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messedupfan · 2 years

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The Training

Summary: The team starts to train for their fight against the Scarlet Witch.

A/N: How is everyone doing?? I hope well! Hope you're enjoying this story! I love reading y'alls comments. And omg, those images of Elizabeth for Love and Death have me losing my mind! Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!

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Once the excitement of locating Hank and him scolding Wanda and Carol for the way they treated him had died down, they were able to get information from each trip. Carol and Wanda held back and vaguely described their failed attempts to recruit from their list. Intentionally forgetting to mention the moment they abandoned Hank, who was glaring at them the entire time. The only story with detail was how they acquired Thor Odinson.

He was in the middle of a battle with giants. Wanda and Carol had landed in the middle of the crossfire. Thor was confused by the women that appeared out of thin air, he was certain he had gotten every civilian out of harm's way. Then Carol got right into action and he didn’t care to question much after that. She and Wanda helped the God of Thunder conquer the giants and at the end of it all, they asked him to come with them. He wasn’t one that was suffering from nightmares of the Scarlet Witch, so he wasn’t close to the cause, but he hasn’t experienced teamwork like that in decades. He was more than happy to join the two. If the rest of the group was anything like those two, he had no doubt they would come out on top against one enemy.

Jean and Simon couldn't even look at each other as Simon says that it was clear they were unsuccessful. You're curious why they had a bad trip but decide to worry about it later. Next was you and Vision. Neither of you knew how to deliver the news about revealing so much of the plan to the Scarlet Witch.

Vision starts to tell the group about the trip from the beginning as you compare the dream visions of the Scarlet Witch to the real woman you witnessed. She was far more powerful than anyone was prepared for. It left an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach as the foreign panic began to rise through your chest. “Natalia Romanova,” Vision reads the name from his holographic list. He pauses as he looks at you, since he carried most of the presentation you took that as your cue.

Pulling on the collar of your super suit for a sec, you roll your shoulders, and clear your throat and drop both hands behind your back. “The moment we met Natalia Romanova we were a little thrown off about how sudden she appeared since a receptionist informed us that she was in a meeting. We anticipated a bit of a wait. And there was, however, we were unaware of that. The first Natalia that met us was the Scarlet Witch in disguise. So we can add shapeshifting to the list of abilities. And possibly, multiversal travel.”

“How can you be so sure?” Raven asks, straightening in her seat. Up until now, there hadn’t been much to pay attention to. The woman had grown bored of hearing the failures of the mission. But this news could affect everything.

“You might not understand this but… She had the wimple,” you state to Raven and divert your attention to the rest that are still confused. “In all of your dreams have you ever seen the wimple on her head?”

Carol raises her hand, “What the fuck is a wimple?”

Vision steps in by projecting the description of the Scarlet Witch and an image of what she should look like in her full form. “As far as we know, only one Wanda has this crown,” he explains, “the one that is after us. Not only individually, but now as a team.” He stops projecting the image.

“Okay, what does that mean for us?” Jean asks this time, growing a little nervous.

“It means that the Scarlet Witch knows we’re plotting against her. That she knows how to travel through the multiverse and is no longer limited by the Darkhold. This isn't about dream walking or traveling through reflections and shadows or trying to break through our minds anymore! She has advanced faster than we’re prepared for,” you warn, feeling the panic suffocate your lungs with every sentence. Your wife touches your hand to settle you down but you pull away manically. She shouldn’t be here. She needs to be somewhere safe. She needs to be home with her family. “We only have a matter of days now and the fate of every universe in existence depends on us.” You take another look around the room. “I have to say, I don't know if we have it in us to defeat her. Not as unprepared as we are.”

Your hopeless words only irritate Raven, so she looks to the man beside you to get his thoughts. As she has gotten to know him through working together, she has grown to trust his judgment. He knew this. “Vision, do you feel the same way?”

The synthezoid looks to Raven, then looks to you, and finally he analyzes everyone else's expectant faces. “She is a force to be reckoned with. I'm certainly not a match for her on my own. None of us are.” His words hit Carol, Jean, Raven, and Simon the most. Since the day they met him, Vision had been confident that anyone of them — especially him — had a chance one on one with the witch. However, after coming out of that fight as the only one affected, his stance on that has changed drastically. He's not even certain they could defeat her together.

“Good thing none of you are alone then,” Raven says as she rises from her seat to address the room. “We are a team! Would I have preferred more time for us to get ready? Of course. But I have faith that we still have enough time to do that.” She stands with her hands on her hips with an inspiring presence. “I believe we can win this fight as long as we work together. We cannot waste anymore time sitting around and unfortunately, we can’t gather more help. But each of us are resourceful in our own ways. We can make due with what we have. Unlike Y/n here, I believe that we do have it in us to defeat her!” She gives you a side eye that you meet with a scowl. You were only thinking about the safety of your wife and of everyone that you care about back home. “Who by the way can go home if they lack that much faith.”

“Hold on,” Wanda jumps in. “They're scared, okay? We all are, and we should be allowed to express our fears without being chastised for it.”

“Wanda makes a good point,” says Simon as he points in the brunette's direction. “However, Y/n wasn't expressing fear. They were expressing doubt and we can't have any of that if we're going to come out of this alive. I say we put it to a vote on whether or not we let them stay.”

“You do realize if I go, so does my wife, dickhead,” you snap at him.

“Woah, so much hostility,” Simon holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m only thinking in terms of what benefits the team. Wanda can stay because she is useful. She has power and insight. Whereas you, well, other than being eye candy for Phoenix, there isn't much use for you here.” Not having much control over yourself at the moment you jump over the table and tackle Simon in his seat. You're able to get a few punches in before Thor and Wanda pull you off of him. Simon laughs as the cuts you created heal instantly, leaving only a few drops of blood on the surface of his skin as proof you were able to hurt him.

Thor holds onto you until Wanda tells him to let you go. Once he does, you walk out of the room to get some air. “Real nice Simon,” Jean glares at the man as she steps around him to follow you.

“Jean, need I remind you, that's not your problem,” Simon calls out behind her. She stops at the door and shuts her eyes as she fights the old habit.

“It's okay, Jean,” Wanda says. “They can barely look at me right now. Besides, I probably won't be able to convince them that the team really does need them here seeing as I wasn't the one that brought them here in the first place.”

Jean turns and thanks Wanda before continuing on. The woman isn't quite sure where to start looking for you. She just had to trust her instincts which led her to find out that you and Y/n were similar when it came to hiding spots on campus. The first place she looks is where she finds you, standing in the greenhouse.

“And here I thought you would be a completely different person,” she makes her presence known.

“Huh, you weren't the person I was expecting,” you mumble as you distract yourself by tending to the plants in front of you. “This place is a mess. What do you people teach your students here?”

“We don't anymore,” Jean answers. “We had a student, she had the ability to connect with all things nature. She was shy and it took her some time to settle in here. Y/n helped her with that. They built this greenhouse for her. Made an after school activity out of it which helped her connect with a few other students and allowed her to learn and develop her abilities.”

“What happened to her?” You ask, knowing it couldn't have been good based on the state of this place.

“She ran away after Y/n killed themselves,” she frowns as crushes a dead leaf in her hand. “I was too distraught to search for her. I care about her, but I was lost for months. Charles found her though and when he returned without her, he said that he had faith she would find her way back here eventually.”

“And this place?” You say, keeping this conversation going to avoid talking about anything else.

“The other students were too conflicted to keep up with this place and no one else in the staff cared enough to take on the extra work. I would have, for Y/n, but I couldn't.” Tears spring to her eyes as she remembers that this was the place that she told Y/n that she wanted to build a family with them. The topic had been a tough one between the two. Y/n wasn't sure they believed in marriage and Jean couldn't ever see herself as a mother. At one point neither of them thought they were safe enough to have a child of their own. But watching you be so attentive and caring towards the students made her wonder what it would be like to adopt and raise a kid or two together. It started here, with Y/n on their knees and explaining to the insecure mutant the importance of her abilities, where Jean got the idea to start a life outside of this school. The two had spent most of their life dedicated to the institute that at first the idea of leaving didn’t seem possible. Then once the seed was planted in their heads it kept growing until the idea excited the couple rather than scaring them. She couldn't look at this greenhouse once Y/n passed. It represented everything that was taken from her.

“My school had a greenhouse long before I got there,” you say. “It was bigger than this. A complete mess by the time I got to it. Worse than this place. I was kind of a troublemaker when I was first brought there and the last punishment I ever had was having to keep a place like this clean for a month. Professor Xavier made certain he was the one to keep an eye on me while I worked.” The corner of your mouth lifts up at the memory that felt like another life. “I ended up spending time there everyday until the day I graduated. It was relaxing,” you set the gardening tool in your hand down and look at Jean. The moon was shining through the transparent roofing, it provided enough light for you to see that she had some tears in her eyes.

A piece of you felt guilty for wanting to comfort her. “It's what led me to Wanda,” you continue. “She was the only friend I had that would help me out with it. Everyone else thought it was weird that I spent a lot of time here. It took me sometime to realize that she did it because she had a crush on me. She still uses it against me sometimes. I saw it as just hanging out with a friend and she saw it as the only time that we could be alone without anyone interrupting and really connect with each other. When I finally caught up with her, I asked her to be my girlfriend at that greenhouse,” you reminisce. Jean wipes some tears and now you feel bad for mentioning it. “Sorry,” you grab another tool and try to find a plant to work on.

Jean cracks a smile, “What for? I can hear about you falling for your wife without losing my mind. You know that right?”

“No, I didn’t know that actually,” you bite your bottom lip in thought, “I guess I’ve just been thinking about being in your shoes. I’m not sure I’d be able to hear about how Wanda fell for someone else without completely falling apart.”

Jean shrugs, “Y/n chose to leave me in quite a permanent way. So I guess–”

“They didn’t choose to leave you, Jean,” you correct. She takes a step closer and you clench your jaw as you try to bring the details of that nightmare to the forefront of your mind. “I didn’t know that’s what you believed but, that’s not what happened. Y/n, they were fighting voices and shadows, the rope that took them was enchanted with a magic so dark they didn’t have a chance against it alone. But they did fight.”

“Do you know if they had any last words or anything?” Jean asks but all you can do is shake your head. You weren’t given that much. What you remember from that dream was fear the most. You originally thought it was an anxiety dream. Who wouldn’t? There were a lot of whispers of unfamiliar voices and dark figures, a noose with glowing shapes at the school you hadn’t visited in years at that point. There weren’t any details beyond that. “They didn’t leave me,” Jean whispers in relief.

“No, they didn’t,” you confirm.

“Thank you,” she says. Then she closes her eyes and blinks a couple of times as she remembers why she came here in the first place. “I’m sorry for what Simon said to you. He spent the entire trip trying to convince me to follow some asinine plan to get you to fall for me so that he could have your wife. Which is ridiculous because he tried something like this in his universe and it got him kicked out of the organization there. And I would never–”

“Jean, it’s fine. I know he was just trying to get a rise out of me. I can’t say that I blame him,” you cut her off. “I should have cleared my head better before the meeting. I thought I had, but I don’t know. Seeing the amount of people we have and reliving that mission over and over again so I could explain it to everyone… it got to me. I shouldn’t have let it.”

“It’s understandable,” she puts her hand on your wrist to pull your attention away from the plant. “You saw something that isn’t quite easy to comprehend. I wouldn’t know what I would do if I knew I had to fight against you.”

“That’s the thing, it’s not just fighting against her, Jean. We have to kill her. Otherwise, this might never end.” You state with a shaky tone. “I have spent so much of my life trying to keep Wanda alive, I don’t know how–”

“If it comes down to that, I will do it,” Jean promises. “Besides, I don’t think I have to remind you that the Scarlet Witch and Wanda are two completely different people. She sent me here because she knew what you needed right now. She put your needs in front of her insecurities. The Scarlet Witch is only thinking of herself and how much power she can acquire.”

You nod your head as flashes of the mission invade your thoughts again. You have to remind yourself what you’re seeing isn’t someone that you love and know. But an enemy you must defeat. Your breathing quickens as you get trapped in the memory. Your arm stings worse than when it happened and you let out a scream. Jean grabs the part of your arm that is glowing and does her best to siphon the magical poison out of you. As she tries to help, you are shown flashes of images that don't make a lot of sense. You see Wanda and the Scarlet Witch facing each other, then flashes of everyone on the team, bodies of kids on the ground in front of the school, and just as you're about to see something else, Jean successfully removes the acid from your arm ending the connection.

“Thank you,” you pant out as you look at your slow healing arm.

“I think this is the real cause of your panic attack,” Jean says as she holds up a jar of the glowing acid. “We need to send this out as soon as possible. Who knows what she has done to it.”

“You’re right,” you clear your throat. “She could be tracking us with it.” You shake your head, “Dammit! I might've put us all in worse danger!” You angrily grab the jar and march out to the main platform for multiversal travel. Not wanting to waste much time, you open a portal to get you there faster. Once you're at the device, you pick a place at random and send the jar there. Hoping it would buy you guys more time. Jean lands beside you just after the jar has disappeared and asks if you're going to be okay. “Yeah,” you nod, “We should get some rest. I'm sure training is going to start early tomorrow. Don't want to be groggy.” You make another portal to get you from the platform to your room where Wanda was already tucked in bed.

You're not surprised to find her wide awake, waiting for you to return. You smile as you remind yourself of her kindness and her pure heart. “I love you,” you say as you join her on the bed.

“Aren’t you going to change out of that?” She gestures to your thick and slightly uncomfortable supersuit. You shrug and with a snap of your fingers, it transforms into comfortable pajamas. Wanda laughs as you climb on top of her and pepper her face with kisses. “What has gotten into you all of the sudden?” She squeals.

“I already told you,” you say as you continue kissing every inch of exposed skin, which wasn’t much room to work with. “I love you!”

Wanda giggles, “I know, but earlier you seemed…”

You stop abruptly and pull away slightly, “I know, I know. I’m sorry about that I jus–”

“No, don't tell me,” Wanda places both hands on the sides of your head. “Show me,” she closes her eyes and pulls your head to meet against hers. You take a breath before you think about the mission again for her to see. When it's over Wanda kisses your lips slowly, opening her eyes. Yours remain shut, afraid of what your wife will read from your eyes. “Look at me,” she requests softly. She repeats herself one more time before you open your eyes. Staring into hers brings you such relief, your entire body relaxes. “You know that I'm not her, right?” You nod and she caresses your face with her knuckles and you take her hand to your lips. “I love you too. Now, let's get some sleep. We have a full day tomorrow, we’ll need the rest. At least I will.” You fall off of Wanda and lay on your side. She does the same, facing away from you so that she can lean her back against you as you hold her. The two of you fall fast asleep into a dreamless sleep for once.

Training the most powerful beings in the multiverse is no easy task - in fact, many would say it's impossible. It all gets worse, however, when you add the factor that none of them really know each other - maybe just other versions of themselves, but it's nowhere near the same. So neither knows the limitations and qualities that the others have to offer. So how do you train these people? Well, that's what you are trying to do in the large training hall at Xavier's School for Gifted Children. At least it was, until a bunch of teenagers came through the front door.

Raven walks to them first, and you, Carol, Jean and Simon follow her soon after. Wanda and Vision were busy with the monitors. Approaching the group, you see that all of them are wearing the Institute's uniform. But unlike your universe's blue and gray outfit, theirs is yellow and blue. You think that this combination makes them look like cartoon characters, but you decide to keep the comment to yourself - especially considering Raven's furious expression. "What are you doing here?"

"We came to help." Says a tall boy with dark blond hair, to which the other teenagers nod and murmur their agreement.

You and your group exchange apprehensive looks, and you're the first one asking, "How old are you, kid?" You notice they all avoid your gaze, and you wonder if all of them are under the age of eighteen. You don't think that's the case, but you're only confused by their reaction to your question when you remember Jean's reaction upon seeing you. They weren't uncomfortable with your question, they were uncomfortable with you.

"Enough." It's a girl who answers this time, with dark makeup and white streaks in her auburn hair. You try to remember whether you've seen these people at the Institute before, but nothing comes to mind. You wonder if they just don't exist in your universe or if they joined the school after you left. A hand on your forearm wakes you up from your thoughts, and you look to the side to find Jean inviting you and the rest to a spot farther away from the children to talk in privacy.

"What are we thinking about this?" The redhead asks with her arms crossed, looking at each of you for opinions.

The blonde by her side is the first to offer, "They're kids."

You look at the group by the door again - who is looking back at you with anticipation - and Jean says what's on your mind before you can do so. "Not all of them."

"Jean-"

"Not to mention, the Witch will have lackeys." Carol interrupts the shapeshifter, who looks at the Captain as if she was about to rip her head off at any minute now. "What?!" Danvers raises her hands in surrender at the almost growl the other lets out, taking a step back for precaution. "I don't mean it like that-"

"Carol, has a point, honestly." You are the one who interrupts this time, in an attempt to prevent the impending fight between the two women. You find it amusing that Captain Marvel, the most powerful being in her own reality, is so afraid of Raven. But you decide not to comment on it in order to keep talking, "the Witch may have an army we don't know about. Not as strong as her, but certainly enough to keep us busy. Our focus should be on her. Perhaps, with a group of our own, it will be easier to stop her. This will only end when she's out of the picture."

"Is that any way to talk about your wife?" Simon is the first to speak after you're done, his voice harsh and judgmental, and you can't control your own irritated scoff as you turn back to him.

"She is my wife." You say through gritted teeth, pointing at where Wanda and Vision are debating something about the monitors, but the man doesn't take his eyes off of you. "And while we're on the subject you'd better stay away from her." You poke his chest hard as you're done, making the rest of the group hold their breaths. But Simon only scoffs, a disgusting smirk on his lips that makes your blood boil.

"Do we have a problem?"

"Y/n." You only notice your fists are glowing when Carol rests her hand on your shoulder. You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, and soon the purplish energy that covered your entire figure dissipates, the stardust reminiscent of the Infinity Stones - with its microscopic fragments of their specific colors - giving way to your normal human body. Simon watches your glowing eyes return to their normal coloration without blinking, and you need to contain a smirk as you notice, from his clenched jaw, the apprehension he felt.

"So?" You get back to the main topic as if nothing had happened, pretending not to see the way the rest of the group exchange uneased looks. As you wait for a response, you glance at Wanda on the other side of the room, but you don't let your eyes linger too long as you see the brunette is already looking at you, with her eyebrows furrowed in that way she always does when she's worried. The quiet seconds drag on for a while, but don't make up a full minute before Raven sighs in surrender.

"Fine. But only those who are over 18," Raven determines, and doesn't let Carol speak as she adds, "end of discussion." The blond mutant then leaves, stomping toward the group of teenagers still waiting by the door.

"I was just going to say I agree with her, geez," Captain Marvel grumbles as she walks away from the group as well, rolling her eyes as she heads to where the training dummies are.

You can't help but let out a low laugh, shaking your head lightly before you turn your attention to Jean. "She really cares about them, doesn't she?"

"She does. She always has." The redhead confirms with a sweet smile at the thought of her friend, and you offer her a soft smile as well, tapping her shoulder lightly before heading to where Wanda is - without failing to exchange a glare with Simon, who has his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watches you leave. You hear the two talking about the training ahead of you, but you don't pay much attention to it as you finally join your lovely wife by the monitors.

"Is everything alright?" She holds your hand as soon as you're close enough to touch, and you frown in confusion as you let your fingers slide in between hers.

"Yeah, why?" The question makes her smile with amusement, tilting her head towards where Simon and Jean are still talking.

"You almost jumped on that guy's neck." The observation makes you look away, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you grumble.

"It was not a big deal, don't worry about it."

"You know, I don't need to read your mind to know when you're jealous." She points out right away, and you see her smirk is as teasing as her tone when you look up at her again. You don't answer, however, mumbling something the brunette can't understand as you avert your gaze once more, and Wanda can't help but find it all endearing. "I'm yours, you know?" She tugs on your entwined hands for you to look back at her, casting you a loving smile when you do so.

"You better tell him that." You hit back with annoyance, but you're not really bothered anymore - not when she's so close to you, her mere presence providing you with all the serenity you need. Your comment makes the brunette giggle heartily, amusement written in every one of her features.

"Oh, I will." You barely have time to frown in confusion at her answer before she pulls you closer, her hand on your neck to bring your mouth to hers.

You smile against the kiss as you match it, all your muscles relaxing as she slides her tongue on yours, letting go of your hand to take both of hers to your hair, playing with it in her fingertips. You take advantage of your empty hands to hold her around the waist, wrapping your arms around her so her body is pressed flush against yours, enjoying the warmth she provides you, the feel of the-

"Alright, lovebirds, let's get to work." Carol breaks the moment completely as she throws a styrofoam ball at your back. You and Wanda break the kiss with amused laughs, and you turn your back on your wife just to glare at the blonde woman who had just attacked you. Danvers, however, fakes an innocent expression, and you only laugh some more as you shake your head, entertained.

Thor stumbles into the training hall with a strange jug that you're assuming came with him from Asgard. “I thought we could use more soldiers,” he slurs. Everyone exchanges confused glances. “So I grabbed your travel thingy and went home to grab a few friends,” he grins as an Asgardian army charge into the training center behind him. Every single one of them were about as drunk and as massive as Thor is. Raven, who was standing by her students, looks at the large group across the room then smirks at Carol, Jean, Simon, and you before turning back to the young mutants and sending them back home with Jean's help.

“Well, she got her way,” Carol says, a little impressed.

“To be fair, you did have a point about numbers over strength. We should have prioritized a large army of people willing to fight after we failed with getting more people like us.” You throw an energy orb at the moving target in front of you. The simulation strikes back and knocks you on your ass. “Dammit!” You groan as you stand up.

“Hmm, maybe Simon was right about you,” Carol teases.

You don't entertain a comment as you restart the program. You've been out of the game for a while. You couldn't even guess how many years it's been since the last time you've trained. But, you didn't mind this new challenge. Everything in your life with Wanda has been too easy. Not that either of you minded, after almost losing each other and everything you've built together, it was nice to have it easy. But without challenge, life can get a little stale and it’s hard to realize what it is that is missing. Working through each training station wakes you up as you realize, this mission alone might be your true purpose in life. Looking over at Wanda as she laughs at something Jean says, you feel a little guilty. With the thought crossing your mind that this mission might just be the last you ever complete and not because you’ll be returning to your retirement. Despite what you promised your wife.

Over the course of the next couple days, everyone works hard on strategies and executing each and everyone of them in a hyper realistic simulation. Fighting against a fake Scarlet Witch that is equipped with every ability that they know of. Even with just those she was nearly impossible to beat. Only one practice had the outcome of Wanda surviving. But she was the only person to survive. It wasn’t everyone’s preferred outcome. Although it was one that you and Simon could agree on. It was the only thing the two of you could agree on.

The two of you were still butting heads on every little thing. If he wanted someone to go left you made a compelling argument as to why they had to go right. If you wanted someone to be in the air, he wanted them on the ground. It got to the point that neither of you were allowed to provide ideas anymore. But as the team ran through each strategy that Raven, Carol, and Vision came up with, there were enough clear errors that you and Simon just had to fix. It wasn't until the two of you stepped aside and settled on a few solutions together to present to the rest of the team that they let the pair of you speak again.

Several more practice runs and the amount of victories surpassed the amount of losses. The team began to feel safer and grow more confident in each other and themselves. There was still some looming anxiety over the unpredictability of the actual Scarlet Witch. No one knew for certain the extent of the damage she was capable of. But there wasn’t anything to be done other than to hope for the best.

Once the last run ends horribly, Thor looks around at the tired faces of his team and an idea pops into his head. “You know what we need?” Some turn to him, others are too exhausted. “A party!” He cheers and everyone exchanges glances with each other. Not quite sure if they are up to breaking for a party when they don’t feel like celebrating. “Come on, it’s been days since you guys ran in with this witch. She hasn’t arrived. We still have time to figure all of this out. We need this.”

Carol is the first one of the group to speak up, “He’s right. Couldn’t be bad to party for the night.” She nudges Raven, who has sort of become the unofficial leader, and nods to the rest of you.

Raven looks around then to Carol's pleading eyes and sighs, “Yeah. I think we could use the moral boost.”

Thor claps his hands, “It’s settled then! Tonight, we party like Gods!” He raises Mjölnir in the air as he makes his declaration. His voice booms in the simulation room and his excited energy has a positive effect on everyone as they separate to get cleaned up and rest before the impromptu event.

The Last Supper

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halfasoul · 2 years

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I have some verses I need to write up... 👀✨

#I'm thinkinggg a ''modern'' au in which V works at a cafe ~ 'cause the artist who did Visions of V drew him in cute waiter attire.#I need a general one too where V is able to exist without - well. dying.#(I guess that's sorta the default here tho.)#as well as the obligatory victorian au 'cause it's obvious this man was born in the wrong century.#probably a sengoku era au too #because basara x dmc was a very real crossover.#thank you capcom for making my dreams come true.#❝ 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰! ╏ ooc. ╏

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tonycries · 1 month

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Haunting You - G.S.

Synopsis. A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, king! Gojo, vampire AU, he’s actually ÍNSANE, royalty AU, arranged marriages, creampíes, breéding, fated mátes, FÉRAL down bad Gojo, mentions of bIood and kílling, bíting, óral (fem receiving), spítting, marks (a LOT), fíngering, pórn with plot tbh, overstím, ínnapropriate use of powers, jealous! Gojo, slight inspiration from Persephone and Hades, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 15.8k (HUH???)

A/N. Was listening to Haunted by Beyoncé, and my mind went “ooo vampires.” Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

In all your years being carefully primed to take over the throne, there have only been two rules you were raised under:

You live by the crown, and you will die by the crown. No matter what.

To stop the vampires - if your father, the king, fails to contain the bloody trail of killings before his own inevitable death, you have to. Or, more according to those tedious meetings with the table of elders, your husband will have to.

And it seems as if they were well and fully intent on enforcing that last rule as of late - with sharply increasing numbers of attacks on your local towns, the public was growing restless - and so was the royal court.

You weren’t doing any better either - but for a wholly different reason.

Maybe it was paranoia, but these days, you found yourself constantly catching a flash of crystal blue in the corner of your eye. Or hearing a sweet, sweet whisper in your ear deep at night. Maybe even a soft run of fingers down your spine as you were readied for yet another ball - hands much too large to be any of your ladies-in-waiting.

Like something was watching.

Waiting.

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you.

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were.

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue.

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit.

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped.

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom.

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you.

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet.

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed.

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure.

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again.

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing.

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family.

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale.

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond.

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?”

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature.

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty.

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind.

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him.

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic.

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals.

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library.

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground.

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you.

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it.

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette.

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never.

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up.

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off.

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are.

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck.

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it.

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe.

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table.

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating.

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember.

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in.

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room.

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.”

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak.

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice?

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep?

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway.

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull.

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for.

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband.

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close.

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction.

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted.

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again?

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting.

Satoru - blindfold and all.

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep.

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same.

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.”

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.”

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless.

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before.

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes.

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler.

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye.

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you.

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul.

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod.

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well.

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle.

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either.

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom.

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life.

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night.

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes”

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else.

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic.

Powerful.

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question.

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it.

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all.

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder.

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange.

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next.

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding.

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-”

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was.

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too.

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still.

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom.

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that.

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you.

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers.

One.

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly.

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king.

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough.

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over.

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower.

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet.

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either.

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either.

Satoru.

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.”

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric.

Blue.

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later.

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue.

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body.

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window.

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind.

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna.

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready.

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne.

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step.

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man.

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow.

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?”

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially, “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper.

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra.

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks.

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel.

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could.

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him.

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging.

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling.

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy.

And then, he opens his eyes.

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue.

That crystal blue.

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life.

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul.

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them.

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew.

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now.

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.”

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’”

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library.

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily. “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years.

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful.

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was.

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster.

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers, just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me.

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized.

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping.

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark.

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before.

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you.

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You.

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown.

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-”

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?”

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life.

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words.

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle.

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song.

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist.

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to.

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh.

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length.

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.”

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you.

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy.

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.”

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers.

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted.

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering.

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft.

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?”

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white.

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock.

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.”

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection.

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off.

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering.

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt.

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts.

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart.

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh.

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily.

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was.

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve.

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again.

“Oh- oh.”

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you.

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is.

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt.

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more.

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you.

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out.

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need.

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly.

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same.

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel.

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much.

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body.

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth.

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving.

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips.

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell.

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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blkkizzat · 4 months

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❝DIGIMON—BUT MAKING U CUM IS MY REAL HOBBY!❞

⏯ OTAKU!GOJO X BIMBO!READER

⏭ summary: your best friend gojo is a hopeless otaku virgin with zero rizz that's still obsessed with digimon—despite being a grown ass man. you're a slut who despite her best whoring efforts—can't cum. you'll take his v-card and he'll fix your broken pussy, deal? college au.

⏭ cw: virgin!satoru, gentle sex then rough sex , spanking (ass & pussy), slight sugar daddy/baby dynamic, coercion, dubcon, ecchi/pervy/freak nasty satoru, apprehensive bimbo!reader scared to nut, reader is also a bit of a tsundere brat but this isn't brat taming per se, oral fixation, toe licking, riding, prone bone, missionary, pussy eating, deep-throating, forced gagging, fingering, squirting, edging, olfactophilia, hand-job, protected & unprotected sex, bdsm references, masturbation, bit of somnophilia, pet names: Bunny (reader is called that in lieu of y/n), suggestions of geto x reader, mentions of satosugu and shokohime.

⏭ a/n: in my crack smut bag again cause this white haired demon wont let me rest until i write this nasty shit. fr tho this fic 13.3k and literally 10k of it is Gojo fucking you six ways to sunday. fyi this is the same y/n from nerd!geto but this is a different version of that AU where suguru is the one who has rizz and satoru is the nerd. y'all better read this or i'll never write gojo again istg lmfao. also shoutout to @halosdiary for beta reading and telling me it was good enough to post lol.

“FUCK YEAH, LET’S GO!!! I ALONE AM THE CHAMPION OF THE DIGITAL WORLD!!!”

Startled by Gojo’s sudden outburst—you nearly rolled off the bed.

Thankfully Suguru is sitting next to you and caught you before you fell off completely.

Fully energized by his win Gojo sprang up from his elaborate PC setup, bouncing around the room in celebration. Fist-pumping the air he couldn’t contain his excitement after winning the Tokyo Regional Qualifiers for the Digimon Online TCG.

“Guys, hey guys! See! I told you I’d win! I’m the strongest! The digidestined!”

You and Suguru exchanged exasperated glances before side-eyeing the hell out of Gojo.

This went on for a good 10 minutes so you had since returned to mindlessly scrolling TikTok, not wanting to encourage your grown-ass-almost-22-years-old-best-friend’s excitement over a children’s game.

“You sure showed those middle schoolers, Toru.”

Suguru quips with a smile. He’s clearly being sarcastic but Gojo is unfazed—nothing could damper his mood.

“Damn straight I did!”

Both you and Suguru have to chuckle, rolling your eyes at his childish enthusiasm.

Despite the shared sentiment of annoyance over your best friend’s hobbies, you both were just happy to have Gojo back again. Two long years had passed since his parents made him travel the world on a rotation program, tasked with visiting the various Six-Vision Industries offices he would one day inherit.

Being the nerdy genius he was, Gojo stacked a mass of university level credits in high school. So even with missing the first two years of college he’d still be joining you as a third year at your university come fall.

After being apart for so long it was refreshing to hang out again and kicking it at Gojo’s mansion had been a daily occurrence since the start of the summer. Although things had definitely changed in the two years Gojo had been away there was one thing that certainly hadn’t.

Gojo was still a fucking huge otaku nerd.

You’d thought his time spent in the business world would have matured him. However, being abroad, away from his friends and spending all day around the ‘stinky old fogeys in suits’ as he called them, only made him retreat further into otakudom.

That much was evident as his collection of posters, figures and manga had somehow only seemed to grow even with him away.

“Alright, while I just would love to stick around and hear more about you destroying the dreams of 12 year olds Toru—beach girl just texted me, gotta bounce!”

Suguru tries to leave but Toru clings onto him practically spider monkeying himself onto his back in an effort to get him to stay.

“Sugu! Don’t leave! We’ve already been apart from each other for too long~~”

Sighing, Suguru attempts to pry his incorrigible bestie off of him.

“Satoru, you just spent the last 5 hours playing Digimon acting like me and Bunny weren’t even here. I’m sure if you go back to playing you won't even miss me.”

Gojo continues to pout as he whines for Suguru to stay.

“But I miss you already Sugu!”

Gojo presses his cheek against Suguru’s as Suguru’s eyebrow begins to twitch.

“I know! Invite your date here! Our chef is 10 times better than any restaurant you’d go to and you know we have an infinity pool grotto and onsen!

While the offer was tempting as any potential date would be thoroughly wowed by the decadent splendor that was the Gojo Family Residence—Suguru would also thoroughly cuck himself once his date was given the grand tour.

Particularly the stop which included Gojo’s anime figure and otaku memorabilia rooms.

While a good number of them were harmlessly nerdy shonen or slightly ecchi isekai figures—the rest? Well the rest contained every kind of freak nasty hentai figure you could think of—shibari, futanari and even the classic La Blue Girl tentacle dioramas—it was like a horny museum.

Although at this point it should be considered a horny mausoleum as no woman who walked in would be walking out still in the mood—it was surely a place where horny went to die.

“Uh yeah, sure next time Toru….”

Suguru reaches back to pat Gojo on the head reassuringly.

Lying as he was more than certain there wouldn’t be a next time. There wasn’t even going to be dinner—this was purely a hookup situation.

“...but she’s already waiting for me outside my place—gotta run!”

Realizing Gojo still wasn’t letting go, Suguru sighs realizing this would require him utilizing his Judo training.

In one swift movement, Suguru manages to shoulder-wheel Gojo and toss him onto the other side of his massive bed. The bed rebounds as he lands, slightly lifting you off your belly but you still are more interested in your phone.

This isn’t the first time Suguru has Judo thrown Gojo off of him (likely wouldn’t be the last either).

Saying quick goodbyes before Gojo could recover, Suguru manages to slip away.

“Traitor!!! So much for bros before hoes!”

Utterly dejected, Gojo crawls up next to you on his massive bed.

“At least I still have you here Bunny.”

“Uh, not to pile on but you know I’m only here until Shoko and Utahime text me they are ready to go to the mall, right? I’m in dire need of a new handbag!”

Now clinging on to you Gojo throws another small tantrum as the weight of half his sinewy body presses into your back, his lean muscular arms wrapping around your shoulders.

“Not you too, Bunny puhleeease!”

You’ve known each other since you were in diapers so it wasn’t odd for you, him or Suguru to be found giving the others platonic cuddles like this—often all together too. The both of them were always so much bigger than you so you often enjoyed the comfort and security of always being the filling in the cuddle sandwich.

Gojo rests his chin on your shoulder watching as you continue scrolling TikTok. You sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before his irritatingly hyperactive nature gets the best of him, and he starts poking around your phone to click on other videos that weren’t the 'mystery and makeup' ones you were watching.

“Toru, you know you could get a lot of your own hoes to hang out with if you weren’t such a huge otaku nerd…”

You had to swat Gojo’s hand away again as he tries to click on another prank video and he rolls off of you with a frustrated sigh.

“...you’re almost as good looking as Suguru…”

Muttering the last part of that under your breath. Arguably Gojo’s features were just as if not more striking than Suguru’s.

He was too hot himself for all of it to go to waste for being such a big dork.

“I’m sure Sugu would be happy to teach you ‘the way of the fuckboy’ if you asked Toru—that is if you’d actually go out clubbing like a normal 21 year old.”

“Why would I do that though? My house is 100 times better than a club!”

Touché.

While no one in your friend group was what someone would consider poor, Gojo’s wealth paled in comparison to anyone else’s and that went without saying. He’d had everything—if not more—than even the nicest tokyo club had. This was all thanks to his parents as socialites in their own right, often entertaining businessmen, dignitaries or foreign representatives with their ultra-exclusive parties.

“Besides, it wouldn't work—”

Gojo continued to pout.

“—Suguru would just get all the hoes anyway.”

Easily able to walk up to even the most standoffish looking women, Suguru would have them reduced to bashful school girls in under 5 minutes. The women were always willing to hand over their numbers or drop any immediate plans to hang out with Suguru instead.

A good number of them had boyfriends already too.

Yet despite having the looks, Gojo opening his mouth ruined any advantage his lustrous blue eyes, exotic snow white hair and sharp handsome features gave him.

