#Vicious Blossom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 3 months

Text

𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒈𝒆

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Summary: After a tough battle, you tend to your husband's wounds in a bathhouse, which leads to more.

Warnings: SMUT, grinding, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Implied age gap, Scars, Voyeurism, Spitting, both give switch vibes, a gladiator battle is described

A/n: this man in white did things to me but this man in red...UUIUBBYUDGYUTTSVHBBGFRDERFGHNJMKGF

Swords clashed, each metallic strike reverberating through the arena like the tolling of a death knell. You held your breath, chest tight with a mixture of fear and anticipation, every fiber of your being fixated on the brutal dance unfolding before you. Marcus, your husband, moved with the precision and grace of a predator, his muscles rippling under the unforgiving sun. Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, and you could see the intense focus in his eyes, a gaze that seemed to pierce through the very soul of his opponent.

The gladiator facing him was a hulking brute, a mountain of a man with a scarred visage that spoke of countless battles and victories. His movements were powerful, each swing of his massive sword meant to crush and maim. But Marcus was quicker, darting in and out like a shadow, his blade a blur of deadly efficiency. You could see the frustration growing on the gladiator’s face as his strikes met only empty air or the unforgiving steel of Marcus’s sword.

Every clash sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself gripping the edge of your seat, knuckles white with tension. The crowd around you roared, a cacophony of cheers and jeers, but their voices were distant echoes compared to the pounding of your heart. Marcus was holding his own, but the fight was far from over, and the outcome was anything but certain.

A sudden lunge from the gladiator brought the tip of his sword perilously close to Marcus’s chest. Your breath hitched, a gasp escaping your lips, but Marcus twisted at the last moment, the blade grazing his side instead of piercing his heart. A thin line of blood blossomed on his skin, a vivid contrast against the tan. The sight of it filled you with a surge of fear and anger, a primal urge to leap into the fray and shield him from harm.

But you were powerless, confined to the stands, a mere spectator to the deadly contest. All you could do was watch, your heart aching with every cut and bruise that marred Marcus’s flesh. He fought on, undeterred by the minor wounds, his resolve as unyielding as the steel in his hand. The gladiator, sensing weakness, pressed his advantage, his strikes growing more frantic and desperate.

Marcus parried a vicious overhead swing, the force of the blow reverberating up his arm. He sidestepped, his movements fluid and controlled, and countered with a swift slash across the gladiator’s arm. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the brute let out a bellow of pain, staggering back. The crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch, the tension in the air almost palpable.

Your eyes never left Marcus, every detail of the battle etched into your memory. You saw the sweat dripping from his brow, the determined set of his jaw, the slight tremor in his hand as he gripped his sword tighter. Despite the danger, there was a certain beauty in his movements, a deadly elegance that took your breath away.

The fight reached its climax in a blur of motion. Marcus feinted to the left, drawing the gladiator’s attention, then pivoted and delivered a powerful upward thrust. His sword pierced the gladiator’s chest, driving deep into flesh and bone. The brute’s eyes widened in shock, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as he crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Marcus stood over his fallen opponent, chest heaving, blood and sweat mingling on his skin. The crowd erupted in a deafening cheer, the sound washing over you like a wave. Relief flooded your body, your legs feeling weak as the tension finally broke. Marcus had won, with only minor cuts and bruises to show for it.

He turned towards you, his eyes finding yours in the throng of spectators. There was a faint smile on his lips, a silent reassurance that he was okay. Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of joy and relief, and you found yourself smiling back, a bond of unspoken understanding passing between you.

From the dais, the Emperors Geta and Caracalla watched with keen interest. Geta, his eyes gleaming with approval, leaned towards his brother. "A fierce husband indeed," he remarked, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "Such skill and bravery are rare. He has proven his worth today."

Caracalla nodded, his gaze fixed on Marcus. "Strength tempered with wisdom. He fights not just with his body, but with his mind. A formidable warrior."

You smiled at their comments, bowing your head slightly in acknowledgment. But your attention was already shifting, drawn inexorably to the entrance of the arena where Marcus was now standing. He was clutching his side, his face pale and contorted with pain. The sight sent a jolt of fear through your heart, and all thoughts of the emperors' praise vanished.

Without hesitation, you made your way down from the stands, pushing through the throng of spectators. Your only concern was reaching Marcus, your mind a whirlwind of worry and determination. As you neared him, you could see the blood seeping through his fingers, the wound on his side more serious than it had first appeared.

"Marcus!" you called out, your voice trembling with a mix of panic and urgency. He looked up at you, his eyes softening despite the pain etched on his face. You reached his side, gently taking his arm to support him.

"We need to get you cleaned up," you said, your voice firm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Come on, let's get to the baths."

With your help, Marcus managed to walk, though his steps were unsteady. The journey to the baths felt like an eternity, every moment filled with silent prayers that his injuries were not as severe as they seemed. The noise of the arena faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic sound of water cascading into the stone basins of the bathhouse.

Once inside, you guided Marcus to a bench, your hands shaking as you began to remove his armor. Each piece fell away with a metallic clang, exposing the blood and sweat-soaked tunic beneath. The sight of the wound, a deep gash along his side, made your stomach churn, but you forced yourself to remain composed.

"Sit still," you instructed, your voice gentle yet commanding.

Marcus winced but managed a weary smile. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said, his voice strained but attempting to be reassuring. "Just a cut. It'll heal."

You shot him a stern look, not fooled by his bravado. "You need to let me clean and bandage it properly. No arguments."

He sighed, nodding slightly. "Alright, alright. But I promise, it's not a big deal."

You retrieved a basin of warm water and a cloth, kneeling beside him. The water steamed in the cool air of the bathhouse, the scent of the herbs you had added calming your frayed nerves. You began to clean the wound, your touch as gentle as possible.

Marcus hissed in pain, his muscles tensing under your hands. "I've had worse, you know," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "Remember that time with the boar?"

You couldn't help but smile at the memory, despite the current circumstances. "Yes, and I remember you saying the same thing then too. 'Just a scratch,' you called it, when it nearly took your leg off."

"Well, this time I mean it," he replied, though his attempt at humor was undermined by another wince of pain.

You shook your head, focused on your task. The wound was deep, but thankfully it had missed any vital organs. As you worked, you noticed the fabric of his tunic was too blood-soaked to use as a bandage. You looked down at your own dress, the hem already stained from kneeling on the wet floor.

Without hesitation, you tore a strip from your dress, the sound of ripping fabric startling Marcus. He looked down, his eyes widening in concern. "You didn't have to do that."

"I'll sew it back later," you said dismissively. "Right now, you need this more than I do."

He watched you as you wrapped the strip of fabric around his torso, securing it tightly to staunch the bleeding. Your fingers worked quickly and efficiently, but you could feel his gaze on you, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft. "For everything."

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Just promise me you'll be more careful next time," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I promise," Marcus replied, his eyes closing as he leaned back against the bench, exhaustion overtaking him.

You finished bandaging his wound, then dipped the cloth back into the warm water to wipe away the remaining blood and sweat. As you worked, the reality of what had just happened began to sink in, the fear and relief mixing into a potent cocktail of emotions.

Gently, you started cleaning Marcus's upper body, your hands moving over the hard planes of his chest and shoulders. His muscles were defined, a testament to the countless hours he had spent training and fighting. Each scar you encountered told a story, a silent testament to the battles he had survived. Your fingers traced the ridges and valleys of his skin, lingering on the old wounds that had healed over time.

Marcus watched you, his gaze intense and unwavering. "You always take such good care of me," he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection.

"It's because I love you," you replied softly, continuing to wash away the grime of the arena. "I can't stand seeing you hurt."

As you moved the cloth across his chest, you couldn't help but marvel at his strength and resilience. Despite the wounds and the exhaustion, he was still the man you had fallen in love with, still the warrior who had captured your heart.

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The world outside the bathhouse ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you in this intimate space. The intensity of his gaze made your heart race, and you felt a warmth spread through your body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

Without breaking eye contact, Marcus reached out and gently took your hand, pulling you closer. "Come here," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

You hesitated for a moment, the propriety of the situation briefly crossing your mind. But the longing in his eyes and the way he looked at you erased any doubts. You allowed him to guide you onto his lap, your body pressed against his as his arms encircled your waist.

Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, and you melted into his embrace, your hands resting on his shoulders. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more passionate, as if he was trying to convey all the emotions he couldn't put into words.

Just as you were about to lose yourself completely in the moment, a roar of people from the arena outside broke through the haze. You pulled back, breathless and flushed. "We could get caught," you whispered, your voice tinged with both excitement and caution.

Marcus smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "They're more focused on the battle," he said, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "No one's paying attention to us."

His words made sense, but the risk still lingered in your mind. Yet the way he looked at you, the way he held you, made it hard to resist. You leaned in again, your lips finding his in another searing kiss. This time, you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment, the world outside fading into oblivion.

Marcus's hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, strong and steady despite everything he had been through. The warmth of his skin, the taste of his lips, the feel of his hands on your body—it was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and love that left you breathless.

"Marcus," you murmured against his lips, your voice a mixture of longing and need.

He responded by pulling you even closer, his hands sliding down to your hips. "I need you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Now."

The urgency in his words mirrored your own feelings, and you surrendered to the moment, your worries about being caught dissipating in the heat of your desire. You kissed him again, pouring all your love and passion into that single, searing touch.

Just as the kiss reached its peak, another roar from the arena reminded you of the world outside. With a reluctant sigh, you pulled back, resting your forehead against his. "We really should be careful," you said, trying to catch your breath.

Marcus nodded, his eyes still filled with that burning intensity. "I know," he said, his voice softening. "But I couldn't help it. I needed to feel close to you."

You covered his mouth with your hand, silencing him. The action made his semi-hard cock become fully erect beneath you, the sensation unmistakable. "I'll do the work," you said, lifting the fabric of your tunic and grinding into his hardness. "Sit back and relax."

A moan escaped your lips as the friction between your bodies grew, the rough fabric of his tunic adding to the slickness between your thighs. Marcus grabbed your hips with his large, calloused hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he watched you with those big, pleading eyes.

"I love this..." he murmured, taking in the sight of you. "But we don't want to get caught."

You nodded swiftly, your breath hitching with anticipation. Moving his tunic out of the way, you exposed his throbbing cock. You spit into your hand, rubbing it onto his length, mixing your saliva with the precum that was already leaking from his tip. The heat of his flesh under your palm made your pulse quicken.

Straddling him, you guided his cock to your entrance, the stretch making your head fall back as his hips met yours. A deep groan left Marcus's lips, the sound vibrating through you. Wasting no time, you began to rock your hips back and forth, starting at a teasingly slow pace to build up the pleasure for both of you.

