#and if there is no solution then block and move on | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 4 months ago

Text

THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

Synopsis. Don’t worry, he knows exactly the solution when you’re upset - fúck it out of you, of course!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, FÉRAL GOJO, cheering you up, oraI (fem receiving), breéding, MAJOR overstím, PRAISE, THEY’RE SO DOWN BAD, lowkey sweet, slight exhíbitionism (Toji’s), mean Geto, síxty-nine, chokíng, making Choso cry mhm, spítting, pússy-slappíng, cúmplay, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. You’re loved n’ I hope y’all have a good leak day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Noise complaint(s)

Any time Toji decided to visit you in your cute lil’ apartment, so did a few complaints from your neighbors.

It wasn’t because of his intimidating presence, or those deadly glares of his - targeted at everyone but you, or even because of the way his large frame unapologetically blocked every doorway in your building.

No, they were noise complaints.

“So that’s what’s got my girl so mm- upset?” Toji has the audacity to chuckle - chuckle - so raggedly at that syrupy pout of yours he’s kissing away. “Usually you and this sweet pussy-” He cups a palm at your glistening cunt, smearing your sweet, sweet juices in a glossy sheen down his wrist. “-are so happy to see me, n’ now you want to keep her quiet? All because some blue-balled loser just moved in next door and got jealous overhearing your pretty moans?”

At your nervous nod, he clicks his tongue gruffly, “Makin’ you all upset like this, tch-” Leaning down to whisper, until his sharp canines graze dangerously against your earlobe, “He’s about to find out that he hasn’t heard even half of it.”

“But Toji!” you’re squealing, fingers scrambling to clamp your already-deliriously sagging mouth shut. “I told you- we have to mmpf- be quiet. He seemed so grumpy, and-”

You’re being cut off with Toji nudging the divot of his fat head against your g-spot, until all those complaints are lodged in your quivering chest by a moan. Teasing, “Talking ‘bout another man when m’trynna make you feel better, doll? Bold today, aren’t ya?”

“N-no I was jus-” Barely-audible babbles drag out of you at the heavenly stretch of your pussy lips. Toji’s muscled chest heaves up and down at the way your pussy lips addictively swallow up his leaky cock, slobbering down, down, down his length till it glistened in the dim lighting. Your legs kicking up in the air when he insistently feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch.

Again. And again and again and so needy. Depraved.

But it still wasn’t enough for him.

“Aww, come on, woman.” He’s rolling his eyes, that tiny scar curling up in a devilish grin when he pries away the hand on your mouth. “Why’re you lyin’ to yourself like this? I know you wanna heh- scream my name as much as this cute cunt of yours is right now. Do it.”

As if to confirm his point, Toji’s pushing apart your puffy folds to let your gaping pussy squelch! even louder at each of his bullying thrusts. Tight ring of muscle taking each and every smack of his sharp hip bones so well, the riotous creaking of your bed following shortly, headboard just slamming into your poor wall despite being bolted onto it.

It was already so loud.

“I don’t hngh-” you let out a feverish gasp when each roll of his hypnotic cadence gets too much. “I don’t wanna give off a b-bad impression…I just want the neighbors to like me.”

Heart clenching in his chest at how cute you are, how sorry your voice sounds, he finds his irritation flaring once again at whoever this bastard was that had you doubting yourself this way.

“Doll– they’d be fuckin’ stupid not to. And I’d beat their asses, too.” Two soft pads of his fingers come to smush your cheeks together, forcing you to stare up into his darkened emerald eyes. “But my poor baby’s still ngh- upset, no?” When you’re hesitant with your answer, they slide down to your neck - just barely putting a bit of leering pressure, “Answer me while m’still being nice, doll.”

It’s all you can do to choke out a shrill, “Yes.” He can feel your walls clenching around every ridge and prominent vein down his shaft so tight with every sultry, mewled-out word. “H-he was really sweet! But it made me- a bit- jus’ a bit.”

“See?” And Toji sounds so smug, predatory tone bleeding into the way his harsh rams pick up to an obscene speed. A thumb of his dips down to swivel over your neglected clit, wrenching out those candied moans he loves so much. “Nothin’ wrong with makin’ my girl feel better after a shitty experience. N’ if anyone has anything to s-say, they can come complain to hngh- me.”

“B-but-”

“Ah ah-” Toji kisses sloppily at your lips trying to press together and quieten, sucking on your lower lip. “What did I say just now? Loud, pretty girl.”

And it’s like a dam breaks open right then and there, you’re arching your body off the bed like such a slut to press your bare tits against Toji’s pecs. Sensitive. Faster. “Toji- oh fuck, m’so-”

“Heh, louder. I don’t hear you losing your beautiful voice yet.”

Keening, “M’so close. Fuck- g-gonna cum all over your cock.”

He’s cupping his ear so mockingly, hips still stuttering and thrusting forwards without a moments’ faltering. “Still can’t hear you, m-ah not gonna let you cum if you’re not loud enough, y’know.”

You were sure your sinful noises were traveling through the heavy, plastered wall now. Picking up in pitch and speed with every double-attack on your sweet spots everywhere. Spearing the lewd curve of his dick into you, he’s fucking you into the mattress so mean - meaner that usual. Rugged muscles of his toned waist flexing when he jostles and thrusts unforgivingly. Your voice is hoarse at this point, “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck Toji m’cumming. I’m-”

Every other loud moan is drowned out by the ringing in your ears, Toji’s own soft rasps filtering through the white-hot pleasure running down your spine.

He’s fucking you through wave after wave of high, gifting your bruised g-spot with a thorough, sly pistons of his still-swollen cock. Something that didn’t bode well for you, you already knew.

“Tha’s it. Yeahh, that’s it-” A hand cups the back of your head gently, even though his slamming staccato was anything but. “Loud. Jus’ like that- shit, gonna make him jealous. Have him regret makin’ my girl upset, fuck-” An irritated banging sounds from the other side of the wall right above your headboard - your neighbor. “Fuck, just watch I’ll give him a real show.” Still throwing jagged hips your way, ram after ram. “What’s the fucker’s name again?”

“He- he said his name was Shiu.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Sweet, sweet treat

“I can fix it.” your husband eyed that droopy bowl of frosting and back to your candied, icing-glossed pout. He can’t help but plant a sweet, sweltering kiss on them, just groaning out, “We can do it together.” Barely managing to break away and breathe out, “S’gonna- turn out- perfect, my love.”

Which is how you find yourself splayed out so shamefully on the cool granite countertops of your kitchen, your soft cotton dress only pulled lazily to the side. Nanami’s knees seated firmly on the hardwood floors, face tucked in between the heavenly sweet folds of your already soaked cunt.

“Oh- oh fuck, Ken–” he makes you let out a honeyed drawl with every drag of his hot tongue up and down your soppingly wet slit. “Y-you’re gonna get the- ngh- counter dirty!”

So what? He thinks, and it only takes a flicker of surprise in your half-lidded eyes for him to realize he accidentally said that out loud. Not used to those uncharacteristically brash sentences, but Nanami was so drunk off your addictive juices right now.

Tipping his head back, back, back to let them make their slow, sultry journey down his throat. He’s slurring out proudly, “I’ll clean the mess after I cheer up my upset lil’ wife, okay?”

With this, he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Adding to the glistening gloss that traveled down your folds - and Nanami couldn’t help himself but kiss at the mess he’s made. Over and over and-

“F-fuuuck, jus’ like that-” You’re keening when he’s alternating between hollowing his cheeks out with methodical, never-ending sucks on your sensitive clit and just peeking inside your needy hole with his tongue. “You’re too good with your hngh! -tongue, Ken–”

It’s impossible to run away - and he knew that, too. Every little inch you backed on the counter had him just dragging you back twice as much. Hot tongue clashing and angry to part your swollen pussy lips.

You can only thread your fingers through his neat blond hair even tighter when he surges back forward. Pussydrunk. Groaning at the lewd smack of his tongue dipping in and out of your puffy folds, Thumb circling around your throbbing clit, “And you’re too sweet, darling. Even sweeter than-” He pools your slick on two thick fingers of his, coating a glossy sheen of obscenity all the way from his rounded tips to the gold wedding ring glinting in the dim light. Before popping them in his mouth to take such long, cleansing drags without even a shred of abashed hesitation, “-that icing of yours.”

“I know–” you’re babbling in disappointment, the full force of your failed attempts at baking something special earlier this evening hitting you once again at full force. “Ugh, what a waste. I can’t even-”

A syrupy beat passes. One. Two.

And at that very moment, you’re feeling the maddening stretching of your gummy walls being forced to their very limits. Whirling your dazed gaze down to spot that Nanami was now standing, belt unbuckled, tugged down just enough that you were reeling from the pressure of his fat head just barely kissing past your fluttering hole.

“That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.” he growls, low and satiny. Hands steadying on the two sides of your trembling thighs, his grunts catch in his throat when he thoroughly sinks his swollen length in. Never-ending, dizzying. A quick frosting-coated glide of Nanami’s fingers on your lips, and he’s pressing another lingering kiss on your slack mouth. Tasting you and the sweet icing and you, “And I don’t let anyone talk about her that way, my love.”

Now, usually, Nanami was a man of patience - liking to prepare and play around with your pretty pussy as if you were his favorite toy. Molding your plush walls like clay to take his massive cock.

But now, oh now Nanami Kento was anything but patient. Shit, he didn’t even know if your snug walls could take him right now.

Hands curling up into painful fists far away from the curve of your hips, as if he was trying to stop himself from just grabbing your quivering body and just slamming himself inside you until he reached your lungs, your heart, that stupid brain of yours that loved to overthink.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ say anything bad about my wife. You’re perfect.” he breathes, greedy hazel eyes looking like they could devour you whole. “The frosting is perfect, the anniversary cake is perfect, your smile, your mind, you-” You’re being attacked by a flurry of kisses being gifted on every inch of your face that could be reached, “You you you- I love you.”

If you were in the right state of mind, you’d have responded back in a heartbeat. But right now, he’s not waiting a split-second longer before bullying the rest of his swollen, filthy cock in. Solid inches being shoved inside to force your walls to accommodate, stretching out so maddeningly across every divot and upwards curve down his shaft.

In and out in and out in and-

Your nails tear across his favorite blue button-up, down his muscled shoulders, down to that speckled yellow tie you’d gotten him a few years ago.

“You’re so- hngh-” you squeal, tugging Nanami closer by his tie. Making him bully past your narrow opening even deeper, slick walls squeezing so tight at how his weepy red tip presses right on top of your g-spot.

He chuckles, it’s so endearing how you’re already too cockdrunk to speak. One engulfing hand on your shoulder is all it takes for you to be sprawled back on the cool counter. Nanami’s pummeling cock bullying so deep inside your hot core it’s the only thing you can think about - nothing but him.

“How about, after-” Another dredge of sweet sweet frosting is dabbed along your lips, your heated skin. All for Nanami to lick sultrily, “-we’ll make the cake together, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just use me, baby.”

Those shallow, sultry words are falling from Choso’s rosy lips before he even realizes it - ringing like sheer melodies over the heady smacking of skin-on-skin where he’s bullying his fat cock into you.

After a few seconds of his sloppy, stuttering rams sending the gooey puddle of cum and slick spreading further and further on the sticky, silken sheets below you - the words finally register.

“Use you, baby?” you purr, batting your lashes in a way that has him gulping. Feeling his aching shaft twitch against your gummy walls, swollen balls squeezing so so angrily with how much seed he’d been gushing out tonight. “You want me to use you?”

Each thrust of his is lingering, rolling forwards to push you further and further up that pooling mess. He can’t think, he can’t even breathe. And it takes everything in Choso to groan out, “Yes yes- fuck, please.” You’re feeling him place a trail of wet kisses up to the nape of your neck, big tears clinging to his dark lashes, “If my- hngh- if my girl is upset, I want her to use me. Ruin me till she forgets all about it.”

It only takes a split-second for you to immediately flip around your positions, pinning a whiny, pliant Choso so harshly down onto the plush mattress.

“Hngh- oh, baby—” He bounces slightly at the sheer force. Dewy eyes rolling to the back of his head at the slobbering sheen of cum dripping down his long, long length. Bucking up his quivering hips till you’re speared all the way down on his cock, clit hitting the tufts of black at his thick hilt. “Fuuuck—.” He’s groaning raggedly, like a mantra, two big arms tugging your body stuck to his sculpted front. Nodding half-lucidly, “Yeah- yeah just like that. Whatever you want with me.”

Your pace was unforgiving - barely even giving him a moment to spew out those pussydrunk promises before rocking your hips up and down up and-

“Use you, huh?” you echo back his own words, the sheer need dripping in them having Choso bow his body upwards to pummel into you in a matching feverish pace. You’re humming, thinking back to those stupid pick-up lines the creepy new manager at work had snided just today. It was harmless, but oh how Choso would kill him if he knew. “Well then, don’t mind if I do.”

With a pained keen, he’s surging upwards onto his elbows, craning his head to mesh your honeyed lips with his. “Mmm- mpfh yeah, exactly like this.” Mixing out such throaty groans with your gasps, so desperate to please you with the way he plants two feet on the bed, thrusting up hazily to find your sweet spots, “S’this any better? How do you- ngh how do you feel, baby?”

You’re letting out a drunken giggle with how he’s the one asking - when really it should be you. Because your sweet boyfriend looked so ruined, eyes wrecked with tears. Milky skin a canvas for possessive red marks from your nails. Kiss-bitten lips spit-glossed and permanently parted in ecstasy, only slacking further every time your snug channel dragged down him.

“Much better, forgot about m’day already.” you’re hissing into his open mouth. “So fuckin’ gorgeous n’ mine, that bastard doesn’t know what the fuck he’s ah- talking about.”

Choso had no idea what you were talking about - though, he thinks his mind is too much of a hot, gooey mess to understand right now. Still so needy to please. Only being able to babble out a stupid, “Yours- fuck m’yours.”

And despite being the one setting the tempo, you can only let out such whiny groans at the sheer stretch Choso’s swollen cock is causing you. By the way he’s molding your gummy walls to each and every throbbing vein decorating down him.

“Sh-shit m’so close, baby.” he whines, a fresh wave of tears streaming down with each overstimulating smack! of his tight, overworked balls against the curve of your ass. Lazily, like he’s moving through molasses, Choso’s drawing messy patterns on your pulsing clit - not even circles, brain too fried to. “M’so close fuck- I need you to- I need-”

“Shhh shhh.” you coo, running a hand through his dark strands, damp with sweat. “Cum f’me, Cho~”

“Hngh!” He can’t stop his hips from bucking up ferally, crying out, “But- I can’t. Wan’ you to feel better. Need you to cum f’me. Use me-”

“Cho.”