“Well, Suguru has a normal 21 year old’s room for starters, Toru. Not full of nerdy ass anime posters and Digimon tournament trophies.”

Gojo goes quiet.

Driven from an early age to fill his head with knowledge of politics, technology, and international business relations, he spent the precious free time he did get with his friends or consumed by his own interests. Interests which just happened to be a bunch of otaku shit—Digimon in particular.

It was an escape he’d cherished as a child and that didn’t change growing into adulthood either, if anything he needed it more now.

When Gojo doesn’t answer you look over to see him actually sulking for real now—face buried in a giant Agumon pillow plushie.

What a crybaby.

But the crybaby was one of your besties so you decided to lighten the mood and tease him a little.

“Ya know Toruuuu….you could just fuck Sugu then. Don’t think I haven’t seen y’all get a lil’ handsy during our cuddles!”

You give him a playful smirk and mime grabby hands at him.

“Oh and you haven’t? Don’t act like you wouldn’t fuck Suguru either!”

No longer appearing mopey, Gojo is up and laughing again. Mission Accomplished.

“Hey! I never said I wouldn’t but this isn’t about me, this is about you finally getting some play!”

You snap back but you’re blushing.

Like damn, who hadn’t thought about fucking Suguru though?

“It's not the same if he makes me bottom! Plus no one thinks I can get pussy!”

Gojo grumbles, hugging his Agumon plushie to his cheek.

You can’t help but notice how cute and baby girl he looks all pouty.

He’d definitely get women lining up around the block of his huge ass mansion if he could at least get to the dating phase without giving out the otaku ick.

“Because you can’t Gojo—Hoes don’t want to fuck guys who play Digimon!”

“But you’re a hoe and you like digimon too!”

Turning to look at him, you’d had half a mind to slap the shit out of Satoru but he had said it so earnestly. There was no sass nor malice behind his words.

Besides, you were a hoe. That wasn’t something you ever denied.

You sigh.

“Yeah I am a hoe now and I—keyword—liked Digimon. But that was back when I was a kid, Toru!”

Gojo scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Listen, you’re my friend so m’gonna keep it a buck with you—a guy concerned with being digidestined is definitely not pussy destined, you digidork!”

You playfully hit him with the pillow you were laying on, not wanting him to start sulking again.

Finally stimulated by something interesting Gojo wastes no time joining the pillow fight you initiated and you tussle with him on the bed until you both are exhausted and out of breath.

Of course you come out of it victorious though. By the end you’d pinned both the pillows and Toru under you.

Gojo however is back to pouting.

“Ugh, Bunny seriously though—I can’t go into junior year of college as a virgin!”

You smirk at his complaints as the answer is obvious.

“Throw away your figures and digimon cards then.”

“I’d rather die.”

“A virgin? At this rate you will.”

Gojo huffs in defeat as you settle comfortably on top of him this time.

You’re about to reach for your phone again until you see a curious look flash across his face—the kind of look he always had as a kid when he thought of a hair-brain scheme that would lead to getting you all in trouble.

“Toru—what is it? And why do I have the feeling m’not gonna like it?”

You pull away cautiously, but his large hands grip your waist, stopping you and causing you to squeak in surprise.

“Hm, I dunno—was just thinkin’... why don’t you fuck me, Bunny?”

Your deadpan expression has Gojo scrambling, holding you closer in a vice grip when you try to squirm away.

“Hey! Wait, I’m serious! Come on, Bunny! I need the experience and you always tell us about all your hookups! You have the experience—help a guy out!”

Staring at him skeptically you considered.

I mean sure, you always thought Gojo was attractive, more so since he returned this summer nearly a half a foot taller—but he was Gojo Satoru.

Your dorky, goofy, pervy otaku bestie practically since birth!

You couldn’t just go and fuck him could you?

God, you could only imagine the taunts you’d get if word got out. Your friend group would never let you live it down!

“Nah Toru—that would be too weird!”

“Huh, how come? You said I was almost as attractive as Suguru earlier!”

You stiffen.

Fuck, he’d heard that after all.

“Ooo, ooo! Annnnd, you said last week you wanted a sugar daddy… Well, hi! I’m right here!”

The huge grin on his face has you frowning although more so because he was actually making some sense for once. I mean you were half-joking when you said it—well, let’s be honest not really.

However, you mostly said it because while your family was well off enough, you still weren’t living in the lap of luxury by any means like a Gojo clan member. Unfortunately for you though, you were born with the expensive tastes of someone who was. So while you could afford a cute Chanel bag or a MCM wallet here or there, you’d set your sights on something higher—a coveted Hermes Birkin.

Toru certainly could afford to buy you a whole truck load of them with what his family made in less than an hour.

Nevertheless that wasn’t really the issue at hand.

In spite of you being far from a virgin, there was actually a good reason why you wouldn’t be a good choice for Gojo to lose his v-card.

“Er, em—that’s really not the issue, Toru…”

Trailing off you’re the one pouting now as you glance at your nails.

“Then what? Don’t tell me our lil’ Bun Bun is shy now? Over lil’ ol’ me?”

Gojo teases you by sticking out his tongue—chuckling when you snap your head up to glare at him.

“You wish…”

You grumble, chewing your lip now and debating whether or not to tell him the truth while Gojo looks at you with wide and glassy puppy eyes. Shaking your head you come to the conclusion you could trust him with your secret.

He was the virgin otaku after all—he’s the one who should be embarrassed here!

“It’s just that…I–I can’t cum.”

Gojo just blinks at you.

Clearly confused with metaphorical question marks surrounding his head as that's definitely not the answer he was expecting.

“I’ve slept with plenty of guys before but I never had an orgasm. I don't even really get close—I mean, sure, it feels good, I guess—mostly just a little weird. I heard some people just can’t and maybe that's me.”

You shrug, a bit nervous to look Gojo in the eye as you thought he may tease you further about this but was lost in contemplation. Almost as if he was seriously trying to do the biological math around what you’d just told him.

After about a minute more he finally asks—

“—Does Suguru know?”

A simple question, unloaded in tone as Gojo is genuinely curious but it leaves you flustered nonetheless.

“What?! Are you crazy?! Why would I tell him?!”

“Just figured if anyone could then—”

“—Hell no, Toru! Besides, what if he does? I’m not trying to be reduced to a fuckboy’s pick me if he ends up being the only man alive who can give me an orgasm!”

Sure Suguru was hot as fuck—as was a lot of your other fuckboy friends (Toji and Sukuna)—but you definitely didn’t want to end up like the dickmatized girls that would follow them around and literally box each other in the streets over some cock.

You weren’t much of a fighter anyway and your face was far too cute to be getting scratched up.

Pussy should be put on a pedestal, not the other way around. You’d continue to be orgasmless before it came to that.

“Mm, but Shoko and Utahime know?”

You’re blushing more than ever this time.

“Um, yeah—T-They said once I realized all men were worthless to call them and they’d give me multiple of them.”

Gojo snorted at that but he was now convinced you both could help each other.

“So we have no other options—then it's settled!”

In one fluid motion Gojo snatches away the pillows from between you and swaps positions—now with you on the bottom.

“Huh–wait—Toru!?”

Gojo groans.

“Come on, Bunny! I want pussy, you want to cum on top of getting that Bikram bag—

“—Birkin bag.”

You corrected him.

“Yeah that one! So let’s help each other out, eh? PULHEEEASEEE—Just the tip?”

You weren’t at all convinced that Gojo—whose sexual knowledge came purely from JAV, hentai and onaholes—could make you cum.

But then again sure, fuck it, why not?

You were getting bored waiting for Shoko to call you anyway and if Toru was willing to come off a Birkin for a lil’ pussy, you might as well fuck him.

None of the other guys you had fucked even came close to making sex this worth it. Frankly this would be worth it even if you didn’t actually cum.

“Fiiiine Toru, let’s have sex—”

“FUCK YEAH!”

“—BUT we’re laying down some ground rules!”

Sitting up with a straight back, Gojo obediently awaited your orders.

“Anything you want Bunny, name 'em go’on!”

Gojo’s overenthusiasm was like a puppy and you were sure if he had a tail it would be thumping on the bed like crazy now.

You wanted to crack a smile but you know from prior experience that if you give men an inch they will take the whole goddamn mile—and Gojo of all people was no exception—so you are firm as you sit up to look in his eyes and lay down the law.

“First—like you said, just the tip.”

Gojo started to protest but the raise of your eyebrows had him changing his tune immediately.

“Got it! Got it! Just the tip would be amazing Bunny, what else?”

He chided himself and you continued.

“And secondly, just because you bros have no loyalty, it’s still ‘chicks before dicks’ over here. You better get your nut quick cause I’m still leaving to go purse shopping when Shoko and Utahime call me.”

Gojo waves you off with that rule.

“Psh, we should have plenty of time, it's almost 6pm! They’ve probably been too busy bumping their own purses together to go shopping with you for one. You haven’t heard from either of them in hours!”

Fair point—wildly out of pocket, but fair.

Still.

“Bumping Purses!? Really, Toru?”

“You know I’m not lying—but that’s it then, right Bunny?”

Not waiting, Gojo throws his shirt off and starts fumbling with the ties on his sweats before you stop him.

“Nah, Toru, hold your horses! One more rule!”

Freezing mid-action, Gojo's hands are shaking as he expectantly gazes at you, waiting for the last condition before you give him the green light.

“Finally, third—and most fucking importanly—if you make any, and I mean even just ONE—otaku reference, especially Digimon while you’re inside me I’ll snap your lil’ digidick off, understood?”

Gojo swallowed.

Hard terms to live with but something he would be willing to abide by for pussy.

“Yes ma’am! Got it! Just the tip, you will ditch me for the purse bumpers and no Digimon!”

Gojo repeats your rules matter-of-factly.

You roll your eyes but are satisfied enough he understood and you wave him off in the direction of your bag.

“Good. Now, be a good boy and go get a rubber out of my purse.”

Bolting over to your purse Gojo grabs a pack of condoms and is back on the bed in an instant.

Reality sinking in on what you were about to do and who you were about to do it with, you suddenly become hyper aware, appraising Gojo.

You note just how much in the two years since high school he’s grown. Still a bit lanky in areas but overall he filled out more for sure and his muscles were much more defined rippling underneath his skin as he eagerly clambered over you. Gojo still possessed the same piercing sky blue eyes that lit up a room but they looked all too predatorily hungry now that he was hovering over you.

You swallow.

You’d feel almost completely out of control of the situation if it wasn’t also for the bundle of nervous energy radiating off of Gojo—his hands spasming like he might bust his pants the moment he touches you.

You try to maintain your composure, but your jaw drops and your eyes widen in shock when he finally pushes his sweats and boxers down in one swift motion.

Gojo was fucking huge!

“Toru—what the actual fuck?!”

Third leg was a massive understatement.

I mean you didn’t think he’d be small—you’d been around him enough in boxers, sweats, pjs, etc growing up—but you didn’t expect this.

He was definitely a grower and Christ did he just fucking grow!

Gojo looked puzzled until he followed your wide eyed gawking down to his lower half.

Heh.

“Am I the biggest you’ve seen, Bunny?”

Growing prideful Gojo pokes at you a bit and your ogling only grows more incredulous.

You didn't know if he was the girthiest but certainly the longest by far. He’d actually puncture a lung if he stuck that whole monstrous thing in you!

It would literally have to be just the tip and you are thanking God right now that he’d already agreed to those terms. That would be much too uncomfortable to cum from and you are beginning to question how the pornstars manage. This wasn’t a JAV but Gojo, if his company ever went belly up, certainly had a promising career on OnlyFans ahead of him.

Gojo’s chest puffed up ten times more from your staring as he slipped the condom on (which only fit two-thirds of the way down).

“O-Ok, Bunny now you!”

His cock throbbed more violently the longer you looked at him. The anticipation is contagious to say the least and you can't help but feel your chest warm at his eagerness.

Gojo wants to get the attention off of him and you smile at him knowingly.

“You mean you don’t want to take my clothes off yourself?”

The thought never occurred to Gojo but he dumbly nodded. Your yelps echo in the room as his massive hands are on your hips faster than lighting pulling you towards him.

The motion causes your tits to jiggle, the soft mounds moving freely beneath your spaghetti strapped halter and Gojo berates himself on how he only now is noticing you weren’t wearing a bra all this time.

Gojo’s mouth goes dry at your nipples, already peaked and poking through the thin fabric.

Your nipples pucker further when the crisp air of the A/C hits them after Gojo pulls your top overhead and you arch up to assist, not realizing you presented yourself to him like a treat to a dog.

“T-Toru!!!!”

Gojo wraps his strong sturdy arms fully around your body. Pressing his face deep into your chest as his warm wet lips latch onto a nipple. His mouth now suctioned to you, Gojo swirls and flicks his tongue around the hardened bud. Gojo moans around your flesh, pleasantly surprised at how addicting the sweet salty taste of your skin is.

If Gojo wasn’t sure he had an oral fixation before he surely knows now. Zoning out everything else except for the sloppy sounds of him worshiping your breast, he relishes the contrasting textures of his rough tongue suckling the soft skin of your swelling bud.

Gojo surely would have been latched onto you for hours and you are only able to pry his head away when he releases your nipple with a wet pop to take a breath.

“TORU!!!”

You’re panting and red faced as you yank his head back.

But Gojo is a man solely focused—tongue hanging out off his mouth captivated by how cutely your areola puffed as it glistened with his spit and fighting overwhelming desire to get the other one in a similar state.

“Huh–Bunny, b-baby—you taste so good n’ your tiddies are so nice—so fuh-kin’ soft.”

Gojo’s tongue is hanging out of his mouth drooling as he attempts to dive back into your chest. you feel his heavy cock on your thigh as his hips begin to rut against you.

This was too much!

“Stop Toru! You’re being too rough, they are sensitive! Besides, times’ ticking! Remember I have no problem leaving you blue balled if Shoko or Utahime call me!”

You do your best to give him a disapproving look as you blush.

“Awe but you seemed like you were liking it, you were whining loud enough.”

“Shut up n’just get on with it!”

“Yes ma’am~~”

Enjoying your breasts so much Gojo almost forgot he hadn’t even seen your pretty pussy yet.

Making quick work of your shorts, Gojo manages to pull them down just over your core but is stunned once again as he burns the image of the skin-melding fabric of the mesh hot pink g-string covering your cunt. The thin satiny straps dug into your supple hips amplifying your curvaceous form.

Fucking slutty as hell!

Rivaling that of even his most favorite and most scandalous hentai figures.

This was so much better, so much more lewd as the clingy fabric struggles to cover the fat of your plump pussy lips—not like the transparency of them left much to the imagination.

God help him, he just wants to tear them off with his teeth and open mouth swan-dive into your dewy lil’cunt—-pushing his tongue deep into your peachy core tongue fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you until he drowned in your milky nectar—but he has to restrain himself.

You probably wouldn’t like that too much given your reaction earlier and he’d die if you’d happen to just call the whole thing off.

Mouth drying and hands twitching—Gojo is trying so hard to be a good boy and contain his more perverted instincts.

“Earth to Toru! Y-You good?”

Gojo looked like a tightly wound coil ready to pop in every sense of the word and you hated that his nervousness was making you nervous too.

So on edge you almost jumped once his eyes snapped up to meet yours.

“G-Great, Bunny…j-just fine.”

Gojo’s voice falters, becoming more pitchy and you giggle. As much as Gojo wants to look at your pussy as he peels the flimsy moist fabric off of them he couldn’t do that at this moment—he would actually bust his pants.

Instead, Gojo leans in to kiss you, but you block him. He ends up kissing your palm instead.

“Toruuu… that be too weird, we’re friends remember?”

“Yeah friends who are fucking, Bunny! You mean you won’t let my tongue in your mouth but you’re letting my dick inside your pussy?!”

You knew it sounded nonsensical even before he said it back to you. But your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears you could barely hear him anyway.

You didn’t know what you were scared of this time?

You had let all your other previous hookups makeout with you but Gojo was different.

This felt entirely different.

You didn’t know why, you just knew it was and you were apprehensive of the unfamiliar emotions he was stirring in you and this wasn’t supposed to be anything more than an arrangement between friends.

“Don’t you need to warm up tho Bunny? Obviously m’no pro at this—but even I know a little bit more foreplay is usually needed?”

Your heart beats louder at his concern but you push that aside trying to focus on your breaths.

Satoru should have been the easiest lay but for a reason that alludes—you were coming undone before him.

“Shut up Toru and just fuck me! The foreplay stuff doesn't matter, it won't make a difference anyway, m’not gonna cum! Also you’re big af so grab your lube. We're gonna need lots of it!”

Toru pouts but follows your commands without fuss.

Although he’s anxious to get his dick wet he also is still thinking of how he can hold up his end of the bargain other than a stupid purse.

You said he didn’t need to but he wanted to.

The thought of finally losing his v-card excited him but there was something that made his cock throb harder at being the first man to give you an orgasm.

But you don’t want him to touch you beyond what was absolutely necessary, so how was he going to accomplish that exactly?

Gojo was a genius and had the IQ score to prove it, he’d be able to solve the problem once he was inside you, right?

Turning back to face you after retrieving the lube from his nightstand, Toru has to grab the base of his cock this time to keep from prematurely coming in the latex that was already starting to thicken with his precum.

There you were laid out like a slut—panties pulled to the side—fingering yourself a bit to loosen up, having reconsidered his suggestion of foreplay when the twitching on your thigh reminded you of how big he actually was.

“OH SHI—”

You notice his jaw hanging open, utterly entranced as his eyes follow the motions.

You knew you should be letting him do this to get the experience but honestly there was no sense in setting Gojo up for failure—delivering a significant blow to his ego when he inevitably couldn’t make you cum. You didn’t want to damage him even more if he felt it was his fault your pussy was apparently broken, you having tensed up completely every time a guy had tried before.

But you can’t deny you are getting some pleasure—if only through your own amusement—as you grab his cock and pump the lube he poured down his latex covered shaft, still fingering yourself—much to Gojo’s delight and wonder of seeing an actual real pussy up close.

Gojo sucks in air and groans pitifully as your hand spreads the cool gel over his length which only intensifies his ache to be inside of you.

“C’mere, Toru…”

You beckon sweetly, guiding him forward with your back against the pillows, you tease the crown of his tip through your folds preparing him for missionary.

Gojo nearly bites a chunk out of his lip when his thick cockhead finally catches over your slicked entrance and you’re left wincing.

“T-Toru, e-easy—o-ok? Not too deep...”

A breathy confirmation shudders out of Gojo as he’s easing himself into your warm tightening cunt. The stretch is immediate which mentally confirms for you he is also the girthiest you’ve ever had as well.

Your heels dig into his hips to brace yourself while he hovers over you, arms shaking.

“FUUUUUHHHH—”

Even with the rubber on, Gojo still thinks he might melt from how warm and tight you are—so much better than even his onahole with the custom grip and heating features.

Screwing his eyes shut, Gojo has to count backwards from a million, recite Japan’s national anthem, list the GDPs of the top 10 wealthiest countries—anything—or he will cum too soon or worse, crack and drive his hips until he’s all the way to the hilt from the way your dangerous lil’ pussy is sucking him in.

God, it felt like your slutty cunt had a mind of its own calling for him to push in a lil’ deeper, greedily begging for him to go a lil’ further but Gojo resists.

Sweat beads on his brow from the exerted effort of sheer willpower to keep his promise to you.

To Gojo’s credit, he really is doing his best, only a little less than a third but due to his length that's still a lot.

Your eyes wander up to Gojo’s face and away from where he is wholly splitting you open, lest you clench on him even tighter and you knew you needed to relax. Even if you weren't really feeling much but the overwhelming strain from the tight fit, looking at Gojo you were happy that he appeared to be in bliss at least.

His eyes still squeezed shut, mouth hanging open and spittle flowing down his jaw Gojo was in his own world as he continuously babbled nonsense about how perfect your cunt felt around him.

Just the tip in you for all of 20 seconds and already pussy drunk from just this much.

“B-Bunny, Oh SHHIII–B-Bunny—m’cute Bun—FAH-ACK s’gud—m’gonna cum soon UHH–pussy feels s’good—oh-oh my god!”

Although his entire body is quaking with pleasure, the few functional brain cells that survived the fiery blaze of your sinful lil’ pussy are still thinking of you.

Gojo tries to give some attention to your neglected lil’ clit, but a single swipe causes your leg to jerk and you promptly push his hand away again.

“N-NO! Pleaseee, m’too sensitive Toru! J-Just focus on your thrusts! Y-You’re s’close, m’can feel your cock twitching i-i-inside me...”

Gojo wants to challenge you on this—suspecting from the way your cunt felt constricting around him you felt something pleasurable then—but he’s too far gone and much too inexperienced to keep focused on anything else.

Especially when you are so explicitly describing him fucking you.

Grabbing his face you bring your foreheads to touch to help calm him so he’d last a bit longer. Although you still hold his face to prevent him from kissing you, he's close enough that you're sharing the same breath, now looking into each other's eyes.

He struggles to maintain eye contact though before the magnetism of your heated core had them rolling back again.

You're still not close to cumming, yet you are beginning to enjoy the warm comforting feeling of being this full as he holds you close, his short thrusts gaining momentum.

Sharing intimacy with someone you actually cared about for once is really nice and you wouldn't mind having more sex like this even if you couldn't cum.

Thumbing over Gojo’s moist lips you coo sweet praises to him as he desperately moans around your delicate appendage. Suckling your thumb between his lips and nursing on it until he can no longer contain the heavy breaths that overpower him and fan across your face.

Sharing the same exhaled breath is making you light headed and you mewl at the keen sensations it stirs in your pussy that has him full on gasping now. Gojo releases the whiniest moan as he falls into you, unable to support his arms any longer.

Showering your neck with open mouth kisses as his body curls more into yours.

However it all proves far too much when Gojo faltering more in his promise, slips more than halfway into your cunt—instantly filling the latex as it balloons inside of you as you scrape your heels against his back.

SHIIIIIT! He s’big!

Despite nearly splitting your poor pussy into two at the end though, Gojo did such a good job for his first time.

You’d forgive him just this once though as you wrapped your arms around his head, gently petting his undercut. His heaving breaths quiet under your soothing touches, finally ceasing the stream of his spit and tears that had been pooling in your collarbone.

Staying like that for a while holding him while his heartbeat calms to match yours and his length softens inside you. You close your eyes peacefully for a few moments before you hear your phone vibrate next to you.

It's Shoko!

Shoko’s text apologizes for the delays and offers to get dinner instead—promising to go shopping with you and Utahime tomorrow since they got held up and you make plans for dinner in two hours.

Perfect. That gives you plenty of time to clean up and get yourself presentable.

“Did you cum even a lil bit, Bunny?”

Oh sweet baby, if you have to ask…You think to yourself but it's not poor Toru’s fault your pussy is out of order.

“Um, no Toru baby—but you did so well! Ya know you’re actually pretty cute and considerate when you get a little pussy. I’m sure you’ll manage to make any girl you happen to get naked happy!”

Gojo counters you with a disappointed look still panting slightly as he pulls out and rolls over bringing you towards him to cuddle. Allowing him, reasoning that you don’t have to get up right this second.

Yoour back meets his chest and it’s then you notice the condom still inside you. Figures since it was much too small in the first place. Yet you couldn’t complain as it managed to do its job due to Satoru not going all the way in. Breathing out you grimace a bit as you still had to give it a pretty good tug to lodge the filled latex out of your sore cunt.

“Goddamn Toru, you were pretty backed up huh?”

Having witnessed the entire display from over your shoulder and the sight of the light blue rubber covered in your fluids while drooping heavily with his own has Gojo’s dick stirring again as you jiggle the rubber demonstrating its fullness before tossing it into the bin beside his bed.

Conflicted Gojo broods for a while as he hugs you to him.

While his body felt mostly satisfied, seeing you still unsatisfied put a huge damper on his mood.

Sure you had told him you couldn’t come—but would any girl cum without much foreplay or stimulation?

Even the darker hentais and JAVs he’s seen had more foreplay than this!

Hmmm...

Thinking over the experience again in his mind he had a hunch that if right could cure your lack of orgasms but needed you to let him fuck you once more to be sure.

“So you’re gonna hit and quit just like that, Bunny?”

He teases clinging onto you again when you try to maneuver out of his embrace.

“No time for more cuddles Toru—Shoko texted, we’re getting dinner in two hours.”

“Wait! Bunny! That’s so far away—Let me go again, pleeeease!”

Gojo is determined this time to make you cum for real! And, yeah you know—your slick heat sliding up and down his cock again would be a highlight too.

“Toru–”

“—Come on bunny! We solved my problem but we haven't fixed yours, you still haven't cum yet!”

“Toru, I thought we understood we were never going to solve my problem in the first place—so don't stress! Also I know this is probably the first time a girl has said this to you and actually meant it—but it's really not you!”

Gojo puts his negotiation face on.

You wanted to play hardball? Bet.

“I’ll give you my black card for a whole week!”

Gojo turns you around to look him in the eye so you could see how sincere he was, he really wanted to try again—he knew he could make you cum this time!

You sighed.

You couldn't really be mad at him—in fact, it was actually the cutest thing—that he wanted to keep trying for your benefit—but you didn’t see the point when it would just lead to the same result. You don’t even need to glance down to see Gojo’s cock was just as resolute as he’s already recovered and fully bricked—length pulsing against your ass.

Well—given his last performance you were sure he’d last all of five minutes and if you had his black card for a whole week you were about to tear the entire Hermes store up—a Birkin and a Kelly in every color!

Hell, maybe you could even get the coveted baby pink ostrich one.

“Mmm’kay, Toru—black card for a week! No limit!”

“Yup of course! Oooh no—Wait, no rubbers and I'll let you have my new g-wagon too! I hear raw sex is sooo much better you will cum for sure then Bunny!”

Well you knew a good bargain when you heard it.

Throwing the unopened condoms to the side you laid back down.

Imported European cars are stupid expensive to get in Japan and if he was coming off a g-wagon—especially as it was a custom powder blue matte with dune colored seats and shiny platinum rims—then he could have as many two-minute pump sessions as he wanted.

He’d likely pass out from dehydration in less than twenty tops anyway.

“Okay, but same rules as before except no cumming inside Toru! I mean it! It's too much of a mess to clean up after, it’ll be dripping all night especially all that you came last time…”

The thought of your gooey tender cunt weeping his nut for hours has Gojo’s balls tightening in want of making it a reality—but he knew if all went to plan you’d be begging for it!

First—he needed you to take a more active role this time. He saw you settled back onto the pillows and that simply wouldn’t do.

“Um Bunny, can you be on top? I-I’m dying to see what your cute tiddies look like jiggling all crazy like in my face.”

You cover your chest, frowning in offense at his more debauched ecchi preferences but you agreed nonetheless.

Relenting as it’d likely have him cumming sooner and then you could finally get ready to meet the girls—all in your new g-wagon, although you’d definitely have to make up a lie as to how you scammed it out of Gojo.

Gojo takes your place on the pillows, amused as now it’s his turn to beckon you forward. Steeling yourself, you embarked on your climb to mount him. Tall and lean with wisps of hair sticking to his face Gojo looked more like he belonged in a painting, unnerving you that a face only an artist could sculpt admired your body with his lustful gaze.

He was too sexy for his own nerdy ass good like this and you failed not to whimper when his strong hands settled at your waist.

Lube in your hand you smirk, gaining some confidence back when you hear Gojo hiss as the cool gel once again spreads down his fiendish girth that pulses restlessly at your touch. The sensation is all the more agonizing without the latex barrier hindering him as your, your silky smooth palm glided over his bare cock before tugging back the sensitive foreskin covering his crown head.

Licking your lips you almost want to bend down and taste the pre marbling like a pearlescent jewel on his pretty exposed cockhead.

He’d probably cry like a baby if you did, you mused with a grin.

Good God girl snap out of it!

You chastise yourself—no, you had to focus and end this quickly before you lost your mind. The idea of fucking Gojo beyond what he could buy for you started to get more appealing and you couldn’t allow that.

Readying yourself to mount him this time you realize your pussy is quivering in anticipation of the stretch—it was uncomfortable last time so—why was your body reacting this way?

Your own pussy betraying you as she seemed to yearn for the opportunity to gobble him up, taking him in with less resistance in spite of you. Flexing around the thick intrusion inside your core you shiver in feeling the curve of every vein on his girthy cock as you lowered yourself onto him.

The way your pussy flexed as a jolt of electricity ran through you scared you—a new sensation bubbling up inside, threatening to make you lose yourself in the feeling. Must be survival instincts you rationed—your cunt scared for its life never having encountered such an acute danger like Gojo’s dick before.

The burn was pleasurable this time, sucking in sharp breaths at every slight movement of him moving inside your core. Yet Gojo is in even more bliss—from the serpentine motion of your hips cascading over his own to how your your puffy pussy lips looked so wonderfully parted, stretched open around his cock—FUCK!

How was he going to complete his plan if his brain just started turning to mush everytime your dangerously succulent cunt grinded against him.

“O–ooo shiiiiiit!”

“Y-You okay, Bunny?”

Although Gojo himself looked like he was in agony his face was reddening from how good your raw gummy walls were surging around his length.

“Hhnng, fine Toru—y’er j-just big.”

Gravity was your natural enemy in this scenario and you took him a bit past halfway this time.

Wanting to distract you, his large hands grope your tits but you knock him away—your stomach fluttering.

“What's wrong, this time?”

“...s’n-nothing, it’s—just put your hands on my hips, it helps me so my legs don't get tired.”

You lied.

Well your legs were quivering but more pressingly your heart started to race and you didn't know if it was because a cock like this could actually relocate your uterus to your lungs or if you’d actually started catching something similar to romantic feelings for Gojo Satoru.

Either one was unacceptable in your book.

“Hurry up and cum, Toru!”

However Gojo is about to say something, your phone rings.

“I-Its Utahime…”

“Don’t answer Bunny! Focus or you’re never going to cum!”

“I can multitask, Toru! Besides, on the small chance I do I know it's definitely going to take longer than the two minutes you lasted before.”

Hushing Gojo’s protests and eyes flaring at him to be silent, you answer the call.

“Bunny!”

“Hime!”

You greeted each other with your usual peppiness—like Gojo wasn’t 6 and a half inches deep with 2 and half more to go—give or take—inside you.

“What’s up? Oh erm, what am I doing—”

A sly and haughty smile plays on his lips and you scowl at him.

“—I’m still at Gojo’s and no—I’m not doing much at all right now! Haha—yeah. I can definitely talk, of course!”

Gojo frowns as his eyes narrow and to placate him you start half heartedly rotating your hips.

You still looked sexy as hell though. Even with less effort expended it was still a workout as shown by the sheen of perspiration glowing off your body. That delectable sight combined with the light swaying of your tiddies was more than enough for him to cum if he just focused on himself.

But he was determined not to this time, not until you had.

“See Toru? They were helping Shoko’s parents!”

You stick out your tongue and he makes a face back at you.

“Oh what?—s’nothing—Ha! Well ok! He said you were too busy bumping pussies to go to the mall with me! Psh—typical am I rite? Huh—put you on speaker? LOL O-OKAY.”

Snitch!

Gojo mouths to you offended you’d rat him out like this as Utahime’s voice shrills through the phone.

“Satoru you loser! You have to talk about our pussies cause you could never have one of your own in a million years!”

Snorting with laughter Gojo is more than amused.

If only they knew.

You pale signaling at him to ‘STFU’ or he could finish himself off.

“Aww, is that so Utahime? I’m so hurt.”

The mischief in Gojo’s voice is obvious—he’s clearly mocking you.

Annoyed with him getting the upper hand and feeling sassy, you pile on—

“Exactly Hime! I mean he might get some—but a total otaku like him wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy if he even ever got in—EEP!”

A heavy handed smack comes down on your ass—hard.

The force ripples its way into your cunt causing you to feverishly tighten as your tongue pushes a low moan out between your lips.

“Oh ho ho—what's this? You actually like getting spanked huh, Bunny? You dirty, dirty girl…”

Gojo is whispering again before his hand once more swats at that same cheek.

The sting causes saliva to pool in the corners of your mouth.

If looks could kill Gojo would have died a horrible death—that is if you could focus enough to even glare at him. You’re absolutely mortified—too consumed by the spanks that fiercely rained down on your reddening bottom, your pussy getting shamelessly wetter with every hit.

“AH–FAHHH—”

“Bunny! What’s happened?!”

You hear Shoko’s concerned voice this time.

“N-N-Nothing, G-Gojo’s being mean to me cause I told on him! H-He pinched me so hard Shoko!”

“Liar!”

Gojo mouths again and his demeanor turns absolutely devilish.

Oh? So that's how you wanted to continue to play?

You were such a brat sometimes but then again so was he and his competitive nature soared at the challenge.

“Oh did I? Like this, Bunny?”

Gojo’s palms cup your tits roughly before he pinches them, twisting your nipples causing the slobber that collected to dribble down your chin and onto your chest.

“Shiiii—T-Toru! S-STOP YOU A-AHHH–SSHOLE!!”

The grip his thumb and forefingers have on your sensitive buds intensifies and you can barely keep the phone in your grasp as you hold it out arm extended to keep your cries from being heard.

With only one hand free there’s no way for you to worm nor pry his hands from your tits as you are still struggling not to sink lower and choke on your own tongue from the electrifying sensations assaulting your cunt.

This couldn’t be what it was like could it? This overwhelming feeling?

You didn’t want to admit it but as tear-inducing as the sensations were—they felt real fucking good.

Your hips began involuntary rocking as your core now craved how Gojo’s cock scraped against your walls like it was trying to carve itself even deeper inside you if you’d let your hips drop just a little bit lower.

“Toru! Stop picking on our Bunny! Don’t make us come over there and kick your ass!”

The sweat that now runs down Gojo’s brow threatens to blur his vision but he’s locked in and focused. The phone situation being so fucking raunchy combined with the way your pussy is creaming on him (despite you trying your hardest not to feel good) has him stressed.

Swallowing he had to try hard to keep up the act as well as please you without cumming—it would be a feat if he accomplished it to say the very least.

God, this was all so shamefully vulgar.

Did you do this on purpose answering the phone?

He didn’t even know this was a kink of his—or yours apparently.

But your “problem” was now clear to Gojo:

It’s not that you couldn’t cum, it’s just that you were scared to cum.

Any real stimulation triggered your fight or flight.

You were perfectly capable, you just needed a bit of forcefulness—however the effect of it terrified you and you bolted from it every time you had sex with someone—until now.

Heh, there would be no more running from the nut for his little bunny rabbit.

Gojo wonders how far into his ecchi depravity he can take you.

“Your Bunny, huh?”

Gojo's eyes squinted as if he could stare down Shoko and Utahime through the phone.

You were his.

He was the one who was going to make you cum and frankly he didn’t give a fuck anymore if Shoko or Utahime heard it—in fact he wanted them too.

Planting his feet into the bed, Gojo’s form shifts as he swiftly grips your waist simultaneously bringing you down while driving his pelvis up—pummeling his entire length into your guts. The prickly patch of groomed hair at his base tickles your poor abused lil’ clit which had been forcibly nestled into them—the result of being smashed against his pubic bone.

“FUHCCCK—MUTHERFUHH—SHHHH–HIIIIIT!!!”

Vision momentarily blacked out and burning with tears mixed with your running mascara, your pussy still reeling from the sheer magnitude of Gojos long girthly length now all the way sheathed and practically tearing through your womb. Your eyes are firmly lodged in the back of your head, the electrifying vibrations cause you to drop the phone entirely. Your world is spinning from experiencing your first small orgasm that only increased intensity as your efforts to escape Gojo are in vain.

Your cervix is screaming at the probing intrusion of his bulbous tip ramming so far up into you but Gojo has you anchored to him unable to flee from his onslaught of thrusts.

If you could string together a coherent thought you would have wondered if in fact your stomach had been relocated next to your lungs as you felt so full you couldn’t breathe.

Your pussy violently spasms around his girth, creamy fluids seeping down onto his base from your cunt sloshing around him. Gojo grips your cheeks spreading you wider increasing the squelching noises echoing from your cunt.

Shit though, Gojo thinks your perfect pussy might actually break his dick off from how fervently you were clenching him.

Tongue fully lolled out of your mouth, you’re grasping onto Gojo’s shoulders for stability as your saliva drips down his pectorals.

“BUNNY!! Are you still there?? What’s that noise?”

Shoko and Utahime’s calls for you go unanswered. Gojo on the other hand is grinning, albeit through gritted teeth, pleased at how his long trunk-like cock is rendering you nonverbal.