Your hand gripped his shoulder for support as you moaned, the other hand bracing on his knee. With the extra stability, you started to bounce on his cock, testing different angles until you found that perfect, spongy spot inside you. Marcus had always been adept at finding it, and now you wasted no time in exploiting it.

Faster and faster you moved, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you becoming almost euphoric. "I'm gonna cum," you panted, your voice trembling with the intensity of your impending orgasm.

Marcus's hips began to thrust up to meet yours, his own climax approaching. "Me too," he groaned, his voice rough with need.

You moved your hand to his other leg, bouncing harder and harder, driven by the twin desires of pleasure and the fear of being caught. As your hips met his with each thrust, the friction and the slickness between your bodies brought you both closer to the edge.

With a final, deep thrust, Marcus's orgasm crashed over him. He growled, pushing his hips as far into you as possible, filling you with his warmth. The sensation sent you spiraling into your own release, your body tensing and then shuddering with the force of your climax.

Marcus pulled you into his arms, his breath still ragged. "We really shouldn't be doing this here," he murmured, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

You stayed like that for a moment, both of you catching your breath, your bodies still intimately connected. Slowly, you lifted yourself off him, feeling the absence of his warmth inside you as you settled beside him.

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest. "Probably not," you agreed. "But it was worth it."

He kissed the top of your head, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "Always worth it," he echoed, the love and desire in his voice making your heart swell.

1K notes · View notes

awearywritersworld · 1 year

Text

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff

6K notes · View notes

evilgwrl · 7 days

Note

Arranged marriage! With ghost where she’s from a small island and ghost comes to collect taxes well the island is just a few hundred short they can make it up next year? Right?! Nah ghosts is like mmmmm I’ll take what yall call a princess mean while she’s struggling as much as the other fokes on the island so when Simon takes her way and finds out she’s never lived the simple life he makes it his mission to show her the good that can out of this arrangement smutty if you would 😭 I’m obsessed with the arranged marriage trope with ghost he’s a cutie patootie

Arranged Marriage w/ Simon Riley

Holy moly I love this…

Thank you for this idea @creepytoes88 I hope you don’t mind that I made him a king, I just wanted it to flow with giving her a better life and the tax collection <3

King!Simon Riley x Reader

Archipelago

CW: Being sold by your family to pay off debt, sharing a bath, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm bc simon knows what to do ;)

Word Count: 2,623

Twisted fingers hooked under the bark, knees scraped with stagnant flora, coiling limbs of bushy thorns blistering around the tropical plains. There was a subtle burn that sunk through your thighs, muscles gnawing at your bones before you finally settled on a thick branch, wind hissing in your ear, almost warning you. You paid no attention.

Pupil-blown eyes stared off to the view in front of you, lapping in the vicious strain of turquoise, untouched coral glistening an array of colours under the harsh sun. There was a trickle of sweat that ran down the back of your neck, your hair thrown into a rough bun as you shielded yourself with raggedy, overworked fingers.

You watched the skerries surrounding your island, a flurry of birds swooping low before nestling down on the warmth of the rocky floor. It was a peaceful sight. Nothing but the low crash of waves to be sound, the occasional calling of a fellow Islander working its way through the palms and out of the sand, before landing in your ear.

You felt the prickle of pain shoot through your feet as you landed on the ground, the grass covered in speckles of yellow dust sticking in between your toes as you hurried down to the village. Any bit of tranquillity soon disappeared as your eyes locked into the sight of the townspeople, the Island far too small to accommodate such needing families.

“Y/N! Where have you been? The King shall be here soon and you’re off running with the fairies.”

Your Mother’s tone was harsh and reprimanding, her eyes tight with wrinkles as she scowled, chucking a makeshift broom at you. You weren’t exactly sure what the difference of you sweeping would make, the life you live here, swept or not, is strikingly different to the one of a King. No matter how beautiful your Island is, your feet are permanently stained with grains of sand, skin is littered with dull scars and fresh scratches.

You understood her worry, offering her a gentle, apologetic smile as you followed her bustle of orders. Your Father was the village Chief, a wise man who led the people to survive without the worry of advanced civilisation.

You were seen as a headcase to the others. A woman whose head wasn’t fixed well enough to her shoulders. A dreamer. Your mind was amplified by the need to do more, to see more. Untouched beauty too turns mundane when you’re not allowed to experience it.

As night fell, the waves seemed to settle, burying themselves in the crops of sand that spanned around you, 10-legged creatures hiding away in the cocoon of a cracked shell. Palms slept with the safety of coconuts that would blossom into the town’s delicacy, the meat tender on the tongues of children, the water fuel for the fishermen. There was a large bonfire lit, the earthly crackle occasionally popping as a spark flew out, hissing against the cool air before dispersing into a drag of smoke.

Girls chattered around you, smoothing down their appearances as they used crushed berries on their lips and the apples of their cheeks. You were never fussed about the King, hardly paying attention to him on his previous arrivals if he even bothered to show up. You took note of his lack of empathy, normally sending one of his men in his place, unbothered by the Island that’s supposed to fall under his command.

You heard the ship pull up, wood striking against the ground as it split between the beach, a carved woman tangled to the figurehead, flowing hair etched between wood and a man’s knife as she breached the island. They were a loud bunch, deep voices echoing across the Isle as your father walked down to greet them formally.

The air grew silent, thick smog suffocating the air as your father appeared, his figure shaking as he hobbled towards you. Toughened hands gripped your cheeks, stroking the sun-kissed skin to comfort you.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

“We- We’re short on our taxes,” he gulped, a hand planted in your matted hair as you scrunched your brows together.

“But how? We’re sensible, we work harder- How?”

“Things happen beyond our understanding sometimes, sweetheart, just know me and your mother love you very much.”

“I know? Why are you-” you stalled “- Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?”

“The King needs a wife,” he hiccupped as realisation set in, spine snapping into a cold flush as you attempted to wriggle free from your father’s grip.

“No-“

“I have to, Y/N, I don’t have a choice!”

“A choice? There’s always a choice! How could you do this to me?” The strain of a sob wracked through your chest, your heart beating eerily slow against your rib cage as you wailed out for your mother who only walked away, her face concealed by strands of hair. Hands coiled around your biceps, dragging you towards the ship as you carried on, cementing your heels into the dirtied sand to anchor yourself.

“Stop resisting,” A harsh voice spoke into your ear, nails breaking the surface of your tender skin as you nipped at the air, wriggling. Your limbs felt mangled as you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your stomach caving in with a penetrative force as you choked on the air, saline tears streaming down your face.

Aching skin collided with the sand as you were thrown onto the floor, leather boots staring back at you as your head cocked up. His figure was tall, dressed in all black with a row of medals displayed on his breast pocket. His stare was dark, irises the colour of burnt whiskey, pale lashes flickering down at you before looking back up. The rest of his face was covered by a woven garment, handcrafted to perfection, painted with a white skull.

“Did you find it necessary to throw her at my feet like she’s some dog?”

“Your Majesty she was res-“

“It is a yes or no question.”

His voice was thick with malt, a hidden arrogance underlying his words as his eyes spoke for him. A veiny hand was offered to you, light scars tracing his knuckles before he lifted you, admiring you for a brief second.

“She’ll do. I’ll be back in 6 months,” The King spoke roughly.

The sea breeze was tranquil given the circumstances, the ocean rocking your tears to a halt as you huddled yourself away in the captain’s quarters. Your body was trailed with layers of silk, dirtied clothes moulded to your skin as you sniffled. There was a vast smell of salt, almost suffocating you as it burnt through your nose and hair. You scrunched your skin, rubbing at your nostrils before nestling yourself into a pillow.

You awoke to the sound of commotion. You took in the handful of women surrounding you, their hair tied back in a tight bun, protected by a frilly cap. They wore black and white dresses, aprons attached to their fronts and smiles on their faces.

“Good evening, your majesty. Shall we run you a bath?”

You sat up, hands creasing against the sheets below you as your eyes adjusted to the new scenery. You weren’t on the ship anymore.

“Where am I?” You choked out, huffing your chest out to look more intimidating. In reality, you look cowered, skin droopy with betrayal, burst blood vessels evident under your eyes.

“In your private quarters, the King requested we come to you, settle you in.”

You scowled, “I just want to be alone.” They left in a hurry, feet skidding against the floor in a squeak as they shut the large oak doors behind them.

The room was one for Royalty. The large bed was dressed in golden sheets, red swirls detailing the plush headpieces, solid gold baubles along the edges as tall stakes met the ceiling, lace hanging from them for privacy. Your feet hit the polished marble floors; calloused skin not used to such luxury that you almost yelped in unfamiliarity. Glass trickled from the overhead chandelier, an arrangement of crystals advocating flickers of light across the room, an occasional rainbow seeping through like a diamond in the rough.

Oil paintings hung from the walls, detailed gold wrapping around them as the figurines stared at you dauntingly. A plethora of books rested on shelves, a comforting sofa tucked away in the corner, highlights of red bursting through the stuffed pillows, plucked by the finest of feathers.

The room felt suffocating, the air a terminal sickness that wove into your lungs as you realised the severity of the situation. Your father – your parents, had sold you away to the King to pay for lost taxes. You were a miserable sight as you huddled over onto the floor, chest collapsing with cries as you attempted to grip the material beneath your knees, desperate for the sensation of sand.

Simon watched you intently from the door as he cracked it open, a deafening cough sounding from him as you looked up at him, bewildered.

“I understand the circumstances aren’t the best, but your people owed me, and they chose you as collateral.”

“I want to go home,” you hiccupped, facing away from him in humiliation. His leather shoes hit the floor, striding up to you in only a few steps.

“This is your home now, and in a few weeks, we shall be wedded. Whether or not you choose to invite your family is up to you, but I shall not tolerate disrespect. If you didn’t want the maids to tend to you, that’s fine, but I will.”

You watched his stalking figure disappear into another room attached to your quarters, the heavy pour of water indicating that he was running you a bath. You rose to your feet anxiously, popping your head around the corner as you took in the room. A large tub was carved with porcelain, wide in size with golden feet, bubbles guzzling under the powerful stream as the scent of lavender filled the air.

“Undress,” He spoke as you cocked a brow.

“In front of you?” You scoffed.

“You didn’t want the maids, now you have me. Undress.”

Your clothes itched as they were ridden from your skin, bare body flushed under the light as you attempted to conceal yourself from his bruising vision. The water scolded you as you sunk in, muscles relaxing instantly under the soothing oil. It was an irregular feeling.

You heard him shuffle behind you as you turned, eyes gawking wide as you took in his naked figure, cock resting low against his thigh. A squeak slipped through your lips as you turned around in a fluster.

His mask was off, his face a welcoming surprise. His brows were thick, bulging above slit frames, his nose slightly crooked with a masculine appeal to him.