“Please-”

“Choso.” you warn, narrowing your eyes, deciding to tease him a little with shallow, repetitive grinds of your hips up and down. Toes curling at the friction of his creamy seed sloshing around inside. “Cum.”

“Hngh- but-” he’s thrashing upwards, so addicted to the rough collision of your sensitive spots against his fat head. Pulling out such fucked-out moans from you already, “But m’spposed to be making you feel happy-”

Your fingers deftly find themselves on Choso’s temping throat, right above his racing pulse. You tighten your nails just enough to leave five matching crescents to match the rest of his marked-up body.

“Cho–” you puff in a sultry groan against his ear. “All I want is for you to fill me up right now.”

And then he’s spilling into you in thick, hot dredge after dredge of his potent seed - before you’ve even finished your sentence. It overfills your pre-painted cunt, that obscene white slopping out of your slit and onto where your hips rocked against your boyfriend’s even harder. A creamy white ring forming mouthwateringly. Relentlessly.

“See?” Choso couldn’t - vision blurry, ears stuffed with cotton. “I don’t care what any sleazy manager has to say, you’re perfect for me.” A gentle kiss is placed on his pouty, worried lips and shit you still didn’t show any signs of slowing down, overstimulating him to tears. You trace his furious marks, “N’ pick me up from work tomorrow in your skimpiest muscle tee~”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Overtime?

A lewd smack! is all that’s ringing in your ears right now, so loud over the distant hum of the photocopier. Accompanied shortly by Geto’s sing-song rasp of, “Heh, missin’ our reservation for this- Are you the one havin’ a bad day or am I?”

Before you can answer, you’re being gifted with another mean kiss of your boyfriend’s palm against your bulging pussy. Smack! Lingering on the nudge of where he could feel your sloppy hole mending around his girthy shaft, before dancing upwards to grip your hair in a sultry hold.

Pulling your entire weight up, up, up like he didn’t care about the way he was treating you like some ragdoll right now. Up to drag his lips towards your ear, “Doesn’t matter, because m’still fuckin’ you just the same.”

“S-Sugu–” your breaths crack with need when he’s pushing in a harsh thrust to slam back into the very bottom of your poor pussy. Eyes darting to the tiny window of your office photocopy room, “Sugu, we’re going to get caught.”

“And yet, she’s still hah- sucking me up as sluttily as ever.” he grins, tilting his head back to get those long, inky strands out of his face. He chuckles at the obscene sight of your cunt stretched to her limits, struggling, and drooling a sweet, sweet gloss down his length. “What’s with the ngh- attitude now? You said you wanted to feel better about working overtime so here we are.”

You bite down on your lower lip to hold back your moans when his fat tip draws a solid, straight line across your bruised cervix. Slamming forwards to have you scrambling forwards into some more important paperwork you really should be looking over right now.

“I did but-”

“Problem solved then.” Geto lets out a low whistle, sounding so utterly smug when he pulls your hips deeper into his. “Now let me make this shitty workload hah- so much better for you, gorgeous.”

Honestly, when you told your dear boyfriend that you’d have to cancel tonight’s date because of a sudden deadline for tomorrow, you felt guilty. Working after everyone else had left, spewing out upset little apologies until he told you he’d come over to the office to “help you take your mind off of things.”

You just didn’t expect it’d end up like this.

Smack!

Geto scoffs, “Aww documents have you zoning out on me again, pretty girl? Take a break, didn’t I tell ya you don’t have to worry about work and all those stupid things when you’re with me?”

Your knees weaken involuntarily when his gruff question is followed by such an unapologetic crash into your ravaged g-spot. Thankfully being held up by one of Geto’s strong arms to fuck yourself back all the way from his red, weepy tip to that see-through ring dredged up on his thick base. Somehow, you’re managing to gasp out, “N-no, I was just…”

“N-n-no, you were just zoning out, that’s what.” he’s mocking your answer in an overly-dramatic higher pitch, adding a few extra moans you were spilling with every harsh slam after slam of his hips. “What did I tell you now, relax. Let me fuck this shitty overtime and that shitty boss outta ya cute lil’ head, gorgeous. You and her-” His red-rimmed eyes, drunk on the feeling of your slicked walls enveloping him, lock on the sight of his curved dick disappearing so easily in and out of you. “-don’t have to worry about a thing right now.”

It was that same little promise - the one he’d whispered over and over into your sagging open mouth when he’d first ambushed you in the photocopy room. Bending you over the nearest flat surface before ramming into you all those thick, greedy inches of his long-needy cock.

And here he still was.

Splatters of your syrupy slick coats his toned pelvis with every jagged thrust, fucking you so deep - so disrespectfully - into the office desk. Your feet don’t even touch the ground now, mind spinning and syrupy. Geto’s bending his own to angle up exactly to hit the bullseye of your sweet spots. All those familiarly mapped-out areas to drive anything and everything out of your mind but him and the temptation for more more more-

Click!

Both of you are raising your heads in sync at the distinct clamor of an opening door somewhere in the office - shit, was someone doing patrols at this time?

Your jaw drops open in shock - and the feeling of your boyfriend sliding two slender fingers to your pulsing clit. Drawing rough, skimming circles on the bundle of nerves. He has you jolting and arching your back right into him, his arms - exactly where he loved to have you.

“Now we’re-” your words come in strangled little stutters, mindlessly bouncing your ass back onto his cock. Feeling the sinful tremors run down your spine with each slam, “-we’re really gonna get hah- caught. And I’m not even halfway through my project yet.”

And Geto - that smug bastard - sounds amused. He thinks he’ll have a ah- talk with your boss later about piling on workloads later. But for now, he sounds so fucking content when he’s musing, “Better cum fast before they give you more than overtime, pretty girl.” Before planting a deceivingly chaste peck on your lips, “Though, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to havin’ a cute lil’ housewife to spoil all day either.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - QUIET TIME!

“Oh, Kuna–”

“Now that’s music to my ears.” Sukuna smirks darkly, lips searing in a trail right down your arched spine. Two inhumanly large hands massage down your back, pulling you against his sculpted front. “So much better to hear you say m’name than complain about some fuckin’ eugh-” His tone trembles in distaste, “-office drama.”

Scoffing, “No need to be so mean, Kuna. You really should’ve heard what Mrs. Smith down at-”

That little tangent earns you a sharp smack! to the fat of your bare ass, cupping the little tremors with a chuckle. He hums with a mocking lilt in his baritone voice, “You’re testing my patience~” Sukuna goes back to kneading at the stressed knots in your body. “Shut up and let me massage you, woman.”

And oh you should’ve learned your lesson - should’ve taken this rare, sweet little moment you’d gotten from your rough boyfriend. Should’ve done anything other than huff out, “Ugh, if only you’d heard what she said, ruined my whole-”

“Lift your hips.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden interruption, “Wh-what?”

“Lift your hips goddammit.”

It’s all you can do to mindlessly head his gruffed out words, legs stuttering and shaky when you get up on all fours. A gasp rips from your throat when Sukuna shuffles into the gap between your pliant body and the silken bedsheets. Not stopping until his hot breath was puffing against your sopping slit, your eyes mere inches away from his massive erection. Throbbing thickly and outlined with precum through his boxers.

Your mouth waters, “K-Kuna what-”

“So it really takes this to get me back on your mind, huh, brat?” he’s cutting you off with another branding smack on your ass - this time, the very rounded tips of his thick fingers just grazing against your dripping folds. “Couldn’t stop talkin’ about some fuckin’ Mrs. Smith even when I’m right here.”

“Are you jealous?” you muse, brows turning upwards in confusion. “Because I can assure you-”

Before you can run your mouth again, Sukuna’s cutting you off with one hand reaching down to wrap around your throat. The other pulls your shaky hips down to sit on his face.

“How’s this for jealous?” He grunts, an obscene slurping noise pouring into your hazy bedroom, eyes rolling to the back of his head at this messy kiss with your needy cunt. “Gonna make you forget about those shitty people. Just focus on me.”

You’re managing to wrangle your greedy gaze over your shoulder to spy his lewdly wet smirk, glistening down with a glossed cover of your slick. They’re so pretty, so kiss-bruised in your favorite shade of pink when they wrap around your throbbing cunt to give a harsh suck. “What? Got a problem, woman?”

You wine softly in protest, your lower lip jutting out in a pout that makes his clothed cock just coat down his fat tip with syrupy precum. Opening your mouth to retort and-

In all of two seconds, Sukuna’s hand snug around your throat drops down to tug on his boxers. Tall, angry erection hitting your parted lips with a soft thwack! It doesn’t stay there for long - no, because you feel that familiar pressure back on your throat again, and his achy cock being bullied down, down, down your throat.

“Actually, don’t answer that.” he’s letting out a strained groan, sanity dancing away with every clench of your tight throat around his glistening shaft. Holding you still with the hand on your throat, Sukuna’s powerful thigh muscles strain when he’s fucking up into your heavenly mouth slow, sultry. Spitting to coat him in all your sweet saliva, “Consider this quiet time, just shut up and take my cock.”

Your eyes are watering, Sukuna’s girth rubbing against every part of your plushy mouth. Swirling a pool of salty precum on your tongue. You can’t do anything but keen brokenly around that warm weight when long, thick fingers are spreading your puffy folds to wrangle his long tongue in deeper. Textures of his tastebuds grazing over and over against your spongy entrance - your clit.

“Hngh- mmpf-” you’re jutting your hips traitorously. Dragging your slobbering pussy up and down his thorough lips, giving longing, drunken licks up from your weepy base to your hot clit. “Kuna-”

He breaks away with a sinful smack! Your sensitive bud being tugged along with snapping strings of delicate precum and slick.

“Mhm, that’s what I like-” he’s slurring out words mixing together with need. Free hand coming down to toy your clit between two rolling fingers. And you could tell how much he liked this, fat shaft twitching animalistically inside your mouth. Nudging his leaking head at the back of your throat, it’s only with how long you’ve been with Sukuna that you manage not to gag. “-to have you shut up on my cock this way. That pretty mouth is better used for something other than rememberin’ some shitty people when you’re with me. They can fuck right off with the disrespect towards my woman.”

It’s all you can do to keep your jaw slacking further and further with every dragged-out smack of Sukuna’s heavy balls against your face. His hips using you like some glorified cocksleeve, ruthless in his pace. Molding your mouth to the shape of him while he does the very same with yours.

“F-fuuuck-” you manage to gasp out through the drooling edges of your lips. “It feels so- ngh–” Moans getting lost when Sukuna flicks your throbbing clit slowly, nudging with the very tip of his dark fingernails. “You’re being so-”

“So loud.” he finishes your own sentence for you. Grinning a grin that sends shivers up your spine, right to where he was stuffing your mouth shut with all long inches of his cock. Murmuring dangerously around your sloppy hole, “Interrupt quiet time again and you don’t get to cum, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Unmistakably depraved.

“Fuuuuck, sweetheart.” Gojo’s whispering, over and over. As if he can’t - won’t - manage to articulate anything else right now. The honeyed words wrenching out of him with each sticky crash of his shaft down your sloppy slit in this firm mating press. “Do you know how hngh- long I’ve missed this sweet cunt?”

You don’t have to answer, and the echoing smack! of his too-sensitive balls against the curve of your ass is enough of one for him. Making his eyes gleam with such a feral glint, traveling straight to where he was pressing in bullying little grinds past your clamping walls.

It’s been so long - too long - about a whole week since your pussy-whipped boyfriend was able to have his fill of you.

A soft pad of his thumb rolls in a languid circle over your needy clit. Sending white-hot shockwaves that have you jolting the balls of your feet to greedily swallow up even more throbbing inches of him.

“Fuck, forgot how tight you s-squeeze me when I do that.” Gojo eyes dance to the back of his head with every bottom-out hit against your clingy mess of a cunt. Crashing so messily onto every velvety inch of your cunt. It only takes a few drags of your slobbering walls down his length for your dear boyfriend to run his mouth, “Forgot allll about this because of some- hngh- some mournng for a fucking fictional character-”

“My favorite character, Toru!” you exclaim, through furrowed brows. Both of you are shocked at the fact that you’re still managing to speak in coherent sentences - just means he hasn’t fucked you good enough yet, he muses with his syrupy, pussydrunk mind. “He was my- my favorite and he died and-”

You’re immediately being shut up by two sweet lips planting on your own, immediately moving to suck on your tongue so filthily. “Well, I’m your favorite boyfriend-” Your only, but semantics. Gojo whines - whines, “Shouldn’t I- hngh- be more important?”

As if to help you make your decision, he’s burrowing his cock in such needy thrusts. And Gojo can’t help but crane his neck to bite down on your frantically racing pulse, feeling himself salivate with how well you’re milking each and every single vexing ram of his hips. Just spearing the hotly saturated tip into your spongy g-spots, so fucking big that every stroke feels like a brush against your throat, an indent into the plush walls of your pussy, wrapping and molded around his girth.

Another bite to your neck at your silence - sharp canines just shy of drawing blood. And you swear Gojo’s eyes spark with an unnatural lightning blue when he devours you with a greedy stare, “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“You a-are.” Is all you can gasp out, but that’s not enough for the great Gojo Satoru. You’re instantly earning a rosy pout and a loaded smack! right on the bullseye of your glistening clit, faintly you think you hear the crackle of jujutsu. Thighs burning at the sheer stretch of being folded down, down, down until your knees knocked against your tits. “You’re more- hah! Fuck fuck fuck don’t– you’re more important!”

This seems to soothe your jealous boyfriend a bit, but it still doesn’t stop him from placing such brutal thrusts on your poor, ravaged pussy. Bruising. Sloppy.

You’re whining so brokenly, “Fuck, right there- feels too good- hngh!”

“Mhm, exactly what I thought.” Another explosive slap to your sensitive nub, humming with power, and Gojo throws his head back at how much it makes you gush so wetly around his thick hilt. “Now, was that- ngh- was that so hard?” Spitting out little profanities into your lips, as if the man he was jealous over wasn’t a few pixels, “The f-fucker- Had to wait a whole week before I got to comfort my sad girl? I’d kill him myself.”

You can’t even formulate a response to that - not even if you wanted to. Because with increasingly sloppy drags of his cock against your walls, Gojo only grows more and more heated.

“Fuck- makin’ my girl so upset. Gonna fuck all thoughts outta him for ya.” Babbling out little curses a mile a minute, swift pace bruising your spring cervix, your g-spot. A thin trickle of drool trails messily in-between your clashing kisses, only growing every time he’s ramming into your gripping cunt. “Gonna make you cum- make you mine.” Difficult, even with how you were clinging onto his every rough, angled thrust, and you don’t think Gojo even realizes the possessive little spanks he’s repeatedly leaving on your puffy clit. “Won’t you cum like a good girl f’me, sweetheart?”