“Hehe, you definitely came a bit that time didn’t ya—ya nasty lil’ Bunny, don’t lie.”

“N-N-Nooo T-Toru–s’like I-I c-can’t breathe—”

“Heh, a’course you can baby Bun—that's what it feels like when you cum, even I know that.”

SMACK!

Another firm smack to your ass has your cunt quivering wildly.

You feel like the virgin in this situation now—and honestly—are you not?

Did those other dicks really count?

It felt like you were having sex for the first time as this was a totally different experience even from the earlier round with Gojo.

“Don’t worry though, now that I know what kinda shit you’re into—I’mma take care of that pervy lil’ princess pussy sooo good, Bunny.”

Oh god—That couldn’t be true could it?

Spanking? Nipple twisting? Having your insides pushed up to your throat?

You didn’t actually like this kinda freaky shit did you?

Yet your body’s reactions remain true even if your mind doesn't want to accept the cause of the fire that is burning within you. Your pussy is in raptures at the feeling of being molded into the exact shape of Gojo’s cock—veins and all.

“HELLLOOOOO BUNNY!!!!”

Absolutely pleased with himself Gojo retrieves the phone.

“Awe p-poor thing, just stubbed her toe runnin’ from me. My—SHIII–room is—FUHHH—k-kinda a m-mess—S-See? I almost tripped just now too. Isn’t that right Bunny?”

Gojo brings the phone closer and you bat it away wishing he would just hang up and spare you the humiliation. Although humiliation seemed to be your new kink as mirroring his earlier actions as you’re pathetically moaning into his skin. Gojo’s masculine scent, mingled with the salty aroma of perspiration, floods your senses, making you feel even more lightheaded, increasing the sloshing of his cock buried deep in your cunt.

The crude noises that rang from your bodies squelching and slapping against each other renders Gojo unable to keep up the charade either. Making up a quick excuse—he has to go get ice for your toe—he quickly hangs up on Shoko and Utahime whose puzzled protests of concern he couldn’t give a single fuck about anymore.

God fucking you while on the phone with them was so fucking hot, he’d have to get you to do it again—maybe with Suguru next time, he’d probably even be into it.

“Hey B-Bunny—y-you think Shoko and Hime were naked too?”

You groan.

This fucking hentai otaku perv—you already told him that they were helping Shoko’s parents!

You want to glare, scream, chastise, get up—but you can’t—you’re at the mercy of him ruthlessly drilling up into your cunt and can only heave out tired mewls in reply.

“Fuuuck–imma cum again soon! Do you feel the way your naughty lil’ cunt is squeezing like she wants to wring me dry, wan’t me to give it all to your pussy Bunny?”

“N-Not i-inside m’pussy, T-Toru!”

A devious smirk appears.

Heh, yeah he promised not inside your pussy.

Without warning Gojo rips his cock out from your sopping core and manhandles you onto your back. Thinking he will simply cum outside somewhere you're finally able to breathe again and you exhale—only to feel his monstrous length being shoved down your throat.

Your eyes shoot open.

Greeted with the image of Gojo's heavy balls in your face, his ball hairs tickle your nose as you gag around his girth straining your throat open wide. You think if he didn’t reach your lungs through your guts he certainly would now that he’s eight and a half inches down your esophagus.

“You said i couldn’t cum in your pussy Bunny, so let’s use that pretty lil’ mouth pussy instead—sweet fuck, ya know she’s almost tighter than your actual cunt.”

Your hands fly to the outside of his thighs pawing over the sweat glossed skin as you drag your nails down them, leaving welts in an effort to get him to ease up. The potent musk of your shared lust that had dripped down his balls was now rubbing on your face assaulting your senses.

It was fucking nasty, so gross and yet your own pussy betrayed you—burning with an ache to be filled again at the smells that stimulated your own primal hedonistic urges.

“Awe, don’t be like that. I know you like it rough, yeah? I haven’t forgotten about you either baby.”

Gojo of course at this point isn’t talking to you but your cunt.

With one hand squeezing your already constricted airway, Gojo’s other snaked its way over your body and reeling it back before delivering a mean open palmed slap to your clit.

The sound of your soaked cunt echoed through his room and he almost came from that alone as your fluids trickled out of you faster, further soiling his expensive sheets.

“This pussy likes being spanked more than those cherry cheeks of yours huh, Bunny? I know my filthy hentai pussy does.”

You’re obviously unable to answer but the way you’re gurgling moans around his cock lets him know this is exactly what you like. Thrusting two thick fingers into your quivering core his burly appendages bullied themselves in as far as they could go.

“You know—G-God, FUCK you’re tight—Bunny, you know I read in an h-manga how girls can squirt from a lack of air and a little bit of prodding, s’ppose—S-SHIII—t’be something in here that sends em absolutely wild.”

Fingers searching deeper it's not until Gojo pulls back to add a third that he scrapes past a firm spongy spot that has your legs buckling.

Astonished by the amazingly sexy reactions of your body—Gojo’s eyes are blown out wide over how much your clit swells, your hole twitches and your juices spurt out of you as your tears run over your cheeks to wet his balls further. Gojo doesn’t even need to thrust as your throat tightens around him like crazy with him jamming his fingers into that particular spot over and over.

Lost in your own ecstasy you’re proven wrong as contrary to your belief you thought his otaku sex-ed would be to his detriment to his skills. However it's exactly because of all of the lecherous and depraved shit he collected and consumed did he know exactly what to do to you now that got you all messed up. Eyes lodged into your skull, squirting and practically blacking out with his dick stuffed down your throat on his long dexterous fingers abusing your cunt.

“SHIIIIIIT—”

With a keen grunt Gojo cums, pumping loads of viscous fluid down your throat forcing you to gorge on his thick cum.

“F-Fuck Bunny are you a throat goat? M-Milked me dry...”

He’s still driving his pliable fingers in and out of you, his arms are shaking from his own orgasm but he doesn’t care. Nothing on earth could stop him from replicating the beautiful sight of your pretty lil’pussy spurting out juices that run all the way down his forearm.

“…heh, looks like I can milk you too, Bunny.”

Gojo finally dislodges his dick out of your throat but still runs a hand through your pussy folds to rub soothing circles on your clit. You whimper through your coughs as you spit up some of his cum, still gagging after what were mere minutes but seemed like hours of choking on his beefy cock.

Vision spotty, tremors run through your body—both ends so thoroughly fucked out—that it doesn’t register that Gojo is once again lifting your body bringing you towards the edge of the bed.

If you thought Gojo was going to give you aftercare from having used your body like one of his anime fleshlights, you’d be correct—but not before one last round.

Lifting your hips off his luxe bed Gojo positions your wobbly legs on his shoulders. His eyes are blown out and crazed with his own twisted perversion. Weakened and spent himself as cock twitched from overstimulation but he’s never been a quitter—determined to make you cum again and again before one of you finally passes out.

Your toes wiggle and you keen as his tongue ravenously dips between your toes. Trailing his tongue past the arch of your foot to bite your heel.

“You’re so fucking sexy, Bunny—the best pussy in the whole world, how could you ever think she was broken? You were just waiting for me to use her huh?”

“S-shut up–Toru, j-jeez…”

Your windpipes had been fucked raw and you’re croaking which to your dismay only seems to turn Gojo on more and he’s tapping his tender engorged cockehead on your clit. Your brows pinch together as you bite back moans from his frenulum catching and chafing so wonderfully over your clitoral hood.

“Puhleaseeee, Honey Bunny! Let me fuck you a bit more now that we know you are as ecchi coded as I am, m’kay my pervy princess?”

The very thought shames you and you think your heart might seize from embarrassment if it doesn’t give out from pleasure first and your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest chest from all the pet names Gojo is bestowing upon you.

“Toru…”

You try to reason with him through your defeated huffs as you press your legs shut together.

“...y-you made me cum from your fingers n’ your cock.. Y-You won. Pleaseee—I-I don’t even think I can cum any more.”

Not convinced Gojo pushes your legs back.

“Oh, is that right? Let’s ask her then!”

Gojo delivers another smack onto your slippery pussy as if on the command of her new owner your obedient cunt immediately leaks a bit more creamy slick onto his palm.

“See, baby? She says you can though and that she’s tired of you running from it Bunny—”

Still hugging your legs together in his grasp, Gojo lowers himself to rub his cheek against your pussy like it was his favorite pillow.

“Don’t fret my pervy lil’ pussy I won't let Bunny deprive you any longer from what you really need.”

You groan yet Gojo is more gentle this time as he gingerly rolls you onto your belly and lifts your hips to slide his giant Agumon pillow underneath.

Urgh, did it have to be this one!?

There's no time for complaints though once Gojo spreads your cheeks wide. A glob of spit hits your crack as his thumb prods against your shy puckering rear hole while he humps his cock between the fat of your thighs through your soggy swollen folds.

“Shiiit imma fuck this tight lil’ bunny hole next time baby, m’kay?”

The threat causes you to shudder yet all your back talk and sass is gone from his illicit preparations as he elicits heady mewls from your hoarse throat. Your cunt flutters eagerly to have him fill you again as his fingers imprint themselves into your bottom.

The anticipation is so intense as bracing for his size ripping through you you nearly fail to notice Gojo is now humming to himself—humming—THE DIGIMON CHAMPIONS THEME SONG!?

OH HE HAD YOU ALL THE WAY FUC—

—And suddenly you’re screaming again, eyes glued to the back of your skull as his hips jerk forward, drilling his dick past your walls to pound directly into your cervix with the tempo of a madman.

OH FUCK! …s’good!

You finally surrender letting your cunt control your brain as you throw ass back to meet his frenzied thrusts. Like a drug addict from the first real taste your pussy is already addicted to the feeling of his cock destroying you.

“S’toru–S’toru–S’toru–FUHHHHCK!”

His name fell from your lips like a mantra, the only word your brain—now thoroughly fucked smoothed—could remember.

The sight of you chasing your own pleasure as your ass slammed back onto his pelvis, your skin rippling as it bounced and splashed frothy fluids onto his abs sent him further into perverse degeneracy.

“F-Fuck Bunny—baby, this pussy too good—We can’t tell Suguru for a while, kay? He’ll want to fuck you too and this pussy is just f’me. Suguru gets all the pussy s’tell me you’ll keep yours f’er me. Thought you were broken but you just needed my cock this whole time—”

Burying your face in the sheets bashfully at the mention of Suguru, your cunt pulls more taut around Gojo’s cock.

“—FUHH, g-go out with me yeah, Bunny? Love you s’much—SHIIIIT—buy you whatever you want—t-take you where you want—this dick s’yours Bun Bun—all yours!”

Plunging into deeper if it were even possible Gojo’s blunted nails drug into the fat of your ass and hips, it wouldn’t scar but it would certainly add to the inevitable bruising.

“I’ll never even look at a non 2D woman again as long as I have you as my lil’ onahole—shit I’ll never even buy one of those again unless it's in the shape of your pussy—F-FUCK, w-wait–y-you think we could get one made in the shape of your pussy–my girlfriend’s perfect pussy?!”

It’s too much—too overwhelming and your mind is slowly but surely being corrupted by Gojo. Otherwise the image of him whining while fucking a onahole casted from your cunt as he watches you finger yourself would have never in a million years popped into your mind.

Determined to see you unhinged in every respect, Gojo didn’t want to deny you pleasure but if he had to be a little mean to you so you could finally be honest with him then so be it.

Slowly pulling out, your expression is near frantic as you look back at him. Your mouth gaping and babbling nonsensically for him not for him to stop—you were so close.

Gojo simpers, relishing in your cute cockdrunk face scrunched with confusion from him pulling out so suddenly.

“W-Words baby, c’mon I just spilled my heart out here!”

Your pussy weeps longingly for Gojo’s cock as your body shakes with a yearning begging to be filled again.

God help you, you want him.

You want him and his sinfully curved demon dick badly, it’s all you could think about—Not even remembering what life was like before he so perversely rearranged your guts. However, not only did he know how to hit all your spots, he knew you—and despite him completely disregarding all of the rules you had initially set, he was the first guy who actually cared about how you felt during sex, even if he was a perverted otaku.

There was simply no use in denying it any longer.

You caved.

Tears streaming down your face as you hiccupped your admission of affections for him, red-faced and flustered.

“S’toru, I-I’ll be your girlfriend—need you n’need your cock s’much—”

Pressing the side of your face against the mattress you bring a shaky hand through your legs, fingers slipping over your slick as you part your pussy lips—your vacant core exposed and fluttering, begging for him just as hard.

“—m’also you’re onahole T-Toru, I promise i’ll only fuck you, j-just please keep fucking me, i wanna cum on your cock, want your cum in me Toru baby!”

You might die from the shame of it all once you sober up from being utterly cockdrunk and stupefied but all you could think about right now was Gojo’s hard dick laying heavy pipe back into your cunt.

Something snaps in Gojo.

Head over heels for you now, Gojo knew from that moment on he’d never let you go.

Real or 2D—no could compare to you in Gojo’s eyes.

Toru finally found something he loved more than digimon—your perfect lil’pussy.

And he was going to show her how much he loved her right now.

Taking what was so graciously presented to him this time around, you’re short circuiting once he’s finally inside you again your most base needs being satiated turning you into a cockfiendish whore crying for him to fuck you harder as you grip his sheets like you could rip them apart.

His strokes become more merciless, unrelenting on your pussy and Gojo leans his weight onto your back, legs bent crouching on top of you, his hips becoming manic they thrashed forward in short heavy thrusts to hammer you into the mattress.

Gojo himself is beyond gone.

Disregarding all promises of mentioning otaku shit while he was wrecking your cunt.

“Fuck bunny this feels better then what I thought Agnewomon’s pussy would be like— you'd look so sexy in that cosplay. Gonna have you dress up for me and show you off at cons. I’ll buy you whatever you want, anything, the whole fucking world yeah? Just fuck—wear those those vibrating panties while you cosplay too, you’d like that?”

You tightened groaning at his debauchery, something that was not missed at all by Gojo who by this point had fucked his own self dumb in your angelic cunt. White strands of his hair stuck to both of your faces as he tiled your head back so he could see how desperately those little hearts danced in your dilated pupils before they were reduced to nothing more than mere splotches whiting out your vision.

“Fuck u really are a slut huh bunny? Tightening at the thought of all those otaku perverts looking at you in that skimpy outfit while I control the buzzing on that lil clit. But they can’t have you—m’the only otaku pervert that knows how to make you cum!”

Delirious with melodic honeyed cries spilling from you, you just wanted him to stop talking—pointing out every single time your body responded to his ecchi tastes becoming your tastes and now just yearning for a taste of him.

Reaching back you’re pulling him down to smash your lips together. Messy, but you could care as Gojo tried to swallow your tongue fucking his own into your mouth with a force that matched his cock. If fucking you was heaven then kissing you was nirvana—he’d give you the whole world if he could keep fucking you like this forever.

Gojo needs you to cum again soon as the feral need breed your tummy until it swells with his seed has him losing the little sanity he even had to begin with. A virgin until today he’d saved up so much waiting for your tight cunt this whole time.

Moving his lips away from yours only for air, your chest heaves harmonies cries from his hand weaving under your bodies. Jittery fingers swiped frantically over your clit, hurling you towards your euphoric climax as his lips descend back upon yours.

“Cum Bunny—I got ya baby.”

Deliberately plowing himself harder against your cervix, your body seizes up releasing tension into pure white energy that you swore was pumping through your every vein as an extension of your pussy as his heavy load spurts to paint your walls and sear your insides as his thrusts continue to swill his seed inside you, pushing it further into your womb—-thank fuck for birth control.

However that was the last thing you remember before you go limp, temporarily blacked out as you swear you’ve transcended to a celestial plane of existence. One where all slutted out souls went to escape from the unearthly pleasure they’ve been tortured by. You don’t know how long you’ve been out but you're squirming as you come back to consciousness. Realizing your now back on your back as your hips involuntarily rocking against something thick and wet.

When you finally manage to open your eyes you're greeted by Gojo tongue slurping at your clit and lapping up the cum oozing out of your battered hole like it was a refreshingly creamy bowl of kakigori. His hands embedded themselves into your thighs pinning them to the bed nibbling on your clit and having your already overstimulated core climaxing on his tongue once more.

Strings of your sticky nectar connect his tongue to your cunt as he looks up at you. Having the audacity to grin lovingly at you as if he didn’t look like a downright starved and deranged man with a sheen of shared fluids dribbling down his chin. He’s pussy drunk once again this time buzzed off the pungent yet sweet taste of his cum marinating in your creamy tenderized cunt.

Gojo is cheesin’ at you like he’s found his favorite spot in the world—and he had as far as he was concerned.

“You said it was too messy, remember Bunny? The least I can do to make it up to you is scoop every drop out of your runny lil’ cunt with my tongue! What kind of boyfriend would I be to have all this cum soaking my Bunny’s slutty little thong and spilling down her thighs while out to dinner—so I decided to have mine a little early.”

FUCKING HELL—DINNER! What time was it?!

Disordented, your head is fuzzy and you could feel the soreness settling in your muscles. You didn’t think you’d be able to get out of this bed in the next 24 hours, let alone make it to dinner—if you hadn’t already missed it!

“Nnnn, n-not like I can go anymore Toru, s’all your f-fault!”

Your bruised lips poke out into pout. Gojo chuckles at you how cute you look and he rises up from between your thick thighs to boop you on the nose as he gazes adoringly at you.

“I know princess m’sorry—I already texted Shoko saying you couldn’t, don’t worry~~”

But your eyes widened as you were now fully worried.

Worried as to what the fuck Gojo actually texted them!

“T-Toru—”

“—I just told them you weren’t feeling well, was that okay?”

Quickly assuaging your fears—you can relax a bit for now (although you were sure you’d have a lot of explaining to do later) as Gojo pulls you to him again and softly kisses your neck, hands returning to your ass to rub soothing circles on your chaffed skin.

Relaxing again floods sleep into your eyes. A welcome godsend honestly, so you can process everything that just happened, especially Gojo aggressively fucking a love confession out of you.

“And m’sorry if I got carried away Bun… but you were so good for me, so fucking perfect! Just relax and I’ll take care of you! I’ll handle everything—for you and your nasty lil’ cunt. I love you both and I’ll keep both my pretty girls happy forever! I promise!”

Gazing at you with cartoonishly sparkling eyes, you have to look away from Gojo lest your ears altogether burn up in embarrassment from his shameless and yet a hundred percent earnest vocalization of affections that somehow still got your heart racing.

“—oh and my parents will be here tomorrow—we can tell them right? They will be so excited! They've been telling me since I was little I shouldn’t let you get away! Ooo! Ooo! Maybe now that we're dating they’ll let us use their sex dungeon! We need to think of a safe word though Bunny—”

Scarcely comprehending anything he is saying to you, your mind like your pussy had been fully liquified. Both ruthlessly corrupted by Gojo’s long otaku cock and pervy ass fantasies which is no surprise seeing as his family even owns a—

HOL’ THE ENTIRE FUCKUP—A SEX DUNGEON!?

Like a shot of caffeine directly into your veins your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you blink at him dumbfounded, mouth hanging open.

“Doesn’t that sound fun, Bunny!? My parents are so cool! When I turned 18 my dad even gave me some of his rare and one-of-a-king hentai figures for my collection to get me started and then—”

Tuning him out you’re gagged at the unexpected revelations—and his parents always seemed like such charming n’ decent God fearing people too. Well known to be ruthless in the business world, but upstanding global philanthropists nonetheless.

Well the apple sure as hell didn’t fall too far from the sordid sex fiend tree, that was for damn sure!

Clearly you had no idea what you were getting yourself into or had unleashed by agreeing to be Gojo’s girlfriend. I mean, could no longer deny your growing feelings for him—plus he did just give you multiple back-breaking-terrifyingly-mind-numbing-earth-shattering-orgasms. Not to mention, you would definitely be getting one of every Hermes bag ever made if you wanted one—but at what cost?

Your Dignity?

Self-respect?

The right to call yourself a functional and contributing non-degenerate member of society?

Who knows really…

Although perhaps dating a Gojo, the next heir at that, you’d be too rich and highly regarded for people to even care (we’ll except for your friends giving y’all hell but you could eventually make peace with that).

You internally groan as the gentle touches on your bottom morph into lustful gropes and you know your brand new boyfriend would not be granting rest for your totally demolished lil’ pussy anytime soon unless you could distract him a bit.

“—Toru, Toru baby listen, please.”

Interrupting him, you muster the energy to put on the sweetest face you can manage in your exhausted state.

And of course, Gojo, as always and yet unknowingly, tests the limits of your tolerance.

“Yes, my whittle Bunny, my kinky baby girl—hentai goddess divine?”

Gojo nuzzles your nose in an eskimo kiss as he showers you with ‘loving compliments’.

Scrunching your face, you grit your teeth through your already weak smile to stop yourself from losing it at him referring to you as ‘hentai goddess divine’—y’all would definitely be having a talk about that as well as appropriate in-public pet names later though.

“Babyyyyy—I’m so sticky and sore, why don’t you be a good boyfriend and get stuff ready for us to take a bath, hm? Maybe find me something else to wear too, hm?”

You did need a bath and you calculated even with his energetic disposition it should take him at least 15-20 minutes to delegate the tasks and get everything together considering how huge his mansion was.

“Oh! Of course, of course! Just wait here! I’ll be right back, my ecchi angel.”

Brow-twitching you sit up to wave at him with another strained smile as he scrambles to put on pants and heads out of his room.

You sigh tiredly and make yourself comfy on his cloud like pillows.

Thinking he’s finally left and you can savor some much needed time to make peace with what you got yourself into by agreeing to be the girlfriend of an otaku nerd like Gojo Satoru—

—when his head suddenly peaks back in the room with a sheepish look on his face.

“Heh, you know Bunny, was thinking—you really didn’t think I could code crack your cute lil’ cunt now did ya?”

Your eyes are closed but your fists are balling angrily gripping onto the pillows surrounding you.

“Don’t worry Bunny, yours is the only pussy my dick is digidestined for!”

With that, Gojo narrowly avoids the Agumon pillow plushie that is swiftly hurled at his head as he dashes away from the door, his merry yet hysterical laughter echoing through the halls.

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

⏭ a/n: this fic was wayyyy too long but i've been kinda mean to y'all gojo glazers lately rejoicing in your sorrows cause you are now miserable like the rest of us lmfao, so consider this y'alls bone :P tbh im kinda surprised this is the first full gojo fic i've written lol, it was fun tho cause otaku!gojo is a freak for pussy would drive you insane in all the right and wrong ways. i still have invisible man gojo and ceo/professor gojo planned tho (plus that frat boy satosugu request).

plug choso p3 next! (i promise!!!) taglist.

reblogs and comments are my life's blood ty ᥫ᭡ .ᐟ

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hoshigray · 2 months

Note

just gojo smut

. and hesss a bullyyy

another part of this scenario...

၇͜ᩘ𑁍 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! you and Gojo are college juniors - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play - squirting - multiple orgasms - pet names (angel, crybaby, pretty girl) - mention of tears and drool.

Sitting here, thinking about bully! Gojo and…how playfully mean he can be to your body…

“Ahhh!! Sa–toru…p-please go slow…!”

“Ehhh, but I thought ya liked it when my fingers go fast, angel.”

Just picturing you pressed up against him with your legs spread and your wrists restricted to your chest by a hand, your back to his chest to maintain inessential closeness. The other is in between the personal zone of your lower regions, his digits playing with you to the point of your thighs quaking with every touch and proximity of him.

Because there’s no such thing as “personal” when having you like this.

You throw your head to his shoulder as his slender fingers venture deeper into you, your legs threatening to close but are held open by his feet, spreading your ankles. “Gaaaahh, ohhGo—Mmmm!”

The white-haired man behind you comes to your ear to whisper. “Hnnnm, fuck, that feels nice,” he curls the digits to brush your walls, your figure jolting to the contact. “All wet and tight like I like it.”

“—Mmfff, Satoru, please, I can’t—“ you bite down on your lip with another rub to your texture, his slender fingers going more extensive than you could ever on your own. “S-Stop..! I’m t’ sore…”

“Oh? You’re swore?” He mocks childishly. “But you promised you can handle this much.”

Bullshit! More like pulling you aside and choosing to finger you to heal his boredom. Aren’t you two supposed to be working on a project together? “I caannn’t; I came—shit—like t-twice already…!”

“Aww, don’t be such a spoilsport,” he snickers as he increases the pace of his fingers. Your back arches at the frequent touches on your vaginal borders, yet Gojo is right there to keep you still. “C’mon, pretty girl, you know I want to see you do that first before I stop.”

You shake your head hurriedly, your eyes finding his. “I really can’t do iit! I m-might…break!”

His side profile harbors one of his azure eyes that glimpses at you, and a smirk pulls up. “Fine, then I’ll make you.”

Words that have your stomach drop to the bed, your mouth open to protest, yet it is stopped by the cadence of his hand going irregularly fast. You swore your vision had gone blank for a split second as Gojo’s middle and ring fingers pushed and pulled your innards with spasmodic bursts. Your conscience forces the body to retaliate—to retreat from this tall man’s grasp. But it’s futile, of course; his titter close to your eardrums melts your face into a deeper pool of embarrassment.

Oh my God! Your mind is all you have to curse, your lips betraying your words as the only thing they can release is humiliating babbles. Gojo pushes his hand deep to the point that the blunt of his fingertips makes your toes curl and your vagina clamp onto them. No, no—I can feel it!

“C’mon, ya big crybaby,” he whispers again, a shiver crawling up your nape. “Let it out already.”

The words of his voice mixed with the frequent digs of your chasm swirl and pound your head. Your eyes find the top of your skull as your trembling legs succumb and your glads expel a clear liquid that exerts with every quake of your thighs.

A mischievous grin twinges on Gojo’s face, removing his fingers out of your spasming cunt and swiping your vulva to have you squirting everywhere, plastering on the skin of your legs and tummy and his jean-clad thighs. You cry out during it all, nearly choking on drool as his fingers frequently and roughly glide on your clit, tears watering your eyes and beacon to fall.

“Yeah, that’s it!” He cheers, smearing your substance around your bare lower regions as if the mess you made doesn’t extend to the sheets of his bed. “There you go, angel, keep making a mess for me.”

His thumb teases your clitoris some more on your clitoris as he pushes his middle finger back inside your swollen slit. “—Dahaah!! Yo–You said you’d stop if I…Mmmph!”

The light from the ceiling shines on his rounded shades. “I lied~.”

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yeyinde · 4 days

Text

bos taurus | dogmeat series pt., i

mafia butcher Simon Riley x Reader

You don't question your brother when he sends you to drop off packages to his friends, but when the enforcer for the 141 shows up to teach the small-time dealer selling on their turf a lesson, you realize there are different ways to pay someone back with pounds of flesh.

(OR: your brother owes them, and Ghost is content to let you settle the debt. after all, if you wanted freedom, then you shouldn't have caught the eye of the butcher of the 141, should you?)

18+ SMUT. noncon. objectification. marking. kidnapping. threats of violence. unsafe sex (manipulation into unprotected sex). rough sex. size difference. breathplay. 10k of foreplay. light pussy slapping. overstimulation. mafia au.

SERIES MASTERLIST | AO3

The goal is to be as quick and discreet as possible.

In and out, he says, looping the baggie around his index finger. Inside, a snowfall of white powder settles at the bottom.

Meth this time. Oxytocin the last.

He ties it tight before giving the bag a quick shake, breaking up the clumps. Satisfied with the way it looks, he turns toward you. Levels you with a sombre look, the picture of a concerned older brother.

You almost fall for it. Believe it. But the clouded, flat edge to his gaze undercuts his worry for what it really is. A farce.

“And if it seems sketchy—”

—run.

But your knees are locked, soles glued to the pavement. You can't move even though everything is screaming at you to flee.

The problem, maybe, is that there's nowhere to go. Escape cut off, filled by a body, a man—even though the idea, the mere notion, of thinking this behemoth as human, flesh and bone; blood and tissue, is laughable when he's so clearly a beast. A monster.

He fills up your field of vision. Your line of sight was eclipsed by the thickness of his waist, the broad expanse of his shoulders. Thighs that are as wide as the trunk of a tree. Arms boxing you in. A prison of obsidian. A black shadow.

In the panic that surfaces, surging to the top like an oil spill, you catch a pocket where he doesn't root. A small alcove between the bend of his elbow and the slot of his knee perched against the wall. Enough room for you to—

“Wouldn't do tha’ if I were you.”

His voice seems to shake the earth, rolling out of his broad chest like the low, brassy roar of a lion; a rumbling thunderclap.

You feel sick—

The leather covering his hand is cold when it closes around your arm, grip tight. Bruising. Trapping you with just the slightest effort.

“Go’ a problem, you and I,” he starts, and it's almost conversational. Might be, perhaps, if the clean, sleek outline of his gun inside the unclasped holster around his ungodly thick waist wasn't threatening you more than the grip he has on your arm. “How do you reckon we can fix it?”

You have a meagre twenty dollars in your pocket. Less money for them to take if things go awry. If they decide that the little girl standing in for her older brother was an easier target to rob—money and drugs—than to settle things fairly. Money, goods. Hand over hand.

Just like the movies, he'd said.

Just like the movies, you think when he leans in closer, bulk swallowing you whole.

There is a pockmark in the corner of his crooked, misshapen nose and the crease of his eye. A scar, maybe. It's circular—almost perfectly so; a silver-pink moon on the angular ridge of his nose. Uneven, craggy, like crumpled printer paper.

It looks almost like—

You think of the mark on your arm. Soot-stained. The smell of burning hair, tissue. The searing pain.

“I–I can pay you—” you stammer out, tearing your gaze away from the ugly mark on his skin. A cigarette burn. It makes you shudder.

He cocks his head slowly like a big, dumb dog, but there's something eerie in the ink spill of his eyes. The soft matte of a saltwater crocodile staring at you from beneath the murk. Calculative. Hungry.

“Pay me?” He echoes slowly, dragging the words out mockingly. “D’you know ‘ow much trouble your brother is in? For sellin’ ‘ere of all places?”

“No,” you swallow. It feels like your heart is stuck inside your throat. “I–I just—”

“Run ‘is errands,” he finishes cruelly but you can't deny it. “Ain't you a good little sister? Almost makes me wish I ‘ad somethin’ as sweet as you f’myself growin’ up.”

You don't answer. He doesn't seem to be looking for one, really; just empty words to fill space. To echo in your head, barbed wire around any sense of comfort you might have felt. Punishing cruelty.

He has the upper hand, it says. He's the one who makes derisive jokes while you tremble in his grasp, and try to make yourself as small, as unassuming, as possible. Hiding from the predator in plain sight. Hoping he passes you over for something bigger, more calorie-dense; the effort to catch and consume you expends more energy than the return. Hardly worth it in the long run. The comfort of a risk-reward ratio, right?

But he's opportunistic, it seems. A snacking scavenger.

Could eat, it says, like a basking tiger keeping a mouse trapped between his paws, letting it squirm and squeak as he slowly licks his lips. Not enough to fill its belly but enough to satisfy the gluttonous urge a predator has to eat. Sharpening its teeth on flimsy bones. Child’s play.

It's a fitting image, especially with the way he arches over you, looms; fingers looped around the thick of your arm, holding firm, but not—

Not as tight as he could.

It's a loose-fisted grasp. Lazy, almost. He knows you won't run—or, at the very least, knows you won't get far.

You peel your gaze away from his, dropping it to the curve of his shoulders—the width of them is just as dizzying as his height; broad, muscular. Pulling it further down the length of his arm, covered in a thick jacket. Black corduroy. Ashes stain the cuffs. A bulky watch juts out from his wrist. Gold. Glinting even in the grey-blue gloom of an overcast evenfall.

His muscles tense. Hand tightening around your arm, fingers digging hard. Rubbing muscle painfully against bone.

A warning, maybe. Stop looking—

But something else catches your eye. Blood red. The colour of meat. A fresh kill.

The back of his hand has a blooming rose. Petals spread out, unfurled. In the middle, a milky skull sits. Stencilled in boxy, yellow letters is ONE-FOUR-ONE—

You know what it means even as your mind whirs, gears turning, turning; plummeting into a tailspin, making excuses as it falls, dragging your heart down alongside it. An area code. Some special date. An inside joke.

But you've seen the marking around town before. Heard whispers about them from your brother, his friends. 141, they say, and then: mafia.

The real deal, he said, puffing around a joint his friend rolled. It's too tight. He scoffs, and rips it out from between his lips. Shitty roll, man, make another one—

Mob. Mafia. Gangsters. It seemed so extreme, Hollywood. Fiction, fantasy, all rolled into one. Tony Soprano. Ralph Cifaretto. Michael and Vito Corleone. Tony Montana. Larger-than-life men created on paper.

You think your brother thought so too. Child's play. Grown men selling weed to kids for two hundred an ounce. Buying themselves sleek, black cars—G Wagons, Escalades, Cullinans—on the Xanax they sell at clubs, parties. Cocaine. Heroin.

Nothing to worry about.

Then his friend went missing.

Sent out on a routine delivery to drop off cocaine to well-dressed men in suits outside of a local butcher shop. A normal, nondescript Tuesday.

But he wouldn't answer his phone. Texts were being delivered, read, but no chat bubble appeared. Nothing sent back. Calls went straight to voicemail. He wasn't at home. Wasn't at his mum's. No one saw him. Heard from him.

Your brother didn't call the police. Didn't report him as missing.

It's just not what they do, he said. You don't involve them. Ever.

The most shocking part of it was that no one saw anything. He just vanished. Disappeared—stock an’ all, your brother angrily spits—without a trace, picked up off the streets.

If it was the police, someone would have said something by now. They're hardly discreet. And a rival—

Well.

The biggest problem was that your brother was blindsided by his own small-time success. An accumulation of little wins bolstered his confidence. Overfed his ego. This fallout was tunnel vision. A refusal to see the bigger picture.

Or the storm clouds looming on the horizon.

You'd heard of the 141 in passing. Little quips, anecdotes from the passel of friends that congregated around your brother—often getting high on the couch and watching old cartoons; sharing a joint back and forth between gossip.

Through rheumy eyes, they'd talk about the real gangsters in town—much to the irritation of your brother—and swap tales of run-ins and feats they heard from a friend (of a friend, of a friend). Most of the guys were known already. Soap and Gaz are the biggest names that cropped up on the streets through reputation alone. Both fighters for a gym. MMA, mostly, but whispers of street fighting and extracurricular activities weren't uncommon.

Liked the thrill of it, they said. But the worst was a man simply known as the Ghost. An enforcer for the 141—a fucking butcher, more like, Liam cut in, jaundiced eyes widening—the guy who took care of problems.

“Can't be,” your brother scoffed, lifting off the couch to reach in his back pocket for his wallet. A small anthill of white powder poured into the glass table. “They don't get involved in our shit—”

And for the most part, you're sure that's true. Dealing to the same circle of people—outreach spread through word of mouth—seemed paltry in comparison to the scale of an operation that had a money laundering gym. But the problem was that your brother lacked common sense. His ego often got in the way of foresight. The shadow greed casts blocking out the bigger picture.

Like—

Territory is territory—regardless of what's being pushed.

You wish there was a modicum of surprise when his friend turned up. Barely recognizable. Sent right to the morgue as a John Doe.

Most would see the marks on the man's skin—the distinct lack of blood—as an indicator to abandon ship, find the boss, beg for forgiveness, and maybe even try to strike up a deal. But—

That picture is hidden under his anger. Greed. Selfishness.

He sends you instead.

You're somethin’ they ain't expectin’, he said. Won't mess with you.

Right.

He catches the realisation dripping down your brow—beads of sweat gathering at your hairline; anxiety, fear, churning your stomach—and hums. Cocks his head to the side.

“Was expectin’ ‘im t’show up, though—” he murmurs, hand tightening around your arm. The pressure, the sting, is eclipsed by the gnawing sense of dread biting viciously into you. “Told ‘im if I caught ‘im sellin’ on our streets again, there'd be trouble. Thought we ‘ad an agreement after ‘is friend. But—”

His eyes cut to yours. It feels like a knife to your guts, sinking into soft tissue. A pain you can't breathe around.

Won't mess with you, you think, and then viciously—sadly—he knew. Was warned by them and still sent you out. Let you take his place for whatever comeuppance they decided he deserved.

It should shock you. You almost wish it did. Desperately clinging to the threads of surprise that slip through your oily fingers, grasping onto the nothing but empty air. Numbed to the resignation that trickles in.

Of course he would leave you here to save himself. Letting you fend off whatever they threw at you alone. Leaving you trapped between a brick wall and a wall of a man.

