked lazy, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you figure out how to load the till.
There was something about the way he moved, no wasted steps, no fidgeting,like he didn’t have to try to own the space around him. He just did.
And Lord, when he laughed. Low, and unexpected, a real rough chuckle that rumbled from his chest when you nearly dropped the glass candy jar and caught it at the last second. God, you felt it down to your toes.
"Careful, sunshine," he drawled. "Ain't but one of you, and glass is expensive."
You ducked your head, face burning. But you couldn’t help smiling.
Around mid-morning, after he nailed up a new shelf in the back, Bo wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
You offered him the water you packed, nervous, feeling silly. He took it with a little nod, mouth brushing the rim where yours had been without hesitation. Y’all just practically kissed right there.
And when he handed it back, his fingers brushed yours. Calloused. Warm.
You felt it like a jolt of lightning, sharp and sweet under your skin.
"You doin' alright?" he asked, voice low. "Ain't scarin' you off yet?"
You shook your head fast.
"No, sir."
That slow smile again, like he was proud of you, somehow. It made your chest ache.
The rest of the day passed in slow, golden hours.
He showed you how to track inventory, how to read the order forms, how to spot the difference between good grain sacks and ones chewed through by mice.
And every little thing, the way he squinted against the sun when he stepped outside, the way he twirled the pencil between his fingers when he thought, the way he touched the brim of his hat polite to the older ladies who passed by, every little thing made you fall harder.
You were a fool. You knew that. But God help you, you couldn’t stop.
Near closing time, when the shadows stretched long across the floorboards, Bo lit the oil lamps and turned the sign to CLOSED.
The town settled into quiet outside, the cicadas starting up their low hum.
You packed up your things, heart heavy. You didn’t want to leave.
He leaned back against the counter, cigarette smoke curling around his head like a halo, watching you with that unreadable look.
Not smiling. Not frowning. Just watching.
And before you left, just as you reached the door, he said:
"You did good today."
You turned, surprised.
He flicked ash into a tin, voice casual, almost too casual:
"Could use someone steady around here. Someone like you." "If you want it, job’s yours."
You tried to speak, tried to say yes, of course, yes, thank you, yes, but all that came out was a breathless little whisper.
"I'd like that."
Bo nodded slow, eyes never leaving yours.
"Good," he said. "Real good."
You just huffed and left the store.
You showed up early again the next morning. Couldn’t help yourself.
You barely slept, just laid in your bed all night staring at the ceiling, heart banging around your ribs like a fist.
You kept seeing him, that rough smile, that lazy slouch against the counter, the way his hands moved, big and calloused and sure, like he could tear the whole damn world down if he wanted, but he didn’t. He was gentle with you.
You dressed careful, simple skirt, neat tucked-in blouse, hair tied back. Nothing fancy. But you caught yourself smoothing it down a dozen times on the walk to the store.
You weren’t scared of work. You weren’t scared of Bo, either. Not really.
What scared you, if you were honest, was how badly you wanted him to look at you again the way he had yesterday. Like he saw you.
The bell over the door jingled when you pushed inside, and there he was.
Bo Chow.
Good Lord.
You almost had to grab the doorframe to keep from sliding down it.
Today he had the vest on, rich brown canvas, snug over his shoulders and chest, shirt rolled at the sleeves again, forearms out, tan skin dusted with faint scars like old stories he never bothered to tell. Trousers fit firm around his slutty waist, boots scuffed from work.
He looked up from stocking the shelves, and when he saw you, a flash of something warm crossed his face. Almost hidden. Almost.
"Mornin’, sunshine," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Thought you might show."
You swallowed hard, managed a nod.
He stood up slow, dusting his hands off on a rag.
That damn vest hugged him in all the right places. Made your stomach flip and knot in ways that felt dangerous.
You got to work without being told, moving behind the counter, checking the inventory list. Trying to pretend like your heart wasn’t about to explode out your chest.
It didn’t help that Bo kept brushing close, not on purpose, not really, but every time you turned around he was there.
At one point, you bent to grab a crate from under the counter, and when you stood up, you bumped right into him.
Hard, solid chest, vest scratchy and warm against your back, his hand catching your waist automatically to steady you.
Big palm. Firm grip. Fingers splaying wide before he yanked them back like he touched a hot stove.
You both froze.
For one wild second, the whole store was silent, just the sound of the clock ticking on the wall, his breath brushing the back of your neck.
Then he cleared his throat, stepping back.
"Easy, now," he said rough, almost scolding. "Ain't tryna bust that pretty nose, are ya?”
You flushed so hot you thought you might catch fire. Mumbled something, you didn’t even know what, and ducked your head fast.
Later, you were coming out of the storage closet, arms full of ledgers, right as Bo was striding in.
Instead of waiting, instead of shrinking back, you moved right past him. Real smooth. Real bold.