“What are you doing?” you gasped, chest tight, eyes bulging.

“Bathing,” he practically snarled, “move over.”

Your belly felt hot, the unknowing feeling of arousal seeping through your pores as you adjusted in the water, the liquid rising as he stepped in before you were pulled back against him, bottom flushed against his thighs. You were tense.

“Relax, it’s just a bath. We will not do anything until you’re ready but after marriage, I will need heirs.”

“Heirs? I don’t even know your name!”

A hand coiled around your waist, tugging at the tender skin for a moment before it rested, settling at your upper thigh.

“It’s Simon, Y/N.”

“How do you- “

“What kind of King would I be if I didn’t even know the name of the woman I’m marrying?”

The air was hazy with steam, almost suffocating you as you felt yourself relax against his hard chest, delicate twirls of hair tickling against your spine. As your body settled, Simon washed you, entwined rag lubed with delicate soap as he massaged it into the crevices of your skin, any dirt seeping into the water. His fingers were long as they massaged against your scalp, digging any knots out with a gentle force before rinsing it.

You found yourself refreshed as you settled into the sheets once more, body fresh with a floral scent, skin drenched in almond oil, the glistening reflecting against the flame of the fireplace. The bed sunk in as Simon crawled in next to you, menacing frame wracking against yours. It was silent, the usual sound of waves and birds no longer hushing you to sleep.

Your fingers twitched as you played with the hem of your nightgown, letting out a low, exhausted breath.

“I shall not hurt you for as long as you are mine, Y/N. I hope you grow to trust me and understand that I am a man of my word. If you allow me, I would like to show you who I am and the life you can have here.”

You swallowed. There was an itch inside you that couldn’t be scratched, his words only adding fuel to an uncontrollable flame as you turned to face him, cocked up on one arm. Your gown hung low, strap dangerously low on your shoulder as he adjusted his vision back to your face, lips parted with a flushed manner.

“I’ve never experienced anything before.” Your voice was low, an evident streak of self-consciousness staining it as you averted your gaze.

“Let me help you.”

Rugged fingers lifted your gown up, silk resting against your stomach in a hunched manner as Simon gripped at your thighs, spreading them lewdly. He huffed out a hum of appreciation as you jolted in embarrassment. You were so open, so exposed to fresh eyes.

“No one’s ever touched you here?” He asked. You shook your head, gazing down at him with an unspoken innocence. You felt his lips curl against your thigh as he placed a gentle kiss to it, letting it rest against the warm skin before two fingers pulled apart your lips, glistening folds presented before him.

You felt pleasure tickle up your spine as the King placed a small kiss against your clit, a mewl escaping you as you instinctively attempted to press your thighs together. He let out a tsk as he looked up at you, amused by your reaction.

“Relax for me,” he said, arms flushed around your thighs before his tongue soaked up the middle, your juices drenching his lips as you squealed, your fingers wrapping into his dusty hair as he ravaged the taste of you.

The noises you made were wanton, slopping breaths soaking the air as he worked against you, slurping you into his mouth with an aggravated need for you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it before sucking, an obscene scream sounding from you as he continued the assault.

“Taste so fucking good,” he quipped, holding your belly down in place as your hips lifted, clit overstimulated by the amount of pleasure it only just began receiving.

“Sim-Simon, I feel strange- somethings happening,” you croaked, pulling at his hair in an attempt to stop him.

“Let it happen,” he growled, his tongue thrusting against your entrance as a finger pressed against your nub, rubbing it in circular motions as you began to hold your breath.

The pressure in your belly was turmoil like an unknown danger was approaching. Simon didn’t stop, the sound of your breath hicking stirring something primal inside of him as he held you down before the pressure inside you popped, a broken whine piercing the air as you came, hips rocking desperately against the King’s face as he growled against your heat.

He pulled away, spit slick against his chin, cocky smile on his face as you panted, chest rising and falling in a synchronised fashion. Your legs closed instinctively, wetness seeping between your bottom as you shivered, satisfied clit throbbing.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart.”

652 notes · View notes

chiliyue-archived · 1 year

Text

Markings/Biting

Includes; Dazai, Chūya, Atsushi, Ranpo Kunikida, Fyodor, Nikolai

Not requested !

Tags; NSFW/SMUT. Fem!reader. Biting, teasing, rough & soft sex, degradation, minor mentions of blood

DAZAI, who has no qualms with showing you off; it provides a wonderful opportunity to tease you about being marked. Any patch of exposed skin will be littered with bites with a cocky grin on his face. He places them in your inner thighs, slowly drawing closer to your leaking cunt and biting harshly at your clit as he mumbles cruel things. He's an awful tease, however, getting riled up by your whines when he grazes your bare collarbone with his teeth. He coos softly at you, false sympathy falling from his mouth as tears start to prick the corners of your eyes. He promises he'll leave 'one more', but he can't stop himself. And can you really blame him? Not when your thighs are clumping around his narrow waist coupled with the filthy sounds with each precise thrust of his hips. It just fuels his desire to mark you up and claim you as his one and only ♡

Trails lovebites over your body in the heat of the moment. CHŪYA doesn't even realize he's nibbling at your chest or shoulders until you pitifully cry out, body trembling under his feverish touches-rather he is too absorbed in the way your cunt sucks him in with each movement. His hand was sure to leave some marks as well, gripping your hips tightly as you hugged his cock perfectly. His mind succumbs to your sounds, teeth continuing to leave petal blossoms, evidence of your lewd actions. He can be horribly possessive and loves to show you off as his pretty lover. What's a better way than to mark you all up in pretty reds and purples? Can't help but bite into the juncture of your neck when you tightly clench around him, spurring him to his climax. Sometimes, he forgets his own strength, leaving vicious red bites on your neck, just to have his gloved fingers run over the spots with delicate care afterward.

ATSUSHI doesn't mean to bite down and leave as many as bruises as he did - during the aftercare, he apologizes profusely for the marks he left on your neck and inner thighs. He couldn't help himself, not when you spread your legs terribly wide for him, exposing your dripping core to his greedy eyes. His hot breath prickles your flesh as his lips sheepishly roam that area. And with your mewls combined with his special ability, it was as though an animalistc urge took over him, sinking his teeth in your soft skin to mark. Likes to mark you on the wrist as well, rubbing his thumb over the petal blossoms whilst the other runs over your clit. Your pitulful whines act as encouragement for him to continue suckling the skin, he only stops when tears start to stain your cheeks but even then he leaves just a couple more. He becomes a stuttering mess the following morning when he awakes to see you in his arms, those bite still present on your form, shoots arousal straight to his pants.

RANPO is very precise in the way he marks you up. He leaves you squriming and weakly pawing at him as his teeth are unforgiving on your soft skin. As he rocks into you, his words dripping in mirth, his teeth are making work at forming a dozen lovebites at your skin. He leaves marks in places in which grant him the excuse of giving you a piece of his clothing. Seeing you in his clothes is not only quite adorable but knowing you're littered in filthy bites underneath done by his truly, well, it shoots a spike of arousal through his spine. Even better when you dress all pretty for him, clothes hugging your form as those blemishes peek over your stockings, exposed collar and other accessories. It couples well with your fucked out expression, salivia dripping down your chin from his doing. Ranpo likes to travel his fingers through the brusies, noting the way you flinch at his touch but how you also thighs rub together in anticipation. He'll gladly add onto the collection <33

He kisses you in areas he knows you can easily cover up. KUNIKIDA is very strict by his ideals and believes that the intimacy that resides between the two of you is something that will remain between the two of you. If he wished to show you off, a quick hand on your hip was enough to give off the message. He leaves markings on your chest while he hands fundle with your mounds. You gasp as you feel his teeth start to suckle and tug rather roughly on the skin. He pulls back after each bite, intrigued by how it blossoms into a pretty mark on your soft skin. His hands are rubbing shapes on your hips, his cock nestled deeply within just grazing your sweet spot all the while he adds to the forming collection. A couple bites to your shoulder blades as well, succumbing to the pleasure as he reaches his climax. During the aftercare, he fingers would subconsciously trace the markings as his words release genuine praise to how pretty you look both disheveled and marked for his eyes alone to see.

FYODOR is shamless and merciless in covering you in bites. As much as he loves you and finds you to be the most precious thing to him- well, he deprives some form amusement and pleasure from seeing you sob as he harshly bites down on your nape and shoulders. It's not hard enough to break skin, but the blaring bruise it leaves is just addicting. Sometimes you hardly notice he's leaving those marks, not when the feeling of his cock dragging along your abused walls became the only coherent thought. He litters blemishes in areas in which he knows that despite how much you attempt to cover it, it will be visible to his eyes at a certain angle. And well, Fyodor isn't opposed to marking you up before you're meeting with your friends or colleagues; he's cooing at you softly as you scramble to cover it up - your reaction, making it worth the tease. When he sees those markings start to fade, he'll gladly renew them for you as he fucks all you night long again and again and again.

Well- NIKOLAI- is Nikolai... he name alone is a warning. He covers you in vicious red marks in the most oddest of places that leave you gasping in surprise. He's probably the type to leave a hickey on your cheek just so everyone knows who makes you cry out in the middle of the night. And your chastising remarks(as much as you can anyway as you babble his name repeatedly) fall of deaf ears his lips roam your bare body. He bites hard - perhaps even drawing blood. He relishes the way you clamp around his dick whenever he breaks skin, your choked sobs echoing off the walls. Though he runs his tongue over the bruise, providing some relief from the ache as you shudder and squrim. Your thighs will be littered with marking by the time he's finished, purple blemishes from his sharp caines and crescent moons from his greedy hands. His eyes admire the marks that cover your body, and he gently pinches the blemishes with gloved fingers, soaking in your reactions. May even try to make you cum by just biting you, leaving pretty markings all over your body not one corner left untouched.

#dazai smut #chuuya smut #ranpo smut #nikolai smut #fyodor smut #kunikida smut #atsushi smut #bsd smut #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #ranpo x reader #nikolai x reader #fyodor x reader #kunikida x reader #atsushi x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs smut

3K notes · View notes

giuseppe-yuki · 2 months

Text

pranks

carlos sainz x meerkat shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.5k

warnings: a few curse words?