He’s moaning at the sloppy way you listen to his ragged plea, letting out such pretty moans into the heady air when you fall back into your high. Toes curling, jolts of needy pleasure running down your spine, such a mess.

It makes Gojo falter in his tempo, it makes the sharp bones on his toned hips slam into you even harder, stuttering and rutting forwards like some animal in heat that can’t bear to do anything but be buried well inside you. It makes him cum.

“Oh- fuck, Toru s’in so deep.” You mewl, too cockdrunk to say anything else. To feel anything but the slow, sultry filling of your quivering cunt. Rope after rope of his hot cum painting the mess of your branded walls inside, and each time he’s fucking his cum even deeper you feel a lewd whimper of his name leave you. Vision tinging with need, with the feeling of being so overfilled you could barely breathe. “Oh- oh my god I feel it coming-”

Your words hitch in your throat when Gojo - cock still angry and twitching with faint wisps of trickling cum - plugs a slender finger into your bulging cunt. Stopping the overflow, the grins, “Hope you’re on the pill, my girl, because we’re not done until you forget.”

A/N. Ouu y’all should’ve seen the way I was CACKLING writing Toji’s ending.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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knifegrrrl1312 · 11 months ago

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zionists you dont have to interact like bruh whats the point you already know im against zionism and the zionist genocide why are you fighting with me. we will always disagree i can't change your mind you cant change mine, like just dont interact with leftists -_-

#basically zionists dni #i dont need to be jewish to criticize the country of israel #plenty of other jewish people are anti zionist and i dont believe in a two state solution fuck i dont believe states should be a thing #we will always disagree so block and move on

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bi-writes · 9 months ago

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what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

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olderthannetfic · 19 days ago

Note

For AO3 readers, MUTING is the solution to a problem they may not have come across yet.

I just thought of an extremely functional solution for a problem with AI fanfiction that a friend of mine shared her worries about. You see, she was particularly worried that her experience as a browser and reader of fanfiction will start to decline as AI fanfiction starts clogging the Sort By Recent filter on AO3.

Ok, so it didn't occur to me right away, and that is why I think it justifies this long anon post, but I just remembered that AO3 already has a tool to help you weed out low effort sludge that I have successfully used even prior to the increase in AI works. It does require people to be logged in though.

The solution is Muting, which has been around since 2023. I've even used it before for specifically this precise problem. There is a particular rare pair I like, but the primary producer of fics for that pair is one very prolific author whose fics are egregiously low quality. Like, the author even admitted that she frequently just find and replaces the names of the characters when she moves on to a new fandom.

After muting her, it about halved the number of fics in that tag, which was great, because it relieved me of an irritation and also allowed me to find other works. Muting folk who post AI generated works will have the same effect.

Why this will work: The main problem with AI fics is not that they are low quality, after all low quality fics have always existed - it's that they are both low quality and trivial to produce. Therefore, even one person who feels entitled to produce ai fanfiction could easily flood any particular tag with their works. But each time you mute an ai producer for one bad fic, you will end up removing all of their fics from your view, in any of your tags and fandoms. With a little weeding and upkeep, you should be able to browse contentedly as you always have.

Problem: Not all AI fics are tagged as such. How do you tell if a fic is AI?

The hallmark of a fanfiction author who generates stories with AI will be that they are prolific producers of low quality works. Why? because generating stories with ai is easy. It is much easier to generate a bad story with AI than it is to write a bad story without it. Therefore a person who uses AI to generate fics will have a lot of works.

The problem of false positives. What if you mute an author who is just bad right now but could improve?

My friend, if a person is already a prolific author of bad quality fiction, and they haven't gotten better yet, they probably will not improve to your standards ever. So you haven't lost anything by muting them. The goal here isn't to name and blame people who use AI - it's to make your own personal browsing experience better.

The problem of false negatives: What if you read a story and didn't realize it was generated using AI because it was good and you enjoyed it? You read something that you enjoyed on AO3 for free. This is not a problem.

You can find the mute button on AO3 by clicking the authors name. It will be in the same line as subscribe and block.

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parsnippety · 11 days ago

Text

I agree with you completely. the only reason people use the word "paralysis" to describe a symptom of adhd is to make other people understand what it's like, right? Because we want to be listened to and respected? Because we have different experiences. Because we're fighting against people who say "I go through the exact same thing you do". Objecting to your lived experience, not to mention literal fact, is so hypocritical...

the way ablebodied people with adhd react to being told they aren’t “literally paralyzed” is so funny. they want to be me so bad while simultaneously pretending I don’t exist at all

#sorry i reblogged this once already but it's important #the whole point of self advocacy is telling people what i need to do to move forward #sometimes i say i have a mental block but usually i'm just like “pls give me a list” or “i need more time on this”#like let's be solution oriented please #“my problem is the same as / worse than yours” is problem oriented. obv

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

Text

Writing Notes: The Shape of Story

by Christina Wodtke

Start with Conflicted Characters

The character needs a goal, a motivation and a conflict.

The goal can be alien to your audience,

but the motivation must be shared by them, and

the conflict creates struggles that increase engagement.

Paint a Picture

Details transport you into the story.

The world disappears and you have a story play in your head.

Even though there are no literal pictures.

But be careful—Too many details and the story gets bogged down.

Make the Protagonist Suffer

“Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them - in order that the reader may see what they are made of.” (Kurt Vonnegut, How to Write a Great Story)

And when it can’t get any worse, make it worse before it gets better

The two key moments that create the peak of excitement in a story is the darkness before the dawn, and the dawn.

The climax is the moment when the protagonist is either rescued or rescues themself.

In older tales, we saw a lot of Deux ex Machina (the hand of god) rescuing the hero. A hero could be rescued by luck, a partner, another hero…but modern audiences strongly prefer stories where the protagonist helps themself.

Resolution is Boring, Keep it Short

Interest grows with every additional conflict, but once the hero figures out the solution, our fascination collapses.

Don’t natter on while the audience’s mind is drifting.

Also Consider:

You need a good inciting incident to move your protagonist to action.

A setting is more than a place, it’s a situation and a moment in time. A vivid place has details.

Modern audiences prefer “return home changed” to “return home the same.”

EXAMPLES: ARCHETYPAL PLOTS ALONG THE ARC

Boy Meets Girl

Internal conflict is always satisfactory (e.g., she believes love interferes with his career, he believes love interferes with his beer.)

The crises usually revolves around betrayal — lying, cheating — and the climax shows it was a misunderstanding or we get atonement.

The struggle is always about them being separated.

The resolution is about binding them more tightly together than ever.

The Quest

You seek things, and find yourself.

Return home changed and don’t pass go.

Common elements include companions, a mentor, great losses and extreme character arcs.

The Underdog

Even though they do not have a shot in hell, the underdog wants something. They want it so bad.

Common elements include an enemy who blocks their path, and a coach who helps them forward.

In this case, they do not return home changed but rather move into a new life that fits their changed self.

Coming of Age

Naive person has the world teaches them a hard lesson, and they become a better person for it.

Struggle revolve around life sucking and then sucking more.

The hero grows and becomes better because of it, and via new understandings becomes competent.

In some tragedies, the world breaks them.

They can return home changed, but more often they move to a new life they have earned.

More Examples. Justice & Pursuit:

Weaving Multiple Plots:

Weaving multiple plots together to make subplots can further increase tension.

Multiple plots woven together makes the whole story not only unique but very compelling.

Writing Notes & References

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sttoru · 1 year ago

Text

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. coming home from university has both stressed and tired you out — causing you to forget about satoru’s birthday. maybe your boyfriend could help you remember.

word count. 4.7k-ish

note. was supposed to come out on his (our) bday but writer’s block was ruthless :p hope you enjoy anyway x

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x sub!female reader. p.orn with plot. fluff to smut. age gap (reader 20 - early 20’s, satoru’s in his early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected, size difference, missionary, creampie, breast play, dirty talk, body worship, hickeys, praise, you f.uck in the kitchen, aftercare-ish, reader gets called ‘princess, sweetheart, baby, pretty.’ i present to you soft dom&older bf!gojo satoru. he’s absolutely smitten with you btw.

“lookin’ tired, sweetheart.” satoru comments with a subtle grin as he welcomes you home. home being his apartment that you had basically moved into. why? because it was close to the university you attend.

and maybe because your lover had coaxed you into it.

you sigh, eyes half closed and glazed over. the stress of exams, assignments and whatnot has been too much for your brain, “yeah, i’m sorry. i probably look like absolute shi—”

a pair of lips were quick to shut your negative remark up. satoru pulls you closer to him by the small of your back. his fluffy bangs brush over his closed eyes, the hairs lightly grazing your forehead as well. he smells and tastes sweet. like those strawberry flavoured candies he always carries with him in his pockets.

a faint string of saliva hanging between your two mouths was all that’s left after the intense kiss. it snaps, causing the small bit of liquid to cling onto your bottom lip.

“what’d i say about apologising when you did absolutely nothing wrong?” satoru asks in a gentle and hushed tone. his thumb presses down on your bottom lip to get rid of the transparent trail of saliva. his gaze is soft and loving — like it always is when he looks at you.

that man had once again rendered you speechless. it’s the small things that make you fall for him over and over, “that—uhm—i shouldn’t apologise for something i don’t have any control over.”

satoru’s dimples show as he looks down at you fondly. a large hand settles on the top of your head, messing up your hair whilst his lips lock yours in for another kiss.

“exactly,” your lover nods in approval before grabbing your bag and placing it aside. he also helps you take off your coat and even bends down to undo your shoes for you.

you wonder how you’ve even managed to land such a man.

satoru’s long fingers work quick to undo the laces on your shoes. your tired eyes can’t help but steal a glance at the veins that run down his slender hands — up his forearms and. . .

“somethin’ on your mind, princess?” his voice calls out as he massages your feet for a split second to ease the accumulated tension from all the walking. you simply shake your head ‘no’, though satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

with a light-hearted chuckle, he raises to his full length and leads you through the hallway. his footsteps were light whilst yours were the exact opposite: heavy and exhausted.

maybe a shower or bath would help you refresh and relax. thus, that’s exactly what the sorcerer recommends;

“why don’t you go take a nice shower whilst i prepare you a hot meal, hm?” satoru comments and stops in his tracks right before the door to the bathroom. his gaze lingers on your pretty face—his hands never leaving your skin.

the idea of taking a shower did seem like the ideal solution to your problems at the moment, “okay i will, but err. . .”

your voice trails off as you look up at satoru. his knuckles run over your cheeks lovingly and his warm gaze tells you that he’s smitten with you. totally. utterly. he makes you so nervous without even realising it in the slightest.

“you don’t have to cook me something. i know work has been hard on you too.” you finish your sentence with an apologetic little smile. one that makes satoru want to squeeze your cheeks together.

you had always been a bit selfless and it’s an admirable trait, but your boyfriend also has this gnawing urge to take care of you in any way he can. maybe it’s because he’s a few years older than you and knows from experience how tough things could get at your age.

satoru smirks and pokes your sides playfully, “don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout that. now let’s get you in that shower.”

a little yelp leaves your throat as you feel yourself get hoisted over his shoulder. the white-haired sorcerer opens the door with one hand, the other protectively placed on your waist to keep you from falling.

he settles you back on your feet in the middle of the room—eyes now filled with a playful glint. you could probably already guess the next words that leave his mouth.

“need help undressing? i’ll gladly do it for you,” satoru laughs. you roll your eyes and teasingly shove him towards the door. he puts his hands in the air to show his surrender, though doesn’t miss the opportunity to look you over one last time.

you’re like the embodiment of beauty even when your eyes have lost their usual spark. even if you barely have any energy left to do anything. he loves every side of you, no matter what.

resisting the urge to pull you into his arms for the nth time, your boyfriend eventually leaves you be and closes the door as he steps out. his mind, however, was still overly full with thoughts of you.

“ah, what a woman.” satoru mutters in pure amazement under his breath after departing from the bathroom. there’s a visible spring in his step as he walks to the kitchen—happy to take care of his girl.

. . .

you finish your much needed bath after about half an hour. you look in the bathroom mirror whilst wrapping a simple white towel around your torso. the bath sure did help to clear your mind, though there’s still one thing bothering you. something you’ve forgotten.

you can’t really put your finger on it, but it must have been something important. there’s an iffy feeling in your chest as you walk out of the bathroom — instantly heading towards the kitchen. surely, satoru could help you remember it.

“toru,” you call out before stepping into the kitchen. your lover is standing at the counter, his back towards you and his hands working fast to chop up some vegetables. the many pans and stoves scattered around the area only further prove his determination to prepare you a nice hot meal.

“yeah, princ— oh.” satoru eventually turns his head, looking over his shoulder to see you standing a few steps behind him. he couldn’t believe his luck; to have his gorgeous, gorgeous girlfriend in his apartment was one thing—but having his girlfriend in front of him with only a towel on was another thing. the remaining waterdroplets running down your skin made you all the more attractive.

he grins as he puts the knife down and quickly dries his hands. he couldn’t wait to put his hands on your body, “c’mere, pretty.”

you grunt the moment satoru envelopes you into a tight hug with your face squished into his chest. he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head—over dramatically acting as if he hasn’t seen you for days.

his hands teasingly find their way under the material of the towel. the tips of his fingers are cold in comparison to your warm and damp skin. he drags the pad of his thumb up and down the curve of your ass; sighing in content as he feels the plush flesh.

“perv.” you mutter under your breath, though can’t deny that the light touch makes you putty in his hands. satoru responds with his usual ‘only when it comes to you’ comment before pulling away to take in your embarrassed expression. he lives for those physical reactions you have to his advances.

you slightly turn your head to the right, purposely avoiding his gaze. you face the door of the fridge that you stood in front of. your eyes fall onto the sticky notes. there’s one standing out from all the others.

you had placed it on there a few weeks ago so you wouldn’t accidentally forget that oh-so-important date.

turns out you did just that.

your face drops and you instantly go into panic mode. how could you fail to recall that today is satoru’s birthday? you don’t even know how to explain yourself. no amount of excuses would ever make this right. or so you thought.

satoru is an attentive lover; he is aware of almost everything that’s going on in your head. perhaps he is good at reading minds. or perhaps it’s just that your body language and facial expressions disclose everything he needs to know about your current mood.