The excuses are there. They pool on the tip of your tongue—it isn't me, don't do this, it's my (stupid, selfish) brother you want, not me—but you swallow them down and try not to wince at how quickly they dissipate when you do. It doesn't matter in the end because whatever you have to say won't negate the drugs in your backpack. The empty house you'll lead them to—your brother probably squirrelled away somewhere until this blows over. Half-hopeful you'd call him and say everything is fine, the deal went smoothly. You're on your way back. Or that the debt he racked up with them is settled by you.

It's half-hearted when it slips out again, caught between resignation and dread. A brittle whisper. A prayer—

“I can pay you. Whatever he owes, I can—”

He's already shaking his head.

“Too late for that, birdie. ‘sides, I don't want your money.”

He moves back, rocking on his heels to put a small measure of distance between your bodies. In that scant space, he drops his gaze, sweeping it over you. His eyes darken.

When he pivots them down, catching yours, you can't stop the shiver that crawls up your spine.

That calculative gleam is back.

“But I think we can work something else out.”

Something else turns out to be ushering you into the backseat of an old Ford pickup.

The door whines when he opens it. Rust flaking off, falling to the ground by your feet. Your mind reels. Spins comparisons to falling snow, dried blood.

He hauls you in with his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, thick thigh sliding between your own to boost you up. The protest—a mindless, reactionary squeal at being manhandled—only makes him chuff. A brief flex of his fingers around the skin of your neck is the only warning he gives before it pulls away, and wraps tight around your waist. His thigh flexes, muscle drawing taut as he shifts his foot up to the running board, lifting your feet off the ground and seating you fully on his leg like a child.

(In his hands, you feel like one, too.)

The motion makes you slip, back glueing along his broad chest with a shallow thump. You feel the rumble of his laugh trembling up your spine before you hear it.

“Careful,” he drawls, oiled with amusement. “Might slip.”

Anything you could say in response is choked back when he bumps the corded steel of his thigh into the seam of your legs, pushing tight to your clothed cunt. His intention is unmistakable this time. Unignorable. And with the rasp of filtered, balmy air against your crown; the pull of a groan when you rock back into his groin, the noise still slicked with mirth, you feel a knot of dread spool tight in your belly.

Something else is dragged back to the forefront, coiling like wisps of smoke around you.

And you knew. It's shocking, you think, but not necessarily a surprise. To call it a dichotomy would be lying to yourself, and so, you settle against it. This notion that what he wants—wanted—is flesh. Not money. Not retribution.

Not to talk things out like you'd hoped he’d try (grabbing onto the idealistic thread, holding it tight to your chest); bringing you in and forcing you to convince your—stupid selfish greedy—older brother that quitting was the only option. Dangling you—baby sister—over his head in an appeal to his emotions. Familial bonds. Love.

That thread is cut. Snipped.

Probably severed when they first came to him with an offer. No strikes against him and yet—

The idea of using you to make him bend was expunged from the drawing board. It's not even a plan b, or c, or z.

And—

You knew. Have known. Maybe that's why it's so easy to swallow around the panic when it lances through your chest, climbs up your throat. You can think and feel and breathe around this dagger in your back like it was there the whole time and you've only just noticed it now.

Nothing but a small, whispered oh in the roiling polyphony of your emotions.

It sits there as he manuevers you into the passenger seat of his truck, your head spinning around the indescribable sensation of being woefully cognisant despite the paralysing fugue pressing against the bubble of stark awareness that keeps it at bay. It manifests itself as a numbed sort of shock. Or more accurately—

Indifference.

Defeat.

His hand brushes your cheek, the snag of dry leather against humid skin tugs uncomfortably at your flesh, stinging as they dance down to your jaw, the delicate line of your vulnerable throat, skimming over the curve of your breast—

And it's too much. Too present. Too real.

Autopilot. Dissociation. Derealisation. All of these concepts slip past the bubble of hypervigilance, skidding the surface like a pebble thrown over a lake. Out of reach as he unashamedly gropes you, barely making an effort to mask his actions as just buckling you in.

You pretend, though. Curl your fists around the sides of the seat, fingers digging into the worn foam. Head lulling back on the headrest. Eyes fixed out the window as he walked around the front, head and shoulders still visible in the windshield despite the height of the truck. It makes your heart leap, stuttering in your chest as the absurdity of his size is brought back into focus. Too big, you think. Grossly so.

There's a moment when you think about running. Toying with the idea of sliding your hand over the lock, pulling the door open when he's too busy on his side to notice. It'll give you an advantage—a head start. Enough time to slink through the dense forest of concrete buildings lining the industrial zone, and into somewhere safe. Help, a behemoth is chasing me—

But the door clicks. Swings open with a squeal of rusted metal just as your fingers twitch toward the handle. Hope evaporates with each lurch of the cab as he climbs inside, metal creaking under his weight when he settles in the seat.

From the corner of your eye, you can see his head tip. Chin angling toward you. Staring. Assessing.

When he speaks, you feel the words like cold fingers dancing maliciously down your spine.

“‘pected you t’run.”

It's said idly enough. Nonchalant. Tone even, if a little cruel, and you wonder if this is some test. One that you passed—and failed—in equal measure.

He doesn't look away. It takes less effort than you wish it did to peel your lips apart, to breathe in the stale, mulch scent of the cab—something overgrown, rotting, and damp—and mumble:

Where would I go?

It seems to amuse him. He hums around a mouthful of mockery before turning away, pawing at the ignition. Gloved hand curling over the wheel.

“Smart girl.”

You don't feel very smart. In fact, you feel very small. Stupid. Maybe you should have taken a stab at it—running. Tried, at least, to save your own life before the jaws of the beast closed over you like an iron bear trap around your ankle. Fought like hell. Clawed and kicked and screamed.

When most kids read the back of a cereal box, you learned about secondary locations. You know better than this.

But the truck sputters to life in a belly-deep rumble, hacking up soot into the air as he pulls the lever into DRIVE. The fight inside of you—however ephemeral it might have been—dies inside the smoke spilling out of his exhaust. Gone so quickly that you begin to wonder if it was even there at all—

Must be, you think, eyes listing outward. Keen. Mapping the twists and turns—a futile effort in the end: he doesn't bother hiding where he's taking you, and you've been down these old, grim streets more times than you can count.

It doesn't surprise you much when he turns down the street leading to the butcher shop. An old relic that still carries the marks of a booming farming town before it fell victim to industrialisation. Concrete skyscrapers in place of lush cornfields. Warehouses over old barns, ranches. Cattle, meat, produce—it all used to be a mainstay here but now hides under layers of steel.

The dark windows of the small shop gleam with hazy smears of neon blue, red, when you pull up, catching on the array of rowdy bars across the street. All clubs that belong to the 141. A playground of drugs, sex. More money than you'd ever see in your lifetime.

It's an uncanny juxtaposition to the quiet, assuming street right across from it. Barber, butcher, accountant firm, antique store. All dark inside and bathed in the smeared stream of glimmering neon as lights flash in the fading glow of twilight.

He pulls up to the curb in front of the shop. A bold move if the streets weren't so empty. Lifeless. The clubs won't be open for four more hours. Everything else follows the same nine to five as the rest of the world. The shops closed an hour ago, and everyone in town seems to know not to linger here after dark.

The air seems to stagnate in your lungs when he cuts the ignition. Slips the key into his pocket.

“Don't get any funny ideas in tha' pretty little ‘ead o’yours.”

“Funny ideas,” you echo, toneless. Flat. It rolls out with your exhale. Words that might have been smarter to swallow down. “Like following a stranger to a butcher shop?”

“Lippy little thing, ain't you?” He scoffs. The truck creaks when he shifts. “Ain't go’ no one t’blame but yourself. Told you what would ‘appen if you kept sellin’ in our territory. You should ‘ave known better.”

“That was my brother.” The words slip out before you can stop them. “Not me—”

“‘ow am I suppose t’know that? You were sellin’ where I told ‘im not to—” he has the gall to shrug. Spit these careless words at you like it wasn't life or death. “That's all there is to it, birdie.”

“That's not fair—”

The truck groans under his weight, shaking from side to side as he leans over to push his door open before turning back to you, rolling his eyes.

“Life ain't very fair, is it?”

The acerbic words are flicked out from between his teeth; an apathetic, droning curl clinging to each syllable. He doesn't care. Won't. What happens to you next is your choice, and yours alone.

And he's just doing his job—

“When I get out of ‘ere, you ain't gonna do anythin’ funny—”

His hand lashes out. Gloved fingers close over the thick of your throat in a blink. Fear lags by a beat, giving him enough time to sink his fingers over your neck, and when it catches up—heart rabbiting in your chest, thudding in your ears; roaring as your pulse thunders beneath the press of his thumb—he’s already got you in his hold. The width forces your chin to lift, stretching up to accommodate the curl of his hand around you.

Trapped like a rabbit. Cattle to the slaughter.

He tilts his head down, keeping his eyes on yours as he forces your crown into the headrest, chin lifted up. It's uncomfortable. The curve of your neck cuts off your airways. Constricts your breathing to shallow gasps. An ache grows in your nape.

The swell of panic, fear, in your eyes makes him hum. But there's nothing echoing back. An absence of light in the deep, placid pits. It looks like still water. A stagnant lake.

It's unnerving how dispassionately expressive his eyes are. Wild, wild. Vats of ink. Pools of obsidian. Ringed in red-lined ivory. Long, ashen lashes dusting over the smears of charcoal under his eyes. Sleepless nights, maybe. Fatigue. The corners are tattooed with coal, leaving behind a thumbprint in the crease.

But empty. Barren. No light.

Like black holes. Eating everything around it. Devouring all that gets too close, but giving nothing in return except a bottomless crater in the bruised-plum nebulous of space around it.

You're not sure you like it. You can't look away.

But in staring back so hard (getting pulled in deeper and deeper), you catch the twitch in his left eye. A shallow spasm. It throws off the symmetry when he blinks, one eye a sliver of a second behind. Desynchronized in a way that seems so—

Unlike him.

Disjointed.

You blink in response. Perfectly synchronous.

His lid twitches again. Just once. Brief. Pale, pink eyelids drop, unveiling a nebula of indigo veins on the smooth, thin surface as they roll down to half-mast over his eyes, now narrowed slightly in contemplation. Thought.

Whatever is happening in his head can't be good. It causes a ripple over the lake. Little rings rebound outwards.

He looks away first. A quick slide of his eyes to the corners, glancing out of the passenger side window. Whatever catches his attention is unknown to you. The anchor on his hand around your throat keeps you still. Immovable.

(Every instinct in your body compels you not to look away from him because nothing outside could ever be scarier, more dangerous, than him.)

A second later, he breathes in through his nose. The fabric of his mask is pulled into his nostrils from the force, forming little black holes under the crooked arch.

You hadn't really given much thought to his appearance outside of big, massive. But there's a strange asymmetry to the slopes and valleys beneath the balaclava. Trying to map his face, fill in the blanks with just black cloth and vague, lopsided outlines, is impossible. There are too many gaps. Too many missing pieces. You can only wonder, then, what he looks like under it.

Monstrous, you hope.

It's just a coincidence that he looks at you the moment the thought passes, but you flinch like a naughty child getting caught doing something you shouldn't when the heavy, dour weight of his impenetrable stare is levelled at you once more. Your heart stutters. It's loud in your ears. In the truck.

You wonder if he can hear it just as loudly as you do—

Another blink, and his gaze flickers down, settling on the gap between your lips, watching the little tremble they make with each shallow hiccup of air you greedily suck in. His head tilts to the side, eyes never leaving your mouth even as he leans down, masked lips brushing over the beading sweat gathering on your hairline.

It's a brief touch. A taste. You tremble when he pulls back, fingers tightening around your flesh.

His eyes are lavascapes.

“Are you, birdie?”

You almost forget what he's asking. The conversation hidden between the scant beats it took for him to measure your worth with the blistering intensity of his stare, and the tumult of your feelings still looping around each other in your belly. Knotting up tight into a ball. There's fear, of course there is.

But the rest—

You'd rather not think about.

The grip on your throat eases just enough for you to shake your head no to whatever he is asking. Doing anything funny, you think, scrambling at the tangle of memories flipping past, trying to connect the pieces to a puzzle you've already forgotten.

It must be the right response. Or maybe it's another question like before, a test where there’s no right answer.

Run, stay.

Smart and stupid.

But it seems to appease him—marginally. His eyes crease. Tightening. His other hand folds over your throat, sliding until his palms kiss the sides of your neck in a near-perfect symmetry.

Something frissons across the blank, placid lake of his expression. Another ripple. A shudder. He leans in for a moment, nose touching the apple of your cheek, and when he breathes in, it’s sharp, reedy. Cold air ghosts over your skin. Long, pale lashes flutter when you swallow.

He hums quietly under his breath before peeling back. The flatness to his gaze is back; a cold, impenetrable distance widening like a chasm as he uncoils around you. You almost fall for this—this indifference. An icy nonchalance. But you've been eating the minuscule quirks of him just as ravenously as he's been devouring yours.

There is something there. A fracture, maybe. A splinter.

But what leaks through from the other side isn't anything close to warmth. It's—

Hunger.

The shift in your throat draws his molten gaze to your neck, still wrapped tight in his firm grip. Your reflection blooms in the vat of black; eyes wide, all white. Pupils narrowed to a pinprick. Mouth slack, corners tugging downward from the pressure of his hand. The tilt of your head. His thumbs press under your chin, pushing you back further until it feels like your neck might break—

He stops. Shifts. You puff out a shallow breath.

What looks back at you is unremarkable in the murk. A sliver of fear. A slip of unease.

Eye of the beholder, you think when his breath chuffs out shallowly through the mask. When that hunger is ground down to a raw, esoteric fissure hairlining the black of his eyes. The widening expanse of his pupil.

You wonder if it's your fear that itches under his skin, dredging up something predatory in his hindbrain. The urge to chase. To bite.

But the nearly indiscernible flicker of his gaze has you brushing that idea aside when it snags on the expanse of his hand coiled around your throat. Easily swallowing it whole with just his palms.

You're not a small thing, but the indomitable size of him makes you feel insignificant.

You think he feels it, too.

His fingers flex over your nape, stretching. Pulling. It pushes the flat of his palm into your throat, ridges crushed against your trachea. But you can still breathe. It's shallow. Hoarse. A touch painful. Dizzying in a way that makes you feel like you're on a rollercoaster. A teacup ride that just spins and spins and spins—

The gap closes. A sliver of air snakes down your throat. Muscles flexing, shifting. Struggling to swallow around the pinch of his hand. A harrowing task when you feel the gloved fingers link to the first, then the second knuckle, tying together in a too-tight, impossible, noose around your neck. Thumbs overlap. Fingers slide into place. It forms a chain of his hands with no gaps between them. Not a single sliver of skin shows from under the leather of his gloves.

He makes a sound when they meet—a nasal groan in the back of his throat, mouth clenched shut so the air has no choice but to tear through his nose. It's raw. Fractured. The devastating moan of a tiger nuzzling at its meal.

Your vision blurs. A black fog presses into the edges, seeping over the arch of your peripherals. Dripping down slowly over the hazy smear of the man. The way the ochre sun peeks over the angular roof of the accountant's office illuminates his back and casts swaths of shadows over his front. Drenching him in murk.

Despite the flickering darkness shuttering over your sight, you don't blink. Even as the tears prickle at your eyes, they stay open. Fixed on him. Black holes, you think, watching as the fever marbling those obsidian pools recedes. Cools.

He makes that noise again. Softer this time. A purr from deep in his chest. A breath. And then he peels back. His hands go slack. His shoulders slumping back into the lax, easy spread from before as you gasp hard, nearly choking on the flood of air that roars down your throat.

Your cheeks feel hot for a moment, and then cold. Icy. You don't have to touch them to know that you're crying. That the deluge clinging to your lashline spilt over, dripping messily to the collar of your shirt.

The placid lake is back. In the stillness, you heave. Mouth hanging open, chin quivering. His thumb lifts, slides over the curve of your chin. You don't feel it. Numbed, maybe, by the brief kiss of hypoxia. But you see it. Watch as he slides it up to the jut of your lower lip, the black, angular tip tickling over your skin. He follows the seam between skin and lip, tracing it to the corner of your mouth. It's slick. Drool pools in the crease, dribbles over the top of his finger. His eyes drop when he mops it up, catching it on the pad.

He makes another noise. An arid rasp bubbling between the soft tissue behind the roof of his mouth and the back of his tongue. It's ugly. The shiver you try to fight back slinks through.

His hand peels away from your neck, movements lax. Slow. The unwinding gait of an idling tiger in no real rush, no hurry, because there's nothing in the frigid Arctic that can touch him.

You watch him with flared eyes as he brings his thumb to his clothed mouth, and rubs your spit into the fabric of his mask.

His eyes don't break away from yours once.

Your spit doesn't stand out against the black of balaclava, but the idea of it burns through you. Throwing you headfirst into a dazed stupor. Dizzy. Confused.

Satisfied with whatever it was supposed to mean, he clambers out of the truck before coming around to your side. Distantly, you're sure this is what he meant by funny ideas when he passes the headlight, head straight and eyes gliding around the empty street. An opening to run. You know where you are. It would be easy to flee. Hide in the construction zone just ahead, tucking yourself into the tightest corner you can find until help arrives.

Help, though.

Officer, please. I got caught selling meth in the mob's territory and now they're going to skin me alive. Please hurry—

Right.

They'd rather help bury your body than get in the way of the mafia. Gangland violence isn't their concern unless it tumbles out into the street. Fat wallets keep even the most compassionate person quiet. Willing to turn a blind eye.

You'd be thrown in a cell. Or dropped off at their doorstep.

Either way—

You won't be coming back alive.

There's nothing to steel, harden, when he pulls the door open, your nerves long since ground down to fine powder. Nothing to fight against, either. He hauls you out of the truck, hands firm on your skin. Bursting blood vessels easily between his fingers. Barely any effort at all to crack your bones.

The moment in the car seems miles away when he pulls you in front of him, hand curling over your nape. Any flicker of humanity rendered out when he pinches you tight and shoves you forward. Dragging you back to the butcher shop by the scruff of your neck, leading you down a narrow set of stairs to the basement where pale white carcasses hang from hooks on the ceiling. He laughs when you tense. When your heels dig into the brown-stained linoleum.

Ain't gonna hang you, he mocks, fingers dipping punishingly into the sides of your neck. “Not yet, anyway—”

It brings little comfort when he drags you to a room in the back, kicking open the door with the toe of his boot before pushing you inside with a nudge against your nape.

It's dark. Walls covered in stains; mould, mildew. Something you hope is just rust. A single mattress is shoved into the corner; sheets stained with sweat and grime. Tinged a pale brown. Two pillows sit at the top, lopsided and matted with use. Threadbare. A twisted, black heap of fabric sits at the bottom. Wisps of cotton poke out from the cigarette burns.

A pair of muddy, black boots sit against the wall at the end of the bed. A basket of clothes—jeans, black shirts, black sweaters—is piled on the wall across from the door.

The room smells of stale sweat and old cigarettes.

You don't want to be here. The thought is abrupt. Immediate. Unease prickles along your nape, warmed and damp under his gloved palm. Between the look of the room—the floors stained the same suspicious brown, the rumpled bed in a corner—and the smell, you know this is not a place you want to stay. To be trapped inside with a man cut from Everest; whose hands are more dangerous than the sharp end of a knife.

He must feel the tension brimming beneath your skin; the spark of adrenaline surging through your veins. The clamp of his hand on your nape digs in tighter. Holding firm.

A breath tumbles out, thickening with mockery. “Like I said,” he leans down, pressing the mountainous width of his chest into your spine. The accentuation in your size difference, how big he is in comparison to you, makes you feel like prey. Small. Brittle, thin. He eats you whole. Spares nothing for later. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

Another nudge and you're pushed further into the room. He leans away, foot shoving back on the door until it snaps shut with a noise that cuts through the gossamer that spun around you, bifurcating reality from dream. The haze is wafted away, and all that remains is a barren room with a lumpy mattress, the smeared stain of rotten blood coagulating on the floor, and his body boxing you in. No escape.

The rumble of his chest shakes loose the cobwebs spooling across your thoughts. A brush of humid air ghosts along the line of your jaw, dampening the skin below your ear as he leans in close, too close, and purrs:

“Go on now. Strip for me.”

Each scrap of clothing you slowly roll off of your body is exchanged for a slip of information about him—who he is (Simon Riley, the name rumbled through the split between his teeth; a low, brassy purr as his eyes gleam in the dark, drilling into the expanse of skin unveiled to him)—and what he wants—

Nothing, he tells you, lifting one massive shoulder up in a half-hearted shrug. Jus’ what's owed to me, pet. For stickin’ my neck out f’you.

You don't think he did. Not really. But you're harshly reminded of the unsubtle threat. The gun balanced on his massive thigh. So wide, so big, it seems to make it look smaller in comparison. Tiny. A toy.

Child's play.

It's made worse, somehow, as he lounges. Sprawls out on the bed, legs spread, pulling taut on the jeans that stretch around the thickness of his upper thigh, bunching around his calves in a half-tuck inside his black boots. Arms flexing. Folded over his broad chest. He rolled the sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbow, showing off an impressive tapestry of harsh, faded black ink. Crisscrossing lines. All asymmetrical. Guns, barbed wire. A bullet with a wide, toothy grin—

All of it knits together; woven into a tangled mass of muscle. Of man, hidden under scar tissue. Rope burns on his wrists cut so deep that the skin is permanently dented in. More cigarette burns hidden inside the mess of ink. Jagged lines—from a knife, maybe; bullet wounds.

His skin tells stories of a terrible life. Ink spills over the worst of them, but they're visible under the fading charcoal. A series of burns—acid, fire, chemical—and raw, torn skin. He looks like he's been mauled. Pressed into the cold metal of a wood chipper until chunks of flesh were taken out. But even with these deep gouges, craters of missing tissue, he's big. Bulky. Soft—like a tiger. Predatory muscle tucked away under a thick layer of fatty tissue.

The pillowed pouch of his belly, the softness around his biceps—

It belies the danger underneath. The steel.

But as scary as it is, it has nothing on his eyes.

Glinting in the dim room. Dark pools of obsidian that follow each movement with an almost clinical keenness. Sharpened to a razor's edge.

They might be pretty, you think, if they weren't so intense. So liquid. His eyes gleam like wet ink, languidly rolling along his lashline as you clumsily shed your jacket, your blouse. Shoes, socks. Pants. Until you're in nothing but your panties.

Swallowing around the influx of panic that flutters like little birds beating their wings against the soft walls of your throat, you slip your fingers into the hem, now or never, and—

And you hesitate.

There's a difference between undressing willingly and doing so to save your life. It should spurn you on—survive, survive, survive—but you freeze at the apex. The summit is within reach.

You know what happens when you climb it. Cross over the invisible threshold.

What you've been trying to ignore this whole time, ever since he shoved you into the room with a huff, taking his perch on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, but in such a terrifying state of vulnerability, nearly nude, you can't any longer. Can't avert your gaze to the stained linoleum in a thinly veiled effort to keep from glancing at the thickening bulge lying prone against his thigh.

His—

Well.

You knew what he wanted when he grabbed your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks until your lips pursed, puckered for him to run his finger along the inseam. Prying your teeth apart. Rubbing his finger over your tongue, eyes dark—full; black holes pulling, tugging you in, dragging you closer to the event horizon framed in a ring of arsenic—and locked on to the sight of his gloved knuckle disappearing into your mouth. Wanting. Hungry.

You knew. And now—

Committing to it is legions above what you’re mentally prepared for. Nausea brims, churns your stomach. Unease curdling inside of you like rotten milk.

You don’t want this. But you don’t have a choice, do you?

That notion, the idea, prickles along your nape, raising the fine, peach-fuzz there until it stands on end.

You freeze. Movements still as every muscle in your body tenses. Coils. You can't do it. Can't—

A huff is dragged out of his chest as he sits up, knocking the gun carelessly to the mattress. His eyes daggering, sharpening into needlepoints, as he stares at you.

“Gotta do everything f’myself, do I?”

A grunt and he’s up. Pulling himself to his feet with nothing but the flex of his abdominal muscles.

There's no reprieve. Not a moment graced to gather your bearings before he crosses the distance between you. Once a comfort, a chasm, now conquered in a single stride.

The tips of his gloves are cold when they brush over your skin, sliding down the slope of your waist until they meet the hem of your panties. The last piece of modesty you have—

But he doesn't wait.

You're aware that this isn't a non-consensual thriller where the lead looms over the hapless love interest, eyes blazing with passion and need. That each interaction is drenched in a thick, palpable tension tethering the two together. Urges coalescing. Threads pulling taut, magnetic, dragging them closer and closer to the brink until they tumble over.

This is reality. And he doesn't stare into your eyes with an all-consuming desire as he slowly removes that last scrap of fabric keeping him from devouring you. No.

His skin-warmed fingers push under the elastic band with a rough shove, curling into the fabric until it tightens across your pelvis and thighs, and then he huffs, annoyed, and pulls. Pulls—

Until something gives.

The lace yields to the tension in his flexing bicep, and scrapes over your skin as it rips apart in his hand, threads snapping. Popping.

It hurts. Stings. You hiss, but the noise is ignored when he peels the ruined scrap of fabric from your legs, shoving it into his back pocket with a grunt of satisfaction. He looks back to you, eyes rippling like the dark, ink-black surface of a lake during nightfall, and coos, mocking and mean—

“Not s’hard, was it?”

He leans closer to you, a hand skimming up your spine before his fingers curl around your nape, keeping you still for just a breath before he pulls you into him with too much force. Your hands lift, palms slapping against his thick stomach when the movement nearly topples you over and threatens to break your nose on his chest.

“Makin’ me do all the work when y’supposed t’be payin’ me back? Ain't very nice o’you, is it?”

He touches you like he's taking stock of your worth. Grabbing a heavy, rough palmful of your beast in his hand, squeezing. Testing the weight, the softness, how supple you were between his fingers like he might with a piece of fruit. Meat. Prodding into the flesh, feeling the ripeness there. Gauging whether or not it was a piece he wanted to keep.

It's demeaning. Humiliating. He treats you like cattle; presses into the elasticity of your muscle, examines every inch of your skin for blemishes. Scouring for imperfections. There's no softness in the way he grabs handfuls of your body—squeezing your breasts, pushing them together, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger; pinching your belly, your sides, your waist; curling his fingers under your thigh, lifting it until it hitches over his waist, cunt exposed and pressed tight to the bulge trapped in his jeans. Your ass is handled rougher than the rest. Each cheek sitting in a hand, squeezed and punched and spread embarrassingly wide.

He ruts into you as he does it. Pushes the thick, fat length of him into your belly, rolling his hips against you with a heavy, ragged puff of air.

He feels big.

Everywhere, of course—it’s not so much his height, but the absurd width of him that really digs into your hindbrain, crossing all those intricate wires until they're tangled up, knotted together. Seeing his thigh, the same scale as a tree truck, slotting between yours—a mere branch by comparison—makes your belly flop. Turn over itself.

The muddled wires spark. Heat pools between your hips.

He could crush your head between them like a bear pushing its paw down on a watermelon.

It's fear and heat.

The two work in tandem, forming a seamless cohesion, as they flit down your spine, brimming up the urge to sink to your knees, the need to roll over and show your belly. A paradoxical desire to both run and be chased.

You're not sure if he's tendering your meat to eat later or if this is the usual type of foreplay he engages in, but once satisfied you're softened up enough for him, he shoves his fingers between your thighs with an abrasive hum that reverberates through his belly, tickling your palms.

“Tired o’waitin’,” is what he says when your head jerks up, eyes widening in shock. Terror. Horror. “Don't look so surprised,” he huffs, dryly. Voice a rough scrap over your cheek. “What'd y’think was gonna ‘appen?”

“Wait—” but he doesn't.

His fingers twist, pushing through your folds to graze your clit. It isn't gentle. It's sudden, quick. You gasp more from shock than pleasure; the rough slide of leather feels strange on your flesh, and your head is too muddled to separate fear from bliss.

Despite that, your body heats. Reacts to his touch. Your lower lip wobbles. You bite back another sound that crawls up your throat when his knuckle catches on your clit again, the pressure just shy of too much.

The burn, the fever, melts the unease. Shallow gasps spill out. Your cunt clenches, fluttering around nothing—throbbing, growing sticky, slick; achy and empty—when he starts to glide his digit between your folds. Little sawing motions drag each groove and stitch of his gloves over your pebbled clit, each thrust of his hand between your thighs making heat pool between your hips. It's done so clinically, so detached, like his hand rubbing over your leaking pussy was nothing to him. An action to get done, a task to complete.

It's the shame of that, the embarrassment, that makes you want to weep. Your fingers dig into his chest, nails pulling uncomfortably on the pleated bumps of his jacket as you grip the fabric right between your fists, clinging to him like a newborn fawn—all wet-nosed, teary-eyed; knobbly knees threatening to buck.

“S–stop—” you mewl when the monotonous rhythm melts into something harder, more intense. Heart thudding in your chest, heat burning you up as he turns his hand, palm up, between your sticky, shaking thighs. He rubs his hand back and forth, curling his middle finger up when he passes your hole, tip pushing against your leaking rim.

The friction aches. The stretch stings. The leather feels strange, foreign when it pries your folds apart and dips inside of you.

You don't like it. It's too much—

He makes a sound—a tut—when you pull away from him, standing on the tips of your toes until the blunt curve of his finger slides out of you. He sucks his teeth in a mockery of disappointment before digging his fingers, hard, into the sides of your neck. A warning. You whine. Whimper—

It goes unheeded. And when you press your thighs tight together, shivering at the slip-slide of your skin rubbing against each other, he growls. The noise is inhuman. Animalistic.

Your act of deviance comes with a swift, bruising punishment.

His fingers tighten on your neck once again. A warning squeeze as he reaches down with his other hand, grabbing your hip. It keeps you still, immobile, as he bullies his boot between your feet, kicking your legs apart. You're not expecting it. When you stumble, he huffs in amusement. Can't hold yourself up? Want me that bad, huh? Needy fuckin' thing, ain't you?

You don't get a chance to respond. His palm splays wide over your hip, leather creaking as he flexes, stretching his fingers out, tapping some soundless beat out against your skin. Touching you like he's owed the privilege. The right. And in many ways—

Go’ a problem, you an’ I

—he does.

Brute strength, and an unmatched, almost laughable, dearth in your physicality ensures that he has the upper hand—even without the gun he left on the mattress; darker and flat, a full matte compared to what you were expecting.

(They're always so shiny in movies, aren't they?)

The threat of it—dull as it might be—roots you to the spot as he slides his hand down, thumb brushing over your belly button, dipping in; pressing until your stomach starts to ache—

It peels away when the whine wells up, sloping down, down. Teases your mound with the tips of his fingers, gentle swipes along the sensitive seam of your belly and pelvis, the sensation is an odd tickle that pulls at your navel, pulses at the apex of your thighs. You mewl—a slow, soft thing that barely makes it out from between your teeth—and he lets his hand drop. Palm flat against the soft flesh of your mons, fingers reaching, spreading, until they curl over your folds. Index and ring finger tucked tight into the hollow bend of your pelvis and thigh. The tip of his middle rubs gentle strokes over the skin above your clit. It's a whisper of pleasure. The idea of a touch.

Mindless, your hips flit, following his hand—

“Needy.”

It cows you. Douses you in icy shame. There's barely any mockery in his even, observant tone, but you feel it unfurl over your shoulders all the same.

He doesn't give you a moment to think, to let the ripples of humiliation take over, forcing you to pull away, hide. His fingers trail over your hood, the pebble of your clit. The sensation, the cool undertone in the leather of his glove, is unlike anything you'd felt before. The thick stitches in the fabric catch on your flesh, nerve endings flaring in pleasure. Heat blooms in your belly.

It feels good.

You gasp, head tipping back. His hand winds around your waist when your knees buckle, catching you with a rasping huff—

“Feelin’ good, ain't you?” He pulls you tight to his chest, finger rubbing circles around your throbbing clit. Your cunt clenches, empty, and you whine, needing something more. Something to fill the ache inside of you—

His finger slips. Slides easily between your folds, parting your lips around the thick of him until he reaches your drenched hole. The sounds it makes when he taps his finger against your fluttering core makes your toes curl. Has heat blistering over your cheeks, down the slope of your neck.

It makes him groan. The low growl makes you throb, clenching in needy little pulls, pulses, as his finger dips into the slick dripping out of you.

“Suckin’ me in,” he grunts, and pushes his finger inside, thrusting up to the last knuckle. Palm tapping against your folds as his index and ring finger close to give him more room to sink deeper into you. The messy, slick squelch is loud, rolling over the mewling gasps that tumble from your lips.

Heat floods your belly at the belly-deep groans he lets out when you squeeze around him.

“Stranglin’ my fuckin’ finger, birdie—”

He leans down, knocking his forehead against the side of your face. It's more intimate than you were expecting. Jarring. The proximity plays a twisted game inside your head—the urge to run, to roll over coalescing into a paralyzing tailspin. Rooting you to the ground when the warm, damp knit of his mask grazes your cheek.

The intimacy of his head on yours is eclipsed when you can feel the shape of his mouth through the fabric.

It's softer than you expected. A plush, fleshy give when he presses his lips against your skin. And—

A gap.

On the side of his mouth, there's a gouge. A pockmark. You feel the gap, the absence, of his flesh when he rolls it over your cheekbone. You try to read the asymmetry of his face—mapping all of these misshapen parts; his mauled lips, the crooked nose that digs into your skin and leaves behind a tacky smear of condescension when he breathes out through his nostrils in a heavy puff of air—and convince yourself that you're doing it so you can bring these patchwork pieces to the police later.

Survival, you think, your head tilting back as he noses down your neck, tickling along your skin.

(And when your cunt flutters around the rough, thick drag of his finger petting along your walls, you add: a bodily reaction. That's all it is.)

He takes another lungful of your scent before he rocks back on his heels, pulling away from you. Straightening up. Looming above you once more.

“Now—”

He pulls his finger out of you slowly and you try not to whimper at the empty feeling that brims up. The way your hips rock toward him, seeking and eager. Wanting.

Needy, just like he said.

Just a bodily reaction—

He holds his hand up to the dim light flickering over his head, fingers spreading apart as he takes in the glossy shine of his middle finger.

The gleam of it makes your ears feel hot. Shame pools in your belly as he makes another noise—a groan, deep and low, in the back of his throat. Eyes darkening as his pupils bloom, eclipsing his irises in an endless pool of black. They flicker toward you, listing half-mast in a way to leonine, so predatory, that it shudders through your bones. Run, run—

His hand flexes around your waist when you twitch. A warning. A threat. You tremble when he leans in, masked lips brushing over your cheek once more. Breath ghosting through the fabric, tickling the inside of your ear.

He smells of war. Of fire and brimstone. Napalm and nitroglycerine. You want to close your eyes, look away, but you can't. His proximity alone roots you to the spot. Turns you into a prey animal, frozen on instinct alone as he prowls around, creeping closer. Maw stretching wide, drooling dripping off razor-sharp canines—

“Let's see if y’worth all the trouble.”

—and he bites.

Knocks his palm into your sternum, roughly shoving you down on the mattress.

His hands fall to the button of his jeans. “Ready?” He asks, but doesn't seem to care about your answer. Opts, instead, to fall to his knee beside you. It pulls on his zipper, tugs it all the way down with a sharp, metallic sound that cuts through the stagnant air as each ring of teeth is pried apart.

You can't help it. You look. Dragged there by something primal, magnetic—the morbid curiosity to see the monster for yourself as it tries to take a bite.

And almost immediately, you wish you hadn't.

The spread of pale skin, dark curls jutting out from the split of his jeans, makes everything feel more real, and moving fast. Whiplash quick. Happening in a blink:

The shift of fabric as he pulls the mask up over his lips, letting rest on the crooked bridge of his nose. A flash of his mouth, mangled. Mauled. Full of ugly, pale pink scars. A gap where tissue once knit his upper lip together. The bite of crooked teeth as he brings the sticky, wet tip of his glove to his mouth, sinking in. Pulling. Tugging. The roll of skin—a rose, a gun, a skull—all encased in barbed wire; thick rivers of blue-green veins.

Another pull and it's free. Dangling between his teeth for a moment as he reaches up and shoves the jacket off his shoulders. Rolling and thick. Wide. A broad chest. Soft belly. There's an inch of flesh around the expanse of him—biceps, thighs, calves, chest, stomach, shoulders—but it's a buffer for the corded, streamlined muscle beneath. A layer of fatty tissue.