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: a prank kind of backfires on you and carlos

picture credits from pinterest :)

honestly, you thought your favorite mode of transportation must be riding on carlos’ broad shoulders. with such a tall vantage point, you could see farther ahead compared to if you walking on the ground. plus, you wouldn’t be trampled on by over-eager fans, you didn’t have to tire your legs out, and you’d be able to catch a whiff of the familiar smell of carlos’ cologne.

you adjust your grip on carlos’ racing red ferrari kit, digging your paws into the soft material and curling your body around his neck. the paddock in suzuka was real pretty, with cherry blossoms framing the walkway.

carlos continues walking into the paddock, occasionally stopping to sign hats and merch. a few little fans asked to pet you too, and you gladly scurried down carlos’ arm to let them stroke your fur with sticky fingers that kids always seem to have. a child completely covered in george merch even stopped to hand-feed you a piece of fruit.

when he arrives in his motorhome, he gently sets you down on the sofa. he collapses next to you, body sprawled on the couch. “ugh, that was exhausting.” he says exasperatedly. “there is still-” he checks his watch. “two hours until fp3?? i swear to god, my manager must have messed up the schedule.”

he leans back into the couch, and then fishes a peanut out of the pocket of his jeans. your boyfriend always seemed to have a stache of your favorite meerkat-friendly snacks in his pocket. not that you minded- you were always down for a little snack now and then.

he flings the peanut at you, and you manage to avoid the flying nut by a centimeter. you whip your head back at him, glaring at him the most vicious way possible.

his mouth is open, hand still frozen in the throwing position. “omg! i swear to god i did not mean to throw it that hard, mi amor.” he scoops you up and pats your tiny head. reaching into his pocket again, he takes out another peanut and hands it to you gingerly.

you accept the peanut and crack it open, but continue to glare at him. while you munch on the peanut, carlos looks down at you with a glimmer of mischievousness in his big brown eyes. you knew that look- he only did that when he had a particularly funny prank that he wanted to pull (the last time he had that look in his eyes was when he came up with the idea to put 100 miniature rubber snakes around charles’ drivers room).

“i’ve just had the funniest idea,” he exclaims. “since we have so much time on our hands, we should go to mclaren to annoy lando!”

ever since being associated with carlos, you have been dragged into so many of his pranks around the paddock that a glance at your meerkat form has people wondering if carlos was planning another mischievous trick. it was the polar opposite of your normal human form. i mean, who would suspect carlos’ nice reserved girlfriend to also be his havoc-causing meerkat sidekick?

the mclaren employees shoot you both suspicious glances as carlos strolls through the mclaren motorhome. he creeps around corners and listens through every door. you hold on to his team kit with your sharp paws for dear life- you surely would have slid off already if you hadn’t. it’s only when he comes across a sitting area with two familiar figures that he stops.

“you’re not very adventurous with food, are you?” you hear oscar say, holding what seems to be a red-bean mochi in between his fingertips.

“well, i don’t wanna be,” lando shoots back, pushing the japanese snack away from him.

carlos creeps behind lando, and hands you several peanuts that he fished from his pockets. taking advantage of lando and oscar’s bickering, he lets you slide off of his shoulders. you bolt full speed towards lando and start throwing the peanuts at his head while screeching.

he yelps, jumps out of his chair, and scurries behind a nearby table to hide. oscar, spotting your tiny figure compared to lando’s cowering body next to the table, starts cackling.

a full hour hadn’t even passed for carlos to get that look in his eyes again. this time, you were busy piecing together a 2000 piece puzzle of ayrton senna in the mostly empty dining hall when you see him approach you.

“what now,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

a wide grin splits your boyfriend’s face. “let’s go steal charles’ helmet!” he whispers, just in case charles or any of his team members are nearby.

poor charles was almost always on the receiving end of carlos’ pranks (although you did hear about pierre somehow obtaining a snake and sneaking into charles’ room with it). you swear that it is going to backfire one day.

nevertheless, you agree, leaving half of senna’s face and his car’s front wing done on the table.

it was a really quick process, as you shifted, scurried past the mechanics and lifted charles’ signature red helmet off of the counter in one swoop. no one batted an eye as you pushed the helmet out of the garage and into carlos’ arms.

“yess! good job, baby!” he cheers, once the helmet is in his hand. “now where to hide it?”

he looks around, before finally walking into the gap in between the aston martin and ferrari motorhomes. you scurry after him, paws hitting the ground at full speed. at the end is a little secluded space, surrounded on all four sides by walls or other teams’ motorhomes. he snickers, and sets charles’ helmet on the ground. pulling out his phone, he snaps a picture, ready to send to charles as a taunt.

you proceed to turn, brushing strands of meerkat fur off of your flowy shortskirt. “not even a thank you, carlos?” you say, tilting your head. “i risked my life out there stealing his helmet!”

before he can answer, you hear the clonk of a waterbottle dropping near the ferrari motorhome. standing there, mouth open in shock, stands charles leclerc, the owner of the helmet that you stole. “did you just-” he starts.

carlos, realizing your secret might get out through charles, marches through the gap, snatches the familiar white celcius water bottle from the ground, and yanks charles into the secluded space.

you stand very still next to the helmet, not knowing if you wanted to bolt and hide in a hole so you’d never be seen again, or to slap carlos for exposing your secret, to his teammate, no less. you knew that carlos’ tricks would backfire one day.

“mate, please, please, please do not tell anyone about this!” carlos says, clutching charles’ shirt.

once the initial shock has worn off, charles shocked expression turns into a smirk. “of course i’ll tell people about this! you literally stole my helmet and you expect me not to expose you for taking my things? besides, it’s a payback for pranking me so much! i still find those stupid rubber snakes that you hid in my room everywhere. i always have to call my girlfriend to help me get rid of them.”

you step up next to carlos and charles, a confused expression on your face. “wait. so you didn’t see me turn?”

a look of understanding flashes across charles’ face. “ohhh!!” he remarks. “you mean the meerkat thing?”

“yes!” you and carlos both say simultaneously.

“don’t worry, i won’t tell!” charles says, to both of your guy’s relief. “don’t you know, my girlfriend can shift into a hedgehog? no offense, i think that’s way cooler than a meerkat,” he states with a smug smile on his face.

“oi, pendejo!” carlos says, narrowing his eyes. “how dare you say that!”

you laugh, putting an hand on carlos’ shoulder. “it’s okay baby, i’m just glad this didn’t turn out into a bad situation!”

charles shoots you an appreciative grin, knowing you saved him from potential physical altercation with carlos. it quickly dissipates, however, when he sees his helmet behind your legs.

“right, back to the helmet, how dare you steal it! fred would’ve killed me if i showed up to fp3 without it!”

understanding the power charles has now knowing your secret, carlos apologizes. “we are sorry, charles. i promise i won’t ever steal any of your things again!”

charles continues to stand there, waiting for him to continue.

“-and i won’t play any more pranks on you, i swear!” he says quickly.

charles nods once, satisfied with carlos’ promise.

from side facing the motorhomes, fernando sticks his head into the gap separating the two teams. spotting you three standing there, he jokes, “you guys having a party in there, or what?”

t-minus 20 minutes until fp3, charles sets his water bottle on the counter and pulls on his balaclava. across the motorhome, carlos is doing this same. when charles finishes adjusting the material over his head and nose, he suddenly sees a flash of fur on the counter. it’s you, bolting away like your life is on the line with his water bottle in hand.

“CARLOS!” you hear him shout.

from your hiding spot in one of the engineer’s headphone cubbies, you see carlos scramble over to charles.

“what? is everything alright?” carlos says, concerned.

“your girlfriend just stole my waterbottle!” he whispers heatedly, pointing at you sitting innocently in the cubby like everything was normal, except for the fact that a white racing waterbottle, complete with a long straw and a “charles leclerc” sticker is sitting next to you. carlos laughs, “i mean- i did only promise that i won’t steal anything or pull any pranks on you; i didn't promise my girlfriend wouldn't!”

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso @my0hmary @mbappebby @rakshatos @heartsforleclerc @papaya-twinks @madkohi

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader #cs55 x reader #cs55 x you #cs55 x y/n

401 notes · View notes

dragon-ascent · 10 months

Text

You're thirsty and Morax is dense.

★彡suggestive, dumdum Morax (he doesn’t understand human nuances yet), bit of unneeded comfort

When your beloved Lord Morax approaches you after a day-long outing, you grin to yourself and lean against a pillar. Tonight you crave your newlywed husband.

"Ah, my lord," you sigh, jutting your chest out as dramatically (and as sexily) as possible. "Have you come to indulge in me?"

You bite your lip in delight when you hear your beloved Morax chuckle, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Why, yes I have, my darling." He takes your hand and kisses it ever so tenderly it makes you want to melt right there.

But you're not done yet - you close your eyes and bemoan, "Oh my, in the middle of war?"

See, you're expecting him to say, "Of course, my love. My desires wait for nothing - and I could use a moment of respite in you," and then he'd sweep you away to his private chambers and make the most of the night.

Which is why your eyes snap open in shock when you hear him instead say, "Ah, you're right. My desires can wait, can they not?" He lets go of you, his expression hardening like stone. "There is yet much to be done this moon cycle. Once the dust settles, we shall enjoy ourselves thoroughly, hm?"

Uttering this, and planting a firm kiss on your forehead, Morax turns and leaves, leaving you standing there sputtering.

----

You two convene for dinner together later in the evening, and you smile to yourself, cheeks heating up as you get ready to seduce him. "All this food is lovely, but I was wondering if you were craving something even better..."

Raising a brow, Morax sets down his chalice of wine. "Oh? And what does my beloved propose?"

Fidgeting in your seat, you let out a coy, "How about having me?"

But instead of sweeping aside the empty dishes and spreading you out on the table for dessert, your husband only tilts his head in concern. "My love, I know you have had your qualms about marrying the Prime of Adepti, but I assure you I do not consume human flesh."

You shrivel up like a prune as he pets you, lamenting that you'd even entertain such a frightening thought, reassuring you that he would never harm you like that.

----

A more direct approach is in order - but surely you can still be poetic in your methods, no? You're now sprawled in the bed you share with Morax, wearing your best night-garments.

Your god finally arrives, smiling as he sees you lounging comfortably in bed. When he joins you there, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and purrs softly, enjoying your warmth. You run your hand through his silky hair.

You let him stay like this for a bit before you speak. "After countless vicious battles for dominion, perhaps you and I could engage in a battle more...passionate."

"Darling!" His head snaps up to look at you worriedly, horns nearly poking you in the eye. "What makes you think I would ever fight you?"

You blink. "Er...no, I meant that-"

Morax cups your face tenderly. "There shall never come a time where the two of us are on opposing sides. Wherever you go, I follow. Never shall an arrow of mine fly in your direction."

"No no, listen, I-"

He's having none of it - he pulls your head onto his lap and strokes softly. "My wedding vows included my oath to protect you. I intend to keep that oath, darling, so please, perish the thought of a battle between us."

"Actually I meant that-"

Morax shakes his head, eyes lowered in sorrow. "I hope this thought of yours has only just blossomed, and had not taken root fourteen moons ago on our first night together when you witnessed a portion of my divine strength-"

"Okay fine! My apologies! It was just a silly notion! How about you just make love to me?!" "Oh, of course. If only you had asked sooner."