“hey, i’m not upset.” satoru breathes out, eyes closed as he slides ticklish kisses down your neck. it is a sign of reassurance; he doesn’t want you to conclude that he’s angry with you for forgetting such a thing. besides, he understands that being an university student is a struggle by itself, “having you here with me at the end of the day ‘s all that matters to me, okay?”

you sigh, both in frustration and content. you’re frustrated with yourself for being too caught up with your studies, though you’re also appreciative for satoru’s empathy and lenience. he is so kind and mature; always optimistic about everything. your mindset is the opposite of his. your age gap sure did explain those cognitive differences.

despite satoru’s consolation, you still feel like you owe him something. you tilt your head back so you’re able to look him in the eyes. you give him the cutest pout ever and that man is—once again—feeling light-headed. satoru can’t decide whether to continue consoling you or to tease you about forgetting his birthday.

you are adorable when you sulk.

“i’m still.. well, sorry.” you sniffle, cuddling up to your lover to show your genuine remorse, “i know that you wouldn’t ever forget about my birthday - no matter how busy you might. . . .”

blahblahblah. you are babbling on and on about how inappropriate it is of you to forget his birthday, but satoru is hearing none of that.

his coherent thoughts shut down the moment he felt your tits press up against his chest. it is meant as an innocent hug on your part, however apparently couldn’t be interpreted as one.

your visible cleavage and the way the towel is doing a bad job at hiding the volume of your breasts increases the lewd thoughts gathering in his mind. there is no way that he can survive any more physical contact between you two without taking some action.

“..so, i was thinking that i could make it up to you somehow.” you conclude at one point in the conversation. satoru’s body subtly jolts as he snaps out of his dazed state.

he gives you a sheepish smile and tries to play it off by continuing the conversation, “make it up to me, huh?”

you nod in response and give him your best puppy eyes. your lover sighs in defeat; satoru couldn’t keep his emotions and carnal desires in check anymore. his hands are twitching, aching and longing to touch you all over.

the rational part of his mind told him to continue comforting you. to tell you that there was no need to compensate for failing to remember his birthday. the lust-driven part of him craves to take you up on the offer and give a different and more sexual twist to it.

satoru takes a deep breath and puts some distance between you two. not because he is annoyed or irritated by your behaviour, but because he might lose control of himself.

you can’t guess the intentions behind your lover’s actions, thus confusion follows; “satoru? you okay?”

maybe he actually is displeased by your lack of remembrance—deep, deep inside. you bite your lip anxiously, reaching your hand out to hold satoru’s in attempt to try and get him to look at you. his vision is obstructed by his own bangs, a dark shadow casted over his eyes, one that prevents you from gauging his mood.

you feel a light electric shock go through your body the instant your fingers curled around his hand. your boyfriend’s body stiffens and it’s like time stilled.

“fuck, i tried.” satoru mutters under his breath.

then, before you knew what was happening, you’re pinned to the door of the fridge. there are efforts made to articulate proper words, but the shock has overtaken all your senses. it isn’t like you could speak either—your lips are sealed shut by your lover’s.

his hands didn’t waste a single second now that they have free rein. they fondle you everywhere; from cupping your cheeks, to sliding down your neck and lower. his fingers rub up against the area where your nipples would be, sensually stroking them through the towel. his feverish kisses combined with his constant touches make you shiver in exhilaration.

you’re trying to keep up with his sudden burst of lust and that’s adorable to the white-haired sorcerer. he can feel you struggling to keep yourself balanced on your toes, your arms wrap tightly around his neck so you’d be inseparable. you feel him grin against your lips for a split second—the gesture alerting you of what might be coming.

“mmh,” satoru grunts once he frees your bare body from its confines. he finally breaks the kiss—the sole reason being to admire the sight of you.

it feels like he just unveiled a heavenly painting. his eyes don’t know what to focus on. if he is to properly and completely appreciate your nude body, it’d take him days or even weeks, “god, have i ever told you how lucky i am to be yours?”

your heart stutters in your chest as all attention is on you. the gentle yet hungry touch of your lover, his hands caressing everywhere they can reach and his half-lidded eyes that are focused on your most intimate parts—you don’t know how much more you can take.

satoru’s breathing becomes even heavier than it was moments ago. he leans his head down to your level, lips hovering above the space between your neck and shoulder. his mouth latches onto your skin after taking a moment to try and keep himself from rushing into things. but alas, he is a simple man.

his lips work precisely and diligently to leave hickeys on every inch. his teeth gently sink into your flesh here and there, his warm saliva coating the faint markings left. your body is his canvas for tonight and the many other nights that are yet to come — for as long as you give him permission to.

“ngh— t.. toru,” you stammer, almost squealing. the sloppy kisses left on your sensitive skin resulted in you whining for more. satoru feels a rush of satisfaction like no other; the frequency of his touches only increasing with each sound erupting from your throat. his tongue slides over your plump breasts, his fingers flicking the nipple he isn’t sucking on.

he eventually detaches from your tits, leaving them both covered in his saliva. he hums in delight at the erotic view and gives both your breasts a last kiss. satoru looks up into your eyes again—a sense of want in them, “you look like you have somethin’ to say, baby.”

you do, but, don’t know how to bring the message across. it is embarrassing to say all of your thoughts out loud; all that you actually want him to do that you. you know satoru would love it if you do, however you do not have the guts to.

your body does all the talking anyway. there is a pool of slick forming between your thighs, your bodily fluids showing just how aroused you are. you aren’t the only one in that state; satoru has had a raging hard-on the entire time.

“i want you,” there it goes.

you avert your eyes, though not for long. gentle fingers hold your chin up, forcing you to stare at your lover. his face is intensely close and your heart is in your throat. satoru grins at your shy behaviour, finding it all the more endearing.

“awh, my little princess wants me?” he pouts, almost mockingly if you didn’t know better. his gaze flickers downwards, “where d’ya want me? show me, baby.”

if you aren’t embarrassed already, you’d sure be now. satoru’s teasing words and the sultry tone of voice he uses eventually urges you to comply. your shaky fingers wrap around his wrist, bringing his hand down towards your tingling cunt, “here.”

the older man hisses at the direct contact his hand makes with your pussy. it is so wet and ready — he wanted nothing more than to bury his fat cock between your folds and feel your sweet little cunt cling onto it.

he cups your cunt delicately, grazing his thumb against your clit. he traces faint circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves to make you squirm and whimper in pleasure. his other fingers spread your folds apart so he can collect your wetness on them.

“how naughty,” satoru sighs. his index finger prods at your entrance, but your thighs clamp down around his hand before he’s able to push it in.

he snickers in amusement and retracts his hand. he licks your juices off of his long fingers in a painfully slow manner, “well.. who am i to deny you? what the princess says, goes.”

satoru lifts your body up in his arms, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist. he kisses you passionately again—his tongue swirling around yours. you exchange soft moans as your hands lift his shirt up and over his head.

you cut the kiss short to appreciate the sight of your lover’s well-built upper body. that drives him utterly insane. that look you give him.

satoru curses under his breath and pulls you down onto the carpet below. he carefully places you on your back and—once you are settled—instantly rushes to undo his grey sweatpants.

his eyes are darting from his clothes to your naked body under him. god, he wants to fuck you so bad. the view of you spread out and patiently waiting for him to take you had him weak in the knees. it’s a sinful scene, yet the pleading and almost innocent-like look in your eyes is a complete contrast.

“don’t worry, i’ll give it to you in a second, baby.” satoru grins once he pulls his boxers down to his knees—revealing his hardened cock. he strokes it slowly and the pre-cum drips down the shaft, his thumb smearing the droplets all over his pink tip.

after getting a couple strokes in, he grabs the base of his dick and guides it to your wet cunt. satoru rubs his tip up and down your slit. what he didn’t expect is for his cockhead to slide into you so easily. he didn’t even have to put in the slightest of effort.

your back arches due to the feeling and your nails dig into the carpet below you. the mixture of your slick and his pre-cum is all the lubricant you need.

“shit. seems like she doesn’t wanna let go any time soon.” satoru addresses your cunt with a groan whilst he slips his fat cock deeper into you. his eyes roll back as he feels the warmth of your pussy engulfing him, “. . .not like i was planning to leave her empty anyway.”

you moan and shiver at both satoru’s dirty words and his dick that’s currently stuffing your insides full. your mouth hangs open, your eyes remain shut and your brain takes in all the granted sensations. adjusting to his lengthy size takes you a few seconds and when you gave your boyfriend permission to continue— that’s exactly what he does.

his hips thrust in an almost hypnotising rhythm: back and forth, back and forth. every interval between the firm movements is the exact same. the thing that differs and makes the experience all the better, is the difference in strength behind each thrust.

one moment he’s carefully sliding in and out of your sopping cunt and in the next he’s forcefully slamming his cock all the way in and out. satoru stifles his moans by attaching his lips to yours—capturing them in a sloppy, rough kiss.

“satoru—satoru, ah, please.. right there,” you mewl into his mouth. his tongue finds yours and your salivas mix.

your lover answers your pleas by holding onto your hand, your fingers interlocking with his thumb soothingly rubbing your skin. satoru never fails to make you feel loved during intimate acts like these. no matter how filthy, nasty and rough he’s fucking you.

you arch your back and your chest presses against satoru’s, causing him to groan against your lips. a cocky grin appears on his face after he moves his head to the crook of your neck. he leaves a couple hickeys along the area of your throat—his hips not giving you a break. even as you continuously whimper and look like you’re about to lose your mind from pleasure.

that’s what satoru wants; to have you come undone beneath him. it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to him. others may call it perverted, but the older man always aims to make you reach as many orgasms as you can in one night. it fuels his carnal desires to see you convulse and shake after every intense climax.

his baby feeling good is all he wants to achieve.

“mhm, i know, princess. i know.” satoru breathes out and returns his lips to yours. he can’t go on long without tasting you. you’re like a drug he’s addicted to. every reaction—small or big—gets him going, “take it easy—fuck, you can do that f’me."

you reply with incoherent noises of agreement. there’s not a thought going on behind those watery eyes of yours. that much is obvious to your boyfriend.

your legs lock his cock inside of you by wrapping around his hips. your eyes are glazed over; a cockdrunk look. one that would make any man cum on spot.

“princess, wait,” satoru whines. he can’t stop himself, yet he’s telling you to wait. his body refuses to come to a halt as it strives towards a satisfying orgasm. he can feel it, his balls tightening and ready to spill everything they have, “if you continue looking at me like that, ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

he isn’t lying. you’re nearly driving him over the edge with everything you do. your legs that tighten their grip around his hips in fear of him pulling out is his favorite thing to experience. it’s like you’re desperate to continue.

your hands play with his sweaty body, fingers caressing his hard chest to feel his heartbeat. you’re drooling. your head is spinning as you think of your lover claiming you. fucking his precious cum into you, “inside—want it inside. all of it.”

satoru chokes on his spit. you don’t know what you do to him. muttering such erotic words causes the older man to malfunction every time. without fail. his hips are painfully ramming against yours.

“you sure? ah, shit.” satoru curses. his brows are furrowed, his hands holding you by your jaw. the view of you with your head tilted back and your teary eyes looking straight into his is pure perfection, “can’t deny you when you look so hot begging me to cum inside your greedy little pussy.”

the room is spinning. your nails claw into satoru’s back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. you shudder the instant he slides out of you until all that’s left is his pink tip prodding at your entrance.

it’s like he gets off on it. to see you whimper, quiver and struggle to contain your pleas for permission to cum. your boyfriend drags his tip up and down your slit, tapping it against your clit repeatedly.

“cum f’me, baby.” satoru coos. he knows you’re right on the edge. before you can reply, he shoves his cock back inside your spasming cunt—ruthlessly pounding you until you scream his name.

your eyes roll back and all you can do is hold your breath the moment the intense orgasm washes over you. your hips buck, your legs tremble and your pussy gushes all over his cock.

spurts of clear liquid cover satoru’s thighs. you squirting isn’t something he had expected to see, but it is a pleasant surprise regardless. it all gets too much for your lover and it drives him to his own climax as well.

satoru hugs you tightly to him. your chests press together with one of his arms holding your upper body up—his nose buried into your hair. a muffled grunt escapes his mouth and that’s when you know that he's reaching his finish.

“please—take it, take it, take it,” satoru stutters and stammers. he can’t form any proper words the moment his cock twitches and releases a huge load of sperm into your womb. it’s an overwhelming amount; globs of transculent white liquid ooze out from between your folds.

his sticky cum slides down to your asshole and onto the carpet, staining it. satoru bites his bottom lip whilst his body is still recovering, cock going soft once he pulls it out. he doesn’t know what to do or where to look, yet somehow his gaze always darts back to your dripping cunt.

“fuck. . . that’s hot.” the older man takes in a deep breath. it’s too soon to get hard again, he figures. the way you’re still trembling and struggling to catch your breath tells him enough. you need a break. and a well-deserved one it is.

your weak taps against satoru’s shoulder snaps him out of his dazed state. he takes your hand in his and gently squeezes before helping you into a sitting position. his blue eyes flash with worry,

“hey, hey, baby—you okay?” satoru asks. his voice is raspy, though obviously filled with concern. he rubs your back and encourages you to take deep breaths. small kisses to your temples help calm you down too.

your breathing eventually returns to normal. you chuckle tiredly and lean your head against his shoulder. your attentive lover wipes the saliva from the corners of your lips and does the same with the tears around your eyes. you sniff, “y-yeah. just felt amazing, hehe.”

satoru sighs in relief. he was scared that he hurt you somehow. your confession makes him laugh and squeeze your body against his. he cups your face and kisses you twice out of pure adoration.

you’re always ten times more adorable to him after you’ve had sex.

“aw, glad it did.” satoru smiles, his dimples showing. your eyes glisten and you smile back out of reflex. you pucker your lips and your lover takes the hint. he presses his mouth against yours once more; this time playfully swiping his tongue over your bottom lip.

you pull back and teasingly swat his bicep. satoru tickles your side as a response. and that’s how you once again end on the floor, with a heavy weight pressing onto your front.

satoru nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in your scent. you’re the best thing to have happened to him. you, the love of his life.

“the best present i could have ever gotten.” the white-haired sorcerer mumbles to no one in particular. though, you heard it. faintly.

you rub his back. you’re sure you made it up to him. he’s clinging onto you, nearly suffocating you by laying on top of your smaller body, but you don’t mind. you play with his hair and your fingernails graze against his undercut to which satoru reacts with a low purr.

you’re happy. he’s happy. that’s all that matters;

“happy birthday, my love.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #female reader

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rabbits-of-negative-euphoria · 2 years ago

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wellp I have not posted on tumblr all day and in that time i have managed to

finish a book

season my cast iron pan

clean my ears so well I’ve lost hearing in one of them

#🙃#TMI ahead #i haven’t actually lost hearing in one it just feels blocked #bc ya girl got an endoscope on amazon thinking ‘I know I don’t have any earwax I just want to see what’s going on in there’#well ya girl did have a LOT of earwax and it was just waiting for a little tool designed not to compact it against the eardrum #to compact it against the eardrum #so the time I WOULDVE spent washing Roy and taking a bath has instead been spent rinsing my ear with baking soda solutions #and I’ll move on to olive oil before bed in the hope that it will resolve itself by morning #and i am GRATEFUL to have spent my day this way. 🇺🇸

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reyalvr · 6 months ago

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SHE’S MINE | 02

-SO I HOPE AND PRAY YOU MAKE IT WORTH IT.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers.

