#and they comforted me so much at nights like there's light in darkness

[luvvictoria]

Be fucking for real

+ pairings. sukuna ryomen x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, dark romance themes, eventual smut (?)

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

+ summary. He's not the type to go for aftercare

The cold air of the penthouse seeped into your skin as you stared at the ceiling, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. It was always like this — a routine that felt like drowning in slow motion, leaving you gasping for something he never offered.

Sukuna’s presence lingered in the room even though he’d left for the balcony. The faint scent of sweat, his expensive cologne, and something darker, more primal, clung to the sheets. You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of him through the open sliding door. His broad back was illuminated by the city lights, shoulders relaxed as if he hadn’t just shattered you in a way only he could.

The cigarette between his fingers glowed faintly as he exhaled, smoke curling into the night sky. He looked untouchable out there, as if the world outside this penthouse didn’t exist. You knew better. Sukuna existed in a world of his own — a world where you were nothing more than a fleeting indulgence, a vessel for his desires.

You’d tried before. You’d begged for scraps of tenderness, for something resembling care. “Could you just… stay? Just for a little while?”

The memory of his scoff stung as much as his indifference. “Why? You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he’d said, his tone laced with mockery.

But that was the thing — you never got what you wanted. Not really. Not from him. And yet, here you were, tangled in sheets that smelled of him, heart aching for a man who didn’t even spare you a second glance as he walked away.

Sliding out of the bed, you wrapped the sheet around your body, more for comfort than modesty. The cold marble floor sent shivers up your spine as you stepped toward the balcony. Sukuna didn’t turn to look at you when you pushed the door open, the sound barely registering over the distant hum of the city below.

“Do you ever feel anything?” you asked, your voice trembling but steady enough to reach him.

He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly before glancing at you over his shoulder. His crimson eyes gleamed, a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance. “Feel what?”

You clenched the sheet tighter around you, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Guilt. Remorse. Anything other than… whatever this is.”

He turned fully now, leaning against the railing, the cigarette dangling between his fingers. “You knew what this was from the start,” he said, his voice cold, unyielding. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a boulder. He was right, wasn’t he? You’d walked into this with open eyes, knowing exactly who he was. Sukuna wasn’t the type to change, and you weren’t naive enough to believe you could be the exception.

But it didn’t stop the ache. It didn’t stop the hope that, maybe, just maybe, he’d prove you wrong.

“Why do you even let me stay?” you whispered, the question more for yourself than for him.

His smirk was sharp, cutting through the darkness like a blade. “Because you keep coming back,” he said simply. “And you’re good at keeping me entertained.”

The truth in his words was a slap to the face, leaving you breathless and reeling. You turned away from him, stepping back into the room, the warmth of his gaze — if you could even call it that — burning into your back.

As you sank onto the edge of the bed, the sheet pooling around you, you made a decision. Maybe you couldn’t change him. Maybe you couldn’t make him care. But you could stop letting him break you, piece by piece.

For the first time, the thought of walking away didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like freedom.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, staring at the floor, listening to the muffled sounds of the city below. The weight of everything settled heavily on your shoulders. The memories, the fleeting moments where you thought there might have been more, played like a cruel film in your mind. You thought about the times he’d pulled you close, not because he wanted to comfort you, but because it suited his mood. The times his touch felt almost gentle, almost loving, but always fell short of what you needed.

Tears finally spilled over, hot and angry, streaking down your face as you clutched the sheet tighter. You hated how much power he had over you, how even his absence in the room made you feel like you were suffocating. You hated how you’d let yourself believe, even for a second, that you meant something to him.

The sound of the balcony door sliding shut broke your thoughts. Sukuna walked back into the room, his expression unreadable. His eyes swept over you briefly before he headed toward the dresser. He didn’t say a word, didn’t ask if you were okay, didn’t acknowledge the tears still wet on your cheeks. It was as if you were a ghost, invisible and insignificant.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” he said flatly, pulling a shirt over his head. “Don’t wait around.”

The finality in his tone was like a dagger. He didn’t even bother with an excuse, didn’t try to soften the blow. He never did.

Something inside you snapped. The quiet, desperate hope you’d clung to for so long crumbled, leaving only raw, aching anger in its place. You stood, the sheet falling away as you faced him fully.