#sini writes #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #zhongli x you #drabble #rex lapis #morax #suggestive

583 notes · View notes

bludhavenbooty · 3 months

Text

The Djinn’s Reward (Submission!)

Nightwing had seen a lot of weird things in her career as a supervigilante - aliens, monsters, mad scientists - but at the end of the day, she was a human being and she specialized in stopping human crimes. When the communicator on her wrist pinged a silent alarm at the Gotham Institute of Antiquities, Nightwing leapt into action expecting art thieves.

The break-in hadn’t been subtle. Sneaking in through the broken skylight, Nightwing found the Middle Eastern gallery being prowled by the villainous Baron Geld and his dimwitted minions. The gold-obsessed gangster normally targeted jewelry stores and auction houses, but Nightwing didn’t question what he would want here before ambushing Geld’s muscle. She effortlessly sapped one from behind with an escrima stick, then delivered a kick to the gut and a smack to the skull on the second. The last one got to raise his fist and take two steps forward before Nightwing effortlessly deflected his arm with one escrima stick and drove the but of her other between the thug’s eyes. That left Nightwing facing down Baron Geld himself - a unimpressive dandy dressed like the bad guy from an old Robin Hood movie. He grinned with an annoying amount of confidence, regardless.

“Ah, Nightwing, Bludhaven’s own lady of the night, you’ve grace we humble men with your presence.”

The boyish superheroine spun her escrima sticks, cocked her hips, and smirked at the costumed criminal. “Humble is one way to put it, Geld. You didn’t even bring enough men to make it a challenge.”

“Yes, good help can be so hard to find,” Baron Geld held up a simple glass bottle, taken from the museum display. With a flourish, he pulled out a stopper. “But I think I found a new henchman I can depend on!”

There was a bang and then a cloud of thick white smoke. Nightwing reached for her gas mask, when the smoke impossibly reversed course and seemingly congealed in the center of the room. Dixie stared in shock as the smoke resolved into a figure of a gigantic man.

“Ha ha ha, I’m finally free!” The djinn bellowed with joy. He grinned at Baron Geld. “As I swore centuries ago, I would shower the man who freed me with all the riches of the world. Gold, jewels, a harem of beauties… All of it will be yours, sir!”

“A harem? Great, a harem! Then her!” Baron Geld pointed at Nightwing with a smile of vicious triumph. “Make her my first harem girl!”

Dixie’s eyes went wide. She didn’t know what to do about a magical genie, but she wasn’t going down without a fight! Nightwing clenched her sticks and charged at Baron Geld, determined to grab the bottle. But the djinn snapped her fingers and Dixie fell flat on her face as her combat boots dissolved, along with her uniform and her weapons and her mask. Instead, Dixie now wore a golden belly dancers outfit.

“Are you sure you want her, sir?” The djinn laughed down at Dixie. “She’s a fine specimen of a warrior, but for a concubine-?”

“If you can make improvements, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Wait-” Dixie tried to beg, but the djinn clapped his hands twice and Dixie’s body convulsed with vulgar heat. She starred in helpless confusion as her muscle melted away to give her a slender physique, while her breasts swelled into round globes. Dixie bit her plumping lips as her hair inched down her neck and back. It felt amazing. It felt like an orgasmic full-body massage as a tan spread over her and make-up blossomed on her face.

“Mmmmm, what have you done to me?” Dixie moaned sensually. She didn’t sound like herself. She didn’t fell like herself. It was like struggling to stay awake, stronger than any drug Dixie had experienced.

“Shall she have a new name, sir?”

“Hmmm… Aurora.” Geld licked his lips and stared into her eyes. A chill passed up Dixie’s spine, barely noticeable under the sexual heat. “The first of Baron Geld’s new treasures.”

“Very good, sir.” The djinn clapped his hands again. “Rise, Aurora, and serve your master.”

Dixie blinked and Aurora opened her eyes, feeling her self-righteousness and fear fall away. Hunger and pride took their place. She was Aurora, who lived to please her master, the Baron Geld, as one of his golden treasures.

(Thank you @parasex-jamboree for the very hot submission!)

#submission #breast expansion #bimbo lips #villain kink #reality change #Personality Change #identity death

151 notes · View notes

justporo · 6 months

Note

Hey you :D

Here’s a request just to add your huge list for after vacation muahaha 💖

How do you think a slow, bickering romance with Astarion (kinda like Howl and Sophie) would go down.

Hey darling ❤️ You might’ve forgotten about this ask but I have not! I'm combining this with another one asking about where Astarion rejected Tav at first but then slowly fell for them.

Also haven't done one of this headcanon posts for a whole haven't we? Here we go:

Headcanons about Astarion slowly but surely falling in love with you (and how he pursues you)

Oh, it's all just a game for him, isn't it? At least at first. But this silly little jester didn't realise he was playing himself.

He might have rejected you at first (because he's a prick who has looked at the sun a little too long, let's be honest) but he quickly realises he can't take his mind off of you

You keep stirring the vampire's undead little heart and it scares him at first - and of course you had given up on it after that first hurtful rejection

But his crimson eyes start to never stray far from you, no matter if in battle or at camp: he can't tear his gaze from you - gods dammit, you're lovely!

It's in the way you always put others first, always have a kind word to spare, always a warm smile. How you laugh and how brave you are, how you bite your lip when you're lost deep in thought.

Quite frankly: a stake to his heart couldn't have been more effective.

But he realises another thing: he wants to be real with you, he wants to fall slowly with you - not a vicious thunderstorm but a soft, warm summer rain

And so Astarion begins to yearn in silence as you too can't keep your thoughts from turning around him often

It's painfully obvious to everyone around you how much the two of you are in love with each other; so much so that bets are being made in camp if you're gonna make it before you all reach the Gate

You notice that Astarion keeps sneaking around you like an adoring cat would: always a playful quip on the tip of his sharp tongue that you never take serious because... this Astarion we're talking about. "Oh my heart, aren't you even more blinding than the sun today" "Look who's blessing us with their grace and insight." "A copper for the thoughts in your pretty little head, darling."

Astarion doesn't know how to live the teasing out of his tone, maybe out of fear you might actually start taking him seriously; but if you would peel back the generous layer of faked sarcasm you'd find he's actually being serious

This man is downright smitten by you and you don't realise it as he achingly yearns for you - so much the others can barely take it

Sometimes you find little gifts on your pillow when you wake up: a sweet treat, snuck away from the others, a single blossom, a mysterious line of poetry - you are at a loss at where this comes from or if someone is playing with you

Meanwhile Astarion swallows his pride to regularly go to Wyll and ask his advice who... does help him but not without a haughty grin whenever he sees the lovesick vampire stroll over in his seemingly hopeless endeavour

Meanwhile you keep doing your utmost best to be at Astarion's side because you truly only want to help him and be happy and safe

Again: have mercy with the poor tortured soul, sometimes Astarion almost feels like he could combust on the spot if you give him one of your adorable lopsided smiles

When Moonrise and unpleasant people happen something in Astarion breaks, it all bursts out of him at once, overpowering even his terrible fear of rejection

The hug and tender first kiss you share that night tears both if your walls down.

You have not defeated the big bad enemy but something in your heart lightens knowing you have someone who will travel the road to whatever end with you

From there on out the two of you become even more unbearable in your pining for each other - meanwhile not trivial amounts of gold are passed between the other companions with quite some grumbling - but be assured: all of your friends are rooting for the two of you.

There we go, I love idiots in love with each other, hope you enjoyed!

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x you #poro headcanons #bg3 companions #astarion x reader

319 notes · View notes

wannaeatramyeon · 3 months

Text

Goo Kim x Reader: Patience

G/N. Fluffy. 4.7k. Another friends to lover with Goo falling first

You're used to Goo's melodrama. You've known him since middle school, survived to tell the tale, hung around post-Juvie and joined him in HNH Group so of course you are used to this guy.

He considers you his best friend, partner in crime. Looks at you with a wicked smile that you return before descending into whatever diabolical plans you have cooked up.

(Goo likes to joke that he's the brawn and you're the brain when he's feeling particularly kind and charitable and you counter with that he's neither.)

And of course this includes witnessing his growth spurt from ankle biter to the somewhat reasonable specimen that he is now. Though you've never looked at him that way, it's a little icky if anything, and you just nod kindly when he tells you how hot he is.

You guess it must be true to some extent. He has a lot of pretty men and women hanging off him. An ever revolving door of beautiful people that you doubt he's winning over with his charming personality.

(Sometimes you take pause and wonder why you get on so well. Maybe it says a lot about your own charming personality but you handwave away any fleeting moments of introspection.)

Objectively, you suppose, he's fine. Like you wouldn't kick him out of bed. Although that's not entirely true. You have shared a bed many times, kicked him out more than you can count when he hogs your duvet and drools on your pillow.

However. It is funny and kind of endearing to watch him wake up bleary eyed. Pillowcase wrinkles pressed into his face, blonde hair a nest, as he pats around for his glasses.

Either way, it doesn't matter. You're childhood friends. You know him better than you know yourself and you think Goo can say the same for you. But he just doesn't give you those gooey fuzzy feelings.

Never has. Never will.

Goo would definitely agree with that too.

…Except he doesn't.

Well, he doesn't like to think about it, is what it is.

For all his drama and chaotic energy, he stuffs this down and ignores it. Do you know how difficult this is for him? Of course you don't. Goo is loud and boisterous and obnoxious. So to continue to act like everything is normal, to be patient and quiet and not howl and wail about it goes against everything that he stands for.

He can't pinpoint it, ok. Has no idea what changed or when.

Maybe it was when you were kissing that guy with the terrible fashion sense who he thought was fathoms below your league.

(Thank the heavens you came to your senses a week later and ditched him. Even if it took a lot of sly insults and put-downs from Goo to help you along the way.)

Or when you said you thought Gun was pretty handsome and Goo nearly threw up in disgust.

(Goo was particularly vicious to Gun for a short while after that. Hissing at him every time, calling him all sorts of childish names and relishing how the vein in his temple twitched.)

Or it could be the way you took care of him over the years. Waiting for him at an ungodly hour in the morning when he bounced out of juvie and into his first day of freedom. Accompanied him shopping as he spent his first HNH Group paycheck. Bandaged up his many injuries, taking care of age old scars, all the while chuckling at how pathetic he is even with a wetness in your eyes.

Something blossomed for Goo.

Slowly but surely, blooming from a weak seedling and unfurling, growing into a hardy evergreen that never dies, never wilts. Kept steady and healthy by your sharp tongue and knowing eyes.

Whose roots are deeply embedded into Goo's core. That there's no way of ever untangling or removing.

So yes, Goo has an ever revolving door of distractions.