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, chaotic fluff, mild smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan

word count ┊ 3.2k

author’s note ┊ YAPPEE! part two officially out- so sorry for the wait EUEUEU… hehe hope the things that happen in this chapter make up for it being a few days late :p also, i will not be accepting anymore tag list requests! this is due to the amount of users that i can tag per post T^T … nonetheless, i hope you guys enjoy the chap! happy reading :D

p.s. i will be blocking the people who message me (rudely) to “hurry up” with the next chapters. i understand most, if not, all of you are excited to read the next chapters, but please do understand that i have my own schedule too :,)

prev. | next

YOU HELD YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS, GROANING INTO YOUR PALMS. In front of you sat the thorn at your side, Ken Sato. He had just finished reading- or rather, skimming through the files you had stayed up compiling. You peeked at him through your fingers before standing up to erase yet another column of pros and cons from the board.

Taking a swig from the energy drink he had brought you, you shake your head as you try to figure out what to do next. Truth be told, you were just eager to leave. You had two weeks left until you could finally let these burdensome tasks go, all you wanted was for Ken to go along with your last few instructions so as to make your exit easier.

“I don’t get what’s so hard about this, Ken.” You say, turning back around to face him. “You pick a girl, you ‘date’ her for a bit, and then you ‘split up’ amicably. Simple as that.”

He tilted his head at you, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Oh sure, yeah. Let me just go out with a random girl and act like I’m head over heels in love with her.”

“Yes, exactly that.” You reply with the same tone, going back to your seat. “Now you’re getting it!”

He rolls his eyes, placing the stapled papers back on your desk. “I get it, I fucked up. But I still don’t get why you’re so…” He pauses, pressing his lips into a thin line and gesturing with his hands. “Persistent in actually trying to get me to date someone for the sake of my screw up.”

“And I don’t get why I have to keep reminding you of why I need to do this.” You lean back into your chair while pinching the bridge of your nose. “You were the one who-”

“-’Told the entire world you were in love’, yes I know! You’ve only said that like, what, a hundred times over?” He cuts you off, crossing his arms. “I know what I did. But I also know that I have a choice in this matter, don’t I?”

You go to reply but stop when you register his words. You knew that, obviously, which is why you had multiple plans. You were giving him the chance to choose, were you not? The various notes and drafted project plans were proof of that. They were all laid out right in front of him, what more could he possibly want? You look at him briefly, your eyes scanning his expression before darting back to the things scattered atop your desk.

“I’m giving you choices.” You say flatly, slowly looking back up at him.

“No, you’re giving me options and expecting me to choose.” He counters, his hand gesturing towards the papers. “I’m talking about my choice. My plan, suggestion, whatever you want to call it.”

“So what is your plan? Because as far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem to actually have one.” You reply, brows slightly furrowing at his stubbornness.

“And that’s the point. I don’t need a plan,” He pauses, pointing his finger directly onto one of the outlines and it towards you. “I just need to ride it out.”

You let out a scoff, stunned at how Ken was still treating this so lightly. The corners of your lips tug up a bit, and you end up letting out a soft laugh in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I, though?” He leans back, maintaining eye contact with you. “It’s the choice that takes the least effort. And besides, I thought you liked it when I kept things private.”

“Oh, don’t circle this back to me.” You say, pointing a finger at him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to address your little mishaps?”

“Yes, I do. Which is why I’m trying to help you.” He says a-matter-of-factly, his eyebrows raising as if to emphasize how much he understands what your job entails.

“No, you don’t.” You argue back, mimicking his crossed arms.

“Were you always this stubborn?” Ken says, catching you off guard.

You feel your features scrunch up in confusion and annoyance, narrowed eyes slanting even more as this back-and-forth of yours keeps going. “You’re one to talk.”

At that he smirks slightly, rolling his eyes as he pokes a tongue into his cheek. The audacity of this man to act annoyed. You think, all the while you continue to glare at him. You close your eyes for the umpteenth time that morning, taking in a deep breath as your nails dig into your palms. Despite wanting to calm yourself down, his words rang in your head like an unwanted mantra.

His choice.

Would it be so bad to give Ken free reign on this? Granted, he was the one who caused it. Why be the one to clean up his mess- again, for that matter? You pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head once more. You could never understand how his mind worked, and you figured you probably never would. You tapped against the desk with your pen, bouncing your leg as you pondered on what to do.

Your plan? Everything sets sail smoothly, with only the liability being either party slips up. Which, in your defense, you could cover up in the blink of an eye. His plan? No plotline with room for spontaneous detail sharing whenever he pleased. More work for you, more freedom for him. You stopped tapping then, clicking your pen into place. In your moment of contemplation, you had realized then this entire thing was useless. His plan, your plan, all the plans. None of them mattered, not if the end result was going to be the same.

Goddamnit, you hated Ken Sato.

You flip one of the stapled pieces of paper over, drawing over the blank side. “The start of your first full season with the Giants is in less than fourteen days. By then we would need to have already released another press release- ideally before your conference.”

Ken jumps slightly, caught off guard by your sudden return to work mode. He watches as you line up different keywords with boxy arrows, all of which lead up to the ‘end’ of his lie. “What exactly am I looking at?”

You flash him a smile, albeit a fake one, and slide the paper to him. “Your plan.” Leaning back in your chair, you make a show of stretching your arms. “You’re right, we should go with your plan.”

He laughs then, noting the lingering hints of sarcasm in your tone. “[Y/N], what are you doing?”

“Giving you your choice.” You reply with a small shrug.

“Yeah, I can see that.” He says, his smile slightly faltering. “But… why?”

“It’s your life, isn’t it?” You tilt your head to the side, your lips pressed into a thin line.

Now it’s his turn to be confused and annoyed. The way he understood this, you were letting him win. You were waving a white flag, surrendering to his incessant pleading. He scrunched his brows, still trying to process your words. You continued to sit there, waiting eerily patiently for him to respond.

“And you’re serious about this?” He questions once more, hesitant to believe that you of all people would back down so quickly.

“Mhm,” You hum, fiddling with your thumbs. “I’m just your assistant. Well, for two more weeks, that is.”

He felt like he was being played. He blinked at you, mouth slightly agape. The you that was sitting in front of him now was different from the you thirty-six hours ago. Yesterday, you were desperate for him to follow your plans. He recalled your words, ‘If you're actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.’ But now that you’re telling him to do exactly what he wants, he’s nervous.

Nervous that he finally caused you to hate him for good.

“If you’re done sitting there like I said something stupid, you can go. Coach wants to see the team, it’d be in your best favor not to be on his bad side two weeks before playoffs.” You say, not even looking at him directly.

He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Right, well, okay.” He stands up, sliding himself into his jacket before walking towards the door. “See you, then.”

You only hum in response, still not looking at him as you continue fixing all of the papers on your desk. Just before he’s fully out of your office though, you call out to him.

“Yeah?” He answers immediately, peeking his head through the door.

“Have fun riding it out.” You say, flashing him a smile. A real one, this time.

A WEEK HAD GONE BY JUST LIKE THAT. Surprisingly, Ken had been able to keep things under control. Even his comments to street paparazzis were concise, almost as if you were the one who coached him his lines. While you had expected him to do nothing, just as he suggested, you hadn’t expected him to last this long without an intervention from you.

You sat by your window as your body sunk into your armchair, your eyes threatening to close. The early blue hues of the morning had started to break through the night sky, the clouds slowly parting to clear the sky. You typed vigorously against the keys of your laptop, eyes following the blinking cursor to prevent yourself from falling asleep right then and there.

You had been up for hours constructing your updated résumé, keeping all your needed information concise and in one page. Despite having a well-rounded history in regards to jobs, the lingering fear of keeping yourself afloat was an inevitable burden you were scared of accidentally fulfilling. You had family, yes, but relying on them did something to your pride. Most especially since you had been low-contact ever since you abruptly moved to the city.

Seeking help from friends was another option that was off the table. In all your years of working in the entertainment industry, the amount of people you had let into your life dwindled as you realized people’s true intentions. You had merely three people left in your life, and that was by far more than enough to keep you sane throughout the rest of your life.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. Truth be told, despite the factor of having to deal with Ken, this job has been the best in terms of your benefits. He was much like you- little circle, low-contact. Even his own team was a limited number, leaving you to deal with other jobs and tasks that would otherwise be done by different people. Yes, the workload was tiring, but the pay was enough to keep you alive ten times over. You could only say a silent prayer to whoever was listening to bless you once more once you let go of this for good.

You sat back, finally satisfied with the way your page was laid out. You faced towards your window, closing your eyes as your breathing steadied. The birds were starting to chirp, the sun casting a foggy glow through the clouds. In this moment of solitude, you allowed yourself to relax; it was more than deserved. Not like anything could happen in your sleep, right?

WRONG, SO VERY WRONG. You groaned as you were awakened by the continuous buzzing of your phone. At first you had thought it was an alarm you had accidentally forgotten to shut off, but when it continued on, you eventually had to force yourself to wake up.

The sun was high up now, bright rays peeking through your blinds. You squinted, uncurling yourself from your chair as you got up and stretched. You yawned, scratching your head as you finally unlocked your phone. You were greeted with an endless stream of notifications, your mail app and other social media platforms pinging by the second. There was also the factor of the loud noise outside, though you made it out to be some kind of commotion or parade.

Your screen then flashed the caller ID of an unknown number, followed by another sea of notifications. You blink yourself awake, now slightly worried at just how much texts and emails you had been receiving. Did Ken do something? Did someone die? Did Ken die?

Before you could even open any of the messages, you hear the familiar ringtone of one of your closest friends. You slide to answer, pressing your phone up to your ear. “Ami? What’s up, what’s wrong?”

She laughed, and you could practically see her shaking her head at you. “I’m guessing you just woke up? Check literally any news outlet right now, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

What the hell was going on? You mumbled something in reply, putting her on speaker as you did what she asked.

You wished you hadn’t. In bold, bright red letters, the article’s headline read:

Extra Innings in the Press Box: Ken Sato’s Hidden Romance with Assistant Revealed!

What you saw next nearly had you chucking your phone into the nearest wall. Attached right under the headline was you and Ken. You and Ken. You let out a curse, and you could hear the sighs coming from Ami on the other line. The picture was clearly shot from a hidden vantage point, the branches from the trees blocking the camera proof of it. Despite the distance, though, yours and Ken’s faces were clearly visible.

“What the fuck!” You yell, now fully awake eyes wide in confusion. “When was this released? H-How did-”

“Two hours ago. Apparently some passerby sold the picture to the press, and said passerby just happened to be paparazzi.” Ami cuts you off, her tone serious yet concerned. “Trust me, if I had known something like this was going to be released, I would’ve done something about it.”

You left your phone on the kitchen counter as you paced back and forth, your hand glued to your forehead as you tried to wrap your mind around what was happening. Obviously it wasn’t true, you of all people knew that. But nobody else did, and that was the problem.

“Ami what the hell is happening?” You manage to breathe out, still pacing. “This is all so-”

“Much? Yeah, I know.” She cuts you off again, and you can hear the bustling sounds from her office. “My own publisher is on my neck for this, God only knows what you’re going through. Are you okay? If you need help this could technically be classified as invasion of-”

“I do need help because this whole thing isn’t-” You start, but are ultimately cut off again when you hear the sounds grow louder outside.

“[Y/N]? ‘You there?” Ami’s muffled voice calls out as you walk towards your window, peeking down to where the commotion was coming from.

“Oh shit.” You gasp out, eyes widening even more as you realize the noises were coming from the sea of reporters and photographers waiting outside your townhouse.

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the window with a hand to your mouth. This cannot be happening, this had to be some sick nightmare. Stumbling towards your phone, you mumbled some reply about needing to go before abruptly hanging up the call. Rude, perhaps, but Ami would understand.

In the span of two hours of that damn article being released, eager and greedy gossip outlets had found your address and swarmed your only safe space. You held your phone close to your chest, running up to your room as you tried to catch your breath. You closed your eyes once more, breathing in and out heavily. The more you tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening, the more you slowly realized that it actually was.

You opened your phone once more, muting all your socials and other messaging apps. You needed to think, and you needed to act fast. By memory, your fingers automatically scroll for Ken’s legal team. Having gotten him out of falsified defamations multiple times, acting during these types of situations was almost a second habit. But this didn’t involve just him, it involved you. You were a part of this mess, you couldn’t be the one to solve it.

A mantra of curses conjured up in your head, and you delete the previous number you had dialed in. Think, damnit. Think, think, think. You thought to yourself, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you prayed for a solution to be presented to you. An alternative popped up into your brain then. Albeit that alternative was stupid, but it was something.

You dialed his number, anxiously waiting as it rang.

KEN WAS ON HIS BREAK, SITTING ON THE BENCH AS HE WIPED THE SWEAT OFF HIS FOREHEAD. Playoffs were about to start, and Shimura was working them to the bone to make sure everyone had their head in the game. He let out a deep breath through his nose, arms resting on his knees as tried to calm down after a few laps around the stadium. The rest of his teammates seemed to be reacting obnoxiously over something, though he didn’t have the energy to feign enthusiasm.

One of his teammates teasingly nudged him then, giving him a playful grin. “Your secret’s out, huh? All this time you were with her.”

Ken laughed it off, still oblivious to the fact that nearly all of Japan now knew the face of his supposed girlfriend. He noted the specification in his tone, as if he were referring to a mutual friend of theirs. Which, again, was impossible- nobody but you knew the secret he was hiding. He gave them a nod before returning back to his own space.

He felt his watch buzz against his wrist, and he was all but surprised to see you calling him on your day off. He sat up straight then, grabbing his phone to answer the call. He had to admit, he answered a little too excitedly. Or nervously. He couldn’t differentiate the two, not when it involved you. Ever since the start of this stunt, something in him shifts whenever you or anything related to you gets mentioned. He brushed it off as some sort of familiarity attachment, the weight of your sudden resignation still heavy on his shoulders.