Like a tiger, hiding its dizzying musculature beneath a thick, loose pelt.

When he moves, it flexes. His shoulders roll; muscles bunching together, pulling taut under soft skin. The jacket slides off. Falls to the ground behind the mattress. Forgotten, discarded. The glove is next to go. Dropping from between his teeth, landing just beside your ankle with a muted thud.

He follows after it. Ink spilling over his lashline as his eyes drop, staring at the roll of his skin tucked on the outside of your thigh. Trailing up to your knee. Your hip. The split of your cunt beneath your other leg; knee tucked to your chest.

A flash of something, a flicker, is the only warning you get before the back of his hand is nudging the glove off of your skin, replacing it with the rough, calloused grip of his palm.

You jerk at his touch, flinching back—

He's intimidating above you like this. Leaning back on his haunches but still as tall as you are standing up. The sheer absurdity of his height—his width—is dizzying. Gives you vertigo when you look up.

His throat shifts when you move. A swallow. Coarse stubble grows down the column of his neck, dusting over his lower jaw, chin. The rest is swallowed by the balaclava bunched around his crooked nose.

He's not—

He's not handsome.

A smattering of crisscrossing scars, burns, skin pocked and gouged out in deep pockets along his flesh—the slide of a knife carving away at him, you think; digging down to his marrow—all take away from any sense of modern attractiveness you might feel for him with his broad, jagged nose and full lips.

But there's something rugged about him. Untamed. Wild. Appealing in a dangerous way.

You don't know if you would have let this happen under different circumstances. If this minacious beauty of his would have worked on you enough to want it outside of this awful, almost unfathomable trade.

He's too big. Wouldn't even fit inside of your house—

The graze of his thumb on your angle knocks the thought loose, and you're dragged back to the heat of his hand. Rough and coarse; palms slightly damp from the glove. It tugs on your flesh as he draws it up, a rubbery sort of pain as it catches on the soft, dry skin of your ankle. Your shin.

He follows behind a second later, pulling himself into the mattress with a huff, knees shuffling forward as he crawls over you. The jostling rocks your body. Makes your breasts shake as he lumbers on the bed, hand still sliding up, up, until his fingers curl over the bend of your knee.

The bed dips under his weight. Your body sagging, rolling into the divot beneath his knees. Tucked under him. Loomed over. He stares down at you through the cutout of his mask, eyes liquid in the gloam. Pools of melting, dripping obsidian. Black holes. Event horizon—

You look away before it drags you in. Submissive. Softened under the harsh burn of his flat, wide stare. He chuffs when your nose brushes over the thin skin of his wrist, mouth sliding over the thick, pulsing vein stretching down from his inner arm and curling into the bend of his hand. Your lips purse, and he makes that noise again.

Quietly amused, and—

He shuffles forward until the backs of your thighs are pulled over his, spread out on his lap. Bare. Open to him.

And he looks.

And looks.

Hungry, you think. Quietly amused and hungry—

The notion is wrenched out of your head when he shifts his weight. Watches the folds of your pussy open for him as he pulls your knees wider apart, head dropping between his massive shoulders, gaze drilling into the split of your thighs. Gasping at the sting, the sudden stretch, does little to deter him from shoving your leg down until the outside of your knee touches the bed. Muscles straining. Pinching. It hurts; hipbones twinging in agony.

But the embarrassment burning through you singes all the pain.

You're spread open under him. Bare. Legs tangled around his waist, stretched wide around the width of him. Ankles knocking into the hard plains of his lower back each time he shifts.

“Fuckin’ hell—” he grunts. Snarls. The word ripped up from the back of his throat, forced through the twisting channels of his nose. Nasal and ugly when it scrapes out between his teeth. “Gonna ruin this pretty pussy, birdie.”

It's a threat. A promise. You twist, mouthing your protests into the warm skin of his wrist.

There's something about his voice—that airy, brassy tone—that strikes a chord deep inside you. Makes heat pool between your thighs, leaking out in a syrupy mess—

His hand peels away from your knee, sliding down your sticky, damp inner thigh until his knuckles graze the sensitive slip of skin sitting between your outer lip and hip. That ticklish, belly-fluttering sensation blooms in your groin as he rubs his scarred knuckles over the crease, catching the slick gathered there on his thick, meaty thumb.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he groans, shifting his fingers until they cover the whole of your cunt, cradling you in his hand. He holds you like that for a beat, eyes locked on the way you're swallowed up by the broad stretch of his palm.

The rough drag of his skin over your folds feels good. An all-encompassing heat spreads over your tender flesh from the curve of your ass to the bump of your mons where his middle finger rests, almost touching the strip of skin between your loins and your belly. Held in his grasp. Cradled in his palm.

Your thighs twitch. A shallow jerk as your knees try to bend over his hand, but you can't. With his thumb and pinkie tucking into each crease between your outer lip and leg, it keeps you from closing your legs. Hinged by the wide, flat cup of his palm.

And it shouldn't bludgeon through you the way it does. All heat. All want. Need. A growing ache you can't think around.

(bodily reaction, you think even as the image of his hand—big with thick fingers, scarred knuckles; streaks of faded, ashy ink etched into milky, veined skin—laying over your pussy, swallowing it whole, sears into your mind—)

“Can feel your little cunt,” he grunts, feeling the pulse, the little throbbing pulls of your muscles as they twitch at the sight. The feeling. Clenching down around nothing. “Greedy little thing, ain't you, birdie?”

Anger paints his words as he rasps them out. A teeth gnashing, jaw clenching frustration that needles into the scorn, the fury, forced out between the tight seam of his crooked teeth.

You don't understand it. Can't, maybe.

But it's tucked away as quickly as it appeared, shifting into an ugly, mocking derision. Dry. Acerbic. His teeth flash, lip pulling upward in a sneer—a snarl—before he hums, sliding his hand down. The drag of his damp, rough fingers over your swollen folds has your knees falling open wider around his thick thighs, baring yourself willingly to him.

Want it bad, don't you? He mocks, and the sound of his voice alone has your pussy clenching tight, belly fluttering around the abrasive scrape of his tone. Brassy and full. Gritty. You whine, hips inching up—

His hand peels off of your slit. The rush of cold air drags another whimper out of you, hips pushing up to chase the heady, molten feeling of his skin on yours. And he's amused by it—a laugh echoes out, crackling in the hollow of his throat at your desperation—but you're too achy, too hot, to feel the simmer of humiliation nipping the apples of your cheeks.

He's not even making a real effort to pleasure you, to make you feel good, and yet—

Your hips twitch toward him in needy, mewling cants; please sits on the tip of your tongue, cradled between your teeth. Slips out on a shaky, breathless gasp when he meets you on the next buck of your hips, palm slapping over your wet slit.

The crack echoes through the room. Rough, dry skin on soaked flesh.

And it shocks you more than it hurts. The sting is there, of course, but it's just an afterthought to astonishment. An eye-widening disbelief masking the way your cunt smarts, throbbing from the slap. Nerves muffled behind the burn in your eyes, the searing heat pooling in your sinuses.

Wrenched open, unblinking as you stare up at him, your eyes begin to sting, to water. You blink, and feel something hot trickle down your cheek. A tear. His eyes snap to it. Pupils narrowing to a pinprick as he watches it slide down your face, little droplets clinging to your jaw.

“Poor baby,” he mocks, tilting his head as he tracks the teardrop. “Better behave.”

Behave. Like he's admonishing a child and not an adult.

It morphs; rots. Becomes yet another thing you shouldn't feel feverish over. The slick, sticky feeling grows between your thighs as your cunt flutters at the humiliation of it all.

And deeper—maybe—the bastardized sense of care—

(Punishment is affection in its own, special (awful) way and you've been aching for something just like it, haven't you—)

It's pushed down. Swallowed. And you know in the back of your head that if you keep eating these feelings, you're going to be sick. But you can't stop. Barely breathe around the idea of them sometimes—

“Tha’s’it,” he coos like he knows. Sees them bright and burning behind your irises. Little flickers of need, a smouldering want that you'll never grasp at yourself.

So he gives it to you.

The rough slide of his hand, all scarred and dry and calloused, scrapes over your slit once more. A full, flat stroke upward until your clit bumps into the ridge of his palm. Then down, down—

His fingers spread. Ring and index prying your folds apart as he pushes up once more, opening your seam to slip his middle finger through the slick, sticky mess that drips out of your burning cunt.

“Gonna be good f’me?”

The slide of his fingers drags the tip up to the bump of your clit. You stare down at it, fixed on the jut of his ink-black knuckles threading through your folds. The crease of his nail as he slips his fingers up higher, pad pushing over your pebbled clit. They're dirty. Grey-black under his nails. Congealed with dirt. Blood, maybe.

Your stomach churns even as your hips lift. Eager, searching. Hating yourself each second of it. It's gross. Disgusting.

You want his dirty, thick fingers inside of you—

“When I ask a question—” the tip circles over your clit. A shallow roll that pools heat between your thighs. “I expect an answer.”

“Y–yes,” you stammer out, hips flexing against his hand. Seeking more of that white-hot bloom of pleasure he brings with each pass of his finger.

“Good girl—” and you hate how it burns you up from the inside out. “Wasn't s’hard, was it?”

The retort is bitten back with the slow swipe of his finger drawing tight, small circles around your clit. His fingers are rough, scarred. Too dry. The abrasive drag over your soft sensitive flesh makes you whine—a drawn-out whimper nestled between clenched teeth.

It's too much.

Too harsh. Too sharp.

He rolls your clit under the pads of his fingers in jerking half-circles. Puts too much pressure on the bundle of nerves than you ever would—your touches are always soft, sickeningly sweet; gentling your flesh until you cum—and the sting, the burn, of it makes your toes curl. Body burn.

It's good.

And that's the problem.

It shouldn't be. His touch shouldn't make you so wet, growing slick and sticky between your spread thighs, bare to his hungry, prying gaze. Shouldn't make you moan. Hips twitching with each stroke of his fingers—

And then he peels away from you, but the time to mourn the loss of his touch, the fear of losing this trembling ember pleasure, is snuffed out when he presses his wet, slick fingers against the inside of your knee. The touch is intentional. Insistent. He makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat before pushing it down to the mattress. The twinge of pain swallowed up as quickly as it forms when he drops to his elbows between your thighs, forearms curling under your legs, and tugs you sharply into him.

Heat floods your belly when the backs of your thighs press tight to his broad, muscular shoulders, but it's nothing compared to the sight of him on his knees between your legs. It's so obscene you nearly weep—

And then he leans down and licks a long, broad swipe of his tongue over your cunt.

You hadn't expected it, maybe. His mouth on your pussy, his broken, jagged lips sealing over your pebbled clit. Going down on you seemed too intimate for what he was after. His end goal. It does nothing for him at all—

You realise your mistake when he dips his tongue into your hole and his hips jerk forward. Unconscious. Eager. Seeking. The shifting drags his jeans down his hips, and his cock slips free.

Most of the cocks you've seen—in porn, pictures, art—jut out from the person's groin. standing at attention, the nasty comments used to say. Jokes whispered on the playground. But his falls. Droops down between big, folded thighs. Skin marbled in shades of red, peach. Deep gouges dot his upper thighs, some sinking deep enough to reach bone. More scar tissue than flesh.

—than man.

It looks raw. Fresh. Some injuries not too dissimilar to the Wagyu hanging in the front of the storeroom, on display and oh, so out of place in a town where the richest man must be just a hair above the poverty line.

On paper, anyway.

You swallow, avoiding his gaze as he pauses, dark eyes watching you with his mouth pressed against your seam. Unmoving. Still as a predator between your thighs, cock visible between the bow of his torso, jutting sickeningly from mangled legs as you gawk at this hideous thing that makes several, half-hearted attempts to spring up towards you, spitting clear, milky liquid all over with each jerk. Tugged down by its own weight. Too heavy to fight against gravity like the rest of the cocks you've seen have done—

Normal cocks, you amend. Textbook.

His is anything but.

Ugly, you think again, stomach churning. Roiling. Obscene. An odd thing considering what you're looking at but all too fitting with the way it droops, big, flared head drooling pre-cum all over the bed in long, dangling stands that prickle over your jaws—half nauseous, half hungry, too. Saliva pools in your mouth even though the sight of his cock scares you. Fills your belly with dread. Misery.

It looks like a bruise. Skin smeared with purples, reds. Patches of pink. Long, thick veins run up from the fattened, full base to the divot of his frenulum. Thick. It hangs low. Drips.

He raises slightly and shoves his hand down between his thighs, big hand curling over the fat base of his cock. His grip is tight around himself, and he strokes up, from base to tip. It squeezes more precum from the flushed, fat head, and dribbles between your spread thighs in a thick, pearlescent puddle.

It makes your mouth dry. That twinge in your jaws coming back. Festering. You wonder if he'll make you take that thing in your mouth. Choke you on it. Taste his precum—

“Fuck,” he snarls into your cunt, hand jerking over his cock. “Keep lookin’ at my cock like tha’, birdie—”

You gasp at the rough grunt, the way it seems to tremble through your sensitive flesh. More, though, from the way he sounds. His voice brassy, rough. Unkind, but the words bloom a fresh heat behind your navel.

His voice does things to you. Things you're not allowed to like.

Those thoughts are knocked from your head when he bows down again, eyes still fixed on you, and seals his wicked mouth over your cunt. It's hard to compare it to anything else other than being devoured. Eaten in the truest sense of the word.

His tongue splits down your seam, tip digging into your slick hole. A groan bubbles up at your taste—the soft, fluttering clench of your body trying to drag him in deeper. Needing him deeper. A huff of air ghosts over you, dipped in the same derision as earlier but the harsh slap of skin on skin, his hand working furiously over his cock, makes you acutely aware of how much this affects him.

“Taste good, birdie,” he grunts, and then sucks your fold into his mouth, laving it with his tongue and teeth until the skin is tender, swollen. “S’fuckin’ good—”

Your breath catches when the crooked arch of his nose presses taut to your clit. Pleasure twisting in a dizzying pirouette inside your belly, winding tighter and tighter—

His nose jerks up on your clit. Lips moulded to your seam, you hear him rasp eyes on me, birdie. Don't fuckin’ look away—

The rough snarl trembles through your body, sinking its teeth into the coil until it snaps under its jaw. Your knees snap around his head as your release locks your joints tight. His name, Simon, a hoarse cry on your lips. You barely have time to bask in the ripples of pleasure throbbing through your body before he rips away from you with his teeth bared, and his chin wet.

“Fuck—!” he snarls again, shoving your knees apart as he lifts his massive body up from between your thighs. “Gonna fuck you, birdie. Gotta be inside your tight cunt—”

He towers over you, grinding his cock into the apex of your thighs. The drag of his cock—a little damp from being stuck inside his jeans all day; balmy—against the dry skin of your belly makes you shudder. Shivering beneath him as he huffs through the mask. Head bowing. Dipping to look at the way his cock slaps down on you. Cockhead nudging above your belly button, dribbling a small puddle of pre-cum that gets smeared into your skin when he rocks back on his haunches.

His hand wraps around the thick base of his cock once more, squeezing tight as he grips himself above you. It makes the head swell, engorged with blood. Thickening in his hand as globs of pre-spend leak out onto your belly. That feeling in your jaws comes back—nauseous and wanting.

He leans back with a hum. “Like my cock, eh, birdie?”

The crass words bring a fresh bloom of heat simmering in your veins, creeping up your collar. Like doesn't really cover what you feel when you stare at it—his inked hands running along the long, veined shaft—and the unsettled feeling in the pit of your belly rears when he nudges forward, the weeping head of his cock bumping your mound.

It's humiliating how much want floods through you just looking at it. At him. Disgust, dread, desire.

You don't answer. Not that you really need to—

Your silence is loud enough.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, the rasp thick in his throat. “M’gonna give it to you, pet—”

And he does just that. Slips the head of his cock down the slope of your mound, letting it graze your clit until you're panting, whining softly for more, and pulls it over your slit until his pre-cum is smeared over your drenched folds. You know exactly what this is even without glimpsing the ugly burn of his possessive desire smouldering in the back of his eyes—ownership. Greed. Hunger. It revels in the stain on your skin, from belly to slit; his, all his. Outside and soon—

In.

It shocks a creeping sense of worry into you. “Wait, what about a condom—”

He snorts, ugly and caustic. “What about ‘em?” He taunts, and it's flat. Playful.

“You should—”

He drags his gaze away from the pearlescent smear of his spend on your folds, your clit, and the even, placid look in that stagnant lake tells you everything you already knew.

“I've never—” you start, wincing at the kernel of fear lacing your hoarse words. “Not without a condom—”

It's the wrong thing to say. Near cataclysmic. He drops his head back with a groan that rumbles out of the slope of his throat, sounding like the rip of a chainsaw.

“Firsts for everything,” he purrs, and he nudges your entrance with the bare, weeping tip of his cock.

“But—”

His hand lifts, catching your jaw in the too-wide span of his palm. The force makes your teeth clack together.

“Need me to gag you, birdie?”

You swallow. It's not much of a choice. Gagged and fucked raw, or—

Just fucked raw.

No gag. No condom. You fight back a shiver and wish it was all just from fear.

“No,” you murmur, like you have a choice. “No gag.”

“An’?”

“Um. No–no condom, either—”

It's not enough. "What are you gonna let me do to this pussy, birdie?"

You know what he wants. What he's angling for. But there's a line, you think. A delineation between unwilling participant, coercion, and giving into the need that slinks down your spine, and rots inside your belly.

(Being forced to ask for it isn't permission, but what happens when you want it more than your next breath?)

The shame can come later, you think, and feel yourself give in.

"Cum—cum inside me—"

“Good girl, birdie.”

You hate what that does to you. How eagerly your body reacts to the dark possessive curl in his eyes when you do something he likes.

He nudges your entrance again, this time with purpose. Intent. A heavy pressure pushing on your rim. Too tight, you think, and the sting of the first inch he feeds—forces—into you burns, pulsing behind your navel. His tip isn't even in yet, and it's already too much.

You think about telling him so, offering up your mouth instead, but he leans down on his forearms, and catches your lips in a bruising, biting pantomime of a kiss. A blood-soaked parody with more teeth and tongue—sinking into your lips, nipping hard until the skin splits; catching all that spills with his tongue.

With his weight pressed against you like this, there's nowhere to run when he cups your throat in his hand, winding the other up above your head, forearm tight on your crown to cage you in. And then he shifts. Bears his hips down on yours until the fat head of his cock pops inside of you.

Your squeal is chewed up between his teeth, swallowed down with a rumbling groan.

Caught beneath him, trapped, he works himself into you demanding, heavy thrusts. Each inch burns more than the last. A stinging stretch that brings tears to your eyes. It's already too much and it's not even half. Barely even the tip.

“Can't—” you slur into his wet, demanding mouth. “No more. I–I can't—”

The breath rushes out between his teeth. Your watery eyes drop to the divot above his canine. A permanent snarl. A condescending sneer.

“You can,” he says decisively, words ground out from between crooked teeth. He presses them to your cheek, nipping at the skin under your eye. Possessive and wanting—

(Hungry for something you can't name—)

“And you will.”

—Or maybe you just don't want to. Can't look at the thunderous need draped over his mangled, battered face without thinking of the rumble in your chest that echos back against his thundering call—)

Stupid, foolish thing—

The dark promise of his words isn't a threat until his hand tightens around your neck, nails grazing your skin, and he adds, all of me, birdie as he grinds his hips into yours shallowly. Broad chest expanding with each ragged inhale. Cementing his taunt with a steel edge as you try not to come undone beneath him.

You'll take every fuckin’ inch—

He pulls back until only his glands stretch you open, and you know what's coming when his fingers grip the sides of your neck tight. Holding on. Anchoring you to the bed as he nudges his forearm tighter between your skull and the wall, a protective hold.

Before you can tense up, bracing for it, or even cry out no, please, don't, you can't take it, he huffs, and then slams his hips forward, splitting you open on the fat stretch of his thick, too heavy cock.

Maybe it's hysteria, delirium, but the blunt press of his length against your tender, sore walls balms the ache, the sting. The deeper he pushes, the less it hurts. A paradox that leaves you whimpering under his hand, heels digging into the broad stretch of his waist as you struggle to decide if you want to kick him away or pull him closer.

A war you don't have the power to win when he surges forward, burying himself to the hilt with a growl that shakes the fragile tendons surrounding your heart. Fear, misery. Pleasure, pain. It admixes. Coalescing into a dizzying sense of fullness, unbearable pressure. Catastrophic in its heaviness as your mind reels, struggles to come to terms with the gut-wrenching, heart-aching uncertainty of how you're supposed to go on without having him seated as deep inside of you as he can get. You've never known emptiness before him. Before now. Mere seconds ago.

And now, the thought of it leaves a palpable hollowness itching behind your ribs. Festering. Rotting tissue and bone.

“Simon,” you choke, sobbing his name out under the firm press of his hand. “Simon—”

But he knows.

His arm curls over your head like a crown, and you can easily forget the pinch of each thorn when he holds you tight. Protectively. Possessively. Securing you in his arms before he lifts up, palm sliding over the mattress, touch tender against your cheeks, and then settles it on the indent of your knee. Widening you for him as he spreads his thighs under yours until you're opened up for him.

Those dark eyes are dragged down to the split of your legs where his cock disappears into your slick, swollen cunt. You follow it down, gazing at the impressive width of his stomach bowing over you until they land on the jut of skin pushing out from a messy smatter of damp curls around the base of his cock.

The coarse hair of his groin unfurls as it sticks to your wet lips, and he rolls his head back over his shoulders he heaves through the too tight stretch of your walls over his length. You feel the pulse of him inside of you, thudding like a heartbeat. It blooms molten under the feverish weight of his lidded, dark gaze.

“Fuck, birdie,” he rasps, and it's scorched. Charred. “Look at you—”

As the world is condensed, narrowed down to nothing but the near impossible stretch of his cock seated as deep inside of you as he can get, he leans down, scarred, mangled lips brushing cruelly over your ear, and whispers, see? Told you'd take me.

Every fuckin’ inch.

Your hand jerks to your belly, fingers dancing over your navel as if to feel him there, bulging from under your skin. Nearly hysterical as you try to come to terms with the pulsing, white-hot ache of him inside of you, slowly acclimating to his girth, his length.

He grunts when he sees what you're doing, eyes flaring as your fingers skirt around your navel.

“It's—” you shudder, gasping for air. “It's too much, Simon, I can't take it—”

He rolls his hips with a groan. “m’cock too big for you, birdie?”

His usual cadence is flat, droll, but an unmistakable sense of masculine pride, a deep, egotistic sense of satisfaction, drapes itself over his brassy words. Glueing to the scorching rasp of his voice in a way that makes you unerringly certain that he likes it. Likes that his cock is too big for you. That it hurts.

“Y’can take it,” he prompts, forcing more of himself into you until something snaps. Splits. Makes room. Carves out a space for him to fit.

The brief flash of pain is soothed when he's seated deep. That same paradoxical balm making itself known as he flattens his hips into yours with a noise—half a grunt, or a growl; a lazy, pleasure-soaked snarl. You're not sure what it is, but the sound knocks the air from your lungs, igniting inside of you like a spark inside a tinderbox.

It's only when his balls are flush against you that the same masculine pride brims up again. Primal. Animalistic. The urge to present your soft belly rears up suddenly, and it's only stifled when he grunts again, looking down at you with lidded, black eyes.

“Now, be good and let me fuck your tight cunt.”

He's not looking for assent. Nothing you could say at this moment will sway his mind one way or the other. There's a nasty spool of determination welling up like blood on a pricked finger. Beading up to the surface in a clean, neat droplet as he rolls his broad shoulders, and shuffles into a comfortable position on his haunches between your spread thighs. The motion jostles his cock in a way that makes your breath hitch with each jerk.

It's not painful. Not particularly. But you're overwhelmed by the sensation of utter fullness in a way you've never experienced before. Each grind of his cock against your overly stretched walls deeping that incipient feeling of anxiety brewing in your belly that one wrong move and you'll tear. He's just—

Too big.

And despite his claims—or rather, in spite of them—you don't think you can do it. Don't think you can take him. It's too much. It feels like being turned inside out and then put back into place. An uneasy sense of discomfiture blooms with each too-tight, too-sharp tug of his cock pulling taut on your rim.

Almost deliriously, you think you can feel the pulse of his cock inside your goddamn throat.

“Simon—” you start on a tremulous breath but he cuts you off with a hum.

“Relax.”

You can't. Can't—

“Fuckin’ hell, bird,” he rasps, leaning down suddenly until his face was pushed tight into the curve of your neck, breath shallow on your thudding pulse. “Stop squirmin’ ‘round me like tha’ or I'll cum right fuckin’ now.”

Your heart stutters. Gallops painfully in your chest. His words make you dizzy because for as much as this feeling of him, his cock, inside of you dances on a delicate precipice of being more than you can feasibly handle and somehow the most incredible thing you'd ever experienced before, you hadn't considered how he'd feel.

Inexplicably, it pleases you.

There's something so strange—so extraordinary—about bringing a man like him, like this, to his knees. Pleasuring him by just heaving through the white-hot stretch of his cock inside of you. Making him bury his head in your neck, groaning about how he was gonna fuckin’ bust, pretty thing, fuck—

It was a powerful feeling.

Unwarranted, maybe. But incredible, nevertheless.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and you feel his throat work around a thick swallow. “Gonna fuck you, birdie. Gonna fuck this pretty cunt so fuckin' hard until you beg me stop—”

And he does just that. Rears back from your neck, and settles again between your thighs—quicker this time. With an urgency that makes you whimper when his cock grinds against your walls hard enough to bruise.

When he finally pulls out until only the flared head of his cock remains, you knot a fist into the thin pillow, clinging on, and latch the other onto his hip as if that could somehow stop the vicious promise in his eyes about poundin’ you into the goddamn mattress. There's a flash, a brief flicker of his eyes, and then he thrusts back inside of you with a grunt that makes your belly clench, and your back arch.

True to the promises he gave, it's brutal. Violent.

Any pleasure you feel is leached through osmosis. A tether bound around his own.

His arm is shoved under your back, angling your pelvis up. Thighs dangling over the thick spread of his own, ass seated in his lap. He drives into you, thrusts deep—grinds his hips until your moans break into hoarse screams, whimpers. Makes your eyes roll so far back, all you see is black even when you blink your eyes up at him.

He carves a spot deep inside of you with each delirious piston of his cock, pounding into you with brutal thrusts, and then holding tight when his balls slap against your ass. Digging the head of his cock into the seal of your womb until it aches behind your navel. Each breath feels like glass in your lungs—

“Tha’s it,” he slurs in your ear, mouth damp against your skin. “Take my cock so good, pretty birdie. Little pussy was made for it, weren't you? Tight cunt all mine—”

His gruff words tug on that tether until you're wrapped around him like a bow. Following him down this endless spiral as he slams inside of you over and over again, cooing in your ear about the sounds you made for him, pretty cunt so fuckin’ wet f’me, birdie, hear tha’? all f’me—

“Cum f'me, birdie. Want this pussy cummin’ ‘round my cock—”

“Can't—” you gasp, arching into him, desperate and needy. It rides a line between pain and pleasure; a needlepoint you wobble on. “Need—”

You try to reach down, to touch your clit, but grinds his hips into yours with a snarl. “Cum ‘around my cock, birdie.”

“Touch me—”

“Fuckin’ hell—”

It edges on too much. Pain and pleasure teetering on a knife's edge, split apart by a line the width of a razer. Looping and tangling around each other until you can't differentiate between the two. But it makes sense, you suppose, staring up at him arched above you like a black cloud of smoke. All hunger and fire. Consuming, devouring, everything in its path. A wildfire.

Butcher, you think again when his hand wraps around your throat. A mimicry of what he did in the truck, forcing your eyes on him. Your life tucked neatly against his palm.

These hands take lives. It's what they're made for. All scarred, and thick. Scar tissue and bone. Muscle and cartilage. Meant to render meat of cattle. Slaughterhouse in the shape of a man. Consumption personified.

But where there should be fear, all you feel is an echoing sense of hunger. Leatherbound to each other, maybe—

The look that passes over his eyes as he stares down at you, cupped in his palm, seems to fit perfectly into the fractured gaps inside yourself you try so hard to ignore. And what doesn't—

Well.

He'll make room to fit.

You reach up, curling your fingers around his thick wrist. His eyes flash, but he doesn't slow his thrusts. Doesn't stop. Just watches as you peel his hand away from your neck, bringing it up to your mouth.

On his palm, there's a piece of skin that's unblemished compared to the rest of his worn, burnt hands. A strip just big enough for you to sink your teeth into.

And you do.

“Fuck, Birdie—!” The snarl is ripped from his throat. His thrusts grow harder, sloppier. Each bit of strength in his muscled hips and thighs is used to pound into you until your vision blacks out. It hurts. Aches. Your heels slip down, catching on the broad expanse of his lower back. And you tighten them around his waist, pulling him closer. Deeper. “Fuck, Birdie, fuckin’ cunt was made f'me, wasn’t it? So cum on my cock. Now—”

Whining, you shake your head. “Can't. I can't. I need—”

You don't get to finish. With a huff of anger, he rips his hand off of the mattress, leaning back on his haunches, and shoves his hand between your thighs, scarred fingers stroking over your pebbled clit. It's rough. Sloppy. His anger hums through his body, skewering into you as he glared down, gaze swinging like a pendulum between the split of your thighs where his cock disappears into your swollen cunt, his fingers rubbing over your clit, and back up the hand around your neck, the tears staining your cheeks.

There's an edge to his thrusts. A viciousness in the way he pistons his hips into you. Dark eyes catching every flicker—each wince, gasp, moan, whine all meticulously catalogued and exploited. He finds the spots that make your hips jerk, twitching both toward and away from him. Angling into the ones that have your eyes rolling back into your head, drool dribbling past your slack lips as you gasp his name out into the dank, humid air.

It smells of sweat, sex, and him. Something brutal, bloody, and dark. Rotten leaves. Charred forests after a rain shower. Dangerous. Tinged with a slight acrid, chemical stench—benzene, oxidizing iron. It drips down your throat, and drenches your lungs. Staining you from the inside out.

And he exploits that, too. Leans in, and breathes heavily against your upper lip, your cheek. Drowns you in his scent. His sweat beads along his jaw, droplets raining down over your brow. Soaked in his essence. Unable to see, smell, or touch anything that isn't him.

With his hand over your mouth, teeth sunk into his palm, all you can taste is him, too. Leather. Gun oil. Blood.

The ravenous look in his eye sharpens, turning into deadly points.

“Such a pretty fuckin' bird.” He rasps, the words shattered, mangled in the back of his throat. They carry the scent of blood when you breathe them in, and you wonder if he forced them through glass. Pushed them out with his bloody fists.

You bite down harder in response, keening through the white-hot pain of his cock spearing deeper than before, stretching you past your limits. The taste of blood on your tongue, the rasping snarl pulled from his chest, his fingers toying with your clit, push you over the edge once more. Again and again, and again, and—

His hand peels away from your oversensitive clit, dropping down to the mattress beside your face. He follows quickly after several impossibly deep thrusts that shove you higher up on the mattress, pressing in until his balls sit flush against your ass, cockhead battering against your cervix, and he groans—deep and liquid—when he comes, spilling inside of you. Rooted deep, cock twitching, Simon drops to his elbow beside your head, smothering you under his weight as the tension in his body bleeds out.

Your teeth stick to the divots in his hand, and the sensation of ungluing them from the wounds you gave him makes you shiver. Slowly, you roll your tongue out, chasing the drops of blood, and breathe heavily through your nose as he burrows deeper inside of you, chest shuddering over yours.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasps, hips jerking into yours with a slap that echoes through the room. “Little tease, ain't you?”

Even with his cock softening inside of you, it's still thick. Fat. Stretching you open as he yawns out above you, bloodied hand dropping down to cup your neck again, forearm resting heavily between your breasts. He raises slightly on his elbow, black eyes glinting in the shallow dark of the room. Piercing as they drill into your sweat-slicked face.

It aches when he moves. When he presses his hips harder into yours, the muscles in your legs throb as his broad waist splits them apart. Your feet dangle, sliding uselessly down his back, over his ass, before coming to rest curled around his thighs. Melting into the mattress, tender and sore and all chewed up—

You feel like a massive contusion instead of a person. A pestle. His.

The thought makes you shiver, and his eyes flash in triumph like he knows.

The feeling of him pulling out of you draws a whimper from your lips. The drag on your sensitive, bruised walls is a strange mix of tender pleasure and pain. He chuckles at your mewl—dark and low; the sound of nightmares, you think. Crackling sap on charred wood.

You try to pretend it doesn't make you shudder, but the way he hums in response dashes the feigned oblivion before it can form. All you can do is heave on the bed, and watch him through narrowed slits as he leans back on his haunches once again, head cocking to the side. His dark eyes fixed on the split of your legs. The ache in your cunt growing sharp under his molten stare.

“Fuck,” he rasps, the shallow groan pulled out from between clenched teeth. You wonder if the mangled curse was unintentional. Ripped from his throat before he could clamp his jaws around it—a crack in the facade. A hairline splinter in the indomitable mask he wears.

Your heart lurches. None of this makes sense, but your head is too muddled, too syrupy, to think much at all. A quandary for later when he throws you from his bed with a harsh slap on your ass and a and don't think about doing this ever again.

But you don't think you can move. “Give me a minute,” you start on a trembling breath. “And I'll—”

His brows move but his eyes stay fixed on your sore cunt. You can feel him leak out of you, spilling on the mattress in thick globs. The sensation makes you shiver.

“You'll what?”

It looks like he has to forcibly tear his eyes away from you, reluctance forming a cold, angry crater between his brows. The brunt of his ire—white, burning—makes you want to supplicate yourself at his feet, roll over on your belly and show the beast you mean no harm.

(Run, and run far—)

He huffs. “You'll what, birdie?”

It takes a minute to find your voice through all the panic clogging your throat. “I'll leave, um—”

He peels away from you with a loud, rough snort, and drops to his his elbow beside you. Hands curling possessively over your waist, fingers tight. Unyielding.

“Not goin’ anywhere, birdie. Told you, didn't I? You're mine.”

“I'm—”

“Go to sleep.”

He pulls you roughly to his chest until your head is pillowed on his shoulder, and then rolls on his back, keeping you cushioned at his side. You try to move, but his arm wedges under your neck, curling over your shoulder. Trapping you to him.

The panic wants to come now. To rage against the shackle of his embrace, to run home and scrub your skin until it bleeds. But the exhaustion collapses over it all until your eyes feel too heavy to hold open. Too painful.

As you drift, aimless and dreamless, his voice cuts through the fog. “Gotta learn ‘ow to cum with nothin’ but my cock inside of you sooner or later, birdie. Or you won't be coming at all—”

It sounds like a threat. A promise. You fall asleep with the words echoing in your head, his arm an anchor around your waist.

He wakes up hungry.

A gnawing in his belly pulls him from the thin doze he fell into after fucking you three more times—with your face pressed into the mattress, ass in the air for him to rut against like a beast; teetering over his hips, the spread of them too wide for your thighs to split over leaving you precariously unbalanced and shifting your weight above him as neither knee sat comfortably on the mattress; and on your belly with him crushing you to the floor under his bulk. The memory of which makes his spent cock stir, twisting limply against his damp, sticky thigh. Matted down with drying cum, sweat, the slick wetness of being buried inside your messy cunt.

Filled now with his cum.

He groans low in his throat as he thinks about it. The sloppy way you let him take you over and over again until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, passing out before he finished. Letting him fuck his cum inside of you as you whimpered in your sleep—

Perfect little thing, aren't you? So good to him.

Simon can't remember the last time he fucked someone, much less when it was this enjoyable (an understatement, of course; in the back of his head, wheels spin round and round as he tries to come up with a plan to keep his cock buried inside of you at all times while still doing his work—), and the overflow of unquenched lust churns in his belly. A hunger he can now slake on your willing body. In the silence, he purrs—

But the effort, the exertion, dredged up a different need inside him.

Simple hunger. An appetite.

He could eat—

his eyes slant toward the top of your crown in the dark, and he amends it, quickly, to: in more ways than one.

He'll go home in a minute. Make himself a steak from the prime cut he butchered a few days ago, leftovers that no one had any qualms about when he took several pieces home with him.

(and really, why would they argue with the butcher who keeps their wallets fat and their bills paid?)

It was left on the counter earlier before he got the call that your brother was making another move. Now a perfect room temperature as it waits for him to come back. Cook it the way he likes—

Rare.