And if it's something to test the water now and then, to see if your face drops at seeing a new trophy on Goo's arm, then who can blame him for that working in his favour.

It never happens though. You're polite and courteous when you are greeted with his fling. A face you have likely seen in magazines and on the screen but will eventually forget about after their 15 seconds of fame and Goo.

Does it matter that maybe Goo should be direct and stop toying with everyone's feelings. Sure. But the odds aren't in his favour so why not have some fun. This is also Goo Kim you're talking about.

In all honesty, he's still a bit- a lot of an asshole.

"Why do I even like you," Goo mutters under his breath when he sees you dripping sauce down your top for the N-th time in so many minutes.

Your current hand eye coordination leaves a lot to be desired, and your table manners are atrocious. Goo sits and sighs, hand resting on his palm, watching you trying to clean yourself up when you're only working the stain into your shirt harder.

"Fuck, this is going stain forever isn't it." You frown at the brown splodge across your chest.

"No shit."

"Damnit."

"Let's go shopping after," Goo says, and what he means is I'll buy you a new shirt because you're an idiot and I'm not walking around with you looking like that.

"Again?!" You pull a face, and what you mean is thanks for taking care of me.

Goo has a theory. One he doesn't want to test or be proven wrong but he thinks about it all the time nevertheless.

Like right now. When you're rifling through the racks picking out clean clothing and he has time on his hands to think.

His theory is that you like him too.

He can imagine you scoffing when you hear that, rolling your eyes and accusing him of being delusional. Which ok, he admits he is. But he's not that out of touch. Even he knows how it sounds.

He has realised the way you feel about him from the way you look at him, how you seek him out, the way you brighten seeing his handsome face even if you don't realise it yourself. You're just too stubborn to admit it.

There is no way on earth he can force this, and he is oh so very used to brute forcing his way through things with unscrupulous methods, so he waits for you to come to the realisation on your own and eventually bat your eyelashes at him and announce your own feelings.

Except it's taking a good while, and hasn't he already mentioned he's not the patient kind? You're not doing either of those things, nowhere close.

In fact, you're actually exiting the changing rooms in a new outfit that is far too flattering and spinning around for Goo to observe.

"Looking good, Sweetheart," he tells you, leaning back to take in the view with a cat smile. "You should get it."

And you do. Fishing out the credit card that Goo pays off every month to complete the transaction.

If Goo is someone that keeps count, and he absolutely is despite playful appearances, then he would know it's been years since the feelings have crept up on him.

And if he were to consider when his theory started, it would probably be around two years ago.

Yes, you do spend some nights together. Usually due to running errands from Charles Choi and it's more convenient, or more often because of Goo hanging around too long and too late in your home then refusing to leave.

But he reckons the turning point might have been two years ago when you were the one that stayed at his penthouse. Goo was riddled with some deadly disease (a cold actually, but it was a pretty bad cold to be fair) and you sort of unwillingly took on the role of caretaker.

How could you not?

No-one else likes him half as much as you do. He's got more enemies than he knows what to do with who would rob him in his state then kill him without so much as a second glance.

You’re sure even Gun and Crystal and Kouji would finish him off then throw a party about it.

For that week, Goo’s usual quips and sharp edges were nowhere to be seen although he definitely did more than his usual share of moaning and whining.

But he was adorable. Pink cheeked and red nosed, hair in disarray, wallowing in his comfiest sweatpants and hoodie. A million miles away from his suited and booted, meticulously styled persona. Half lucid, curled around you or with his head in your lap looking absolutely weak and pathetic.

It's your fondest memory of Goo Kim.

You saw him at his worst, all soft and squishy and vulnerable and it did something to your heart ever since.

Goo knows this. The way you act around him, how you look at him, hasn't been the same since that week.

There's a softness, affection, that wasn't there before. It's just a shame you're too ignorant to your own feelings and any flirtatious behaviour from Goo is just seen as him being his usual fun self.

So he waits and waits, even as he loses grip of his sanity and falls more for you with each passing day.

Kindness is often repaid, and your kindness comes full circle in the present day when you're the one that falls ill.

It's a rare thing for something to knock you off your feet as much as this has. It started with a sniffly nose and Goo recoiling in horror when an unexpected sneeze crept up and you sprayed spittle in his car.

A cough also accompanied the snot a few days later. Goo rubbing circles into your back turned into thumping and you shoving him away from you, sputtering and hacking in his direction for good measure.

You continued to work, with Goo's stares growing more concerned and exasperated by the day. Likely making yourself much worse and prolonging any recovery until-

You're bedridden. Switching between hot flush and cold shivers and feeling worse than death.

"You only have yourself to blame," Goo mother hens around you, feeling smug. "I told you so."

In your delirium, you can hardly make out the words but a part of your brain, refined after spending so many years in Goo’s presence feels a surge of annoyance.

A hand reaches out to feel your forehead. "Ew, clammy" and you try to bat it away without success.

You're given pills and medicine over the next couple days. Water and herbal teas carefully tipped down your throat and spoonfed hearty meals in your delirious state. Idle chit chat passes through one ear and out the other. You flutter somewhere between half awake and passed out.

At some point, you become lucid enough to poke the body next to you and ask, "Why aren't you at work?"

Goo, burrito-ed in your duvet after you kicked it off for being too warm, and snoozing happily moments ago, turns and glares at you. Wants to point out that it's currently 4am so please shut the fuck up.

Instead, he looks into your eyes that are sort of looking at him but looking through him; notices the sheen of sweat across your brow and laboured breathing. He decides to be nice, for now.

Voice groggy, he says "Go back to sleep," and gives you a pat on the head to send you on your way.

There's no work for Goo today at 4am. There's no work for him for the last few days either or for the foreseeable. Concludes it better for you to come to your own realisation that he took the time off so he could look after you.

There is no work, no other priorities for him, when you're like this.

Goo sighs and grumbles as he falls back to sleep. About making less money, about having to put up with Gun complaining when he's back.

Still, as he feels you curling your body around his back, your arm slung across his hips - he guesses he doesn't mind, if he can have this.

Your fever breaks on a Thursday. Lucky for you, it coincides with your medicine running out. Nonetheless, Goo insists on a supply run.

"But I'm fine," you whine, despite being completely not fine and stumbling out of bed.

Goo mutters something about the 'state of you', pushes you back into bed with one hand and cackles when you fall back with an 'oomph!' and minimal force.

"I'm going out." Goo states with no room for argument.

Something in you clicks at hearing such a no nonsense, authoritative tone.

The bratty side of you insists on at least joining him. It's been days since you left your home, left your bed. You're going stir crazy. Fresh air will do you good.

Goo rolls his eyes as your reasons spill out in a jumble. Lips quirking, he gives in. "Fine."

You hate to admit this, but Goo is right. You'll never tell him though, lest his ego is inflated further.

But the bright noon sun, the city crowd, and the fluorescent lights of the pharmacy are overwhelming.

Has Goo always walked so quick, been so sure in his strides? Cutting easily through the throngs of people.

You trail him, struggling to keep up.

Goo glances over his shoulder, sees you looking bewildered and falling behind. He slows, stretches his hand out to yours and intertwines your fingers with his.

Leaning into your ear, he murmurs "Stay with me."

Something else inside you clicks at his breath ghosting over your skin and the sight of your hands joined together.

The pharmacy is a labyrinth. Aisles and aisles of medicine and toiletries and whatever else overwhelms your delicate senses.

Only the view of Goo's broad back and your hand in his keeps you steady. He winds this way and that, foot sure in where he's going but pace slowing to match yours.

"Here we are," Goo stops, arriving at the destination, untangling your hands and you slam into him.

"Careful sweetheart," he gives you a quick toothy grin before examining the rows and rows of packaged pills and bottled syrups.

Hands now in pocket, he bends at the waist, getting a closer look. Frown creeping over his face when his brand of choice is nowhere to be seen.

"Shit. C'mon, let's find someone to see if they have it in stock." He tilts his head and signals you to follow.

Or at least you try to. One moment he was in front of you, his bleached hair and tall lean physique within reach.

The next, he turned the corner and so did you. Except he vanishes. Completely into thin air.

Fuck.

If you were feeling like yourself, you would know that this pharmacy is only a block away from your home. You've been here a million times. You can wait for him outside if you have to.

But you don't feel like yourself. You feel like a kid lost in a sea of people. Suffocating between bodies and bright shiny plastic crap. Too small to know where to go or find the exit and your one lifeline, Goo, is nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," you look around, check behind you and down more aisles. "Shit shit shit."

The panic lodges itself into your chest and your stomach sinks. More faceless nobodies get in your way, blocking your view and your path, moving too quick for you to cut a route through.

"Where the fuck is he-"

A hand rests on your hip, stops you moving another step and you feel a chest lightly pressed against your back.

Anyone else and you would have spiralled further, but you already recognise who it is.

"Didn't I tell you to stay with me," Goo growls lowly into your ear.

It cuts through your fever induced haze, your sickness induced panic. It shoots into the pit of your stomach and travels like a lightning bolt straight to your groin.

When you turn your head, milimetres away from Goo's own, see an eyebrow arched, the amusement in his eyes and the smirk on his lips-

Your own desire is reflected in his glasses.

The final piece clicks into place.

Life moves on.

You get better, and you both return to work. You have a mountain of paperwork to catch up on and Goo has to put up with Gun once more.

However. Goo now knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his theory is correct. He also knows that the realisation is starting to sink in for you too.

He's seen the look in your eyes, it's blatant as hell. Somewhere between the pharmacy and the walk home you looked at him like he was a new person. Eyes greedy and roving all over his body (which did wonderful things to his ego, by the way).

That doesn't mean he doesn't like it.

You could hardly keep track of conversation, eyes always dipping to stare at his lips. And sure, Goo knows he has very sexy lips, but with the way you eyeball him... He actually feels-

Exposed.

Objectified.

It's just...

Unusual.

That's not even considering the flirtatious banter that returned full force once you were well enough to appreciate it. You've had years and years and years of it. Never batted an eyelid at Goo's innuendos and indecent words. Except now-

You're kneeling down on the floor, rifling through your bag for your wallet you've either left at home or in Goo's office. Neither of which are appealing options.

Goo continues to ramble, as he does. You're feeling around for the familiar touch of leather, holding eye contact with him as he mentions something about a new manga chapter-

But then a salacious smile spreads over his face as he realises the compromising position you're in. On your knees, at head height with his crotch and staring directly into his eyes. It's really a very intimate scene. Easy for minds to wander.

"Get off your knees, Sweetheart. Seeing you at this angle is killing me."

Goo pours all his dirty thoughts into that sentence, and you jolt like you've been struck. You can feel the heat under your collar spreading to your face and the tips of your ears.