Was he sad to let you go? Maybe, he wasn’t entirely sure. Aside from the fact that he had Mina, you did your job well. You knew the ins and outs of everything he liked and disliked, you kept him organized and on track. Sure, losing you would be another hurdle he would have to get over, but that doesn’t mean he would be… impotent without you. He clears his throat before he finally brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hey-” He starts, but stops when he notices the frantic panic in your voice. “Woah, hey slow down. What happened?”

“You happened.” You reply then, albeit through a shaky breath.

“What?” He questions, brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s exactly as I said. You happened,” You paused, taking in a deep breath. “And now I need your help. Please.”

tags┊@mochminnie, @rreasonablydumbb, @sincerest-one, @fruticake, @lunaryasha, @lovingyeet, @sugacor3, @arrozyfrijoles23, @fennecspage, @mmeerraa, @azryaa, @akiradailylifes, @montybooks, @mmv-ymvm, @hore4ken, @greeniegreengreen, @meikoo, @random-3455, @todaywasafairytale07, @mythicalmoa, @imafangirlofeverything, @astylos, @vynwan-cbq, @rosegiyanabing, @icedberrytea, @ken-zah, @letharue, @chi222, @flooftoof, @c4ttheart, @ymrai, @stxrrielle, @alpha-mommy69, @ewitscat, @lightsinmycity, @furblrwurblr, @ayamago, @sugururawr, @secretlyapartofthisfandom @shellspider, @oh-kurva, @noraimp

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shina913 · 14 days ago

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A Very Patient Man | LJH

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x AFAB!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: F2L; FWB; smut; pwp

Warnings: cussing; breast play; fingering; cunnilingus; unprotected sex; PIV sex; riding; ass smacking; dirty talk; creampie

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: You’re frustrated because it takes you longer to reach an orgasm during sex. This has made you feel insecure, and you started to accept the fact you’d never meet someone patient enough to give you the attention you need. Your friend, Jihoon, casually offers a solution.

A/N: Idk. I slipped and fell onto my keyboard and all this horny word vomit spilled out. Thanks to @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs 🤣

This is also un-beta'd so...it is what it is.

Anyway! Here’s something filthy to end the year! 💜

It started innocently enough at Jihoon’s studio. You were sitting on his couch, venting about your dating life, and as always, he listened attentively just as you do when he shares his own experiences.

However, today’s visit was different. He’s letting you ramble on about a very specific topic.

“I feel like there’s an invisible time limit on foreplay.”

Jihoon’s chair creaks as he leans back, laughing at your incredulous claim. “No, there isn’t!”

“But I really think there is!” you argue. “My last date got visibly impatient, even though I...” you inhale through your teeth, “clearly asked him for more time down there. Instead, he just said, ‘It’s been five minutes, it’s my turn now.’” You huff in annoyance.

“Well, that sucks. Did you get rid of him?”

You grimace before replying. “Please don’t judge me. He was cute, so we still fucked. My vibrator finished the job,” you admit guiltily. “I blocked him on the app afterward though.”

He sighs, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “You shouldn’t compromise on your needs. If you want more time, say so and stick with it.”

You huffed wistfully. “I just take too long. I get all panicky when someone’s been down there for longer than 5 minutes.”

“You can’t rush pleasure,” he comments.

“I know that, but now, it makes me think—how long is too long before you come? Is there a play clock winding down on the field? Do I need to call out an audible?”

He doubles over again, laughing when you start using sports metaphors.

“How can some women summon an orgasm—” you snap your fingers, “just like that?”

His laughs subside, turning more serious now. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to other people. Everybody’s different.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” you remark sarcastically.

He turns away to face his screen, adding more edits to a track he’s working on.

“I don’t know…” you mumble, shrugging in defeat. “I guess my vibrator and I are destined to spend the rest of our lives together. Might as well reserve matching burial plots.”

Jihoon snorts. “You just haven’t found the right partner. A really patient one, I might add,” he says, half-joking.

You smack him on his bicep, and your hand stings from the unexpected firmness under his oversized shirt. Has his arm always been this solid? When was the last time you touched his bicep? Wait—why are you even thinking of his bicep?

You and Jihoon have been close friends since college, maintaining a purely platonic relationship—never a hint of romance or sexual tension between you. On rare nights out, you even act as each other’s wingman, helping one another find potential dates. You two simply click on a different level—easy and no complications.

He looked up from his mixing board, turning to you with a slight smirk. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I happen to be very patient.”

The lilt in his voice was unmistakable. It was the kind of tone he used when chatting up potential conquests on your nights out.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t you dare use that Joey Tribbiani move on me.”

“It’s not a move.” He keeps his face serious, looking genuinely hurt by your comment. “You’re my friend. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says softly. “I’m just saying, if you ever wanted to try, I’m game.” He tilts his head, giving a casual shrug. “No judgment.”

You stare at him, stunned, as his offer hangs in the air. You try to laugh it off, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

Was he seriously proposing that you two—nope! You refuse to go there. Jihoon is a great friend, and although you trust him, you’re not sure you’d be comfortable with the idea of...

You shake your head. You can’t even finish the thought. You glance at your watch for no reason at all.

“You know, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted to grab dinner?” He’s surprised and confused at your sudden change of plans.

“It’s getting late.”

Truthfully, it wasn’t that late. You feel guilty lying to your friend, but you need to escape this conversation—and this situation—as quickly as possible.

“I just got a notification from work. I need to come in early, yada-yada…You know how it is.”

He looks disappointed but doesn’t push. You gather your things, slipping your puffer jacket on, despite the room feeling several degrees warmer.

“Alright. If you’re sure—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off. That came out more tersely than you initially intended. “I’m sure,” you add with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes to try and make up for it.

He rises from his seat when you do and moves in for a hug—just like he usually does. But this time, the hug feels different; you’re suddenly hyperaware of his touch, your skin tingling all over. You return his hug stiffly, without your usual warmth, then hurry out of his studio and immediately tear off your too-hot jacket.

That night, your dreams were filled with visions—his hands tracing paths across your skin, his dark head dipping between your thighs, his intense gaze meeting yours as you hovered on the edge of unbridled pleasure. The dream felt so vivid you could have sworn you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin. It wasn’t until your alarm began blaring, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat, that reality came crashing back.

********************************************

A couple of days passed, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Jihoon. This wasn’t your usual “hope he remembered to eat lunch” thoughts or impulse to send him funny memes that popped up on your algorithm.

After your NSFW dream about him, you started noticing little things about him you’d never paid attention to before—the adorable way he’d scrunch up his nose while concentrating on work, how his muscles moved when he reached for something, or how the warm red studio lights perfectly highlighted his features.

You shake your head. It’s not that deep. Jihoon’s suggestion was only practical. There’s no reason to go down this rabbit hole.

Still, you can’t deny the growing curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You hadn’t expected his offer to affect you this way, but it does.

After days of avoiding him, you decide to invite him to dinner at your place. Maybe if you discussed this with him, the dreams and inappropriate thoughts would stop.

The moment he walks through your door, everything falls apart. You become hyper-aware of his every move. You catch yourself stealing glances when you think he isn’t looking, and you flinch whenever he gets too close.

Finally, he’s had enough.

“Okay,” he says firmly. “What’s with you? Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” you lie, your heart racing. You reach for your drink and take a hefty gulp.

“Have I said or done something? You’ve flaked on me the last couple of times I asked you to go out, you’ve left me on ‘read’ more than you’ve responded...”

You felt guilty for avoiding him, but you needed that space to sort out your thoughts. Though you wanted to have this conversation, you couldn’t find the right moment to broach the topic.

“Then you invite me over, barely talk—” he continues to rant.

“It’s... it’s really more of a me-problem,” you stammer.

“Just talk to me! I can take it.” He throws his hands up in frustration.

You inwardly groan, before finally coming clean. “Remember the last time we were at your studio? I was whining about...something.”

He squinted for a bit, then you could see the recognition slowly dawning in his eyes before lowering his voice. “You mean, how you take a long time to reach an orgasm?”

You shut your eyes, mortified when he articulates it. “Yes…”

“What about it?”

“It’s not exactly about that, but it’s more about what you said after. You know—your offer to help?”

His face visibly relaxes, prompting you to continue. “Okay.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, but you push through. “Did you mean it, or were you just messing with me?”

He stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, the corner of his lips quirking up. “The offer still stands, if you want it.”

You sit there chewing the inside of your cheek, feeling torn. Your brain tells you to be careful—fucking your best friend could make things weird. But your body has other ideas. The warmth pooling between your legs makes it harder to think straight.

“Are you considering it?” His voice is gentle, giving you space to choose.

You deflect, buying time to sort through your tumbling thoughts. “I’m curious... have you thought about this before? About us?”

“The idea has crossed my mind from time to time.”

His candor sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Oh,” is all you can manage to say.

“What about you? Have you thought about us...doing things?”

You draw in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to be equally honest. “I never thought of us that way before you mentioned it. But now...” you trail off, unable to verbalize how his suggestion has shifted something between you.

He inches closer, but maintains enough distance to keep you comfortable. His expression grows serious, earnest. “Listen, I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. You’re one of my best friends, and that matters more to me than anything else. If I’m out of line, just say the word and we won’t talk about it ever again.” The sincerity in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes makes your heart ache. You’ve always known him to be considerate of your feelings.

“You weren’t out of line.” Hearing you say this was a huge relief to him. “But you can’t really un-ring that bell,” you add wryly.

You also couldn’t get past an earlier comment he made. “So…you’ve thought about us before?”

He takes a moment before answering. “Yeah. I mean, you’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you?”

Your cheeks flush at his compliment.

Your best friend has always had this effortless way about him—you’ve seen firsthand how easily he charms people during your nights out together.

Your resolve crumbles, and honestly, you’re tired of fighting it. “How are you so chill about all this?”

He laughs. “It’s sex, not rocket science.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Things won’t get weird afterward, will they?”

“Afterward? So...you’re saying you want to have sex? With me?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

You already knew the answer to that question the moment you asked him to come over. “I guess I do,” you say softly with a nervous smile, “for science?”

His sexy, throaty laugh echoes through the room.

********

You sit nervously on your couch facing each other. Since this is completely new territory for both of you, you know you need to take things slow and make sure you’re both comfortable. Gathering up the courage to agree to this experiment is the easy part, but actually getting into it?

“Just to be clear—this is a one-time thing, right?”

“Of course,” he confirms. “This is purely for educational purposes. And your pleasure.”

You scrunch your nose in protest. “That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange.” The idea of him seeing this as one-sided doesn’t sit right with you. “Shouldn’t this be mutually beneficial?”

“I never said I had to get something out of this. You want to experience an orgasm from foreplay alone, without mechanical assistance, right?”

You nod.

“Okay. So, let me focus on making that happen for you. You don’t need to think about anything else.”

You didn’t want to be selfish, but his offer was difficult to refuse.

“This is about you, not me,” he insists. His decision is firm and he wasn’t budging.

“Okay,” you relent. Fidgeting nervously with the hem of your shirt, you take in a deep breath and release it before muttering, “How should we do this...”

When Jihoon doesn’t immediately offer any suggestions, you think of the most natural way to start.

“Maybe we could start with kissing?”

“Right, good idea.” His voice wavers slightly, betraying that he’s just as nervous as you are despite his attempts to stay composed. Oddly, this puts you at ease—knowing you’re both on the same page, figuring this out as you go.

You both move in closer together, and time seems to slow as he leans in. Your eyes flutter shut, then his lips meet yours. They’re exactly as you’d imagined—soft, warm, and unexpectedly gentle. The kiss starts tentatively, but as your lips find their rhythm, everything feels natural.

When you break apart for a moment, you can’t help but smile. “You’re a good kisser.” You barely finish the sentence before being drawn back to his lips.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he hums, and you can feel his smile against your lips as you both laugh, the sounds melting into your kisses.

Your kisses grow more intense, your mouth sucking on his top lip while his tongue traces delicately along yours, building a warmth that spreads through your entire body. You fist at his shirt, bunching the fabric between your knuckles, while his hand cradles your neck, his thumb gently stroking along your pulse point.

Gradually, his kisses move from your lips, following a path along the curve of your jawline, down to the slope of your neck. You can’t help but giggle at the sensation.

He instantly pulls back, a worried look on his face. “Sorry, are you not into that?”

“No, no—I mean—Yes, I am into it. I’m just a little bit ticklish there, that’s all,” you explain.

“Oh... okay. Do you want to keep going?”

You nod, and as he leans in for another kiss but pauses when you place a hand on his chest. “You know, I didn’t think I’d enjoy this because we’ve been friends for so long, but I have to admit that I like it.”

“Yeah?” A smirk plays across his lips. “Tell me what else you like.” He nips at your jawline. “Or show me.”

Desire spreads through you like wildfire. This was the point of no return. You take his hands and guide them under your shirt until they cup your breasts.

“What do you want me to do?” He murmurs through your lips.

“Play with them.”

His lips capture yours again as he squeezes your breast gently.

He eases you down onto the couch, his lips trailing from yours down your neck to your sternum. When he lifts your shirt to your chest, you feel constrained and pull it off completely, tossing it aside. He follows your lead, removing his own shirt.

His skilled fingers unhook your bra and takes a nipple into his mouth while his thumb teases the other, drawing a sharp breath from you.

You run your fingers through his hair as his kisses trace down your stomach, making your back arch at the sensation against your skin.

His hands glide down your sides until they reach your jeans, where he carefully undoes the button. You hook your fingers into your waistband and start pushing your bottoms down. He helps slide them off, his touch remaining gentle but with a hint of urgency as he pulls the fabric from your legs. As the last piece of clothing falls away, the cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shiver.

One of his hands pushed between your legs, making them fall open shamelessly. His other hand continued to massage your breasts, making them unbearably sensitive. You can’t believe how slick you’d gotten in a short span of time. To think he hadn’t done much to you yet, apart from kissing you and squeezing your tits.

His gaze traveled down your body, lingering where his fingertips teased your sensitive folds. His feather-light touches made your inner walls clench with need. This only heightened your arousal, making you squirm beneath him, silently begging for more.

He slid one finger carefully into you. Your eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by your friend, kneeling on the floor beside you. “Don’t think…just feel.” You keened as Jihoon pulled out and thrust gently back into you with two fingers. You couldn’t hold back a moan.

It’s probably been a few minutes now, you’re not sure as you’ve completely lost track of time. You blink furiously in a mild panic and stare down at him, still leisurely finger-fucking you. What he was doing felt so good, but you weren’t even halfway to your peak yet. By this point, other partners would be coming up for air, wanting you to return the favor or just ready to stick their cock in to get their fill.

“Relax...” he cooed, pressing a kiss against your inner thigh. Each deliberate dip and languid curl of his skilled fingers inside you made you wetter, gradually coaxing your muscles to yield. “It’s not a race,” he reassured you softly, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll keep going until you come.”