Except, the space was too damn narrow.
Your hip brushed his thigh, your shoulder scraped his chest, and your ass, oh, Lord, your ass skimmed right up against his front when you slid by.
You felt him go still, felt his hand twitch at his side like he had to physically stop himself from grabbing you.
You didn’t dare look up. You just kept moving, pretending you didn’t notice, pretending your whole body wasn’t screaming at you.
Behind you, you swore you heard him swear low under his breath. Real soft. Real dangerous.
You bit your lip so hard it hurt just to keep from smiling.
By noon, the air inside the store was thick and heavy with heat.
Bo shed the vest finally, slinging it over a hook near the door. You caught a glimpse of the way his shirt clung to him, the long line of his back, the strong slope of his shoulders.
You caught yourself staring again, caught yourself wanting, and forced yourself to look away.
But Bo must’ve noticed, because a minute later he drifted close, reached past you for something on the shelf, his hand landing light on your waist to move you out the way.
He didn’t even think about it. Just did it. Like you were his already.
Your breath hitched so fast you nearly dropped the jar in your hands.
"‘Scuse me, sunshine’," he said, real soft in your ear. "You’re in the way."
You stood there dumb, blinking, as he brushed past, close enough to smell the salt and sun and cigarette smoke on him.
It wasn’t until later, after closing, when you were wiping down the counters and Bo was locking the door, that he spoke again.
"You work good," he said, voice low and thick. "Real good. Smarter than most the men that come through here."
You turned, heart hammering.
Bo was leaning back against the door, arms crossed, watching you. Face unreadable. Eyes dark.
You opened your mouth, to thank him, maybe, but he cut you off.
"How old are you, anyway?"
You stiffened. You knew what he was asking. Knew why he was asking it. You met his eyes steady, chin tilting up just a little.
"Turned eighteen last month," you said. "I'm grown, sir."
For a second, just a breath, something flickered across his face. Something hungry and dangerous and real.
Then it was gone, shuttered behind that calm mask he wore like a second skin.
He nodded once. Slow. Like he was making peace with something ugly inside himself.
"Alright, sunshine," he said rough. "Long as you know what you’re doin’."
You smiled, small and sweet and secret, because you did. You really, really did.
And Lord help you, you weren't planning on stopping.
The day dragged in slow, hot and heavy, same as always, but you didn’t mind.
Not when you got to watch him. Bo moved like he wasn’t even trying. Stacking crates, counting stock, slouching against counters, and all you could do was sneak glances every chance you got.
The way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows as always, showing off strong forearms, tan and scarred, veins running beneath the skin like little rivers. The way the muscles flexed under the fabric when he lifted something heavy.
His hands, god, his hands. Big and rough, palms calloused from years of work. Knuckles scarred like he’d been in more fights than he’d ever admit.
You imagined what they’d feel like, skimming your skin, wrapping around your throat, curling in your hair. It got harder and harder to focus on anything else.
You were wiping down the counter again, pretending to clean when you were really just looking at him, when you realized:
No customers. None. Just you and Bo. Alone. Heat swirling between you like smoke.
Your heartbeat picked up a bit.
And before you could talk yourself out of it, before you could remember to be scared or shy or good, You moved.
Not too fast, a normal shaky pace.
You crossed the space between you in a few quick steps, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the back.
He let you. No questions. No hesitation. Just a soft grunt, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he followed.
"What’s this, sunshine?" His voice was rough, curious, amused. "You stealin' me?"
You didn’t answer. You just pulled him through the narrow back door, into the storeroom, dim and warm and empty, and shoved him back against the wall.
You stood there, breathing hard. Heart hammering so loud you swore he could hear it.
Bo looked down at you, those dark eyes burning, and for a second you thought maybe he’d laugh, maybe he’d brush you off, maybe he’d tell you to run along like the little girl you weren’t anymore.
But he didn’t.
He tipped his chin down, lips brushing yours, and said low:
"You sure, sunshine?"
You nodded. Didn’t trust your voice.
That was all he needed.
He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it. Hard. Hungry. Hands grabbing your hips, dragging you against him.
Your head spun. The world tilted.
His mouth was hot and rough, teeth scraping your lower lip just enough to make you whimper, and God, the sound you made must’ve lit him on fire because he growled low in his chest, cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you harder.
You clutched at him, hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer, and he let you, let you crawl all over him, like he was starving for it.
Like he’d die if you stopped.
At one point, you stumbled, tried to pull back to catch your breath, but he chased you, mouth claiming yours again, hands framing your face so careful, so tender even with how rough the kiss was.
You were dizzy with it, with him, with the feel of his body pressed against yours, all hard heat and steady muscle.
And then, You did it.
Hands shaking, you grabbed his wrist, guided it up, placed his big, rough hand around your throat. Gently. Like a question.
Like a please.
Bo froze. For one hot, crackling second, everything in the room stopped moving.