Goo notices too, because he glances at your crimson ears and his grin only stretches further.

You are 100% certain that sentence changed your brain chemistry forever. You’ve thought about what it could mean every night since.

With each passing day, Goo knows you are also losing grip of your sanity too. He hit that point a long time ago and his chest swells with pride knowing you're following in his footsteps.

But Goo is an eternal little shit. He thinks where's the fun in confessing straight away. Why put an end to this game that has lasted so long. He's having the time of his life and frankly, you're so much fun to mess with.

He couldn't believe he went so long without knowing what a pretty shade you turn when you flush. How much your pupil blows open when you're looking at him and thinking your own obscene thoughts. The way you now flinch at his touch but lean in almost straight away.

And the nights. Oh the delicious nights. He spends more time playing sleepover with you than is healthy.

Even if he deprives himself of his own sleep, it's simply so much fun hearing you tossing and turning into the early hours of the morning. You can’t fall asleep knowing that he is next to you, that you want to touch him and hold him but can't. You're on edge, imagination running wild, but unable to do anything about it.

You're sporting matching bags under your eyes but Goo can't bring himself to mind. He is having the best time.

The revolving door of arm candy also stops. It was never serious in the first place, and now that Goo knows you reciprocate his feelings, even he isn't that mean. There's no-one else he needs as a distraction because there's nothing to distract himself from.

Still, if he name-drops a couple made up people in conversation with you, a few fibs and tall tales to make you jealous, see your nostrils flare and your lips thin then who has to know.

The first bit of doubt presents itself late that night, when Goo is surprisingly in his own bed and you are miles away.

What if you try to distract your own feelings with other people? Sure you're not the type but what if?

You probably feeling a bit unhinged with all your newfound feelings. Goo is doing nothing to help with his own silly game playing, so what if you develop your own revolving door of nobodies to distract you?

What if one of these nobodies turn into somebody?

Shit.

Goo doesn't sleep a wink.

As dawn breaks, he decides that the early bird gets the worm, or the early Goo gets you (Goo cackles to himself at his wit) and thinks today is as good a day as any.

Before anyone with their grimy mitts swoop in and steal you from right under him.

Maybe he only had himself to blame and he was a touch mean playing around with your feelings, but it's a small price to pay for how you have made him feel for years.

It's settled. You and him. Today. No-one is getting in the way of that.

The day starts off as normal.

Despite the lack of sleep, the alarm for work rings and Goo leaps out of bed with a bounce in his step. Whistles cheerily as he takes his morning shower, lathering himself in luxurious body washes and styling his hair with expensive products.

He chooses a suit that you picked out with him, knots a tie that he recalls you placing around his neck and selects a cologne that he knows is your favourite - every time he wears it, you drift a touch closer.

He drives fast and like a madman, grinning at everyone that flips him off or honks him and navigates to your block.

You’re already waiting outside, two drinks in hand and smiling cutely when you see his car even if other drivers are still throwing him dirty looks.

“Morning,” You say, climbing in and handing him his coffee. Triple shot with triple syrup and whipped cream, sweet and sickly just like Goo himself.

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” He beams, reaching over to pat your thigh for thanks and enjoying the way you blush and squirm, taking a sip of your own drink to take your mind off the way your skin sears with his touch.

Goo mimics you, takes a gulp of his sugary concoction and finds it extra delicious on this fine morning and smacks his lips in delight.

“You-” You glance over and giggle.

“What?”

You gesture to your upper lip and Goo flips down his visor, examining his whipped cream moustache.

“Maybe I’m saving it for later.”

“Idiot.”

“You’re the idiot.”

Goo leaves the whipped cream. He doesn’t wipe it off. He doesn’t wipe it off when he smacks your hand away from changing the music, he doesn’t wipe it off as he drives to the office, nor when he parks up and unclips his seatbelt.

“Goo,” you say, exasperated at the state of him.

“Y/N,” he says, mocking and matching your tone.

“Wipe your face.”

“No.”

“You look a mess.”

“So do you.”

“You-” Goddamn. You make a split decision. “Fuck it.”

Goo doesn’t move as he sees your hand coming towards him, doesn’t move when you swipe at his upper lip, cleaning the cream off his face, doesn’t move when you lift your thumb to your mouth.

Doesn’t move, can’t; doesn’t breathe, forgets how to, when you suckle on your thumb and lick all remnants away.

Fuck it indeed. That’s Goo’s plans blown to shit.

Thing is, he had this whole scenario planned out. More flirtation and Goo being Goo and you being you until it comes to a head this evening and he confesses.

Perhaps after he has pissed you off so much for one reason or another and you tell him to get out of your home and he shuts you up with a kiss; or maybe after he has teased you so much you’re a wreck and he finally takes pity and breaks the tension with a well timed smooch.

But goddamn, what a move. He’s supremely impressed and he really has been uncharacteristically patient for so very long, for so many years and he thinks that he deserves this.

“That was really hot,” he grins and he chuckles at the shock on your face.

“My turn-” Goo, voice dropping to barely a whisper, leans over the centre console and crosses into your space.

If he were more of a romantic, he would have wanted your first kiss to be anywhere other than the HNH Group parking lot where it’s dingy and grey, and the lights are flickering.

But you’re both in a fragile bubble. In the privacy of his car, and too wrapped up in the moment to really care about the when or where or how.

Goo closes the gap and kisses you.

It’s minty and barely a peck, your eyes flutter close and you can feel him smiling through it.

He kisses you. And there’s something so Goo and so right about it that you can’t think about anything else except that it is happening. That something really did click when you were ill, and afterwards you had a newfound clarity and a newfound headache because Goo was all you could think about for weeks and weeks.

When he pulls away, you subconsciously move forward, trying to chase his lips with yours.

“How was that, sweetheart?”

You open your eyes, the reality of kissing Goo sinking in, and let out a squeak, “What was that?”

You slam your mouth shut because that was definitely not the tone you meant.

The damage is already done when uncertainty flickers across Goo’s face and he snaps, “What do you mean what was that.”

“I meant what was that!” You get the mad urge to giggle. That even though you don’t mind this turn of events at all, the ridiculousness of Goo Kim kissing you makes you unwell. In the best way possible.

“It was-!” Goo’s jaw tenses, he flinches as if he had been punched and he had grossly misread the room. He crosses his arm defensively and backs away.

“No!” You surge forward, grabbing Goo by the tie and yanking him close to you, “I meant-” you bring your voice down a few decibels, “It was good. I liked it.”

“Thought you would, idiot.” Goo pouts, side eyeing you but letting you hold on to him.

“I can’t believe you kissed me.”

“Well you’ve been making it obvious.”

You want to smack him. Instead, you catch his bottom lip still jutting out and you think you would prefer to bite him.

You do just that. Yanking Goo forward as he braces himself for another kiss but you nip, harsh and leaving a mark, on his lip instead.

“Asshole.” He says but he’s grinning and reaching over the console for your hand. Lacing your fingers together and squeezing.

“Sorry,” you say and you don’t really feel sorry at all. You feel like you’re floating.

You can’t believe how long it’s taken to get here. You can’t believe you’re here at all. But now that it’s happened, you’re surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

“Are we…?”

“I’m all yours, Sweetheart.” Goo smiles, wide and toothy, squeezing your hand to seal the deal.

You yank him by his tie once more, and he follows obediently, across the console and into your space, and kisses you over and over.

#This guy has a chokehold on me #everytime i say something the tiniest bit mean about him i need to overcompensate with a fic #lookism #lookism x reader #goo kim #goo kim x reader #kim joongoo #kim joongoo x reader #lookism fics #wannaeatramyeon

274 notes · View notes

yan-lorkai · 8 months

Note

Hello, I just found your blog and I saw that you didn't have anything written yet, could you write a Yandere Alucard x reader?, where Alucard knows that his love is not like a normal one, but he still wants to love and care for the reader in his own way? I don't know if you could understand me, English is not my language.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: English isn't my first language either, darling, but don't worry. You're pretty good and I can understand you just fine! Normally when the requester doesn't specify what format they want, I write headcanons. But for this one I went with a drabble, hope you like it! 〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: yandere content, non consensual cuddling, implied kidnapping.

Alucard is not one for meaningless sentimentality, if he ever was when he was still human. He doesn't know, can't remember anything before turning into the monster he is today, shrouded by shadows and blood, by vicious bloodlust and thrill of the chase. One thing he remembers though it's love.

Ephemeral, fragile love that humans spend almost all their lives trying to get. Eternal, unconditional love that can swept anyone from their own feet. He's not going to admit it but love was something unknown to him.

Alucard has watched love blossom and change through the ages. Even if he can't remember now, he probably was loved by his parents, his mother probably engulfed him in her arms to protect him from harm, to make him feel safe and loved. Even now he watched and listened and observed love in its pure form, soft and happy, and all around him. He knows enough to know that his love it's tainted and impure just like him. It's all consuming, it's cruel, but he is a cruel monster ready to take and never be satisfied.

He can torn vampires to bits, can disconnect heads from their bodies and bathe in the blood of each of his enemies. Battles against ghouls became orchestrated displays of his commitment, each confrontation a macabre testament of his devotion to you. If only you could see it like this but you were always wary around him, scowling uncomfortably at his bloodied state and dismissing his gifts. Though he suppose eyes and bones don't make good gifts.

His slender fingers continue to tap rhythmically on the arm of the chair. The sound echoing loudly though the palpable silence that plagued your room. You are such a fragile little human, he could crush you so easily beneath his fingers. Could strangle and hear your whimpers and groans, could see the life leave your eyes just like he's seen it in so many other people. But he choose not to.

Instead, he should bring you a heart or a brain. Maybe even the entire corpse. Would that scare you too much though? He doesn't think so.

You're entertaining to watch and you make him feel things he thought he would never feel. For now, he's happy with this, he's happy watching you snuggling against your pillows, wrapped in the soft covers that hid you from the world.

Alucard's red eyes fixed on you with an intensity that could send shivers down your spine if you were awake. His love for you was unlike anything mortal — a dark and possessive force that lingered between obsession and protection. You, a mere human, were unaware of the affection that he had for you. Not for long though.

Deciding not to deny himself any further, Alucard moved. Without making a sound he plopped himself into your bed and pulled you into his arms, where you belong. He doesn't care if you wake up, far from this judging by the sly little smile that grows on his lips. Your head found its place in his chest, your warm breath almost tickling his neck.

He doesn't sleep. He doesn't need it but for a moment he closes his eyes. The blood pulsating on your veins being like a lullaby to him.

He always watched you from the shadows, his crimson gaze a constant companion, but his patience it's at its limit. You either doesn't notice his love for you or you are ignoring it, but he had enough of watching from afar and playing around, he gave you a choice. It was unspoken but you still had a chance for you to come forward and reciprocate his feelings before he take things on his own hands.