His words of encouragement sent waves of arousal coursing through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Kiss me,” you choked out, needing to feel his lips against yours. Without hesitation, he obliged, sealing his mouth over yours in a deep kiss that made you dizzy.

Your fingers clutched desperately at the edges of your cushions, knuckles turning white from your grip as you felt that familiar sensation between your legs. “Right there. Don’t stop,” you gasped between heavy breaths, your hips bucking against his steadily thrusting fingers. The pleasure was building to an unbearable level, making you feel like you might shatter to pieces if he didn’t push you over the edge soon.

He continued to whisper the filthiest things—words you’d never heard him say to you. They revealed previously unspoken fantasies that ignited your body and overwhelmed your senses. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, wondering if this was his usual bedroom talk. But that thought slipped away as his words and actions consumed you completely. Before you realized it, you were peaking.

“I want to see what you look like when you come,” he purred. “Do you look as pretty as you do right now?” Everything tightened in your core while he kept up his ministrations in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Oh fuck, I’m coming…”

“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you,” he urged.

You let out a strangled cry, your mind far beyond the depths of euphoria to care about being quiet or demure about this. He was mesmerized, unable to look away at the sheer pleasure that washed over you. Before you could even process what just happened, he’d already hooked your leg over the back of the couch and covered your cleft with his mouth.

He stroked your clit with his tongue, fluttering over it, building your hunger back up again. He teased your slick folds, taunting you with the promise of another orgasm—something you thought impossible to achieve so soon, yet your body responded eagerly. When his fingers pushed inside you at the same time, you had to bite your lip to stifle a scream.

You came again, your thighs trembling, tender muscles pulsing around his touch. His growl vibrated through you. You didn’t have the strength to push him away when he returned to your clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…but now you wanted more. You needed to feel him.

You manage to sit up and squeeze his shoulder to get his attention. He peers up at you from between your thighs.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Already?” He smiles, teasing you with painfully slow strokes of his fingers. “Pretty sure I can get another one out of you,” he says cockily.

“Lee Jihoon—I. Am asking you. To fuck. Me,” you punctuated. “Will you do it or not?”

He sits up, turning sheepish all of a sudden. “I, uhm…didn’t expect us to be doing this, so I didn’t bring any condoms.”

It’s not like he was some random guy. Although you appreciated his caution, you just wanted him inside you. “I trust you,” you tell him before pressing a kiss to him.

After he settles on the couch, you shift unsteadily to straddle his hips, pressing your bodies together. Reaching between you, you fumble with his jeans until he helps, lifting his hips in a fluid motion to pull them down just enough to free himself. Bracing yourself, you let him guide you as you slowly sink down onto him. Your lips part with an involuntary sigh that turns into a soft moan as he fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

When you begin to roll your hips, the friction sends sparks of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck, your pussy feels good,” he breathes out roughly, his fingers digging into your hips before worry suddenly crosses his face. His cheeks flush as he stammers, “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

You giggle at his compliment, causing your muscles to clamp around his length. “I’m not mad at it,” you reassure him. “You make me feel really good, too.”

“Yeah?” His brow quirks. “You like when I fuck you?”

“Yes,” you moan, dipping your head to his lips in another kiss as you find your rhythm together.

His hands roam your back, pulling you closer as you rock against him with increasing urgency. Before this, you’ve resigned yourself to never experiencing an orgasm from penetrative sex, and yet here was another brewing and there was nothing you could do but let it happen.

You gasp as his hand makes sudden contact with your ass, the unexpected sting making you freeze in place. You stare at him dumbfounded.

“What are you going to do about it?” he challenges. Before you can answer, his hand comes down again with another firm smack that rings through the room. “What?” The sound of provocation in his voice makes your pulse quicken.

You hover over him, eyes narrowing as you lean closer. Through gritted teeth, your voice emerges as a heated whisper. “Harder.”

“I thought so.” He smiles slyly before your lips crash in a fierce kiss that leaves you both breathless.

With a firm grip, he holds your hips still as he thrusts into you with deliberate, measured strokes. You clutch at him, the rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Jihoon buries his face between your breasts, his rough groans reverberating against your flesh.

You whine helplessly, overwhelmed by the building pressure as the familiar coil of tension in your belly winds impossibly tight. Your thighs burn as you teeter on the edge of release.

“Yes...d-don’t...stop...hm...so close,” you pant.

He slows his movements to an agonizing pace, drawing out each thrust to drive you insane. He pulls out completely before sinking back into you with one deep thrust that makes you see stars. Your jaw drops, unintelligible sounds tumbling out your mouth as you come hard.

You hold onto him for dear life, your nails leaving a trail of crescent marks on his skin as he picks up the pace once again, his own rhythm becoming more erratic as he chases his own orgasm. A deep groan rumbles from his chest as your walls pulse and clench around him.

“I’m close,” he warns, his usually calm and collected face now twisted with agonizing need.

“Don’t pull out,” you manage to choke out between strained, ragged breaths.

“You…s-sure…?”

You nod eagerly. With your permission, he thrusts deeper and harder, making your neck loll in ecstasy. He draws you back into a rough, hungry kiss that muffles your shared moans as he reaches the end of his rope, his hips jerking against yours while he spurts inside.

Pressing your sweat-slicked forehead against his, you wait for your heart rate to return to normal. There’s no doubt in your mind—no previous partner could compare to Jihoon.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sigh. “We’ve been missing out all this time.”

He laughs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “It was worth the wait though!”

********

After a quick shower and a necessary trip to the pharmacy down the block, you and Jihoon return to your apartment with bags of late-night snacks. All that sexual activity had certainly worked up an appetite, and you found yourself craving something sweet. An ice cream waffle cone hit the spot for you.

“Are you okay?”

You smile, endeared at his worrying. “You know, you’ve asked me that same question multiple times now, and I’ll keep giving you the same answer—I’m fine. Great, actually!”

“I know, I know,” he responds sheepishly. “I just hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”

“Trust me, I don’t feel awkward about any of this at all,” you respond with complete sincerity before facing him to find out if he felt the same way you did. “Do you?”

He shakes his head, tilting the bag of Skittles into his mouth. “Nope,” he answers between chews. “To be honest, I thought that was fucking mind-blowing!”

You inhale sharply at his candid comment, nodding in agreement. “Same. Absolutely no complaints from me!”

He gets up from the couch, takes out a small box from the shopping bag to set it aside, and stuffs your discarded candy wrappers into it before heading to the kitchen to throw them away.

When he returns from the kitchen, your eyes linger on him. “Thanks, Jihoonie,” you whisper. “For…everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies with a wink before sinking back into the couch beside you.

This turned out to be the complete opposite of your initial fears. Not only did this one-off experiment exceed all your expectations, but it seems your friendship remained the same. Though you never would have guessed that your best friend would end up giving you the best orgasms of your life.

As you continue to enjoy your treat, you notice Jihoon’s eyes fixed on your tongue as it swirls around the chocolate ice cream. His dark eyes watching you with the same intensity as when you came undone with his touch earlier.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “Quit staring at me like that,” you cautioned, though your tone suggested otherwise.

“Then don’t ever eat an ice cream cone in front of me,” he responds with a chuckle as he subtly adjusts himself beneath his pants.

You bite your lip, feeling a warmth between your legs again. “You know...” you clear your throat, reaching for the box of condoms he left on the coffee table, “I wonder if these things really live up to the ‘raw’ feel.”

He clicks his teeth dismissively before responding. “I think it’s false advertising.”

“You think so?”

He takes the box from you, examining the label. “I mean, we do have a perfect point of comparison,” he reasons, a smile ghosting his lips. “Should we find out?”

You stare at each other for a moment before breaking into grins and exclaiming in unison, “For science!”

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aliyahwritings · 29 days ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (11)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player!Rafe & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.4k

Aliyah's Notes: LIFE IS GOOD DONT KYS GUYS!!!!!

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing Rafe’s penthouse in all its cold, modern glory. You stepped inside, arms full of a precariously stacked pile of boxes, your eyes scanning the pristine place. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of the city, but it was the sterile, minimalist decor that always caught you by surprise.

“Wow,” you muttered, setting the boxes down with a grunt. “So this is where personality comes to die.”

Rafe appeared behind you, carrying a single suitcase and looking annoyingly relaxed (and sexy). “You’re welcome for letting you upgrade your life,” he quipped, tossing the suitcase onto the sleek leather couch. “From your childish apartment to the lap of luxury. I’m a real hero.”

“Hero, my ass,” you turned to him, hands on your hips. “And this place has all the warmth of a dentist’s office.”

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Clean, sharp, and no clutter.”

“Well, get ready for that to change,” you shot back, heading to another box. You pulled out a bright orange vase with swirling patterns and held it up with a triumphant smile. “Because this is going front and center.”

He froze mid-step, staring at the vase like it was radioactive. “No.”

“Yes,” you replied, your smile widening as you marched toward the nearest shelf.

“No,” he repeated, moving to block your path. “You’re not seriously bringing that ugly vase into my penthouse. I have standards.”

You held the vase above your head, as if presenting it to the decor gods. “Typical white man behavior,” you declared. “This must be the colonizer in you that’s stopping me from doing what I want—”

“I knew you’d start saying those things,” Rafe shook his head.

“Just because it’s colorful and unique, it’s ‘ugly’ to you.”

He crossed his arms as he looked between you and the vase. “It’s not colorful, YN, it’s an eyesore. It doesn’t ‘pop’—it assaults.”

“You wouldn’t know real art if it hit you in the face,” you retorted, setting the vase down triumphantly on a shelf. “This is staying.”

“It’s not art—it’s a cry for help,” Rafe muttered, shaking his head as he reached for the vase.

You smacked his hand away. “Touch it, and I’ll bring all of my colorful vases here.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You leaned in with a devilish grin. “Try me.”

The standoff had been interrupted by a loud thud as another box had toppled from the stack you had brought in. Rafe turned to survey the mess, raising an eyebrow. “What else did you bring? Your collection of weird cat figurines?”

“I’ll have you know Lady Purrsalot is a legend,” you said, brushing past him to rescue the fallen box. “And yes, she’s staying too.”

Rafe let out a dramatic groan, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the pile of your belongings filling the space. “Perfect. My penthouse is about to turn into a shrine to bad taste,” he muttered.

You shot him an incredulous look, hands on your hips, before flashing him a playful but smug smile. “This isn’t bad taste, it’s cute.”

“If I find anything glittery, it’s going straight in the trash.”

Your eyes narrowed, giving him the full force of your best glare. He winced, immediately muttering a sheepish “sorry,” his hands up in surrender. You gave him a satisfied nod, knowing he'd learned his lesson.

“You agreed to this when you accepted to marry me,” you said, your voice smooth but laced with a challenge. You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow as though daring him to argue.

He sighed dramatically, leaning against the wall. “I didn’t know ‘marriage’ meant signing up for interior design hell.”

Your lips quirked upward as you threw a glance at the now-established vase. “Don’t worry, fiancé, I think you’re handling it really well for someone who just got a major upgrade in life.”

“Can’t help it,” he smirked, and stepped closer to you. “You’re kind of hard to resist,” he paused, eyes glinting with something that wasn’t just playful teasing. “Even when you’re trying to torture me with your cat figurines.”

You chuckled, stepping around him and tossing a few more things onto the shelf—mostly knick-knacks and personal items that would soon add a sense of comfort to the otherwise sterile space. You could feel the tension between you two, a quiet undercurrent of attraction, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“You have hands, and a cold shower to help you, Rafe,” you told him, rolling your eyes. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Who said something was going to happen?” he smirked, and you wanted to wipe that smirk off his beautiful, beautiful face. “Are you thinking of naughty—”

“That’s enough communication for right now,” you clapped your hands. “We have more stuff to do.”

You both continued to unload boxes in comfortable silence, the sounds of moving things around punctuated by banter every now and then. Rafe was doing half of the work—he said he’d prefer you standing back and watching him take charge—and you did not mind, at all. The penthouse was big enough that it gave you space to spread out your things. Eventually, though, the once-overwhelming pile of boxes began to dwindle, and the place started to feel a little more like home.

“Alright, I think that’s the last one,” Rafe said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he stacked the final few boxes in the corner. “I’m exhausted.”

You nodded, and gave him a smile. “Thanks for the help, big arms. I would’ve taken 24 years to finish it all,” you told him and laughed.

“You’re going to make me blush,” he joked, and you laughed some more. “Alright, now that the worst of it’s done, how about I give you the grand tour? I know you’ve been here a few times, but not everywhere. Let me show you the full deal.”

You sighed and gestured dramatically. “Lead the way.”

With a self-satisfied grin, Rafe led you down the sleek hallway. He threw open the first door with a flourish, revealing a space so minimalist it was almost sterile. “My office,” he declared.

You peeked inside, noting the barely-touched desk, the pristine shelves, and a gaming console taking up prime real estate. “Wow,” you deadpanned. “Really grinding out those business emails, huh?”

“Hey, I do plenty of work,” he said defensively. “Like checking stats, signing autographs… crushing high scores.” You rolled your eyes but followed as he moved to the next door, revealing a home gym. “State-of-the-art equipment,” he boasted. “Not that you’d know, since you don’t lift.”

“Rafe, I’m literally a model. I do pilates, yoga, and weight training.”

“Pilates doesn’t count,” he shot back, smirking. “That’s just stretching with extra steps.”

“Asshole,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He took you through a theater room, complete with plush recliners and an oversized screen, and then to his master bedroom. The sheer size of the space made you pause. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a stunning view of the city skyline, and the decor screamed effortless luxury. You hated that it impressed you.

“Alright, you’ve had your little brag session. Can I go back to unpacking now?”

“Not yet,” he said, walking ahead of you. He stopped in front of the guest room—your room now—and pushed the door open. “Saved the best for last.”

You stepped inside, your eyes immediately catching on the changes. Gone was the sterile, hotel-like vibe. Instead, the space felt warmer, more personal. The bedding was a deep crimson red, bold and striking, and a textured rug covered the hardwood floor. Your favorite candles were neatly arranged on the windowsill, and a small vase of fresh flowers sat on the nightstand. Even your books, the ones you thought you’d packed, were already shelved on the built-in.

Your brows furrowed as you took it all in. “Why are the covers red?”

Rafe, leaning casually against the doorframe, hesitated for a beat before replying. “You know… because you…”

A teasing grin spread across your face. “Are you racially profiling me because I’m South Asian?”

His eyes widened slightly, and then he let out a laugh, shaking his head. “What? No! That’s not—”

You cut him off, crossing your arms with mock seriousness. “Oh, sure. Just because I like vibrant colors, you think red is my personality now?”