“You’re a coward,” you said, your voice trembling but loud enough to stop him in his tracks. “You act like nothing matters to you because you’re too afraid to feel anything real. You use people, you push them away, and for what? To prove you don’t need anyone? You’re pathetic.”

His eyes narrowed, the room suddenly heavy with tension. For a moment, you thought he might respond, might lash out, might say something that would cut you down. But he didn’t. He simply stared at you, his expression unreadable, before turning and walking out of the room without another word.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the silence, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t cry. You didn’t chase after him. You didn’t crumble under the weight of his indifference.

Instead, you took a deep breath, the cold air filling your lungs, and began to gather your things. This time, when you left, you knew you wouldn’t be coming back.

[gullemec]

So It Goes

Golden Cage - Chapter Seven

ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: A late night visitor leads to a discovery that changes everything.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (f and m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, soft!butcher, reader Realizes Things, heavy angst, fighting (verbal), major self-doubt hours!!!

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 5k

You drive all the way back to your apartment with your eyes glued to the rearview mirror, your gaze never leaving the van that's shadowing you in the distance. Its headlights are a pair of tiny, glowing orbs, keeping a respectful distance behind you.

The road is quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of your tires and the soft buzz of adrenaline in your veins. Every now and then, the headlights dip below the horizon, vanishing from your line of sight, and your heart leaps into your throat. For a few moments, all you can hear is the pounding of blood in your ears, your grip tightening on the wheel. Then, just as quickly, the lights reappear, bobbing gently back into view, and you exhale in relief.

When you finally pull into the underground parking lot, you exhale as the weight of the day settles back in. You watch the van glide past you, its headlights cutting through the darkness like twin beacons. They can’t see you, not in this dim light, but you raise your hand in a small, reflexive wave anyway. It’s a gesture that feels silly, but you need it, need to acknowledge the strange comfort in knowing they’re still there, even if they don’t speak.

You sit there for a moment, engine idling, watching the van disappear down the road. The quiet stretches on, and a dull ache settles in your chest. You're thankful to be out of that room, away from those people, the oppressive tension and false smiles that weighed on you all evening. Still, the thought of returning to your apartment, of being alone yet again, feels unbearable. The silence you feel in the car now is nothing compared to the emptiness that will greet you upstairs.