His love is not good for you, he know. And he knows he's going to ruin you but he doesn't care. What's matter it's that he has you, like a bunny snared in his trap and soon you be forever bound by his side. Not even his master could help you.

#yandere hellsing ultimate #yandere hellsing #yandere alucard #yandere alucard x reader #alucard x reader #hellsing alucard x reader #hellsing ultimate #hellsing alucard #tw yandere #lorkai drabble

402 notes · View notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 months

Text

bad boy, sad girl, m | myg

maybe you are not that into me i hate to admit it, honestly if I take one step closer take a couple of steps back it’s like this again, sick of love – bad boy, sad girl by SEULGI ft. BE’O

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, rough sex, cowgirl, fingering, public sex at a beach at night on the hood of a car, blowjob); Yoongi's POV

The silence was so deafening that it threatened to tear apart the ocean.

“Love is a sandcastle,” he finally said.

They stood beside each other but the distance could not be greater.

“What shame is there to lose to the water, then?”

He didn’t have an answer to that.

“I really would have preferred to be drowned by the water than torn apart by you,” she said, stepping back and away from his beautiful garden of colorless roses.

He tried not to feel the cavity in his chest with her hands around his neck.

Her fingers fanned over his shoulders, palms over his clavicles, and he stared into her eyes as she took him anywhere but home. She didn’t take away his breath. He did that on his own, holding it prisoner in his lungs, his hard knuckles digging into her hips, pushing down, clenching his jaw at the hellish tightness that threatened to consume. He did not fight it. Fighting against that insanity was futile.

He also never wanted to win in the first place.

Heated physicality. Her fingernails turned inward, tattooing half-moons into his memories, rolling her hips into his in a vicious, visceral smack. Her chin lifted, an eyebrow raising, her lips parting. The pleasure crawled into every nerve, poisoning all reason, and he watched her messy hair slide down her shoulder when he tilted his hips and drove himself in, again, deeper. Her palm pressed against his sternum. She snapped her hips into his crotch and he hissed, feeling his cock swell into slick, punishing walls. Again. Again, and again, until it was countless and indescribable. The scent of lust began to prevail all others.

Heavy, sweet, stained with bitterness.

He tried to get back into his head, tried not to be dazed by the haze, tried but gripped tighter, each thrust blossoming desire more intense than the last. Chasing. Wordless. Exhale out, harder. Her eyes cast down and he stole that moment of safety, watching her breasts bounce in the air, hard nipples sticking straight out, core tight, his glistening length disappearing as he felt her hands slip off his shoulders, twisting the sheets next to his quivering throat.

His head snapped back.

Her pussy squeezed all around his length in a powerful spasm. All of his muscles tensed to the point of burning, his vision becoming bursts of light underneath his eyelids as her orgasm surged through him, his breathing stuttering when she felt her continue regardless, growl in her chest while her hips slapped down. Power veered like a seesaw, from her hips to his hands, locking his hold to keep her body still, slamming his hips upward with a breathless moan.

He tried to remember why.

Why didn’t matter in the face of euphoric oblivion.

He felt her lean forward, hot gasp on his exposed neck, the angle nearly driving him over the edge, but he steeled his resolve and thrust again, again, loud and hard and with all his might, the pace following the rapid pulse thundering in his ears, half-opening his eyes to a tangled black maze he could barely see through. His own hair. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t searching for details.

Just confirmation of reality.

She was looking down, her heated breath washing over his shivering chest.

“F… Fuck!”

He gritted his teeth and screamed in his throat, forcing his hips up as they flinched, the thin thread inside him snapping, his throbbing cock spilling into the condom with thick, twitching spurts. The border of pain and pleasure undefinable through the intensity, gasping, pressing his hard fingertips into her soft ass.

He tried not to think about it.

Not when his teeth sank into her shoulder.

Not when his hips descended again, making a loud, irreversible, wet smack.

Not when her fingers closed in around his forearms and patterned him with aching pink lines.

He didn’t moan her name and she didn’t breathe his. He just pushed himself to the brink of death and, when he reached that point, he switched to bury his fingers up to his knuckles, drenching his hand with her slick, painting himself with bruising kisses and her teeth marks over his neck, anything for the rush, anything for the crushing wave to overwhelm one of them again.

All so he could siphon off her ecstasy and make it his own.

It was selfish stealing and he didn’t care.

She put her clothes back on while he stared at the ceiling. She didn’t ask what they were. He didn’t ask how it was. He didn’t say anything at all, the soreness killing him less than the silence. She left.

He sat up.

She stared at him from the open bedroom door.

He froze, startled at his incorrect assumption. She tilted her head, bundled in a black and white flannel, tight black crop top, and baggy black pants with chains on them. The clinking sound had ceased for several minutes. Perhaps he had been far too deep in his thoughts to gauge time correctly.

After an eternity, she ticked her chin at him.

“About what you said.”

He could only reply with a silent shift of his eyes. She waited. He flicked his gaze back.

She smiled.

It was disconnected from this moment.

“We hide behind ambiguity to avoid facing inevitability.”

He frowned.

She turned around and left for real this time.

“What?”

He paused, his hand on her forearm, his lips over-bitten. She didn’t understand his hesitation.

“What did you mean by the word ‘inevitability’?” he asked, hot all over.

She scoffed.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

His body trembled, craving the fix, but he denied it, shaking his head instead. She sighed, pulling back. The dark, swirling ocean was right there. Right in front of them, cold and life-sucking in the depths of the night. The car simmered on idle as if it was an irate, unwilling participant to this rendezvous. She stared out to the water, diving into it with her eyes, leaving the acid smoke of the lustful air that had saturated seconds before.

“What do you even want, Min Yoongi?” she snapped.

“Want?” he echoed. Gave his usual answer. “Nothing.”

She glanced back.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He held her gaze for a moment before looking down at his pale hands that he had abused through guitars, wood-working, and clutching a pen too hard. The scent of pressed paper still clung to his skin, or at least it seemed that way from all the notepads he had torn up in the past week, trying his best to give words to a concept that gave him a damn headache.

“What do you want?” He retorted question with question.

She let out a rapid-fire breath.

“You to give a definition to this nothing you speak of,” she chuckled.

The sound died out like a scream.

They stared at the water that simply roared back. It was too vast to stay silent, even from this distance. He chewed on his lower lip. After a few minutes, he lifted his hand and reached over, placing his palm on her bare thigh. It was easy, for she was wearing a black t-shirt dress with a heavy dark denim jacket over it, and her knees were far apart, not caring about ladylike status in this situation.

He turned his head slightly.

Their eyes met.

“You done philosophizing?” she asked.

He didn’t reply. Just leaned forward to close the distance. The setting was it. The time of night were all bad decisions came to light. The ocean sound masked soundless gasps and breathless moans. Moonlight streamed down only to be reflected away by the mirrored surface commanded by its pull. Their pocket of darkness could not be intruded upon unless someone was deliberately looking for the same type of sinful seclusion.

Right place.

Desperation could create warriors and innovators. Her knee braced against the edge of the hood of his car as his exhale drifted into her open mouth, shuddering when he slid inside. The condom wrapper skittered away, chased by the wind, but they were too locked in embrace to notice. Hips flush, moving in unison to the waves. The ocean threatened, but their bodies burned away the cold with wicked friction and blinding need. One arm wrapped around her waist under her jacket. Her still-warm, still-sticky arousal stuck to his crotch and balls. He thrust deeper, slow. Her fingers tangled into his hair. Stings of pain from her insistence and his head hooked forward, increasing the hurt, catching her lips with strings of saliva between them. His other hand was planted onto the car hood, straining to maintain some measure of control.

Wrong person.

She was balanced on tiptoe of a heavy black boot and one knee, but inside she pulled him in, tight and wet and closer, pulsing all around his length, forcing him to close his eyes and tip his head back, thrusting harder, rougher, succumbing to the indecency of this high, gasping to the sound of water crashing into sand.

“You can start the car.”

The used condom was crumpled up into a wad of take-out tissues.

His lungs hurt from the salt and exertion.

“There’s much better than me, you know,” he said, one hand on the wheel and not touching the ignition.

He didn’t look at her.

“And yet you keep calling me,” she replied.

The dark sea slapped against the shore.

“You don’t have to answer.”

He couldn’t hear it that well though the closed car doors.

“I don’t.”

He waited her for to elaborate. She did not.

He started the car.

He tried to breathe.

She looked down at him, his taste clinging to her lips in thick white smears.

“Everyone loses when it comes to life. The way to win is to not give a fuck about the rules.”

Her pink tongue slid out and licked away the remnants.

His brows furrowed.

“What?”

She shrugged. His chest was on fire. The desire below had barely subsided. His nerves were still shooting blanks. She tilted her hand, his trapped between her arms. Her hair curled around her shoulders and brushed against his naked torso, creating a cocoon of illusionary safety.

She stared into his eyes.

“You seem afraid to be a loser, Min Yoongi. That’s all.”

His palms were on the bed, behind him, holding him up on shaky ground.

“I do not lose,” he exhaled, his voice gravelly with annoyance.

Her lashes lowered. She removed her arms from his shoulders. Her hair swept away from him, their closeness disappearing with it. He stilled. It would have been better not to reply after all. She slipped between his knees again. He stiffened, watching carefully. Her fingers fanned over his white thighs, leaning in again.

She paused over his half-hard, still leaking cock.

Looked up.

“What shame is there to lose to the inevitable?” she asked.

And swallowed him.

He tensed, the pressure of persistent tongue and slippery softness eating away at his introspection. The simulation circled around the base, slowed, lazy licking accompanied by the slow scratch of nails on sensitive skin. His balls glided over her fingertips, nudged forward into the tip of her tongue as the back of her throat choked the swollen head of his cock. Consistent control and power. Her lips pressed around his girth, forward, back, fluttering pleasure that mounted to something unbelievable.

His high rose like the swell of a wave and crashed just as violently.

He could feel the way his cock twitched and hit the back of her throat, shivering into the steady pulse of muscle curl around him. She slid back, forth, so slow it was serene, a heightened suspension prolonged by pooled saliva and wet softness.

She waited.

He pulled himself together, strings and all.

Stared at her under a curtain of black, his hair barely an obstacle to those knowing eyes.

“Love is a sandcastle,” he said once more in between pants. “Flimsy and held together by what will destroy it eventually.”

She nodded.

Agreeing.

“And devotion will be a choice you make every time you call,” she said, his taste still lingering on her breath.

He breathed out, unable to think straight.

He held out his scarred hand.

She took it.

it's a misunderstanding i'm not a bad boy, bad boy, bad boy i don't want to make you cry like a sad girl, sad girl, sad girl

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi smut

186 notes · View notes