“Okay, first of all,” he said, “you do like vibrant colors. Second, red is bold, classy, and badass—like you. So stop making me sound like a jerk.”

You raised a brow, still trying to stifle your laughter. “Smooth recovery, Cameron. Real smooth.”

“Thanks,” he said, flashing you a grin. “I aim to please,” he teased, though his smirk softened slightly. “Maids come every three days, by the way, so you don’t need to worry about keeping the place spotless.”

You crossed your arms, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “You mean I didn’t have to bring a box of cleaning supplies?”

“Nope,” he said with an unapologetic shrug. “But it was cute watching you haul it up here.”

Your mouth fell open. “You let me carry that thing around when you knew I wouldn’t need it?”

“You seemed determined,” he said, his grin widening. “I didn’t want to crush your little homemaker dreams.”

You groaned.

You collapsed onto the oversized sofa with a dramatic sigh, sinking into the soft cushions as though they could swallow you whole. Your body ached from the day of unpacking and dealing with Rafe’s incessant commentary.

Rafe plopped down beside you, equally worn out but still managing to look annoyingly composed. He stretched his long legs across the coffee table, earning a glare from you.

“Feet down,” you muttered, voice muffled by the throw pillow you’d buried your face into.

“Make me,” he quipped, but the usual edge of teasing was dulled by the clear exhaustion in his tone.

You turned your head to give him a tired look, too drained to argue properly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re bossy,” he shot back, though there was no real heat in his words. “But look at us. Day one of living together, and we didn’t kill each other. I’d say that’s progress.”

You snorted, turning to face him fully. “Barely. That vase almost did you in.”

He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief despite his fatigue. “You’ve got a lot of nerve bringing that thing into my house. It’s offensive to art.”

“It’s staying,” you declared, closing your eyes and sinking further into the couch. “I’m too tired to argue anymore.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, a stark contrast to the usual whirlwind of your dynamic. The dim lighting in the penthouse bathed the room in a soft glow, it was peaceful, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Rafe turn his head, his gaze resting on you. But it wasn’t fleeting—his eyes lingered, studying you in a way that felt tender. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you, his usually sharp blue eyes softened by the warmth of the moment. It was as if he were memorizing the curve of your cheek in the dim light, the way your hair fell over your shoulder, the quiet calm in your expression. It made your skin tingle under his attention, your pulse quickening despite the stillness.

“You did good today,” he murmured, his voice stripped of its usual cockiness, leaving only a quiet sincerity that caught you off guard.

You opened one eye to glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Thanks...”

He shrugged, his lips curving into a small, crooked smile that made him look younger somehow, softer. “I mean it. This place… it already feels different. Warmer,” he admitted, his eyes flicking briefly to the room before returning to you. They lingered, holding yours in a way that made your breath hitch—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing. “And not just because of that god-awful vase.”

A laugh escaped you, light and unguarded, filling the space between you. It felt good—freeing, even. The knot of tension in your chest began to loosen, melting away under the weight of his rare vulnerability. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Cameron,” you teased, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a quiet chuckle, leaning his head back against the couch.

The peace was interrupted by the faint buzz of your phone in your pocket. You groaned, pulling it out to check the screen. The sight of the message made your stomach twist all over again.

“Mom and Dad are flying in next week. They want to see you.”

Rafe noticed the change in your expression immediately. “What’s up?”

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the screen before locking the phone. “Nothing. Just… family stuff.”

He didn’t press, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if trying to figure out what you weren’t saying. Instead, he let his head loll back again, closing his eyes.

“Family stuff, huh?” he murmured. “Well, if it’s anything like mine, I recommend a lot of wine. Or tequila.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, though your chest still felt tight. The idea of seeing your parents again—after everything—was a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, with Rafe beside you and the weight of the day finally catching up, you let yourself push it to the back of your mind.

“Noted,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You always wear socks indoors.” he said suddenly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

He nodded toward your feet, wiggling his own toes for emphasis. “The socks. You’ve been in them all day. Do you ever just… go barefoot?”

You looked down at the patterned socks you were wearing—yellow with tiny sunflowers. “I like socks. They’re cozy,” you replied defensively. “Not all of us can just parade around barefoot like some child.”

Rafe snorted, shaking his head. “You’re missing out. Bare feet are freedom.”

“Freedom? That’s dramatic,” you shot back.

“Dramatic is wearing sunflower socks in a penthouse,” he countered, gesturing toward your feet.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Alright, since we’re apparently sharing quirks, what’s with the candle obsession? You’ve got, like, ten of them over there.”

Rafe followed your gaze to the collection of candles on the coffee table and nearby shelves. “What can I say? I like a good vibe,” he said, shrugging.

You raised an eyebrow. “Big, tough basketball player… lighting candles to set the mood?”

He grinned, leaning slightly closer. “I’ll have you know those candles are luxury. That one—” he pointed to a sleek black jar, “—is oud wood. Costs more than your vase, I’m sure.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “You’re just scared of the dark.”

“Not scared,” he corrected. “Just prepared. You never know when the power might go out.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you said, sinking further into the cushions.

For a moment, the banter lulled, and you both stared at the flickering flame of one of the candles. Then, out of nowhere, Rafe spoke again. “I can’t whistle.”

You turned to him, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“Whistling,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “Can’t do it. Never could.”

A grin spread across your face, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Wait, really? You’re telling me Mr. Perfect Athlete can’t whistle?”

“Laugh it up,” he said, though there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Everyone’s got their thing. What about you? What’s something random you can’t do?”

You thought for a moment before admitting, “I can’t snap my fingers. Like, no matter how hard I try.’”

Rafe’s eyes lit up, and he immediately sat up straighter. “No way. Let me see.”

You demonstrated, rubbing your thumb and middle finger together in an attempt to snap. The result was a sad thud.

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “That’s terrible.”

“Shut up,” you said, trying not to smile. “At least I can whistle.”

“Debatable,” he teased, leaning back again. “Bet your whistle sounds like a dying bird.”

“I know you’re not the one talking right now—you can’t even fucking whistle,” you shot back.

“Touché,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

The conversation flowed as easily as the soft light from the candles, meandering through odd confessions and surprising revelations. You were tucked into one corner of the oversized couch, legs crossed beneath you, while Rafe sprawled in his usual casual way, one arm slung along the back of the sofa as he toyed with a loose thread in the cushion.

“So, wait,” he said, his brows furrowing in mock disbelief. “You’re telling me you’ve never watched a single episode of The Office?”

“Not one,” you replied, unapologetic. “I’ve seen the memes. Isn’t that enough?”

Rafe placed a dramatic hand over his chest, like you’d just personally insulted him. “No, Y/N, that’s not fucking enough. You’re missing out on peak comedy.”

“I prefer my comedy with a little more effort, thank you,” you teased.

“Effort? It’s genius! Dwight Schrute alone could carry a show.”

You smirked. “Is this your idea of a personality test? Judging me based on sitcom preferences?”

“Yes!” he said, deadpan. “It tells me everything I need to know about you. And so far? Not looking great for you, wife.”

You reached over and shoved his arm lightly, laughing. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am, willingly living with you,” he shot back, grinning.

“Willingly might be a stretch,” you countered, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “Alright, since we’re trading weird facts, here’s one: I can recite the entire opening number to Wicked by heart.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but there was amusement in his gaze. “No way. Wicked? That’s the one with the green witch, right?”

“Yes, that’s the one with the green witch,” you said, mimicking his tone. “It’s a masterpiece, by the way.”

“If you say so,” he said, holding his hands up. “I just… didn’t peg you for the Broadway type.”

You shrugged, a little defensive. “What can I say? I like stories that stick with you.”

“Okay, fair. But you’re gonna have to prove it one day. Full performance.”

“Fuck no,” you said quickly, chuckling. “Your turn. What’s something no one would guess about you?”

He hesitated, looking away like he was searching for the right thing to say. Finally, he said, “I used to draw. Like, a lot.”

Your head tilted, curiosity piqued. “You? Draw? That’s amazing… but I can’t picture it.”

“Yeah, no one can,” he said with a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I stopped when, uh, I got serious about basketball. But back in the day, I was obsessed. I even sketched my own sneaker designs once. Thought I’d have my own line or something.”

"That's actually really cool," you said, your voice warm with genuine admiration. Your eyes stayed fixed on him, sparkling with a curiosity that made his chest tighten.

For a moment, Rafe just looked at you, taken aback by the way you seemed so invested in his words, like what he said actually mattered. No one had ever looked at him like that before—not with real interest, not like this.

He cleared his throat, glancing away as a flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression. “Nah,” he said, his tone lighter than the weight in his eyes. “They’re long gone. Just... a stupid kid thing, anyway.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said, surprising even yourself with the firmness in your tone. “You should try it again. Who knows? Maybe you’d still be good at it.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment, before a small smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe.”

The moment stretched between you, warm and unspoken, until you finally broke it with a grin. “Okay, random question: what’s your weirdest food combination?”

Rafe laughed, the sound low and genuine. “You’re gonna judge me for this.”

“Definitely,” you said without hesitation.

“Alright, fine. Peanut butter and pickles.”

Your jaw dropped, and you stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” he said, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“No, thanks,” you replied, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s some white people shit.”

“Your loss,” he said, smirking. “What about you? What’s your weird food thing?”

You hesitated, then admitted, “Okay, don’t laugh… but I dip fries in milkshakes.”

His face lit up with mock offense. “And you call me disgusting?”

“Hey, it’s a classic!” you defended.

He opened his mouth to say something, probably asking another weird question, but before the words could leave his lips, the sharp chime of the doorbell cut through the cozy atmosphere.

Rafe groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Who the hell—”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe it’s one of your girlfriends that you didn’t tell me about.”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched as he stood up.

Before he could reach the door, the muffled sound of voices filtered through, followed by another ring—longer this time, like someone was leaning on the buzzer.

“Open up, Rafael!” a familiar voice called out.

“Oh, great,” Rafe muttered, his hand reaching for the door.

Sarah, JJ, and Aisha entered, bringing the kind of chaos only they could manage. Sarah deposited a pizza box on the living room table with a dramatic flourish, while JJ hoisted a takeout bag in the air like a trophy.

“Food’s here, peasants,” JJ announced, dropping onto the couch beside you as though he owned it. He nudged your leg with his knee, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off a prank. “You’re welcome for saving you from whatever sad dinner you were planning.”

“JJ, be polite,” Sarah muttered as she flopped onto the rug with a container of fries.

“Polite is boring,” JJ retorted. “You’re welcome for making your life exciting.”

“You’re fucking annoying,” Rafe said, sitting next to his sister.

“See? That’s gratitude,” JJ replied, leaning back and helping himself to the fries Sarah had claimed.

Aisha rolled her eyes as she set plates on the table. “I didn’t know people like him existed until twenty minutes ago.”

“Thank you, beautiful,” he said, winking at her.

“Anyway,” Sarah cut in, already swiping a slice of pizza, “what were you two up to before we so graciously interrupted?”

“I was gonna ask her dream place to live,” Rafe said, his voice carrying a teasing edge as he leaned against the counter. “But I guess we’ll never know now, thanks to you guys.”

“Oh, we’re not letting that go,” Sarah declared, pointing a fry at you. “Spill it. Where’s your dream home?”

You waved her off. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Now you have to tell us,” JJ said, sitting up straighter with exaggerated curiosity. “Somewhere glamorous, right? Like Paris? Or Cleveland. I feel like you give Cleveland energy.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “What does that even mean?”

“Cleveland has a vibe!” JJ insisted.

“No one says that,” Aisha shot back, throwing a balled-up napkin at him.

Sarah shook her head, laughing. “I’m guessing you’re a Milan or Tokyo kind of girl. Am I close?”

“Closer,” you admitted, smiling despite their relentless pestering. “London. Somewhere with smarter, and more fun people.”

“Cool,” Sarah said with a grin, nodding approvingly.

“Basic,” Rafe quipped, earning a pillow to the chest from you.

“Say that again, and I’m redecorating this whole place with vases,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Vasegate continues,” JJ deadpanned, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “What a tragic tale.”

“Can we talk about how you two are already bickering like an old married couple?” Aisha said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s very domestic in here.”

Rafe snorted. “Please. If this is domestic bliss, I want a refund.”

“He’s been annoying since this morning,” you countered, smirking at Rafe. “He’s been critiquing my interior design all day. He’s very invested.”

“Someone had to be,” Rafe shot back, but his eyes softened when they met yours, the teasing edge in his voice blunted by something warmer.

“I think it’s cute,” Sarah interjected, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “You guys are like one of those sitcom couples that secretly loves each other but spends every episode pretending they don’t.”

“Excuse me,” JJ said, raising his hand like a teacher’s pet. “If this is a sitcom, I’m the fan-favorite supporting character. Just putting that out there.”

“You wish,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

“And what does that make me?” Aisha asked, feigning offense.

“The responsible one who keeps everyone from burning the house down,” you said with a laugh, nudging her shoulder.

“Accurate,” Sarah replied, grinning.

“But seriously, this is nice. All of us hanging out. It feels... cozy,” you said, with a small smile.

JJ gasped dramatically. “Is that sentiment I hear? Someone mark the calendar!”

“Watch your mouth, Maybank,” Rafe warned.

The conversation flowed easily after that, bouncing from JJ’s ridiculous anecdotes about being chased by geese to Sarah recounting a disastrous double date she’d been on. Rafe chimed in with sarcastic remarks that made everyone laugh, and even Aisha’s usual composed demeanor cracked when JJ impersonated Rafe’s annoyed voice.

At one point, Aisha leaned over to you, her voice low. “You seem happier,” she said, her eyes soft.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“With him,” she said, nodding subtly toward Rafe, who was currently trying (and failing) to win an arm-wrestling match with his sister. “I don’t know. There’s just... something lighter about you.”

Your gaze shifted to Rafe as he laughed at something JJ said, his shoulders relaxed, his grin unguarded. He caught your eye for a moment, his expression softening in a way that sent a ripple through your chest.

You turned back to Aisha, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said simply, and she gave you a knowing look before standing to help gather the empty containers.

By the time everyone started leaving, the penthouse felt fuller, warmer. Sarah and JJ bickered their way out the door, and Aisha hugged you tightly, her smile lingering as she said, “You deserve this. Don’t forget that.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, you leaned against it, the quiet settling back in. Rafe glanced up from where he was stacking empty pizza boxes, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head as you pushed off the door. “Just... thinking.”

“That’s never good,” he teased, his smirk softening as you joined him to help clean up.

And as you cleaned side by side, the thought lingered: maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the chaos you’d expected. Maybe it was something better.

chapter twelve

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