You hesitate for a moment, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as you prepare to face the solitude, before forcing yourself to move.

~~~

An hour later, you’re sprawled on your couch, the last dregs of wine swirling in your glass, now a murky shade of purple. Stevie Nicks croons from your sound system, her voice washing over you like a spell, amplifying the quiet confidence that still clings to you, thanks to the dress.

You’d spent a good thirty minutes admiring yourself in the mirror when you got home, twisting, turning, watching the way the fabric hugged and draped over your body. It was empowering, intoxicating even, but fleeting. Now, as the adrenaline from the night begins to fade, the glow of self-assurance is flickering out, replaced by an empty sort of buzz.

Three heavy knocks crash against your front door, loud enough to make you jump, the wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of your glass. Your pulse quickens, but it’s not fear—it’s something closer to anticipation. The kind that makes you reckless.

You don’t hesitate. Whether it’s the wine or the remnants of adrenaline surging through your veins, you stride to the door and yank it open without so much as a glance through the peephole.

It's Butcher. 

He stands in the doorway, his frame filling the space, eyes shadowed and face unreadable. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His gaze holds yours, intense and unwavering, like he’s waiting for something. Permission, maybe? Or an invitation? There’s a heat there, simmering just under the surface, and you feel it radiating between you like static.

You don’t say a word. Instead, you step aside, letting him in, the air shifting as he brushes past you. You’re hyperaware of the way your bare back is exposed by the low cut of your dress, of the sway in your hips as you walk ahead of him. His gaze feels tangible, like it’s tracing every curve, greedily taking you in, and the thought sends a shiver down your spine.

In the living room, you pour him a whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light. He accepts it with a muttered “Cheers,” his voice gravelly, and settles onto the opposite end of your sectional. The two of you sit in a quiet charged with unspoken things, sipping your drinks as you recount the events of the night.

Butcher listens in silence, the lines of his face hardening when you describe how Homelander cornered you on the terrace, his hand clamping around your wrist. He doesn’t interrupt, but you catch the way his grip tightens around the glass, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

“Fucking wanker,” he mutters when you finish, tossing back the rest of his drink in one swig. “I’m glad you got what we needed,” he adds, his voice softer now, though no less serious. “But I’m even gladder you’re still here to tell me about it. Took Hughie, Frenchie, and MM to hold me back when I heard the way he was talking to you.”

"I can take care of myself, you know."

“I know,” he replies, and there’s a sincerity in his voice that catches you off guard. “But maybe you shouldn’t have to.”

You swallow, caught off guard by his sudden display of sincerity. His words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. You start to brush them off, to change the subject, but he’s not done.

“You scare the shit outta me, you know that?” His voice is low, rough, almost reluctant, like he’s dragging the words out of himself. He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Haven’t cared about anyone since Becca. You know that too. Thought I couldn’t, maybe even thought I shouldn’t.”

You blink, caught completely off guard. This isn’t the Butcher you know, the hard, cynical bastard who keeps his emotions buried six feet under.

He exhales sharply, staring into his empty glass. “But the way I feel when you’re in danger—it’s paralyzing. And when you come out the other side, when you’re still standing...” He trails off, his eyes finally meeting yours. “It’s better than any bloody drink or drug I’ve ever had.”

You move closer, closing the distance between you. You don’t speak, sensing he needs the space to get it out.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that night at the motel,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. His eyes flicker between your face and your lips. “Thinkin’ maybe I’ve got somethin’ to learn from you. About not running from what you want, even if it scares the shit out of you.”

Your hand finds his face, your fingers curling against the rough stubble on his jaw. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping back to yours.

“I thought about you all night,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “God, Butcher, I wished you were there with me.”

He stares up at you through hooded eyes. The tension between you is electric, pulling you closer, until there’s no space left at all.

“Help me out of this dress?” you ask, your voice soft, inviting.

He nods, the movement slow, deliberate. You take his hand, leading him toward the stairs, your fingers curling around his like they were made to fit.

He stops when you reach the top and you continue on, letting the fabric of the dress flow down your body as you stroll. You spin around to face him, desperate to gauge his reaction. 

His eyes darken, his expression twisting into something primal, something utterly sinful.

“Look,” he says, his voice thick, almost hoarse. “I know we said it was just the once, but...”

The corner of your mouth turns up in a devilish grin. You reach behind you, finding the edge of the string pulling your dress closed. You pull swiftly, the fabric loosening, falling over your soft curves before pooling around your feet. You're left standing naked before him, save for a scrap of underwear and the wire still stuck to your sternum. 

His jaw hangs open, words failing. You step toward him, agonizingly slowly, letting him take in every inch of you. Your hand falls to his chest, fingernails clawing lightly at his chest. 