The perfect grill is a nice char on the outside, but bleeding red on the inside. Basted in duck fat and garlic. A sprig of rosemary in the pan, but not touching the meat. Just enough to give the juice that earthy, sweet flavour. Let it rest for ten minutes under foil with the rest of the fat poured over it from the pan. Served as is with maybe a dash of salt and pepper on the side.

Simple. But incredibly difficult to perfect, he finds.

Everyone tries to make it fancier than what it needs to be, but at the end of the day, meat is meat. And going from picking scraps from the garbage outside of the Italian butcher on the corner to ordering his own pretentious filet mignon still gives him a sense of unease. Whiplash, perhaps. Nothing to something—how about that, Tommy?

Maybe that's why he prefers to raise and butcher his own cattle. A never-ending supply of meat for him to sink his teeth into even if this whole thing goes belly up and he's back to begging for morsels on the corner. Tommy hiding in the shadows with a baseball bat waiting to ambush the richer men who happen to feel altruistic that day.

This practice bled over into his current occupation, too. The basement of that same Italian butcher shop he used to sneak expired sausage from out of the bins is now his home base of sorts. A money laundering front of the 141. Headquarters for them to congregate in secrecy upstairs. And here—

A torture chamber for those who tried to cross them. Strung up on meat hooks like the cattle they eat, the ones he feeds them, until he makes up his mind on what he wants to do to them.

It's where you should have been, he supposes, thumb brushing a spot of dried blood on your shoulder, right below a nasty bite mark on your forearm. The ring nearly black from the clotted blood pooling in the indents. It matches several others on your thighs—top, insides, back—and neck, belly, collarbones, sternum. All chewed up. Marked by the butcher.

In working for the old Italian man who ran the shop when he was eighteen, he learned that most of the butchers preferred to mark their carcasses when they came in. A little x on the fat to signify they'd be the ones carving up the prime meat.

He didn't think you could handle his knife, so he gave you his teeth instead. But the implication is clear.

His.

It's overkill considering his reputation, and the claim he already had on you. Because even before this, back when he saw you through the window of his shop as he was moonlit as a legitimate butcher and businessman instead of the enforcer, the brute, everyone already knew he was, his interest was clear. You were off-limits. His to deal with.

And while Price refers not to get involved in small-time street dealers, the warnings Soap and Gaz impressed onto your brother should have been the end of an irritating situation and not the beginning of a fuckin’ headache. But no. He had to push. And push.

Until Price gave the order to take care of it.

And that he did.

(With the added benefit of killing one bird and keeping the other in a pretty cage.)

Price probably won't like his solution, but Simon racked up enough favours to keep a little pet of his own. Been a good boy for a long, long time now, and he supposes he's owed a bone.

Or a sweet thing tucked tight to his side having passed out some two hours ago after he slaked his dizzying thirst on you over and over again even though it doesn't feel like it's been enough.

It's rare that he has an appetite for people. Even rarer that he lets this meagre hunger consume him like this. But there's something about you that makes his teeth ache in the same way they often do whenever he's hungry for meat.

He wants to devour you. Consume you. Eat you alive and save nothing for anyone else to taste.

(So—

Price will just have to let him keep you, won't he?)

The mattress vibrates under him. His phone buzzing with an incoming text. He reaches over, pulling it close enough to read the notification on his screen. It's from Soap.

All her stuff is on your porch.

He hums, but doesn't reply. Simply opts to drop his phone on his belly, and tug you closer to his broad chest. He'll wake you in an hour, and the stirring in his groin tells him it'll be for another round. Maybe he'll take you in the freezer. Make you cling to the hook hanging down from the ceiling as he fucks you like that. He has a pair of ties for ox, lamb legs, that he can loop around your wrists and heft you up on.

It'll hurt, he's sure. The binds weren't designed with comfort in mind, but he can easily bear your weight as he pounds into you from below, your pretty legs wrapped tight around his waist.

The image, the thought, alone has him thickening against his thigh. He reaches down, gripping the base tight in his hand as he pulls you even closer, burying his nose in your crown.

At the very least, he wouldn't be lying when he told Price he strung you up.

Three rounds—on your back, your hands and knees, perched above him like a pretty goddess he stole away from a temple—and he still isn't satisfied. Fuck. He breathes in your scent and doesn't think he ever will be.

He'll get you out of here, take you home. Make you the steak he likes for a late dinner, rare and simple—the same one he gave your brother weeks ago when he dragged him into the shop, strung him up on a hook, and demanded payment for his disrespect.

Who'd have thought that his payment would be you?

(fitting, though, since he'd had his eye on you for a while now—)

He nudges you when his phone chimes again with another message doubtless from Soap telling him all your things have been tucked away. Matters dealt with.

“C’mon,” he grunts, running his hand down your spine. “We’re leavin’.”

You blink at him slowly. “Leaving?”

He nods. “Get dressed.”

You're quiet as he turns, reaching for his jeans left in a heap beside the mattress, but he hears the hitch in your throat. The click when you swallow. Unbothered by it, he turns, giving you his back as he wedges his feet inside the trousers, pulling them up his legs.

The bed shifts behind him. “I—I can walk back to my brother's—”

The hope in your voice is a delicate thing. Fragile like fine china. A pretty, vulnerable tchotchke meant to be seen, admired, but not touched. Not handled roughly.

Unfortunately for you, he's never had much of a gentle touch.

When he throws a glance over his shoulder, he's not surprised to find your arm folded over your bare breasts as you kneel on the mattress, your palm resting flat between your parted thighs, wrist and forearm covering the slip of heaven between them from his greedy, prying gaze.

It paints a startling picture, he finds. One with you looking thoroughly ravaged. Taken. But presenting it in a soft sort of sensuality meant to make a man feel both hot under the collar and like an unrepentant voyeur.

Pretty bird, he thinks, and feels his cock stir.

He rises swiftly, hiking up his jeans around his thighs as he goes, and then turns to you with a heady desire to crush that gossamer of hope between his greedy hand like a silken cobweb that will stick to his fingers.

“Not goin’ to your brothers,” he says, pushing his tongue against his cheek to stem the ache burning in his muscles.

You shiver, eyes growing wide, frenzied with fear as you stare up at him. The shift of your throat when you swallow makes pre-cum dribble out of his fattened cock. He's never really had much of a taste for it, but he's overcome with the urge to see you cry—

“Where are we going?”

Amid the ache in his loins, the flickering fantasies of your pretty, lachrymal face gazing up at him helpless, hopeless, and needy, he catches the edge of panic when you speak. The razor-sharp tremble of fear.

But buried amongst it, hidden in the bruised look you give him as he towers over you with his cock bulging in his slacks and his eyes burning with want, he finds a keen sense of eagerness amongst the rubble. Agog, almost.

And fuck. If that doesn't do something awful to him.

“What?” He taunts, cocking his head to the side as your breath grows shallow and your eyes wide. “Did you think that was enough to pay your debt, birdie?”

“What? You can't—”

“Don't like it—” he lifts his shoulder up in a cool, indifferent shrug, enjoying the dismayed expression that falls over your brow more than he should. “—go to the police.”

“The ones on your payroll?” You spit, eyes flaring wide like an angry cat. “You—”

Several things might have continued in place of your choked, angry sob, but it's swallowed down as pragmatically as it was the first time he cornered you earlier today. And as beautiful as your ire is, he finds the cornered look on your face to be much more pleasing. Prettier.

“C’mon, bird,” he mocks, holding his hand out toward you with a tick of his lips. “All your stuff is at home. Don't be stupid.”

“Stupid?” You gasp in indignation, but there's a bruised look in your eyes. A wounded thing that makes his breath hitch in his lungs for reasons he can't really ascertain, but just knows that he likes it. Likes it a lot. “This is—insane.”

Again, he shrugs, but the indifference this time isn't the same manufactured callousness meant to inspire fear. The conversation is stale already. Grating on him. He's not used to having his orders ignored or questioned. What he says usually goes—either through association or reputation, or just the fact that no one has ever come close to filling the same measure of space as he does—and questioning him like this makes him feel too much like a boy, and not enough like the living ghost he pretends to be.

“You can't do this. It's not right.”

An appeal to his humanity. Cute. He huffs, reaching down to fasten the button of his jeans. The sound the zipper makes cuts through the room. “You're mine, birdie. Better get used to it.”

Catching your eye as he says it was only meant to reignite the kindling fear you have of him from extinguishing. A scared prey animal was a better pet than an angry one. But the look on your face catches him off-guard.

It reminds him of a flightless little bird shivering in a child's shoebox. Tiny broken thing his mum warned him not to touch or its mother would abandon it to die on its own.

“Until the debt is paid off.”

A statement, not a question. He shrugs, but doesn't respond. Tilts his head toward the door. “Let's go.”

His lack of reassurance doesn't soften the flint in your gaze, but the prospect of recompense seems to spurn you on. Another wishbone of hope to cling to. And despite himself, he lets you keep it. Lets your little finger wrap around the delicate bone for comfort because as much as you might think there's a fifty-fifty chance of getting the bigger piece, he has no intentions of letting something like that get in the way of his appetite even if you do.

(And his hunger has always been particularly voracious, hasn't it?)

“Come, birdie. Gotta get you home, and fed, don't I?”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #series: dogmeat #for only being 19k this really took a lot out of me #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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shepherdfeathers · 15 days

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Percher and perchee

#when Logan’s busy Kurt has to find someone else to climb on #x-man vision AU #vision and the x-men #wolverine and the x men #watxm nightcrawler #watxm #earths mightiest heroes #EMH vision

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nottswitch · 24 days

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— 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠?)

summary: your last night in italy, your last chance to remember this vacation forever

pairing: theo x fem!reader

warning: 18+ smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), spanking, choking, dirty talk, degradation/praise, mentions of alcohol, tipsy sex, smoking, broken Italian, modern!au, muggle!au

wc: 3.9k

a/n: it’s been a long time coming!! finally officially writing for theo. inspired by honey (are u coming?) by måneskin <3

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; theo m-list ; how to request

The air of the summer night was almost chilly, but only almost – the temperatures in the south of Italy are usually high at this time of year. However, it didn’t stop you from shivering as a light breeze of wind brushed against your skin, flushed from all the alcohol you had consumed in the last couple of hours. It wasn’t even that much in quantity – it was more so the mixture between the different kinds of it creating a heady haze in your direct and peripheral vision. And now, you were standing behind the club, having come out for a breather and a brief clearance of your mind. Your friends were still inside, lost somewhere between the dancing bodies, and you didn’t care enough to let them know you were heading out.

“Scusa, signorina, ha un accendino?”

You were shaken out of the blankness of your thoughts by a deep voice coming from somewhere behind you. You didn’t know what it said, since you weren’t the assigned interpreter of the group and knew jack shit about Italian. Slowly and cautiously, you turned your head to look at the source of that profoundly attractive voice. The man was standing a bit further away, still hidden by the shadows, so you couldn’t see his face clearly.

“Ciao?”

In your dumbfounded state, it was the only thing your brain could conjure up. The sole Italian word you knew for sure and could safely produce, besides the pizza names, of course. But if you started spurring them out – that would be deathly embarrassing.

The silhouette let out a low chuckle. He took a step further, and the light of a street lamp finally let you see the face of the mysterious voice. Your mouth was slightly agape as you studied his features: cheekbones that looked sharper than they probably were, emphasized by the shadows of the night; a cap of dark curly hair, messed up by hours of dancing in the club and the breeze that was currently ruffling it; his lips, rather… full and strangely inviting.

“Shit, I thought this line would work.”

Once again, his voice pulled you right out of your reverie. You realized that he was speaking English now, and his accent made the language sound tenfold more charming than it needed to be.

“What?” you asked, immediately feeling sheepish as you said it. It wasn’t hard to notice that you’d been standing there shamelessly ogling him while he tried to converse.

The previous chuckle of his turned into a laugh. The stranger stepped even closer, so close that you could distinguish a couple moles on his face, and his eyes… they were something else entirely. You tried your best to blink away the incoming clouding of the mind – it was simply dangerous to stare into them too much.

“I asked if you had a lighter,” he explained, taking a pack of cigarettes and his own lighter out of his pocket. “This line usually works.”

He lit up the cigarette, taking quick inhales until the tip started burning orange. Then, he took a deep drag, hollowing out his cheeks and making his cheekbones appear even more prominent. You watched in awe as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, deliberately blowing it out in the opposite direction.

“But you-” you tried to say, your voice embarrasingly cracking and making you clear your throat. “You have a lighter,” you finally uttered, rubbing your throat with your fingers and swallowing a lump slowly starting to form there.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just a conversation starter,” he explained with another low chuckle. You felt like you were five and he was you kindergarten teacher, explaining the reason the sky was blue. “And it did start the conversation, no?”

You smiled nervously, fumbling with your necklace. The stranger noticed your tensed up state and his expression softened from playful to friendly and approachable.

“Theo,” he said, holding out his hand. “Well, Theodore, actually, but only my mother calls me that when she’s angry,” he joked, his lips spreading in a wide smile.

You introduced yourself as well, feeling much more comfortable with his gaze warmly resting on your eyes. His hand was bigger than yours, softer than you expected and felt like a pillow. Once your palms connected, he wrapped his fingers around yours and instead of a handshake, lifted your hand to his lips to plant a kiss on its back.

Your cheeks flushed instantly at the feeling of his lips on your skin. They were so soft that a need to feel them on your mouth made itself known in the depths of your stomach. You cursed yourself for being so sensitive, but didn’t pull your hand away when his lips lingered there for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“So, bella,” he started, letting go of your hand, “what are you doing alone outside of a club at…” He glanced at his wristwatch. “…at five in the morning?”

“My friends are still inside,” you explained the ‘alone’ part, “and I just came out for a breather. Our flight is in six hours and we’re probably not going to sleep,” you added with a scoff. At that point, a sleepless night didn’t sound as enticing as it did just a day before.

“A flight?”

Theo tilted his head, taking another drag of the cigarette. You swore you were hallucinating, but you could hear a slight hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Yeah, we’re flying back home,” you replied with a sigh, also feeling disappointed for some reason. It was rather unfair, you thought, that as soon as you met a perfect picture of a man, you had to leave him behind, in a country so foreign to you.

“Damn…”

Theo let out a humorless chuckle, exhaling a plume of smoke and running his hand through his hair, letting the curls gracefully fall on his forehead afterwards. He noticed the curious glance you gave him and shook his head.

“It’s nothing, I just-”

He interrupted himself by taking a long drag of the cigarette and shoving his hand in his pocket, as if to stop it from clenching into a fist.

“I just thought I had a chance,” he finished with a white cloud billowing out of his mouth. “You know, to have your number, to take you out and all that…”

You sighed, lowering your gaze to the ground. You actually really wanted to go on a date with this handsome stranger, and life felt even more unfair than just seconds ago, now that you knew that your sudden desire was reciprocated.

“Life’s a bitch, I guess,” you breathed out, biting the inside of your cheek to stop your voice from shaking. You never knew that a simple one-minute encounter outside of a club could affect you that profoundly, yet there you were, wishing you could stay in Italy for at least a day longer.

Theo watched you intently as he kept on smoking, and silence fell between the two of you for a few minutes.

"Can we…?" his voice sounded in the silence of the night.

"Yeah," you breathed out before he could even finish the sentence. You knew exactly what he was implying, and you would probably die before you missed the chance to skip all the unnecessary steps and just outright go for it.

You could see Theo grinning and tilting his head back a little as another cloud of thick white smoke wafted above him. He threw the cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the tip of his shoe, all while his shining eyes were fixed on you, and you realized that your own lips perfectly mirrored his wide smile. Theo took a couple of steps towards you, the proximity between your bodies’ letting his warmth envelop your front. His hand hovered next to your waist while his eyes searched yours, silently asking for permission. Your nod was more than enough; you barely had time to breathe in before Theo’s lips were on yours, his hand firmly gripping your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. On instinct, your own hands ended up on his shoulders, stabilizing yourself, as your knees seemed to have a mind of their own and suddenly wanted to buckle.

Naturally, Theo tasted like cigarettes and a hint of alcohol; his scent invaded your senses with male cologne and something citrusy on top of that. His hands held you up, one of them leaving wrinkles on the thin fabric of your tank top, and the other one – caressing you flushed cheek with his thumb. You let out a soft, shaky moan when you felt his tongue gliding against yours and got a response in the form of another moan, but lower – from him. It sounded heavenly, and you found yourself wanting to pull more of this out of him.

Both of you were breathless when you mouths finally separated, a thin strip of saliva stretching out between your shiny, sloppy lips. A second later, it was cold and dripping down your chin, and Theo laughed, pressing his thumb to your skin to wipe off the mess.

"There’s a place, not far from here," he whispered, leaning in so that his lips would lightly brush against your ear.

"Whatever you say," you answered, closing your eyes and trying to gather the last bits of self-control not to jump on him right then and there. Maybe it was the previously consumed alcohol, maybe it was just him.

The corner of Theo’s mouth turned up at the sound of your voice, still a bit breathless and, undoubtedly, needy. He placed a teasing, promising kiss under your ear, eliciting a quiet but sharp breath from you, and pulled away, sliding his hand down your body, from your waist to your hand. Your fingers intertwined, and before you knew it, you were getting all but dragged along the cobbled street.

"Theo," you whined, tugging at his arm to at least slow him down a notch. "My heels!" you said, raising your voice a bit when the guy didn’t stop at all, as if he hadn’t heard you.

Theo turned his head, following your downturned finger and noticing your high-heeled sandals.

"Ah, piccola mia," he cooed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. You didn’t know what he said, but in your mind, his amused smile couldn’t have meant anything bad. In a split of a second, you were picked up, bridal style, your body pressed to Theo’s chest, your legs helplessly dangling in the air. You let out a short, surprised squeal, which made Theo bite the inside of his cheek in order to suppress a loud, hearty laugh.

"That’s much better, hm?" he murmured, observing your widened eyes with a small but cheeky smile on his face and a quirked eyebrow.

You didn’t really have any time to answer – the question was rhetorical, anyway – as he started to walk down the street, his pace a bit faster now that you weren’t slowing him down. You decided not to question and instead, wrapped your arms around his neck. Although, as you had come to notice, his arms provided just enough of a safety net.

The lobby of the hotel had high ceilings, leather couches and air conditioning, which was a nice contrast against you flushed cheeks. Theo didn’t bother lowering you to the ground when you entered, so now you were hiding your embarrassed face in the crook of his neck while the receptionist was checking you in. His cologne was filling your lungs more and more with each passing second, so at some point you couldn’t hold back anymore and started placing soft kisses on Theo’s neck and jaw. You heard the incessant tapping of his fingers against the countertop increasing in frequency and grinned into his skin, realizing that your efforts weren’t in vain at all. His relieved exhale rang out along with the clink of the keys to your room for the night.

As soon as you stepped into the elevator, Theo pressed you against the wall, swiftly grabbing the backs of your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. His lips stole a sloppy kiss from yours before latching onto your neck and leaving a trail of saliva down to your collarbone. One of your hands ended up on his shoulder while the other one was eagerly pulling his head into your neck, craving for more of the pleasure his lips were giving you.

The high-pitched sound of the elevator arriving at your floor cut through your lust-filled haze, but Theo was far from willing to let you go even for a minute. He carried you into the corridor and looked around to spot the right number on the door. Thankfully, it wasn’t far. Theo’s pace was hurried, and his lips were stuck to your shoulder all the way, until you heard the key turning and the door opening, at last.

A sharp breath was knocked out of your lungs when Theo pressed you against the other side of door, hungrily swallowing the air coming out of you. His hands immediately went to your ass, firmly gripping the flesh over your skirt. You moaned into his mouth, already feeling the dampness between your legs starting to grow pretty rapidly. Theo smirked against your lips and sneaked a hand up your body, under your tank top. His palm pressed into your breast, his fingers closing around it and giving it a solid squeeze. His lips parted, and you whined in protest when instead of his tongue you suddenly felt just his hot, alcohol-induced breath. You desperately licked into his mouth while he panted, lost in the feeling of your tits and ass sitting so nicely in his hands.

"Cazzo, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse.

At the feeling of Theo’s strong hands kneading your ass and tits simultaneously you started whimpering, wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to move your hips against his, tightening your legs’ embrace around his waist.

"You’re a needy girl, huh?"

Theo pulled away ever so slightly, just enough to have a good look at his face. He chuckled, trapping his tongue between his teeth while his eyes flicked from yours down to your now swollen lips and back.

"Such a desperate, needy slut," he murmured, his hand leaving your breast and cupping your jaw, his fingertips pressing into your cheeks and making your lips form a pout. As a confirmation of his words, a whimper left your throat, and your pussy started pulsating against the front of his jeans. Your hips started grinding again, and you could barely hold in another round of pathetic sounds when you felt a hard bulge between your bodies.

"Fuck," Theo groaned, for a second feeling nothing but the delicious friction your rapid movements provided. He lowered you to the ground, pressing a quick, firm kiss against your lips before guiding you to the huge, king-sized bed. You didn’t protest; you didn’t want to, and your mind was too far gone at this point. As soon as your legs hit the edge of the bed, Theo didn’t let you fall onto it. Instead, he pressed his palms against your lower back and your stomach at the same time, bending you over in one swift movement – you barely had time to stretch out your arms to support yourself.

Theo took a step back, biting his lips as he took in the sight of you, bent over, a tight denim skirt hugging your curves, your ass high up in the air due to the high heels on your feet. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he came closer again, lifting up your skirt to pool around your waist. You breathing grew more erratic as you felt his hands on your ass, grabbing the cheeks and spreading them open. A sharp slap landing on your right asscheek was a surprise, eliciting half a squeal, half a moan from you; your arousal trickled out of your panties in one wet line, which made Theo almost ecstatic. He gave your ass another slap, relishing your moan as he kneeled behind you, your thighs receiving a smack each as a signal to spread further apart.

If he wasn’t gripping your hips at that moment, your legs would’ve given out right when his mouth was pressed against your soaked panties. A shaky whimper escaped your wide-open mouth, making Theo’s cock throb in the confines of his jeans. In other cases, he would’ve taken his time teasing you, getting his fix of your needy moans and the sweetness between your legs. However, right then he was still somewhat tipsy and painfully hard, which is why your panties were quickly moved aside and his tongue dived straight into your dripping folds. A groan made your skin pleasantly vibrate, and your moans never stopped since, only growing louder and more frequent.

Theo’s tongue lapped up the juices from your cunt, his hands firmly gripping the underside of your ass, his thumbs spreading your inner thighs by pressing into them hard enough to leave bruises. You couldn’t help it - you bent your arms and lowered yourself down to your elbows, because you felt like you’d start shaking at any given moment. And you did, as soon as Theo’s skillful lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and making each and every single nerve shoot lightning strikes of pleasure through your whole body. Your moans and whimpers grew into sobs as Theo continued greedily devouring your aching cunt. The moment he gave your ass another slap, you were done for. Without any type of warning, you came, your hands gripping the sheets so hard they could probably rip.

When Theo heard you getting lost in your orgasm, he closed his eyes and groaned, feeling his own need painfully pulsating between his legs. He stood up, towering over your bent over and already spent form. You couldn’t even turn your head to see what he was doing, but you definitely heard the sound of a zipper being undone. You didn’t have time to dwell on that, as two of Theo’s fingers ended up inside your cunt almost immediately. Your whole body jerked forward, the pain of overstimulation mixing with the pleasure of his fingers stretching out your walls. The next sound was that of a wrapper being opened, and for a quick but very empty moment Theo’s digits left your hole. You whimpered in protest, pushing your ass back in search of friction, and you found it: the tip of Theo’s cock, wrapped up in a condom, slid along your folds up to your clenching and unclenching entrance.

"Cazzo," Theo breathed out, momentarily mesmerized by the sight in front of him. "Such a good girl f��me…" he continued murmuring as he rubbed his tip in circles against your entrance, making you squirm. His hand stopped your erratic movements, grabbing your hip to keep you in place. Once he was sure you weren’t moving anymore, that same hand landed on your asscheek, causing your body to jerk forward once again. "Such a dirty slut."

With one thrust he pushed into you, his hips slamming against yours with bruising force. You let out a sharp, high-pitched scream, immediately flowing into a stuttering moan as you felt the tip of Theo’s cock hitting a sweet spot. He moaned along with you, his head thrown back as he savored the feeling of your warmth and heat squeezing his aching dick. Shameless groans left his mouth with each movement he started moving inside of you, his initially slow pace growing into deep, hard thrusts. You buried your face in the sheets, tugging at them with your hands, desperate for some kind of grounding in reality. Theo’s cock kept hitting different spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had, making your pussy drip even more and causing squelching sounds to waft through the room, along with skin loudly connecting with skin. Theo’s hands landed slaps on your ass from time to time, each squeal of yours following it causing him to groan louder.

Your second orgasm wasn’t far off from the first one – with an especially deep thrust, Theo’s cock hit something entirely uncharted inside of you, making your thighs shake and your cunt clench around him. He fucked you through your climax, barely holding on, until you finally stopped squirming so much. His hand was on the back of your neck in a second, lifting your upper body from the bed and pressing it against his firm chest.

"Feel so good, bella," he breathed into your ear, causing your completely overstimulated body to shiver. This reaction brought Theo closer to his own orgasm, and his thrusts became messier with each passing second. "Gonna come soon," he whispered, lightly squeezing your throat and circling the shell of your ear with the tip of his tongue. You whined pathetically, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your walls clenched around Theo once again.

That did it for him. With a low, raspy moan into your ear, he came, his grip on your hip and throat tightening. His twitching cock made your thighs purse together involuntarily, and your body finally went limp against his chest. Both of you stayed like that for another minute or so, stabilizing your staggered breathing. As soon as Theo felt you calming down, he carefully spun you around and lowered you onto the bed on your back.

"That was…" you breathed out, sinking into the softness of the mattress underneath you.

"Yeah," Theo followed, a satisfied smile playing on his lips when he heard you struggling for words.

You let out a breathless chuckle, propping yourself up on one arm and following Theo’s padding to the bathroom with your gaze. Once he disappeared inside for a moment, you threw yourself back onto the sheets, covering your eyes with your hands and shaking your head in disbelief.

"Me… A one-night stand in Italy…" you murmured under your breath, rubbing your temples with your fingers, as if trying to get a grasp of the situation.

"A one-night stand?"

Theo quirked an eyebrow, heading from the bathroom towards the bed, his jeans all done and zipped again. You gave him a questioning look of your own, wondering what that sly smile of his meant. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to you and, in response, turned the screen of his phone to you. You squinted, trying to see what he was trying to show you, and gave him a skeptical look when you did. He seemed puzzled for a moment before understanding washed over him – of course, how would you understand a text in Italian. He physically facepalmed and pulled the phone away, looking at the screen himself.

"It says that ‘due to inadequate weather conditions, all international flights have been postponed indefinitely," he read nonchalantly, the only thing betraying his inner workings being that same smile you saw earlier. He glanced at you, trying to gauge your reaction to the news and see if you were getting the hint.

You bit your bottom lip, furrowing your brows as you were processing the information. Then, your eyebrows went up, and you lifted your head, meeting his playful eyes with those of your own. As Theo crawled up your body, your fingers were already mindlessly tapping a message to your group chat with your friends.

reblogs and comments will be appreciated ♡

#— witch’s works ☾#theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott smut #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut

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sanarsi · 1 month

Text

Euphoria

professor!Joel Miller x student!f!Reader

Summary: One wrong call led to this, that instead of your boyfriend, it's your professor who picks you up from the party. Warnings: +18, MDNI, mention of drugs and alcohol, use of drugs (by reader), being under the influence of drugs, protective!Joel, angst, professor-student relationship, age gap (not specified), kinda perv!Joel(??? idk you'll judge), blowjob, pussy eating, cheating (kinda), protected PIV (he had a vasectomy), creampie, dom!Joel, no-outbreak AU, Sarah’s alive and happy, dubcon kinda? Wordcount: 8,1k An: Hiii, I would like to ask you to read the warnings before reading. If you are comfortable with the topic of drugs, angst and sex under the influence, I invite you to read and I hope you enjoy it. Meal is a meal and professor Miller is professor Miller so… this is just a good shit. Reblogs and comments are appreciated! <3 Music I worked with: Make You Mine - Madison Beer

Masterlist

The music was getting louder in your ears. Pushing through the sweaty, dancing people was becoming more and more of a challenge. Everything was starting to spin. You needed some fresh air.

The pills you took didn't work as they should have. Maybe you drank too much before, maybe you had a bad day, or maybe the guy had some shitty stuff.

Your lungs started to collapse more and more as you tried to take another breath. You panicked. You started pushing through the crowd faster and more aggressively. They didn't give a shit about you as much as you didn't give a shit about them.

Here, everyone lived their own life. Everyone had fun. You wanted too.

Until now.

A silent scream tried to escape you as you began to gulp air. You couldn't breathe any other way. You were getting weaker and weaker. Everything was getting hazy. The music was getting less and less distinct. Everything was like behind thick glass.

And right in the middle, in a little glass box, was you. Locked away with no access to oxygen and no cry for help.

You were alone.

Just when you thought the crowd would swallow you, you saw the door. A light at the end of the tunnel.

Something inside you, some instinct, forced your legs to move towards the exit. Your body acted as if it was programmed, like you weren't the one controlling it. Some greater force was moving you like a puppet.

The same force made the mysterious man appeared in front of you. You stopped, frowning and trying to focus your vision to identify his identity. But his face was blurry. Just like the touch of his arms, which wrapped around you to stop your body from falling.

"You've had enough for now," he said, slightly amused, and began to pull you towards the exit. You knew him. His voice was like a breath of fresh air and his arms gave you a false sense of security. You liked that voice. You liked the feeling that allowed you to take a moment to rest amidst the chaos around you and inside you.

"Call Joel," you mumbled indistinctly.

You reached your hand into the back pocket of your jeans and tried to pull out your phone a few times, but your strength disappeared. You couldn't even bring yourself to clench your fingers around this damn thing.

You were helpless and barely conscious, which made tears appear in your eyes.

Why did something like this have to happen when you finally wanted to break free and needed it more than anything else?

Why couldn't you have fun like the rest of them for once?

Why was it always you who got screwed?

"What's your password?" The pleasant male voice spoke again.

You frowned, closing your eyes as you tried to force yourself to think, or worse – say it out loud. The wind blow across your heated skin, making you shiver. You were freezing cold despite it being the middle of summer.

You felt bad and it was getting worse with every passing minute.

"Four zeros," you managed to choke out and looked around shakily. You were standing at the top of the stairs leading to the house.

When had you two left? You didn't register that moment.

The arm around your waist dug harder into your flesh as your knees buckled beneath you. You gasped, trying to keep your weight on the unstable sticks which were your, not so useful right now, legs.

The slightest gust of wind, or even a slight tilt of your head, made you swung like a blade of grass in the wind.

The feeling of falling sent panic through the corners of your brain, but your eyelids continued to droop heavily, blocking your vision. You braced yourself for the pain that was about to dull the rest of your senses, but all you felt was something hard under and behind you. After a moment, a cold sensation appeared around your head, which brought you no small amount of relief.

You purred with pleasure, snuggling closer to the metal railings by the stairs. Your friend looked down at you with concern before he went back to searching for the right contact in your phone.

And that's when the first problem appeared.

You had two phone numbers saved the same way.

Joel.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath and selected the first contact.

Seconds passed, another ring sounded by his ear until automatic voicemail went off.

In that case, it had to be the second number, he thought. Since the first one was inactive, the second one had to be the good one, right?

Bull's eye.

After the third ring, a sleepy 'hello' sounded in the speaker.

"Hi, sorry to wake you up, but your girlfriend isn't in the best shape," he started immediately, glancing at your semi-conscious figure, cowering on the stairs. “’think she took some crappy stuff and is goin’ down the drain. She told me to call you. Can you come pick her up?”

There was silence on the other end.

A long silence.

A drawn-out silence.

He had to check phone to make sure the call was still going.

“Hello?”

“Give me the address.”

A quick exchange of the most necessary information ended the conversation. That was enough for Joel to appear in the district where the address was located in less than twenty minutes.

You were sitting cuddled in the arm of your friend, who was soothingly stroking your back. He didn't know if you had fallen asleep or if you were just that calm. He only hoped that you weren't struggling too much in your head after taking some shit. You weren't able to help him find out what and who you took it from.

His attention was drawn to the car that stopped in front of the house.

"Joel came to pick you up," he whispered with a smile and noticed that you woke up a bit at his words. You blinked a few times, raising your gaze.

"’s not that Joel," you mumbled.

He frowned, surprised by your reaction, and looked towards the man who just got out of the car and headed towards you.

At first, he couldn't recognize his face, but the closer he got, the clearer it became.

Indeed, he didn't look like your boyfriend. He was... too old to be in a relationship with you. He looked more like your father.

Maybe he was your uncle and he just got you into trouble? Damn it.

"You're not her boyfriend," he stated as Joel stopped by the stairs. His gaze was fixed on you and this sight definitely didn't satisfy him but he tried to didn't show it.

"Do I look like him?" he muttered unpleasantly and looked disapprovingly at the young boy who was holding you in his arms.

His silence was quite telling.

"What did she take?" he asked glancing at your barely conscious form.

"I don't–"

"Wonderful." The rough answer, silenced him effectively. "Did she have some stuff with her?" The next question only stressed the young boy out more.

"Are you her father or somethin’?" he asked, a bit skeptical of the older man.

"I'm her teacher," he replied, pressing his lips together tightly at the sight of you.

No one expected such an answer.

A quiet voice in your friend head blamed him for confusing the contacts and calling a strange guy instead of your boyfriend. What confused him more, was reason, why you had your teacher's number in your phone. And what was even more interesting, was why he picked up at such a late hour and decided to come pick you up.

"I–" he began, not very convinced by the fact that he had to hand you over to a strange guy who was your 'teacher'.

"I'll take her home," he cut him off firmly before he could express his distrust.

Without waiting for the boy to answer, Joel approached you and took your jaw in his hand. You frowned at the sudden movement, because your head was spinning in a bad way. Your gaze was absent as he tried to assess your condition.

Fact, you were in bad shape. He didn't even know if you were able to recognize him, which made the situation a bit more difficult.

"Sweetheart, tell me what you took," he said in a soft but firm tone.

You snorted sweetly, because his voice had a strangely soothing effect on your insides. You couldn't recognize his blurry face, but his touch was familiar. Warm, thick fingers that sent warm shivers through your body. You wanted to melt in his hand, and that's exactly what you did.

The entire weight of your head flew towards him, which made him tighten his grip, digging his fingers into your cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." he repeated softly to get your attention.

You opened your eyes with a blissful smile and tried with all your might to remember who those dark chocolate eyes belonged to. But it was his glasses that made a light bulb go off in your head.

“Just one blue pill, Professor,” you replied, causing relief from Joel and surprise from your friend.

"What are the blue ones for?" he asked, returning to his cold tone as he looked at the young boy.

"I– I don't know," he stuttered, frightened by sudden change in man’s behavior towards him.

"Then find out," he growled, nodding toward the house. Not a second had passed when the boy hurriedly disappeared behind the door.

Joel looked at you again with concern. You didn't look as bad as you had a moment ago. In fact, you looked like you were having a great time. Maybe you had a slightly wandering look, but the smile on your face and the sparkles in your eyes gave a misleading impression.

He knelt down in front of you with a quiet groan and looked at you from every side. There were no signs that anything bad had happened to you.

One stone from the heart. You were safe and sound. A little high, but healthy.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked and with his other hand he fixed the hair that was falling over your face. You watched his movements as if enchanted.

Everything had more vivid colors. His eyes were darker, deeper; you could drown in them. Every move he made seemed to play out in slow motion, giving you all the time you wanted to admire him.

"Joel Miller," you replied, smiling wider. "I didn't know you liked parties," you added before he could say anything. You threw him off balance with that.

He frowned, looking at you closely and he had to admit that he himself had once been young and had done a lot of... illegal things; that's why he decided to go in the direction you had imposed.

"I don't, but sometimes it happens and I end in places like this. I'm a little too old for such fun, you know?" he smiled gently, seeing that you were feeling better and better or the opposite – the drugs were starting to work.

"Just like me. But I'm young." You laughed charmingly, to which he laughed too and nodded. Your burst of energy was starting to worry him a little, but he'd rather that than you having a bad trip.

"So... since we're both not into parties, how about I take you home?"

He was treading thin ice to see if you'd cooperate with him. Unfortunately, your smile suddenly disappeared and he cursed in his mind.

"I can't, my parents think I'm at a friend's," you explained, rubbing your arm nervously.

Okay, that wasn't the answer that would put him in a bind.

"Then I'll take you to your friend's," he suggested but all he got in response was a negative shake of the head.