His thumb brushed the side of your throat, slow, thoughtful. Not squeezing, just holding, just letting you feel the strength there, the weight of him.
He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye, something dangerous and filthy gleaming behind his gaze. And he grinned, slow, wicked, all teeth and bad intentions.
"You into that shit, sunshine?" His voice was dark velvet, wrapping around you, making you shiver.
You nodded, breathless, grinding your hips against him like you couldn’t help it. (You couldn’t.)
His fingers flexed slightly, tightening just a fraction, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was bigger, stronger, in charge.
You whimpered, so soft, so needy, and he laughed, low and rough, like you were the best damn thing he’d ever seen.
"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough and reverent. "You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me."
Then he kissed you again, deeper, dirtier, hand still cradling your throat, the other roaming down your spine to pull you flush against him.
You melted into him, opened for him, let him take whatever he wanted.
Bo’s hand stayed loose around your throat a moment longer, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, his breath ragged against your mouth, before he finally let go.
Not because he wanted to stop touching you, nah. Because he wanted more.
He gave you a rough, breathless little grin, one you could feel in your knees, then reached down and grabbed you by the waist like you weighed nothing. Lifted you right up.
Set you down on the nearest wooden stool, still warm from the heat of the barn outside, a little unsteady, but solid enough.
Your hands grabbed the edge of the stool instinctively, steadying yourself, eyes wide, heart pounding so hard you could barely hear.
Bo leaned back a half-step, just enough to drink you in.
The way your dress rode up, baring the soft skin of your thighs. The way you sat there all breathless, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and desperate for him.
He dragged a hand down his face, as if trying to keep himself together, and then just said low, almost to himself:
"Christ, you're pretty."
You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but your eyes kept dropping. To his hands. Those big, rough, dangerous hands, scarred and calloused and strong.
You could feel the strength of them from here. Could imagine them wrapped around your hips, your waist, your throat again, holding you down, holding you up, whatever he damn well pleased.
Your mouth went dry. And Bo noticed. His mouth curled into a wicked, knowing smirk.
"Yeah?" he rasped, voice dropping. "You like the look of my hands, sunshine?" Like he didn’t already know that.
You swallowed hard, nodded. You didn't even try to hide it.
And that was all he needed. Bo stepped between your knees, crowding you close, body heat washing over you like a furnace, and ducked his head down.
Started kissing along your jaw, slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower and lower. You gasped when he found the spot just under your ear, sucked there hard enough to leave a mark, and he grinned against your skin when you tilted your head for him, helpless and wanting.
"Good girl," he muttered into your neck. "So pretty ‘fa me."
You could’ve melted right then and there. Could’ve died.
His hands were everywhere, roaming up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, dragging along the soft curves of your waist like he was memorizing you.
You arched into him, not even tryna to play coy anymore.
You wanted him. All of him.
And Bo, he was starving for you. Before you could blink, he dropped to his knees.
Big, broad body sinking down in front of you, spreading your knees wider apart with those strong hands, pulling your panties down — looking up at you with something almost feral in his eyes.
"Gotta taste you, baby," he rasped, voice half-broken with need. "Been fuckin' dying for it."
You whimpered, hand flying to his hair instinctively, fisting in the thick dark strands as he shoved your dress up higher, higher, exposing you.
No hesitation. Bo dove in like a man half out of his mind.
The first press of his mouth against you made you cry out sharp and sweet hips bucking up without you meaning to.
Bo groaned, like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted and grabbed your thighs, holding you down, forcing you to stay right there for him.
His mouth was hungry, lips and tongue working you open, devouring you like you were his last meal.
Messy. Loud. Absolutely, devastatingly good.
You tried to pull away once, overwhelmed, shaking, breath hitching in your throat, but he only groaned and pulled you back down harder.
"Nah, baby." "You take it." "You let me eat this pretty little pussy just like this." "You fuckin’ taste how bad I want you."
You sobbed his name, it was pathetic, really. Hips grinding helplessly against his mouth, and Bo just groaned again, deeper, like he could come from this alone.
The wet slide of his tongue. The scrape of his teeth just barely grazing. The way he sucked your clit into his mouth and held it there until you were shaking.
He licked you like he owned you. Like he wasn’t gonna let you walk outta this storeroom until you knew exactly who you belonged to.
And when you finally came, loud and desperate, thighs clamping around his head.
Bo just kept going. Didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Made you ride it out, every shudder, every whimper, every sweet little broken cry.
When you finally slumped forward, boneless and ruined, hands still fisting in his hair.
Bo looked up at you, mouth slick with you, eyes dark and wild, and said, low and rough:
"Ain’t done with you yet, sunshine." "Not even close."
And you believed him. You wanted him. God help you, you wanted everything Bo Chow was about to give you.
A/N: LAWDDDD — I love me some Bo Chow...
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