"But maybe it doesn't have to be," you whisper.

You crash your body into his, mouths pressing together with urgency. You pull his jacket off frantically, fingers steadying to unbutton his shirt and rip it down his arms. You stare into his eyes sinfully as you fall to your knees before him, taking your sweet time unbuckling his belt. His body shakes with a broken sigh. 

You can't help the delirious smile that spreads across your face when you pull him out, his sheer size overwhelming you. It's just as impressive up close as it was when it was buried inside of you. You grasp a hand around it, lifting it to lick a strip from all the way from base to tip, tracing a thick vein. You pump him gently before taking him entirely into your mouth. He groans, errant hand threading through your hair as you bob back and forth. You press forward, taking him deeper, when your throat seizes up.

Goddammit.

But his other hand flies to the base of your neck, guiding you to show you exactly what he likes. You place both your hands on his thighs, gently scratching with the tips of your nails as he uses your mouth. He mutters curses under his breath like there's anyone else around who might hear. 

You're barely down there for a minute before he's pulling you off, fingers grasping your chin.

“Stand up."

You rise and he spins you around to face the bed. He bends you forward so that your forearms come to rest at the foot of the bed. The floor length mirror beside your bed beholds a vision you want seared into your memory forever; Butcher is knelt behind you, staring at you in reverence. He opens his mouth to take a soft bite of one cheek, then the other. He leans forward to kiss your pussy through your lacy underwear, your body jolting unintentionally. He chuckles to himself and he slowly guides your underwear down your legs, taking great care to toss them into your laundry hamper. Something about the way his fingertips ghost all the way down your legs has heat pooling in your core, threatening to drip down your leg. This is somehow even hotter than when he practically tore them off of you. 

He's face to face with your exposed ass facing him, legs pried apart into a wide stance. 

“I could just fuckin' eat ya,” he says, almost to himself. 

“So do it, then,” you say. 

He doesn't hesitate.

His fingers are exploratory, gathering your wetness and spreading it back and forth. He dips one, then two inside of you, your hips bucking back in response. When he withdraws a wanton moan falls from your mouth. His face dives forward, thick tongue delving deep into you. You raise your hips up as much as you can, giving him all the access he needs to continue to ravish you from behind. He keeps both of his hands on your ass cheeks, spreading them wide open and keeping you in place as he continues to lick and suck. The pressure inside of you builds.

You feel so vulnerable in this position, and yet you find no space for shame in the pleasure flowing through you. You push back against him, his face grinding into you. The tightness inside of you expands until it's pushing past your limits, like it's exploding out of you. Every bit of tension you hold from the night melts away, leaving pure stardust in its wake. You're practically buzzing. 

He doesn't stop until you're pulling away from him, knees hitting the bed. He moves his hands to your waist and you crawl forward onto the bed, arching your back. You listen as he rids himself of the pants gathered around his ankles, swaying your ass languidly from side to side, teasing him. You toss a look back at the mirror, finding him right behind you, cock in hand, lining himself up. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy, baby,” he groans, feeding you inch by agonizing inch. He takes his slow, cruel time, making you wiggle your hips back onto him. You're desperate for more and you don't care if he knows, don't care if you're giving him another thing to gloat about. You just want more of him. 

His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as he bottoms out. Your eyes roll back into your head, involuntary whines escaping your open mouth. 

He juts forward, giving you a couple of experimental strokes, like he's trying his goddamn hardest not to come in thirty seconds. You'd rather he didn't, but then again it would give you something to gloat about.

Before that thought has a chance to germinate he's slamming into you, falling into a rhythm that has both of you moaning unabashedly. 

You are once again shocked at just how vocal, how dirty you become the second you're wrapped around his cock. Guttural sounds tear from deep inside you. You find yourself babbling words you never thought you'd utter aloud as he pushes you toward the precipice, every ounce of self-consciousness evaporating. 

“Love it when you fuck me like this,” you moan. 

“Yeah?” He answers. “You want me to keep fucking you just. Like. This?” He punctuates each word with a thrust. 

“Please, please,” you gasp out. You're so damn close. “Gonna come.”

Then you're clenching around, hands twisted in bedsheets. Your vision blurs, ears ringing, as your body falls forward, knees giving out beneath you. Butcher collapses atop you, hardly losing his rhythm before he's repositioned and fucking you senseless. 

He pounds your body into the bed, arms caging you underneath him. His body envelops yours until you feel no difference between his pleasure and yours. You feel his thrusts falter, dirty words coming out fragmented and slurred. 

“So fucking good, baby, so good, sooo—fuck.” His voice vibrates through you. 

He slams a hand into the bed beside your head as his hips stall, entire body seizing up and then relaxing as he empties inside of you. 

You both lay motionless on the bed, chests heaving, his fingers tracing patterns into your skin. 

You think this is what people are talking about when they describe bliss. 