"She left."

That was already causing a bigger problem.

Joel tried to think quickly. All the possibilities flew through his head, choosing a few that he could test.

"Your friend said something about your boyfriend," he remembered, feeling that this was the way out of the whole situation. Your boyfriend, who was supposed to come here instead of him. At least that's what he concluded from the call he received.

"That asshole stood me up. He was supposed to come here with me, but he went with his friends to who knows where," you snapped, feeling furious at the jerk who dared to call himself your partner. Maybe you would regret this relationship if it wasn't for the fact that you were together for sex. Actually, apart from that, you didn't even like each other that much.

Despite that, he was good in bed, he took care of you at parties and other outings, and his name was Joel.

Exactly.

You were with him because you could shamelessly scream his name while you fucked, while really thinking about someone else. But that was your sweet secret. Sweet secret that held your jaw, staring at you through the lenses of his glasses.

"You don’t have anyone I could take you to?" he asked, increasingly helpless.

You smiled sweetly and shook your head in denial. "Nope."

A quiet sigh left his lips as he tried to think of a way out of this situation.

The worry in his eyes didn't match your current mood. You didn't like the fact that he was sad around you. You wanted to have fun, be happy, forget about all your problems for a moment.

"That's why I have to stay at the party until the morning," you said with a wide smile, at which he frowned.

"No," he ordered seriously, surprising you a bit. You rarely witnessed Joel addressing anyone like that. Especially you – his favorite. "I won't let you stay here when you're under the influence of some shitty pills."

"But–"

"No," he cut you off immediately. "I don't want to hear a word of protest. I'm your teacher even outside of working hours. I have to take care of your safety." His tone clearly indicated that he didn't want to hear your reasons for staying.

How could you argue with a man whose every word was sacred to you? Even if you wanted to, you couldn't because your friend came out of the house, catching your attention or at least Joel's attention, because yours was still focused only on him.

A smile bloomed on your face again as you could look at him with impunity.

Oh, he was handsome.

Deadly handsome for a man his age. Your father was younger than him and he looked much worse.

How was it even possible that you started to be attracted to a man older than your own father? You didn't know that, but you weren't going to delve into it because you liked the feeling he aroused in you.

"She took ecstasy." You heard from somewhere behind you before Joel looked straight into your eyes again as if he was looking for something. You didn't know for what, because he couldn't be looking for you; you were right in front of him.

"Come on, sweetheart," he sighed with a warm smile and slowly stood up. "I'll take you home, okay?" he suggested, holding out his hand to you.

You looked up at him with doe eyes and nodded silently. You didn't want him to be mad at you.

You didn't want to let him down so you politely gave him your hand and let him pull you up. It took a moment for your legs to get used to doing their duties again before you could fully stand on your own but despite that, Joel still wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you tightly to his side.

He didn’t want to risk you falling and cracking your head. Fate liked to play games with people and he had learned that the hard way many times. Way too many times.

Without any additional pleasantries, he led you to his car and sat you in the passenger seat. Your head was getting heavier as you tried to watch his movements; the way he fastened your seatbelt, the way he made sure you weren't sick, the way he ran his gaze down your body to make sure everything was okay.

But all he had to do was close the door and your eyelids closed by themselves. The car was quiet, nice and warm. You felt safe and the delicate scent of perfume he used only relaxed your muscles more.

Joel got into the car and before he drove away, he glanced at how you were trying not to let your eyelids fall. He sighed quietly, shaking his head in resignation and slowly drove out onto the street. Silence fell between you due to the fact that you had lost the fight with tiredness and simply fell asleep.

And at the same time he was struggling with his thoughts of what he should do. What was appropriate for him to do. He should have taken you home. Even if you were going to have a row after crossing the threshold. It was none of his business what happened to you after he got you to safety.

But another thought lurked in his mind. An idea that shouldn't have been there. Had no right to be there. Yet this thought overshadowed what was right.

Because Joel had long since admitted to himself that you were more important to him than the rest of the students. He had stopped denying how much he enjoyed sitting with you in his office in the evenings, helping you study. After many months of struggling with himself, he realized how much he appreciated your company, your attention, your smile, all of you.

That's why the thought of taking you home and witnessing the fight immediately slipped of off his mind.

He didn't want to cause you any trouble at home. The fact that he found you in such a state only proved that you had enough to worry about. Why would he give you more? He didn't like it when your pretty little head was filled with problems he couldn't help you with. But with what was happening now, he could help you.

That’s why after twenty minutes he stopped in front of his house.

You continued to sleep soundly, not worrying about anything anymore and he didn't have the heart to wake you up. You looked too innocent for him to interrupt your peaceful state of unconsciousness. The smudged mascara and a bit of glitter on your eyelids only added to your charm.

Joel really wanted to hate himself for the way his heart beat at the sight of you, but he couldn't. He couldn't hate the feeling you evoked in him. Because this feeling was good. Warmth spread across his chest and more wrinkles formed around his eyes from the wide smiles you caused in him.

You were like a ray of sunshine. Why would he hate the sunbeam that fell on him?

He knew he shouldn't feel this way. You were his student, the best he'd ever had the chance to teach. But he couldn't fight it. Not when you were pushing yourself into his arms. When you gave him your full attention. When your hand touched his every chance you got. He just couldn't.

That's why it didn't bother him at all to carry you home. Actually, he did it with all too much desire. He couldn't resist the feeling of holding you in his arms as your head rested peacefully on his shoulder.

The door closed behind him with a soft click as he slowly walked down the hallway. Darkness reigned everywhere after he was suddenly yanked out of bed. Now there wasn't much left of his desire to sleep.

He carefully opened the door to the guest room and tightened his arms a little as he walked with you over the threshold. As if to spite you, your phone began to vibrate, which made you grumble anxiously. He quickly laid you on the bed and reached into the back pocket of your pants. The bright screen forced him to squint as he tried to see who was calling you at this hour.

Joel.

He frowned, glancing at you and then back at the phone. Before he could think about his decision, he clicked the red receiver, rejecting the call and muted your phone, placing it on the cabinet next to it. Just in case, he did it in such a way that another incoming call wouldn't be visible.

Your quiet groan caught his attention so he didn't wait for you to wake up any longer and carefully started to take off your shoes; right after that, socks. He couldn't let you sleep uncomfortably after, what was probably a pretty lively, party. He felt that he had to take care of not only your safety but also your comfort, so that you could wake up in the morning without any consequences after tonight. And only because of that reason, his gaze wandered to your legs covered in jeans.

He cursed himself in his mind because of the ideas that started to come to his mind.

He couldn't.

He should leave you like this and go back to his bedroom.

He should have done it.

And yet, he leaned closer to you and gently stroked your cheek. "Sweetheart," he said quietly, wanting to wake you up.

Although there was at least that much common sense left in him.

He smiled fondly when he saw that you opened your eyelids a little with a grunt. "Lift your hips," he ordered and all he got in response was to do as he asked. No questions or comments.

Feeling the growing tightness in his chest, he unbuttoned your button and zipper. Deep down he knew how fucking wrong it was. But he couldn't fight it as his fingers began to slide the material of your jeans down your hips.

Another grievous sin was added to his mental list as his gaze fell on your underwear. The lump in his throat began to grow with every second his eyes were fixed on your black panties.

So damn plain black cotton panties.

Then why was this the sexiest sight in his whole life?

"Fuck," he cursed in a whisper and pulled your pants all the way down. Then your hips fell back onto the mattress with a quiet sigh.

He felt like a pervert, seeing you like this when you were on the edge of reality and dream so he forced himself to leave the room while he still could.

How long before he gave in?

It took a trip to the bathroom and his room.

Then he reappeared by the bed where you were lying half naked; with his old t-shirt in one hand and micellar fluid in the other. Having a daughter had many advantages, so he knew that falling asleep with makeup on was not something pleasant.

That's why for the next ten minutes he gently wiped your face with soaked cotton pads. He sat by your side, carefully wiped off the smallest traces of makeup and had to admit, that it was also refreshing even for him. A moment of silence helped him calm his thoughts, and the sight of your innocent face only confirmed that he had to take care of you. That was all that mattered now.

Until the moment you purred and delicate smile spread across your lips.

That was enough for a burning heat to appear in his chest again.

"This feels nice," you whispered in a slightly hoarse voice.

Joel was just finishing cleaning your cheek when your eyes began to stare at him. This time you didn't have a wandering gaze. You seemed... normal.

He quickly believed it because he wanted to believe it. He wanted you to be sober at the moment when you were closer than ever before. When you were in his house. Lying in his bed. On his sheets.

"How do you feel?" he asked, placing the cotton pad on the cabinet next to him, not taking his eyes off your shiny ones.

"Good." Your smile didn't disappear for a moment as you watched him carefully. You definitely weren't complaining about seeing him, but you wondered about other thing. "Where are we?" After that question, you looked around the dark room a bit. You didn't remember ever being in this place. It was too pretty here compared to the places you usually stayed.

"In my house," he replied, a bit afraid of your reaction.

Maybe he really should have taken you to your house despite the problems that were to come?

Maybe he went too far by bringing you to his place without your consent.

It's true that at university you were close, but it was always at the university. Never outside of it.

"It's nice here."

Your comment dispelled all his doubts. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath when a sigh of relief finally left his lungs.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, wanting to get back on solid ground.

Your presence of mind would allow him to pull himself together. All you had to do was say you were tired. That you wanted to go to sleep. That you wanted for him to leave you alone.

Anything that would indicate that he should go and leave you alone.

"Can I have a glass of water, please?" you asked, looking at him as if the request was too much to ask for.

You had already violated his hospitality. He had picked you up from a party in the middle of the night and brought you to his house. You were slowly starting to feel like an idiot.

"Of course," he nodded and left the room, leaving you alone.

You rubbed your face with your hand and slowly sat up. A penetrating feeling of shame crept into your head as you began to look at your thighs.

Did you undress yourself or did he undress you? You probably didn't want to know the answer to that question.

You felt like you'd already made a fool of yourself. You couldn't even tell if the drugs were still affecting you. You felt light, good, but your mind was starting to work differently. You didn't know what to focus on what to think. There were so many things happening that you should have been in control of right now and yet you sat there helplessly, staring at your flesh.

You came to the conclusion that you probably didn't have the strength to feel ashamed of what was happening now. You were too tired. Your mind wouldn't cooperate with you, so the best option was to face everything in the morning.

Despite your momentary sobriety, you still couldn't fight the feeling that was growing in your belly. Like a big warm ball was warming up your insides and giving you pleasure. That was the only reason you had a constant blissful smile on your face. It felt good. Focusing on that feeling was much more enjoyable than trying to think.

Joel returned a few minutes later with a glass of water, finding you dressed in his shirt and sitting on the edge of the bed with your head down. He swallowed hard, fighting the feeling the sight of you had stirred in him. He didn't want to admit what it was doing to him.

“Here,” he said, catching your attention. You looked up at him, your eyes so big and shiny that he had to clench his jaw to control his emotions. It wasn’t until a moment later that your gaze dropped to the glass in front of your face and, with a silent 'thank you', you took it.

In silence, he sat down next to you and watched as you took small sips. The cold water brought you some relief and tasted much better than usual. Only when you had drunk half a glass, you put it on the cabinet next to you and wiped your lips with the back of your hand. The silence echoed in your ears, making you focus more on the growing feeling of pleasure in your body.

You had to do something to not fall into this.

"I'm sorry," you said, starting to gently bite your lip. Despite the whole situation, you wanted to smile. "This wasn't supposed to be like this."

"And what was it supposed to be like?" His question made you look at him. Warmth radiated from him. He didn't seem angry. He didn't seem like he blamed you for your irresponsibility. It was a strangely pleasant change from what you usually experienced with your father.

You laughed quietly and looked down. “I don’t know,” you admitted, shrugging. You didn’t even know how to answer that question. Because what exactly did you expect? “I wanted to escape reality for a bit.”

“Aren’t there other ways to do it?”

“There probably are, but that was the only one I know of.”

You might be ashamed of it, but it was the truth. There was nothing in your life that would allow you to forget, even for a moment, all the shit that was going on around you.

You didn't want to think about it at a time when you felt light as a feather. You clenched your fists tighter into the mattress to hold back your smile because all you wanted to do was gasp while laughing at how good you felt.

Joel didn't seem to notice. He felt like you were struggling with negative emotions and he wanted so badly to help you get rid of the thoughts that were occupying your mind. You looked like you were at least physically in pain as your entire body tensed up as if searching for the slightest point of contact. Without thinking too much, his hand covered yours. You let out a shaky breath as his large fingers tightened around yours. It was a comforting gesture on his part, but to you it was like pouring gasoline on a fire. His touch was all you could focus on. The hot, large hand that was touching your small, cold one.

You began to tremble. Everything inside you began to crave more of that feeling, even though his hand alone was enough to make a moan die in your throat.

"I want to help you."

His offer hung between you like heavy clouds. His words had no second meaning, and yet you took it that way.

He wanted to help you. But how?

How could he make your mind stop running with tormenting thoughts?

You searched for the answer to this question in his eyes and even though this was an ordinary question, something else was lurking inside him. Something that you caught. Or at least that's what you thought.

However, thinking at a time like this wasn't working out very well for you. That's why you didn't know how your lips found their way to his. You couldn't remember when you got so close, pressing a strong kiss to his mouth.

You squeezed your eyes shut, frozen and waiting for his answer but Joel was in too much shock to do anything. Even breathing seemed like a superhuman ability now. That's why after the seconds dragged on, you pulled away with a sense of shame. Seeing the shock on his face, you really felt like an idiot but you couldn't control yourself. You didn't even know how on earth you decided to do something like that. How on earth did you decide to cross the sacred border.

"Professor, I'm sorry-" you tried to explain yourself but then his hand found its way into your hair, pulling you firmly only for him to initiate the kiss this time.

You moaned not expecting such a turn of events. His stubble pleasantly irritated your skin, sending waves of stars all over your body. A smile spread across your lips as his proximity began to stimulate you. Soft lips perfectly matched yours. Every kiss he gave you was like you had done it a thousand times before. His tongue was delicate and sweet, making you purr with pleasure. Every second of his closeness gave you more strength.

He and drugs were the most addictive combination you had ever had the opportunity to try. Apart from the fact that all your desires, that you had for this man for a very long time, were coming true.

Neither of you even thought about how fucked up it all was. You both wanted this too much to care about anything but each other's touch.

Even Joel started to feel like he was high. Your soft lips and quiet sighs gave him shivers of desire. He couldn't remember the last time his cock hardened as quickly as the moment your hand started to travel up his thigh.

He couldn't hold back a groan when your fingers gently tightened around the bulge in his sweatpants. The mere fact that he was so turned on by you, sent waves of arousal through every corner of your body. Heavenly feeling overshadowed all your senses.

“Please,” you whispered desperately into his mouth.

You felt his hand tighten around yours, making him moan, and you took that as an answer. You hooked your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, silently asking him to take them off. And that’s exactly what he did, without thinking too much, he lifted his hips and slid everything in your way off of them. Your kisses became sloppier and deeper as your hand found its way to his cock again.

Cold fingers wrapped around his hot, throbbing friend. The skin-to-skin contact elicited a throaty groan from him.

He was thick. You could barely contain him as you slowly began to pump him, up and down, letting more precum wet his tip. You gently ran your thumb over his head to spread everything. His cock trembled in your hand, trying to escape the too intense feeling.

His fingers tightened on your hair and his lips stopped coordinating with yours. You smiled widely and synchronized your kisses with the movements of your hand. With your tongue, you collected all the moans that came out of him. Joel felt like he was in a trap that he didn't want to get out of. Your gentle kisses and touch were driving him to the limits of his self-control.

And any remaining control disappeared the moment you fell to your knees before him.

You settled comfortably between his thighs, licking your lips. Joel sighed at the sight and propped himself up on his hands, leaning back a bit to get a better view of the way a string of saliva flew out of your mouth. His cock didn't even have time to twitch at this feeling because his tip disappeared into your mouth.

“Oh fuck,” he inhaled loudly.

You didn't give him a chance to get used to your warm tongue before you swallowed him halfway. He winced at the sudden surge of pleasure and looked at you with his mouth parted. You began to work your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

You were determined to swallow him whole, despite what you were capable of. You needed to prove to yourself that you could do it, that you could do more for him than for others.

“That's right, baby,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Hearing the praise from his lips, you felt like you were capable of anything. And that's exactly what you did, swallowing him whole.

A loud moan bounced off the walls as your throat tightened around his tip. He thrust his hips, trying to go deeper, and you let him. You pressed your nose into his flesh, holding him completely in your mouth. Joel watched everything with delight. Every twitch of his cock causing your walls to tighten around him.

He tried to breathe calmly but he couldn't focus on anything except how wonderful it felt to feel your mouth on his dick. He preferred not to admit how many times he had seen this sight before his eyes when he masturbated. Now, when he was experiencing it firsthand, he felt like he was in heaven. His imagination couldn't even match up to how skillfully you drove him crazy.

You started to choke so you immediately pulled away from his crotch. A string of saliva was the only thing that connected you two as you raised a tearful gaze at him. Joel was breathing heavily as he stared at you with adoration. And even though he wanted to feel your lips around him again, he couldn't stop himself from feeling them on him again.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hard kiss and covered your cheeks with his hands, forcing you to stand up. You didn't resist his movements, allowing him to pull you onto his lap. His cock throbbed, hitting your lower abdomen, causing another wave of arousal to start leaking out of you.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, deepening the kiss and allowing yourself a moment to play with his tongue. Joel was more than willing to let you do whatever you wanted to him. He gripped your ass tightly, earning a moan from you.

The hot ball inside you turned into a real fire between your thighs. The feeling was starting to overwhelm you, forcing quiet squeals out of you as you rubbed against his hard cock over and over again.

You needed to get rid of this feeling.

You needed to relieve yourself of the pain of arousal.

“Please, I want you inside me.”

Your silent plea didn't have to wait long for his answer. In one movement, he turned you over, letting you fall onto the soft mattress. You gasped when he suddenly pulled away from you and practically ripped your panties off. All the wetness smeared across the inside of your thighs but Joel was too busy to notice. He squeeze your panties in his hand, feeling the black material was completely soaked and shamelessly inhaled your scent.

Your pheromones awakened things in him he didn't know existed. Like in a frenzy, he hid your underwear in the pocket of his sweatpants and blindly threw his glasses on the table. He didn't really care that they probably broke when you writhed in anticipation on the bed in front of him.

"I've been waiting ages to find out what you taste like," he said, more to himself than to you, and grabbed you tightly by the hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. Your breath caught in your lungs as his hands began to roam your body in a possessive way and right under your shirt.

But when his face disappeared between your legs, you couldn't take the tension anymore and you threw your head back with a moan. Just the feeling of his breath and the knowledge of how close he was to your pussy was driving you crazy. He didn't have to do anything at all to make you writhe under him.

Every muscle in your body tensed as you felt him start to lick everything that smeared on your thigh. You began to pant heavily, feeling as he got closer to his goal with every second. Until finally, he planted the wettest, deepest kiss on your slit. You moaned loudly, arching your back at the overwhelming feeling. His tongue ran along the length of your pussy and with a growl of satisfaction, he sucked on your clit.

Instinctively, you clenched your fists tightly on the sheets and tried to move your hips out of his reach, but his hands on your waist effectively stopped your movements.

The sting of his beard perfectly matched his agile tongue. You were shocked at how quickly a familiar feeling began to gather in your lower abdomen. You couldn't remember the last time someone had brought you to such a state.

You didn't know what was causing it. The drugs that were still circulating in your blood, your desire for him or his amazing abilities. It was also possible that all of them at once made your legs tremble.

You wanted to scream, squeal, tell him to stop, tell him to continue. You couldn't decide but he made the decision for you, pulling away and depriving you of your orgasm. You opened your eyes, searching for him with your gaze and you wanted to beg him to come back to his place.

Seeing your gaze, a smirk appeared on his face. Having you in such a state made him feel like a god. He had already forgotten what it felt like to have such power over someone, to experience someone looking at you with such desire as you did for him when he took away your opportunity to come.

"You'll come with my cock inside you," he decided.

You blinked a few times and closed your mouth in shock. It was the first time you had witnessed such a change in his behavior and you had to admit that you liked him even more this way. You loved his gentle nature that surrounded you every day but his possessive version aroused a wild desire in you.

You wanted to dig your nails into his flesh until it bled and beg him to come inside you so hard and deep that you would see stars. But instead of saying that, you nodded, barely able to say a quiet 'okay'.

Your answer satisfied him.

Your submission satisfied him.

Holding his cock stiffly, he positioned himself between your legs. You felt him right at your entrance and you shuddered, clenching around nothing. Joel looked with satisfaction at the mess that you were. Disheveled hair, shiny eyes, his shirt that now revealed more than it covered.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he whispered affectionately at the sight of you.

Your breath caught in your throat when you locked eyes with him. But your eyes rolled back in an instant when his hands gripped your hips tightly and in one movement he pulled you to him, impaling you all the way on his cock. The cry that came out of you was the most animalistic sound he had ever heard. He shuddered with a moan feeling your tight pussy pulsating around him. He couldn't even experience this feeling in his dreams.

"I knew you'd be perfect," he gasped and slowly pulled out of you only to thrust hard back.

Another scream tore through your throat like fire but it didn't stop him from slowly setting the perfect pace for himself. The sound of flesh slapping flesh echoed through the room.

"Soaked, warm and tight."

He thrust harder and harder and you couldn't shake the feeling of him going so damn deep inside you. The arousal overshadowed the pain he was causing you. You weren't used to his cock. It was thicker and longer than the one you usually had inside you.

"Made especially for me," he growled, digging his fingers deeper into your hips.

You wrapped your hands around his wrists and dug your nails into them, silently begging for him to be more gentle.

You never expected someone like Joel to be so domineering in bed. In your fantasies, it was always you who was finishing him off, not him finishing you off.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” he panted, searching for your gaze until he finally found it, completely cock drunk. You winced as he thrust hard into you once again, not giving you a chance to catch your breath. He saw how bravely you were struggling with what he had given you, how you were trying to get used to his size. He felt you still clench around him tightly and if you could, you would rip his cock off. "To who?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows encouragingly.

For a guy his age, he held himself surprisingly well despite how fast he moved his hips, impaling you over and over again with his entire length.

"Toyoutoyoutoyou," you hissed in one breath and began to pant heavily, feeling the increasing tension in the muscles between your legs.

Joel smiled, pleased with the state he had brought you to, and pushed harder into you. That was the first time you saw stars and your lungs forgot how to breathe.

"You're right, to me," he nodded, leaning towards you. His hand slid under your shirt and after a moment it squeezed pleasantly painfully on your breast. You whimpered from the new stimulant that echoed off your clit. "And you know what I don't like?" he asked, teasing your nipple with his thumb, while slowing down the movements of his hips, entering you more passionately. "Sharing," he answered before his question even reached your consciousness.

Longer and longer moans accompanied every movement of his hips. His cock smoothly began to rub against that perfect spot in your pussy. You felt like crying from the pleasure that intensified the feeling of ecstasy inside you.

"Do you think your boyfriend will be happy when you tell him who's going to fuck you from now on?" he purred, rubbing his nose against your cheek. The scent of desperation filled his nostrils. You needed to come. You needed to be free from this burning feeling in your mind.

"What boyfriend?" you asked, overcome by the approaching fulfillment.

Joel smiled against your face and began to place wet kisses on your neck. You closed your eyes, tangling your fingers in his hair and fully surrendering yourself to everything he was giving you. His cock gently stimulated your cervix and the rest of his length created the perfect friction that drove you crazy. His hand sensually stroked your thigh and the other caressed your breast. This deadly combination quickly took away the last of your ability to think.

"Will you come for me, pretty girl?" he whispered, gently biting your skin. "Cum for me and let me fill you."

The only answer you were able to give him was a long moan as you reached your peak. You could dimly hear his praises and how proud he was of you. The feeling of euphoria spread through your body in strong waves, reaching the furthest corners of your body. Joel watched with fascination as the orgasm took over your body, the way you began to arch beneath him, the way you clenched your fingers tightly in his hair in need. This sight was something he feared he would never see again in his life. And yet, it was you lying beneath him, satisfied, overcome by pleasure.

The throbbing of your cunt and just you in yourself, drove him mad. Orgasm shook his body as if the last time he fucked was thirty years ago. The pleasure overpowered his ability to breathe. He froze, letting his cum fill you completely.

It felt like when he first discovered what his hand could do.

Overcome by the experience, he didn't even notice you watching him in silence, trying to calm your breathing. Your eyes sparkled as you stared at his tired face. You couldn't accept the fact that you had just experienced what you had dreamed of for a long time. And for the first time in a long time, you were just so fucking happy.

"Thank you," you whispered, placing your hands on his cheeks and lifting your head to connect your lips in a gentle kiss. Joel didn't resist even a second as he deepened the kiss, crushing you with his weight.

In that moment, you could admit that you forgot about the whole world. It was only him.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #sanarsi fic

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braveclementine · 2 months

Text

Vision and Sokovia

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC Elizabeth Lightwood. I do not condone any copying of this.

"This framework is not compatible." Tony said, typing away at the computer while he checked his notes.

"The genetic coding tower is at 97%." Bruce said from down below him. "You have got to upload that schematic in the next three minutes."

"I'm gonna say this once." Steve said, coming to a halt as he, Pietro, Wanda, and Y/N all entered the room.

"How about none-ce?" Tony asked.

"Shut it down!" Steve said.

"Nope, not gonna happen." Tony said and Steve watched as Y/N drifted slightly to Bruce's side.

"You don't know what you're doing."

"And you do?" Bruce asked. "She's not in your head?"

"I know you're angry." Wanda said from behind Steve.

"Oh, we're way past angry." Bruce scoffed and this was a side that Steve had never seen before. "I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade."

"Banner, after everything that's happened-"

"It's nothing compared to what's coming!" Tony interrupted him.

"You don't know what's in there." Wanda shouted back.

"This isn't a game!"

Suddenly, everything was disconnected as Pietro ran around it. "No, no. Go on. You were saying?"

Suddenly, there was a shot and Pietro fell below. Steve looked down and saw Clint standing on Pietro. "What? You didn't see that coming?"

"I'm rerouting the upload." Tony shouted as alarms started to beep.

Steve went to toss the shield, which bounced on everything. Tony shot him in the chest. Wanda fired up and Bruce wrapped his arms around her neck. "Go ahead, piss me off."

Steve jumped at Tony and suddenly Y/N was there, shoving Steve backwards as she defended Tony. She jumped on Wanda's back next, yanking her away and Wanda missed whatever magic she was going to shoot at Bruce. Wanda tossed her off and she went tumbling over the back of the Cradle.

Suddenly, Thor came running up the stairs and though he didn't stop and leapt upon the cradle, calling up lightning from his hammer, Steve could only focus on the slim figure behind him.

She was a young girl who looked to be about Y/Ns age with brown hair braided down to her waist. She wasn't wearing a purple tunic like she had in his vision, instead wearing what looked very much like Thor's armor, except in bronze instead of silver or gold. She had a bow strapped across her back, knives in her thigh sheaths, shuriken's in her belt, and a sword in her hand.

She stayed back, simply watching Thor as Thor slammed the lightning into the Cradle. And she stepped to the side neatly as Thor went flying as the Cradle exploded.

Everyone waited and even the girl backed up a little as a strange red and gray coloured human like. . . well thing came out of the Cradle. He seemed to almost float up, landing on the edge of the Cradle.

Suddenly, he flew directly at Thor, who grabbed him and swung him through one of the glass windows and he went flying so that he was suddenly staring out at New York.

Thor landed behind the strange floating man and Steve quickly landed as well, but waited as Thor raised a hand to stop him.

Thor set his hammer down on the table as the man slowly turned away, a gray suit almost covering his body. The rest of everyone joined them on the floor. Y/N was standing next to the girl that Steve desperately wanted to know the name of, looking like she wanted to say something, but said nothing.

Pietro zoomed over to stand by Wanda's side while Clint came from where Pietro had just exited.

"I am sorry." The voice spoke and it sounded a lot like Jarvis. He touched his feet down on the ground, "That was. . . odd." He looked over at Thor. "Thank you."

He continued to stare at Thor, and suddenly a gold cape was added to his costume.

"Thor." Steve said sharply. "You helped create this?"

"I've had a vision." Thor said, sounding almost dramatic and out of the corner of his eye- because he wanted to keep her in his sights at all times- the girl smirked. "A whirlpool that sucks in all hope of life, and at its center, is that."

"Thor, I know you're new to Earth, but it's rude to point." The girl almost laughed and Y/N actually smiled. Tony smirked too, but Bruce had his priorities straight.

"What? The Gem?"

"It's the mind stone. It's one of the six infinity stones." Thor replied. "The greatest power in the Universe, unparalleled in its destructive capabilities."

"Then why would you bring-" Steve started angrily.

"Because Stark is right." Thor said.

"Oh, it's definitely the end of times." Bruce, Y/N, and the new girl all said together.

"The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron." Thor continued.

"Not alone." The man said.

"Why does your vision sound like Jarvis?" Steve asked defensively, walking forwards as the man walked forward.

"We reconfigured Jarvis' matrix to create something new." Tony said.

"I think I've had my fill of new." Steve muttered.

"You think I'm a child of Ultron." The man continued, looking at Steve directly.

"You're not?" Steve asked on the defensive.

"I'm not Ultron." He said. "I am not Jarvis. I am. . . I am."

"I looked in your head and saw annihilation." Wanda said.

"Look again." He commanded.

Clint and Y/N both scoffed and Clint said, "Her seal of approval means jack to me."

"Their powers, the horrors in our heads, Ultron himself, they all came from the mind stone." Thor said. "And they're nothing compared to what it can unleash. But with it on our side-"

"Is it?" Steve asked. "Are you? On our side?"

"I don't think it's that simple."

"Well, it better get simple real soon." Clint said.

"I am on the side of life. Ultron isn't. He will end it all."

"What's he waiting for?"

"You."

"Where?"

"Sokovia." Clint said. "He's got Nat there too."

Bruce stepped forward, "If we're wrong about you, if you're the monster that Ultron made you to be-"

"What will you do?"

There was a moment of silence and Steve felt the frustration and desperation because he knew there was nothing they could do. He had pretty much been useless against Ultron. How could he even find a way to defeat this calmer, clearly more powerful version.

"I don't want to kill Ultron. He's unique and he is in pain. But that pain will roll over the Earth. So, he must be destroyed. Every form he's built, every trace of his presence on the net. We have to act now. And not one of us can do it without the others. Maybe I am a monster." And he turned his red hands towards his eyes.

"I don't think I'd know if I were one. I'm not what you are, and not what you intended. So, there may be no way to make you trust me. But we need to go." Vision said, turning around and holding Thor's hammer out to him.

It was silent as Thor just stared at the robot in surprise and then took it from him. The man walked past him and everyone stared.

"Right." Thor said, tapping his hammer, "Well done." He patted Tony on the shoulder.

"Nice one Tony." The girl stretched. "If he can lift the hammer, I trust him."

"Who are you?" Natasha asked.

The girl gave her a cat like grin. "Elizabeth of course. Three minutes, get what you need." And she looped her arm through Y/N's and the two girls were gone.

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"No way we all get through this." Tony said to Bruce and Steve. "If even one tin soldier is left standing, we've lost. There's gonna be blood on the floor."

"I got no plans tomorrow night." Steve said.

"I get first crack at the big guy." Tony continued. "Iron Man's the one he's waiting for."

"That's true. He hates you the most." The man said, walking past the three of them.

Tony sighed and they all headed to the Quinjet. He wrapped his arm around Y/N, kissing the top of her head.

"Can we not leave yet?" Y/N asked, typing at her phone quickly.

"Why? What are we waiting for?" Steve asked.

"Not a what. I'm a who." Sam said suddenly, walking in with his wings on his back, bumping fists with Y/N. He raised an eyebrow, looking around. "New recruits while I was gone. Damn."

"Sam." Steve greeted him.

Tony just rolled his eyes.

"Ultron knows we're coming." Steve said and Tony rolled his eyes again because he didn't need a speech. "Odds are we'll be riding into heavy fire. And that's what we signed up for. But the people of Sokovia, they didn't. So our priority, is getting them out. All they want, is to live their lives in peace. And that's not gonna happen today. But we can do our best to protect them. And we can get the job done. We find out what Ultron's' been building, we find Romanoff, and we clear the field. Keep the fight between us. Ultron thinks we're monsters. That we're what's wrong with the world. This isn't just about beating him. It's about whether he's right."

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Steve knew he was staring as the Quinjet headed for Sokovia. But he wanted to know how this girl who he had never met before had ended up in his vision. He knew why her eyes had been familiar now. Loki's soulmate that had been the cheetah in New York.

He listened in on the entire conversation that her and Y/N were having.

"So you and Loki are doing okay?" Y/N asked.

"Oh yeah." Elizabeth said happily. "He's at home right now with our kids."

"You have kids?" Y/N asked with excitement. "How many?"

"Just two right now." Elizabeth smiled at her hands. "One boy, one girl. They're twins actually. They're about three now. They both look like Loki though. His blue eyes and his black hair. The boys name is Halfdan. Our little girl is Astrid."

"Loki treats you right, right?"

"Oh yeah." Elizabeth smiled. "He. . . we sometimes still have to cope with the brainwashing. Odin didn't believe us and he put Loki in a cell." Her smile dropped. "But um there's been a lot of stuff happening on Asgard and Loki's out now." She smiled again. "You should see him with the kids. He's the best father in the world."

"I'm glad you're happy with him then." Y/N said sincerely. "I was. . . well I was nervous when you left for Asgard with him. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"Well, Loki's been teaching me magic." Elizabeth said with a huge grin on her face. "Kind've wish it was more like Harry Potter style, but it's cool nonetheless. Anyways, I wanted to be here on this mission. I've gotten pretty darn good at healing. Although hopefully we won't have to use that power."

Steve jolted when Elizabeth looked directly at him and smiled a little. "Sorry about infiltrating your dream by the way. It was a complete accident but I used it to both our advantages. I learned and you woke up. Still, I apologize."

Slightly unnerved, Steve quickly said, "No, it's fine."

And then the two girls went back to talking.

🎃 ::::: 🧡 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 🧡 ::::: 🎃

You were thrilled that Elizabeth was back on Earth. Seriously. And she was also like a warrior princess with magic. And she was also the princess part, being married to Loki who was prince of Asgard. That had to be so cool.

You, her, and Steve were on one of Sokovia's bridges, helping the people evacuate. Tony was the one going after Ultron with the help of the red man who you still thought of as Jarvis.

"They're coming." Elizabeth shouted, drawing her bow, knocking the first robot out of the air. The ground started to shake as they started to break through the concrete, like metallic zombies.

You watched her for a second as she ran up one of the cars, back flipping off of it to stab her sword through one, before abandoning the longer weapon to draw the shuriken's and make quick work of the two other robots.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" You shout asked as you blasted one of the robots through the head with your prized AK-12.

"Loki wouldn't rest until I had proper self-defense training." Elizabeth shouted back, spinning around and knifing one in the back of the head.

You ducked as a robot lifted his gun arm and Steve took his head off.

The entire ground started to shake. Elizabeth fell backwards off the bridge and you nearly screamed before she caught the stone. You tried to hold yourself steady while Steve ran with one of the robots, banging him against the green metal of the bridge.

"What's happening?" You shouted as Elizabeth flung herself back over onto the safe side of the bridge.

"He's lifting it into the sky!" Elizabeth shouted back, grabbing her sword which was sliding forwards.

"WE HAVE A PROBLEM!" Sam shouted into the coms.

"Sam can you carry people off the island?" You shouted back into the coms. Ultron was speaking now and you had decided to ignore the evil monologue.

"I can but I'm not going to be fast enough. And the buildings on the sides are crumbling and falling onto the crowd below." Sam said.

"Warn them to start running I guess." You muttered.

You watched a robot slam Steve in the air and he crashed against a car.

"Cap you got incoming." Tony warned him a little late.

"Incoming already came in." Steve groaned and Elizabeth took the robot out with an arrow.

"Stark you worry about bringing the city back down safely. The rest of us have one job, tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt them back. You get killed, walk it off."

"He's very cheerful." Elizabeth joked.

"He's very old. He used to slide on metal slides in the summer." You rolled your eyes.

"I heard that!" Steve shouted, flinging his shield and cutting off another robots head.

"You were meant to." You and Elizabeth muttered together.

You lost track of everything for a while, mostly focused on killing robots and keeping yourself alive. Every time you caught eye of Steve or Elizabeth, they looked like they were fighting just as hard as you. Elizabeth was actually out of arrows, resorting completely to her knives, sword, and shuriken's.