~~~

Consciousness finds you sprawled out on your stomach, half-covered by the blanket, tangled up in the heat of Butcher's sleeping body. Your fingers rest gently in his messy hair, his arm draped lazily across your back, and your legs twisted up in the sheets together. Your fingers twitch to life as you wake, scratching lightly against his scalp. 

With this he slowly emerges from his slumber, hand quickly finding your ass and squeezing before his eyes even flutter open. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, light and breathy, and he finally wrenches open one eye, catching your gaze with a half-sleepy, half-amused smile that sends a wave of warmth straight through you. You smile back, your stomach flipping at the sight of him, even in his groggy state.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth, your heart hoping desperately that he won’t pull away. You play the scenario out in your mind: him scrambling for his clothes and staggering out of the apartment like being there physically pains him to be there, to be close to you. You see weeks of awkward stakeouts and inventing reasons not to be partnered on missions, avoiding each other's touch like it might reawaken whatever demons possessed your bodies last night. But just as you're about to pull away, you feel the smile that had begun beneath his lips ignite into something deeper, something far more genuine,  banishing the cruel visions from your mind. You melt into him, feeling the heat of his body, the tenderness of the kiss.

He shifts his weight, moving so you're beneath him, his lips pressing against your neck, his hands already exploring your skin in greedy, familiar motions. “G’morning beautiful,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep, sending a pulse straight to your core. He's kissing down your throat now, hands greedily exploring your naked body. You were just hoping his fear of intimacy didn't send him running, so this feels like a luxury. He still wants you in the light of day. 

“Okay, okay, cool your jets,” you laugh. “Let me at least make us some coffee before we replay last night, hm?”

He rolls off of you, releasing you from his grasp with a theatrical groan. You can’t help but giggle at his theatrics, the sound light in the quiet room.

You strut across the room, giving him a show as you sway your hips side to side. His appreciative whistle sends a rush of warmth to your cheeks, a burst of lightness overtaking you. You haven’t felt this carefree in… Well, you can’t remember when.

You open the top drawer of your dresser, hands roaming over the bits of lace and silk stored there. You settle on a lacy little robe, the perfect barely-there material to flounce around the apartment on the morning after. You envision him coming up behind you while you stir eggs in the pan, his hands cupping your breasts as the scent of fresh coffee wafts over you. Domestic bliss. 

But as you pull the robe out, it snags on something. Furrowing your brows, you tug gently on the material. It catches again, but comes free on the third tug. You slip your fingers under the lip of the drawer to investigate, feeling for a splinter or something. You feel something hard and round affixed to the wood, digging your nails in to rip it free. 

Your stomach drops as you're met with the same small, round disk Hughie pressed into your palm a few short weeks ago. The same listening device you stuck beneath your father's desk so Butcher could listen in. 

You freeze. 

“You gettin’ us coffee, love?” he asks from the bed, one arm stretched behind his head, the picture of comfort. 

“Butcher…” You swivel around to face him, holding the bug in your hand. “What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, barely beneath a shout. Your heart thumps violently in your chest. 

His face says it all. His features drop, guilt written large across his face as he swallows, excuses forming and then failing on his lips.

You stand frozen, your blood running cold. The warmth of the morning, the intimacy of moments before, evaporates in an instant, leaving a sharp, biting void in its place. Your nudity suddenly transforms. Those feelings of empowerment, of being safe, of being worshipped by him—now twisted into something dark and cruel. Your fingers fly to your robe, clutching it to your body protectively, as though the fabric can shield you from what’s happening.

“Listen to me, please,” Butcher starts, his voice low, desperate. “At the beginning it was—you were… A liability. We didn't know who the hell you were or if we could trust you.”

“I was a liability so you bugged my fucking apartment?!” you snap, the anger rising like acid in your chest.

He sits there for a moment, looking at you, unable to meet your eyes. “How was I supposed to know you weren't going to flip and tell your dad? I didn't know who the hell you were other than that you were Stanley fuckin’ Morgan's daughter and the stepdaughter of a Vought exec. I couldn't risk it.”

“And after that?” you ask, your voice shaking with anger. “After I proved myself? After I risked everything for you?”

He stays silent, his jaw clenched, brows furrowed in regret. He reaches out to you, but his hand falls helplessly at his side. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

“So you heard me, then? Every night I lay in this bed crying? Every—fuck, everytime I came home goddamn alone, crying myself to sleep?” 

You think back to all the times you fell against your bedsheets in a haze of drunken lust, hands pushed between your legs, brushing over your nipples, his name softly falling from your mouth. Had the bug picked up on that, too? 

“D—did you hear me… when I said your name?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

His lip trembles, and in that moment, the dam breaks. Hot tears spill down your cheeks as you take a step back, instinctively recoiling from him. 

He says your name, so softly, so sweetly, like it means something to him and you hate it. You reject it. 

“Please,” he begs, and for a moment, you almost relent. His sincerity pulls at something inside you, but you shut it down, harder than before. “Let me fix this,” he pleads, stepping toward you.

But you're done, you're gone. You can’t let him fix it. You can’t even look at him.