"Why Shuriken's?" You shouted at her.

"Because I love Zane from Ninjago." She shouted back flipping off a car and slamming said weapon into the brain of the robot.

"Okay we're clear here." Clint said in the coms.

"We are not clear." Steve shouted, slamming his shield into another robot and kicking it into a car. "We are very not clear!"

"Okay I'm on my way to you guys." Clint answered as you shot another robot through the head.

You started to reload your gun and Elizabeth kept your back.

"Ever thought we'd be here?" Elizabeth asked, slicing her sword through the metal.

"Not in a million years." You muttered back and started firing rounds off again.

"The next wave is gonna hit in any minute." Steve said as the robots were mostly cleared- thanks to Wanda and Pietro who you were starting to like just slightly. You were not helping people to safe spaces in the city. "What have you got Stark?"

"Huh? Nothing great."

Elizabeth stopped Pietro and hovered her hand over his arm. There was a turquoise glow and the wound healed right up.

"Maybe a way to blow up the city. That'll keep it from impacting the surface, if you guys can get clear."

"I asked for a solution not an escape plan." Steve responded angrily. Sam landed next to you, reloading his pistols with more ammo. He was close to empty and he wasn't the only one. You'd brought everything you had with you and you were dangerously low on bullets as well.

"Impact radius is getting bigger every second." Tony retorted. "We're gonna have to make a choice."

"Cap, these people are going nowhere." Natasha said. "Sam can't get everyone down on his own and Thor's occupied with Ultron. If Stark finds a way to blow this rock. . ."

"Not until everyone's safe." Steve huffed.

"Everyone up here versus everyone down there?" Natasha asked. "There's no math there."

"I'm not leaving this rock with one civilian on it." Steve commanded.

"I'll get back to work." Sam said, sticking his guns back in his holsters. But you knew he wasn't going to be able to.

"I didn't say we should leave." Natasha sighed. Steve looked at her and so did you and Elizabeth. "There's worse ways to go." She nodded. "Where else am I gonna get a view like this."

"Shit." Elizabeth muttered. "Loki'll dig up my dead body and kill me again."

"Glad you like the view, Romanoff." Fury's voice suddenly said in your ear. "It's about to get better."

You chuckled to yourself, watching the helicarrier rise and level with the city. Good old Nick Fury. Always had the perfect, dramatic timing.

"Nice, right?"

"Always with the best timing Nick." Elizabeth responded.

"Who is that?"

"Elizabeth. Loki's soulmate. The Cheetah." You rattled off quickly.

"Welcome back to Earth Lightwood." Fury said.

"Glad to be back sir." Elizabeth smirked.

"Anyways, pulled her out of mothballs with a couple of old friends. She's dusty, but she'll do."

"Fury, you son of a bitch." Steve said.

"Ooh! You kiss your mother with that mouth." Fury teased and you laughed.

"This is S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Pietro asked, a huge smile on his face.

"This is what S.H.I.E.L.D. is supposed to be." Steve corrected.

"This is not so bad." Pietro said.

"Let's load them up," Steve said, turning to the building where you had put the civilians for the time being.

"Fury you've got robots coming towards you." Elizabeth said into her com, reaching for an arrow and then cursed, looking around.

"You any good with a gun?" You asked.

"No guns on Asgard. But I learned on Earth. You got a sniper?" She asked.

One of the military officers nearby silently threw one at her.

"Perfect." Elizabeth smirked, kneeling and setting her up. You caught Steve ogling at her and raised an eyebrow. He blushed when you caught him.

"Er- Bucky was a sniper." Steve muttered and quickly ran towards the building.

"Yes!" A new voice suddenly shouted into your coms and you saw a silver machine flying and killing the rest of the robots. Sam zoomed upwards to join him.

"Nice to see you Rhodes." You laughed.

"Now this is gonna be a good story." Rhodey responded.

"Yup. If you live to tell it." Tony said, joining Rhodey and Sam in the air.

"You think I can't hold my own?" Rhodey retorted.

"We get through this, I'll hold your own."

"You had to make it weird."

"Gosh they still bicker like little kids." Elizabeth sighed.

"Thor I got a plan!" Tony shouted as you helped load everyone onto the lifeboats.

"We're out of time." Thor responded back. "They're coming for the core."

"Rhodey, get the rest of the people on board that carrier."

"On it."

"Avengers, time to work for a living."

You and Elizabeth sprinted through the city towards the church where Ultron had been keeping the ticking bomb. You were nearly there when you heard Tony said, "Romanoff. You and Banner better not be playing 'hide the zucchini.'"

"Shut up Stark." Clint and Thor said together.

"Relax, shellhead." Natasha retorted. "Not all of us can fly."

"Yeah Tony," You gasped, nearly out of breath. "Not all of us can fly."

You got there after Natasha as she asked, "What's the drill?"

"This is the drill." Tony pointed to the metal cylinder in the middle of the church. The others were fighting around you. "If Ultron gets a hand on the core, we lose."

"Someone should sit on it then." Elizabeth said, holding her side, gasping for breath as well.

Hulk joined the rest of you and you all gathered around as Ultron landed. For some reason, Thor thought it was necessary to shout, "IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?"

"Goddamnit." Elizabeth slapped a hand to her face.

"You had to ask." Steve said as Ultron raised a hand and what seemed like a thousand robots lined up behind him.

"This is the best I can do." Ultron said, spreading his arms out. "This is exactly what I wanted. All of you against all of me. How can you possibly hope to stop me?"

"Well," Tony huffed as Sam landed behind you, readying his guns. "Like the old man said, together."

Hulk roared loudly.

*Dramatic slow mo scene where Steve does that absolutely gorgeous flip with his shield. Absolutely perfect by the way. 10/10 on a gymnastics floor.*

Elizabeth actually hoisted herself up on the metal cylinder, staying there as she fought, making sure not a single robot was going to get to it. You kept your back against one of the pillar walls, shooting everything in sight.

Vision, Tony, and Thor each blasted Ultron with the yellow gem, blasters, and lightning. They finally let up and Ultron nearly staggered to his feet and said, "You know, even with the hindsight-"

Hulk punched him and he went flying before turning to the other robots which quickly turned and started running through the city, trying to fly away.

"They're trying to leave the city."

"We can't let them. Not even one. Rhodey." Tony said.

Sam went running and then took off with his wings, shooting them as he flanked them from behind.

"I'm on it." Rhodey said into the coms.

Steve turned to the rest of you as Vision lifted off and followed after Sam, "We gotta move out. Even I can tell the air is getting thin."

It was? It was only then that you realized it was hard to breathe. "You guys get to the boats. I'll sweep for stragglers. Be right behind you."

"What about the core?" Clint asked.

"I'll protect it. It's my job." Wanda said.

"Nat. This way." Clint said.

Pietro came in as the others left.

"Get the people on the boats." Wanda said.

"I'm not leaving you here." Pietro argued.

"I can handle this." Wanda said and killed a robot to prove her point. Pietro made a face. "Come back for me when everyone else is off not before."

Pietro started to walk off without answering.

"You understand?"

"You know, I'm twelve minutes earlier than you." Pietro said.

"Go." Wanda laughed.

You and Elizabeth ran with Pietro and as you ran she naturally decided to make conversation, "You two are twins?"

"Yep."

"Nice. I have twins. They're three."

"Whose the oldest?"

"My little girl. Two minutes."

"She will always hang that above her brothers head." Pietro laughed.

"She already does." Elizabeth smirked.

"Thor, I'm gonna need you back in the church." You heard Tony said into the coms. Pietro had sped ahead and Elizabeth had hijacked a car so the two of you were cruising. "You know, this works, we maybe don't walk away."

Tears pricked your eyes but you kept yourself together. This was the job.

"Maybe not." Thor answered.

You got out. You could see where Thor and Steve were standing. You could see Pietro. You could see Clint holding a little boy.

Suddenly, you heard shooting and looked up to see the Quinjet that you had all rode in, blasting up the concrete. Thor and Steve jumped out of the way and you saw the bullets going straight for Clint, but there was nothing you could do.

Two things happened simultaneously.

Clint turned his back.

Pietro ran in front of him.

And then a third thing.

Elizabeth was suddenly there, blocking Pietro who was blocking Clint, turquoise energy around her and her eyes were closed. You saw the blood stains as the bullets hit her instead of Pietro and you nearly screamed.

You ran towards them as the Quinjet passed overhead and watched as both Pietro and Clint turned around. Elizabeth smirked a little. "Bet you didn't see that one coming." And then she collapsed to her knees.

5 notes · View notes

promisingyounglady · 6 months

Text

accident. | JP x Reader

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.

WC: 3.6k

WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst

A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.

He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.

Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.

Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.

He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.

Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.

Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.

“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”

“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.

“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”

Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.

Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.

“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.

She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.

“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.

“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.

“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.

Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.

Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.

“Fucking hell.”

You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.

Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.

Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.

“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.

Javier was supposed to pick you up too.

But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself

You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.

Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.

What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.

You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.

You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.

You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.

—

Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.

When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.

Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.

The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.

Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”

Thwack.

An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.

“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.

Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.

“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.

Thwack. Thwack.

The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.

“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”

You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.

Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.

He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”

The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.

You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.

“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.

“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”

“Mi-”

“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.

Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.

You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.

“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.

“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.

You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”

Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.

You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”

The words pierce through Javier’s heart.

Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.

“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."

Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.

A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.

“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.

“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.

A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.

Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.

“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.

“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.

You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.

You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.

But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.

Now it was your turn to fuck things up.

Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.

Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.

You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.

You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.

“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.

Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.

“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.

That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.

“Javi, I’ll go get the-“

“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.

You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.

“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.

Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.

You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.

”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.

Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.

“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.

You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.

He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.

“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.

“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.

“Answer me, mama”

A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.

”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.

Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.

“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.

Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.

“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.

You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.

”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.

”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”

You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.

“Yes, Javier” you repeated.

He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.

It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.

You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.

“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.

“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.

You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.

“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.

“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.

“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.

“I know.” He says back gruffly.

Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.

“Merida”

You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.

”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.

Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.

You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.

Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.

“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.

Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.

You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.

It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.

Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.

“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.

He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.

He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.

“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.

You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.

Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.

You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.

“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.

You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”

You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”

You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.

You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.

Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.

3K notes · View notes

hausofwoo · 2 months

Text

swallow | park seonghwa

pairing: park seonghwa x afab!reader

word count: 5.6K

this is part 2 of open wide! if you have not yet read part 1, i highly suggest reading it first.

summary: ever since that night, seonghwa has been avoiding you. but when new guy yunho starts at the restaurant, tensions rise until it reaches a breaking point.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, restaurant!au, bartender!seonghwa, server!reader, enemies to lovers trope, smoking (cigarette), alcohol consumption, sex under the influence of alcohol (but both consenting), fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up y'all), dick slapping, biting, cumplay, oral (f receiving), face sitting, creampie, degrading, use of petnames (princess, baby), the passion is T H E R E, woosan allegations once again, feat. new guy!yunho, server/work bestie!ryujin, servers!wooyoung and san, restaurant manager!hongjoong.

author's note: i already intended on making a part 2 of open wide, and everyone's feedback was so sweet and helpful on part 1! thank u again to @hausofmingi and T for being my beta-readers as always :-) plz enjoy ♡ ✧*

your eyes flutter open to the birds chirping outside. it’s way too fucking early to be awake right now. you feel yourself in a half-dream half-awake state, mind fuzzy and floaty. you turn your head to the side to see the man you spent the night with; the man who made you feel so good.

you rub your eyes a bit, attempting to wipe away the sleepiness. your vision adjusts, and you take a deeper look at him. seonghwa.

he really is beautiful. perfectly plump lips, long eyelashes, and there’s something about the way his nose is just a liiiiittle bit bumped at the bridge. even in his flaws you find beauty. you can’t resist gazing at him while he sleeps, his hair all messy in his face. why is it that he is so beautiful, yet the way he treats you is so far from that?

he shifts a bit, letting out a gentle sigh. your eyes begin to droop again, and you feel yourself drift off to the sound of his soft breathing.

when you wake, your bed feels cold. he left. you sit up slowly, stretching your arms up to ring out the exhaustion from your body. you look back at the empty spot next you.

it’s interesting that he left without a word, but you don’t know what to make out of it. before last night, you clearly couldn’t stand each other. you thought he was conceited and condescending. he was rude. and even during last night, his ego pooled over. but was the mere thought of missing him childish? you can’t help but to feel like there was something more to it. there was something on a deeper level that made you curious, therefore you wanted it back even more so. you started to feel like those girls from the movies; the ones where the girl becomes clingy after a one night stand. a cliché.

so what if he didn’t stay? it’s not like he actually felt anything for you. it was just a quick fuck. you probably were just another girl that he decided to throw a bone to. that’s what cocky men like him enjoy; just someone to string along and play with until he’s bored with them. you figured that time came sooner than you expected. well fuck him.

he hasn’t made eye contact with you once since you came in to work. you have the section right in front of the bar (thanks for nothing, hongjoong) so you have to just bear through it every time you pass him by. you prep your tables for service, wiping them down mindlessly.

you suppose there isn’t really a right way to go about this. sleeping with a coworker is a no-no, especially in restaurants. it gets messy (but it happens nonetheless). it’s not like you can go up to him and talk to him as if nothing happened. he didn’t exactly set you up for success either. he left without a word, and now you’re forced into the same space as him, clueless as to what to do. you decide to just ignore him unless absolutely necessary.

ryujin hops over next to you, a little too peppy for how you’re feeling.

“are you ready for a great service tonight?” ryujin says sarcastically, but with a grin.

“i want it to be over already,” you force out a dry chuckle, still half-assing the prep for your tables.

“the hell is wrong with you?” ryujin snorts.

“i’ll just—“ you start, but then realize you felt eyes burning into you. you look up the moment seonghwa’s gaze shifts, going back to wiping down the bar. “um, i’ll tell you later.”

“okay…” ryujin says, puzzled. she walks back to her section to prep.

your eyes are compelled to shift back up to seonghwa. at this point it just feels embarrassing to be wondering what he’s thinking, wondering if he felt what you felt sunday night. your thoughts are interrupted by hongjoong approaching you with a tall man, someone new.

“this is yunho,” hongjoong says, almost presenting the man to you. “he’s going to be trailing you tonight. just show him the ropes and i’ll grab him once dinner service slows down.”

yunho steps forward, extending a hand to you. “it’s so nice to meet you!” he gives you a warm smile as you shake his hand.

“it’s nice to meet you too, yunho,” you say, surprised by the immediate kindness. this feels a lot nicer than how you’ve been treated before.

tuesday nights are usually slow, even during dinner service. you had a decent amount of tables, but nothing you couldn’t handle. and fortunately the new guy caught on really quickly, grabbing the drinks for your tables, clearing empty plates when needed… working with him was making your shift a breeze.

“you’ve worked in restaurants before, haven’t you?” you ask yunho. you refill a water jug for your table with him in the back.

“yeah, i have,” he says meekly, rubbing the back of his neck. “you can tell?”

“definitely,” you nod with a smile. “what happened at the last place?”

“the management,” he chuckles, and you knew exactly what he meant without any explanation. “don’t tell anyone, but i quit without notice.”

you fake a gasp, pretending to clutch your pearls. you let out a light-hearted laugh. “don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

yunho gives a sweet smile to you, eye contact lingering a bit. you look down and realize the jug of water started overflowing and quickly move it away, letting out a humored yelp.

“oops,” he whispers, and you both giggle quietly to each other while wiping down the mess.

little did you know, seonghwa was entering the back to switch kegs for the beer on tap, and he walked in on your giggle-fest. he looks between the two of you momentarily as he continues to the back. you don’t even notice him until he passes. in a strange way, you can almost see annoyance radiating off of him. but maybe you’re making things up?

at the end of service, you finish closing all your tabs and count your tips at the bar with ryujin and wooyoung. yunho was in the back with hongjoong, debriefing the shift. you assumed seonghwa was in the back too, but you pushed away the curiosity.

“what a slow night,” ryujin sighs. she holds up her measly few bills and fakes a cry.

“how was training the new guy?” wooyoung inquires, packing his things.

“it was really good,” you can’t help but smile a little too big. your face drops when seonghwa walks back out to the bar, carrying a pack of beer to restock. you swear he steals a glance at you before kneeling down to refill the low-boys.

“speak of the devil!” ryujin grins, with all of you shifting your view to see yunho walking to the bar with an apron in hand.

“i think you guys might be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, fake-cockily. the three of you congratulate him, all while seonghwa minds to himself.

“when’s your next shift then?” you ask.

“hongjoong said i’ll train the rest of the week, and then my first day live is sunday,” he says, throwing his bag on his shoulder.

“you know what that means…” wooyoung voices mischievously.

“uhhh, what does that mean?” yunho utters, a curious expression on his face.

“sunday celebration!” ryujin throws her hands up in excitement.

“what the hell is sunday celebration?” yunho laughs.

“basically,” ryujin starts, “it’s where we all go out after our shift to a dive bar nearby and drink away our sorrows. but this time we can drink in ACTUAL celebration!”

“i could be down for that,” yunho says. he looks directly to you. “will i see you there?”

your lips part to answer, but your ears are punctured by glass shattering, and the sound of beer fizzing on the floor. your head snaps over to see seonghwa grumbling and picking up the pieces.

“party foul!” wooyoung says jokingly, but then was met with seonghwa’s glare. “kidding…”

you stand from the bar stool and gather your things, taking the cue to leave. “i’m gonna head out. yunho, see you tomorrow?”

“yup,” he says, holding back a smile. “i’ll see you then.”

you turn to walk to the door, feeling eyes like daggers piercing your back.

seonghwa is messing up a lot lately. which is very unlike him, being that he’s a perfectionist. you rang up an order of drinks for your tables, and yeah it was quite a few drinks, but you had never seen him mistake a gin martini for a vodka martini. you approach the drink pass with the misfired drink, setting it down.

“seonghwa,” you call to him, pointing at the drink. “i need a gin martini.”

“that IS a gin martini,” he says flatly, filling a beer from the tap. so sure of himself.

“no,” you insist. “this is vodka.”

he approaches the pass, setting down the beer with its appropriate ticket. he plucks a cocktail straw to do a straw taste of the drink. but with the sip, he wasn’t remotely shaken. he just tosses the liquid in the sink, remaking it without a word.

“you just gonna stand there and watch?” he says while stirring the beverage.

“are you gonna make it right this time?” you snap.

he places the drink on the pass, clearly pissed off. he slams the ticket next to the drink and glares at you, almost too close. you feel the huffs of his irritated breaths fanning your face, and for the first time since that night, you really look at each other. but all that was tangible in the air was anger.

“run your drink, princess.” he enunciates your nickname, packing a punch.

after finishing your closing duties, you’re ready to leave and put this shift behind you. you wave goodbye to your coworkers and start heading out the back door, it being held open by a loose brick. just as your feet hit the pavement of the alley, you hear your name being called behind you.

“wait!” you turn to yunho calling after you, and stopping in the doorway. “you leaving?”

“oh, uh, yeah,” you say, adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “i got all my side work done so i’m heading home.”

“oh, okay,” he says shyly, obviously with a second thought on his mind.

you look at each other for a moment, but not out of awkwardness, just with a peculiar feeling of enticement.

“so um, how was training with wooyoung today?” you ask.

“oh yeah,” yunho laughs. “it was good. he’s really funny with his tables.”

“yeah, that guy’s definitely a yapper,” you both giggle to each other in amusement.

“sooo… you’re walking home?” he asks, leaning on the frame of the door.

“i usually walk home, i don’t live that far,” you explain.

“me too! maybe i can walk you—“ yunho gets cut off by seonghwa barging into the doorway.

“can i borrow her for a sec?” seonghwa says, barely making it a question.

yunho hesitantly nods, “yeah, um, i guess i’ll see you later?” he says to you, giving you a small wave.

“yeah, i’ll see you tomorrow yunho,” you force a smile, with a pleading HELP ME written behind your eyes.

seonghwa leads you to the walk in, slamming the door behind him. he hovers over you and you can literally see the heat fuming off of him.

“what do you want, seonghwa?” you ask bluntly, trying your best not to sound intimidated.

“we need to talk,” he growls at you, stepping forward, forcing you to press up against the wall behind you.

“about what?” you quip with a begging tone. is this really the time to talk about it?

your eyes bore into each other, faces inches apart. his snarl nearly dissipates when he rips his eyes away from yours for a moment to glance at your lips. you blink up at him in temptation. you can feel the tension in the air, wondering if it was contempt or all encompassing desire. perhaps it was both.

“th–that shit you pulled earlier, don’t do it again,” seonghwa hesitantly lets out, nearly losing his composure.

“what, when you fucked up my drink order?” you ask.

“when you grilled me in the middle of service,” he defends.

“for fucking up, yeah,” you say, crossing your arms. “doesn’t feel nice to be scolded for your mistakes, does it?”

he glares at you for a beat, clearly unsure how to dig himself out of this hole. a hole that he dug. as if he snapped out of a trance, he steps back slightly. he clenches his jaw, and in a swift motion, withdraws from the walk-in. you’re left alone, still pressed up against the icy wall. a rolling cloud escapes your lips, making you realize you had been holding your breath.

it felt like sunday night didn’t come soon enough. this weekend was busier than usual, so all the running around on top of the rigidity of seonghwa was making you go mad. it’s difficult to avoid someone you hate when you have to retrieve drink orders from him all day. luckily, he just reserved to himself and you followed suit.

throwing your bag onto the bar, you slump into the bar seat at the end of the night.

“here,” hongjoong passes a shift beer to each of the servers at the bar, including you. “you guys need these after this weekend.”

you give a thank you while cracking it open, taking a big gulp. you let out a big sigh of relief.

“you’re right, hongjoong,” you say blissfully. “i did need this.”

ryujin snickers next to you, nudging your shoulder. “there will be plenty more at sunday celebration, don’t you worry.”

“speaking of,” san says, grabbing the shoulders of yunho. “congrats on your first live shift, yunho!”

“yeah, how was it?” you ask. you can’t help but smile at the beaming man.

“it went…” yunho starts, pausing for effect. “swimmingly.”

“sounds like a cause for celebration!” ryujin sing-songs, raising her beer in salute.

you all raise your glasses, short one person of course: seonghwa, who was mopping down the bar floor. after a hefty drink, wooyoung crushes his can first and tosses it in the trash.

“let’s start celebrating, sannie,” wooyoung says, throwing his arm over san’s shoulder. (seriously, what the hell is going on there?)

san and wooyoung book it out the door and ryujin follows soon after, finishing her beer and beckoning you to join.

“almost done, you go ahead!” you encourage, packing up your things hap-hazardly with one hand and chugging your beer with the other.

“shit, you guys drink fast,” yunho says, swishing his beer around to hear how much he has left. with a laugh he says, “wish i could just take this to go.”

“i won’t tell,” you whisper to him, grabbing him to join you. “walk with me?”

“okay,” yunho smiles, almost looking like he had stars in his eyes.

you two waltz out the door, leaving seonghwa at the bar cleaning alone. and with your eyes finally averted away, he can finally have no shame in watching you intently out the window. he is so fucked.

“here’s to yunho!” mingi hosts the cheers, with everyone raising their glasses, clinking them together and collectively taking a drink.

“guys,” yunho says with his face still contorted from the liquor. “thank you so much. you’ve all been so welcoming!”

“of course, you’re part of the fam now!” san smiles, wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulders.

everyone takes their respective seats and mingle amongst each other, all while taking more shots and drinking more beer. you, of course, were sat with ryujin and wooyoung talking about the latest work drama.

“have you guys noticed something different about seonghwa lately?” wooyoung asks. “like when he broke that beer the other night? i swear, the whole year i’ve worked here i’ve never seen him break a thing.”

“dude, yes,” ryujin says, leaning in. “he fucked up a couple of my drink orders today. so weird.”

“he’s definitely been in a bad mood lately,” you mumble, holding back from telling your secret.

“yeah, more than usual,” ryujin rolls her eyes. “he probably just needs to get laid.”

you choke back a bit on your drink, taken off guard by the comment. you realize the problem is not that he needs to get laid, but that he did get laid. and now he’s being tortured by seeing the poor girl at work every day. why did he have to sleep with you when you know he feels nothing but disdain for you? are you just a toy to him? you begin to feel dizzy, partly from the alcohol, but also from the thoughts spinning in your head.

“you okay?” wooyoung asks you, handing you a water. you nod and take the drink from him, but his eyes are quickly diverted to the bar. “oh shit, seonghwa is here.”

“what?” ryujin tries her best to look subtly. “do you think our shit-talking manifested him?”

“i don’t know,” you huff, trying to figure out a way to avoid him. “but i’m gonna go sit on the patio.”

“there’s a patio?” yunho chimes in, hearing the last bit. “can i join?”

you smile and nod, leading him back. this will be a good distraction.

“so…” you start, leaning against the wooden patio covering. “how do you like it here? at the restaurant, i mean.”

“it’s definitely different,” yunho laughs. he leans on the covering next to you. “everyone is super nice, the food is good… and it’s nice to work for a local business. the management seems to really care about the employees.”

“definitely, hongjoong is great manager.” you nod to him.

“it’s actually crazy,” yunho starts. “i’ve never seen so many attractive people all working in one place before.”

“what, like ryujin? or wooyoung? or san?” you giggle, realizing he was right. you do have a LOT of hot coworkers.

“well, sure,” yunho says shyly. “but no, i meant you.”

“oh,” you say, caught off guard. you suddenly feel a lot more drunk. you look up at him momentarily, him leaning closer to you.

if someone else saw this body language from an outside perspective, they’d think that he looks like he wants to kiss you. and so what if he did? would it be the worst thing in the world to entertain this, even after your mess with seonghwa?

yunho leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips, quick but sweet. when he pulls away, you’re left looking at him with an unreadable expression, but in your mind, you were reeling.

there was something… missing. and it irritated the fuck out of you. yunho did give you butterflies, but you wonder if it’s just because it feels nice to have attention on you. especially from someone that’s actually kind and seems like he actually wants to get to know you. but in your crazy toxic head, you realize what was missing. passion.

“i-i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have done that,” yunho says, touching his fingertips on his lips.

“no, no,” you say, grabbing his arm. “it’s okay.”

before yunho can get out a word, the back door shuts with seonghwa walking out, witnessing the scene. you can’t resist stepping back slightly from yunho, as if it’s not too late to be caught. he looks between you and seonghwa, adding two and two together just from the tension alone.

“i think i’m gonna head back inside,” yunho says, rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry, again.”

“yunho, wait,” you call after him, but he already shuts the door behind him.

“let him leave,” seonghwa commands, leaning against the wall.

“what are you even doing here, seonghwa?” you ask, already putting your guard up.

“the fuck are you doing with the new guy?” he says, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it with a match. of course he’s one of those pretentious dudes that uses a fucking match to light a cig.

“since when do you smoke?” you say, desperately trying to change the subject.

“i don’t,” he says casually, blowing a cloud into the air. “just been stressed lately.”

“i can tell,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “it’s like you forgot how to bartend.”

“it’s not just work,” he says, brushing off the insult you threw at him. “it’s also you.”

“what about me?” you basically refuse, shaking your head. “i’ve been doing exactly what you want me to do. i don’t talk to you, i don’t look at you. i pretty much avoid you at all costs. you’re off the hook, seonghwa. you don’t have to worry about me bothering you.”

“who says that’s what i wanted?” seonghwa says, finally looking directly to you.

“you didn’t have to say it,” you spit at him, forcing him silent.

the air feels heavy. seonghwa struggles to find words for what he wanted to say. he looks down again, ashing his half-smoked cigarette. the back door opens to wooyoung and san following after him, both opting to sit in the patio chairs in the corner. they continue their conversation, and seonghwa looks to you.

“we should talk somewhere more private,” he says, motioning to your coworkers. he’s already grabbing his keys from his pocket.

“why, so you can keep being an asshole to me without an audience?” you say.

“because i want to finish what we started,” he mumbles, walking out of the patio and to the back parking lot.

you try your best to resist, but curiosity overcame you as you follow.

after a short but tense drive, you arrive at what seems to be seonghwa’s apartment. he shuts the engine off and jumps out of his car. you slowly try to register what the hell is happening, unbuckling and hopping out. seonghwa doesn’t look back you, he just continues walking, knowing you’re trailing after him. he unlocks his front door, letting both of you in. he closes the door behind you, watching you examine your surroundings.

“this is exactly how i imagined your place,” you say, almost to yourself.

“you’ve been imagining my apartment?” he smirks.

“yeah,” you scoff. “it’s just as cold and rigid as you.”

“thanks,” he mutters sarcastically.

“so now what?” you say expectantly. “you bring me back here yell at me? make me cry?”

“there’s only one scenario i want of you crying,” he says, stepping closer to where he’s leaning over you. you suddenly feel stone-cold sober.

“and what’s that?” you say, tongue in your cheek, pretending not to know exactly what’s about to happen. and pretending you don’t want it so bad.

seonghwa grabs your cheek, beckoning your face closer to his. his eyes bore into yours, before landing down to your lips. not holding back anymore, he presses his lips onto yours with purpose. your lips meld into his, placing your hands on his chest. your kiss deepens in fervor, as if the hunger completely took over both of you. soon enough, you’re moving together towards his bedroom, clothes and inhibitions shedding along the way.

you fall back onto the bed with seonghwa standing over you. he takes off his belt while looking down at you with a look that can only be described as burning desire. once he discards his pants, he slowly runs his fingers across your panty-clad core. you’re embarrassed by how fucking wet you are already, slightly closing your legs around him.

“no no, princess,” he smirks down at you, licking his lips. “keep them open for me.”

you do as your told, letting him push your underwear to the side and feeling the wetness between your folds. he gathers some of your slick and brings his fingers to his mouth, savoring it.

“fuck,” he tilts his head up as he groans, unintentionally bucking his hips against the edge of the bed. “you taste so fucking good.”

with one hand gripping your thigh, the other hand dips back to your heat to slowly insert his middle finger in you. he lets you adjust momentarily before sliding in his ring finger, curling them both. he thrusts in and out, all while watching you squirm under his touch. he just watches in awe, mouth hanging open as he fixates on your pussy enveloping his digits, coating them with your essence. he releases the hand on your thigh to palm himself at the sight. he twitches in his underwear, precum soaking through at the tip.

as if he couldn’t take it anymore, he withdraws his fingers from inside you and rips your underwear, completely tearing the fabric to have more access to you. he tugs his bottoms down to release his aching cockhead, the tip leaking in a long drip onto you. he guides his member down the length of your core to gather your juices and stimulating your clit all the while.

with an elongated hiss, he enters you slowly. you’re taking every inch of him, pulsating around him. you moan with him as he starts rolling his hips into you. you can feel his head hitting every inch of your walls, the pressure making you moan in sweet agony. your sounds ring in his ears, savoring the whimpers you let out just for him. this quickens his pace, still driving into you with cadence.

he’s literally fucking you into the mattress, splitting you open with vigor. you find it impossible to keep from tightening around him in pleasure, and he loses a bit of his rhythm. he pulls out of you completely.

“you’re gonna make me cum if you keep squeezing me like that,” he says between exasperated breaths. he holds his length above you, slapping it onto your core. he bites his lip to hold back a groan before grabbing your waist to switch positions.

he sits up on the bed and places you on top of him. he holds your waist as he guides you down onto his cock. he examines every inch of your face, reveling at the way it contorts at the feeling of him entering you. once you adjust to him again, you start moving. you ride him, throwing your head back. seonghwa takes the opportunity to kiss and bite at the expanse of your neck. he moans as he begins thrusting upwards in tandem with you. he’s hitting all the right spots, and your bodies move together like a dance.

the moans you let out are uncontrollable, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. it feels like no one’s ever made you feel this way, feel this good. and maybe it’s true; maybe no one has ever awakened this primal, animalistic desire within you. it feels addictive, and you could not get enough. you pull him closer, yearning to feel every inch of his glistening body against yours, desperate for your forms to meld together in an all-encompassing embrace.

he crashes his lips to yours in a fervent kiss, a surge of passion pouring through and intensifying with every passing second. he reaches his hand down to toy with your clit, forcing you off his lips to let out a wanton moan. you core clenches around his length and a wave of stimulation transcends your body.

“cum with me, baby,” seonghwa lets out softly, continuing to thrust into you and toying with your clit.

you throw your head back in ecstasy, all while seonghwa’s eyes devour every inch of you, mesmerized by the sounds of your moans, the sweat trickling down your neck. each movement and touch sends shivers down his spine, solidifying his obsession with you. he wishes with every fiber of his being he could immortalize this sight in his mind forever. he is absolutely captivated by you.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs before resting his hand just below the side of your face.

his jaw goes slack when your core clenches erratically around him, drinking up this view as you completely come undone on his cock. he continues to piston into you until he follows immediately after, no longer holding back his moans of euphoria.

as your hips both begin to slow to a stop, seonghwa pulls you off of him, eyes still full of unrelenting lust.

“get on top of me,” he says, pulling you to straddle his face. “i want to taste myself in you.”

his hands grip your thighs as he guides your folds to his eager mouth. as soon as your core meets his tongue, a moan escapes his lips. his seed is still spilling out of you, and he licks up every drop with determination. your hips are still above him, hesitant to put your full weight on him.

“i need you sit on my face,” he says between licks. “i want you to fucking suffocate me.”

his hands on your thighs urge you down, letting you become fully seated on his mouth. he devours you, exploring every inch of you. you rock your hips against his tongue, each motion intensifying your pleasure. his hands encourage you to move faster, to take what you want from him. he separates from your core briefly to groan.

“baby, fuck my tongue,” he commands, attaching back onto you, granting you full access to his mouth.

you let his tongue slide into you and thrust onto it, all while his nose bumps at your clit. you feel the tension building in your stomach once again. the overstimulation sends you spiraling, hips continuing to grind onto his hungry tongue. you see his eyebrows knitting together in bliss, the vibrations of his insistent moans sending a pang throughout your body.

“seonghwa, p-please,” you beg, as if you weren’t the one on top of him, fucking his mouth. his dominance overtook you in every way, no matter what position. “i’m going to cum.”

he nods as if he’s saying, ‘yes, please cum on my face, please let me feel you,’ but is stifled by the grinding of your hips. he flattens his tongue so you can thrust your folds on him, and he’s smirking with lust behind his eyes. you let out a cry in pure bliss, your core contracting and spilling your essence onto his lips. he swallows every drop before latching his mouth back onto your clit, prolonging your orgasm. your movements slow down, and you let out a satisfied moan.

you fall off of him, positioning to rest your head on his chest. the waves of pleasure start to subside, and the only thing that can be heard in the silent air was the synchronization of your heartbeats. then reality hits you.

“seonghwa,” you say quietly. “what are we doing? why are we doing this?”

“i don’t know,” he sighs, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through your hair. he struggles to find the right words. “i just… i don’t think i want this to stop.”

you lift your head up, almost thinking it’s a joke. but when you look into his eyes, you can tell he’s being genuine.

“but… but you hate me,” you say.

“i could never hate you,” he urges. he places his hand on your cheek, stroking softly.

you want so badly to believe him, to trust the softness in his eyes. but a voice in the back of your head reminds you that this is temporary, this isn’t real for him, and urges you to not fall for this trap. your mind plays over the past few weeks of turmoil between you. you recall every harsh word, every cold stare, and wonder if this moment of tenderness can truly outweigh all of that pain. is it worth risking your heart again?

“then i need you to explain yourself,” you say, pushing his hand away. “tell me why you’ve been like this with me.”

he sits up, taking a deep breath. “i’ve been so fucking stupid,” he shakes his head. “i think all these years of working at a restaurant kind of roughed me up. i think i built these walls to try and prove myself in the industry, to prove something to myself. and it made me become someone i don’t even like.”

he meets your gaze, seeing your anticipation for him to continue.

“and then i met you, and i still had these walls. i walked all over you and made you feel like shit. and what’s so fucked up about it is that despite that, i actually started to like you,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “i was scared. i’m still scared.”

you never expected him to be this vulnerable with you, let alone confess his feelings for you. you sit up and kiss him softly, intimately.

in that moment, the barriers between you begin to crumble. it’s not going to be easy, but for the first time, you find yourself on the same page.

“i don’t know what comes next,” you say softly. “but we can be scared together.”

a/n: guys i am so proud of this one! i hope i successfully portrayed the intensity between them. shit got my heart racing personally. again, im new to writing fics so plz leave feedback and reblog to support me! thank u sooooo much ♡

edit: sadly there will be no part 3, but i will be releasing something new within the next week or so, so stay tuned 🫶🏻

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