Your body is on fire with anger and shame and embarrassment, the voice inside your head screaming at you, asking how you could be so stupid as to trust a man with a kill count even he can't remember, a man who probably hasn't even fully healed from the loss of his wife. You're just a temporary replacement, a means to an end, a bit of extra fun to be had during a mission. Yet here you were, thinking you meant something to him. 

Foolish. 

“Where else?” you demand. Your hands fly through the drawers, tearing through clothes, searching for more bugs. More signs of his betrayal. His apologies flood the air, too fast, too desperate. He stumbles out of bed, pulling on his pants, still begging you to listen, to understand.

“Where, Butcher?”

He sighs heavily, avoiding your gaze. Finally, he points to your side table. “In the kitchen, too. Under the counter.”

Your heart crumples, folding in on itself, a heavy weight settling in your chest.

“I can't trust you,” you say, the words tasting like betrayal on your tongue. “I can never trust you again.” You're angry at how your voice breaks on the again and the anger makes you cry even harder. It's painfully ironic how he thought he was the one who couldn't trust you. 

You rip the bug from your side table and storm downstairs to the kitchen, finding the second one exactly where he said it was. You hurl all three bugs out the balcony door, watching them tumble into the streets below, the final vestiges of trust slipping away as they disappear into the New York traffic. You brace yourself on the railing, attempting to alleviate the heavy gulps of breath you're taking in, heat bubbling throughout your body. 

When you turn around, he’s standing in the doorway, his guilt radiating off him like a tangible thing. His silence is deafening. You feel a particular kind of ache, the kind that feels like you're being drawn toward something that will hurt you. You want him to hold you, and you want to punch him in the face at the same time. 

You stare him down until you find it in your to formulate a sentence that isn't punctuated every three words by fuck.

“I still believe in what we’re doing,” you say, your voice steady despite everything. “The Boys, I mean. I’ll do whatever I need to do to stop V2 from being released.” You swallow, the next words burning. “But after that… I’m out. After we do that, I never want you to contact me again.”

His face falls, as though you’ve just delivered a physical blow. He opens his mouth to speak, but his words stutter and die before he can form them. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for everything, I—”

You turn away from him, cutting him off. He continues to apologize, to beg for you to look at him, but you can't.

“Go,” you say firmly. “Just go.”

He says your name. 

“Go!”

And so he does. 

The door clicks shut behind him, and your knees give out. You sink against the balcony railing, the tears coming now, unstoppable. Your heart twists thinking of all the tears he'd heard you cry, all the breakdowns he'd unknowingly been silent witness to. But now that it's his fault, now that those tears are courtesy of his coldness, he won't hear a thing. 

~~~ 

The couch is stiff beneath you when you collapse onto it, your cheek pressing into the stiff fabric, damp from the tears that won’t seem to stop. The room feels distant, blurred at the edges, like you’re watching yourself from outside your body. Inside, the void gnaws at you, a hollow, monstrous thing with claws that tear at your lungs, your ribs, your soul. The sobs come in waves, choking and violent, wracking through you like a storm. If someone were to see you now, they might think you were being exorcised. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if there are hidden cameras watching this spectacle, but the thought only fuels the next wave of guttural cries.

He never trusted you. Not from the beginning.

Eventually, after putting on a great show, the sobs finally subside, leaving your throat raw and your chest sore, you lie motionless, limp with exhaustion. Your body feels weightless, as if the grief has wrung you out and left you hollow. The room is dim, shadows stretching long across the floor as the last traces of daylight disappear. Heavy clouds hang over the city, and the rain begins to patter against the wide windows. It’s almost cinematic, you think, like the heartbreak scene in some 90s chick flick. The absurdity of it is your only small victory.

What did you think this was? Love?

The room darkens further as the storm gathers strength. The only light now comes from the faint, polluted glow of New York City beyond the windows. You consider getting up, forcing yourself to climb the stairs and collapse into bed, but the thought of what you might find up there stops you cold. Tangled bed sheets, your dress pooled on the floor, maybe even some of Butcher's things, abandoned in his hasty exit this morning. You don’t have the energy to face it. Not tonight. Not when it would only set you off again.

You fall asleep on the couch, still wearing the delicate lace robe you never bothered to change out of. Butcher’s anguished expression loops behind your closed eyelids, a cruel and relentless film reel.

You really thought this would have a happy ending?

The light of dawn pulls you from restless sleep, pale and cold against your skin. You peel yourself off the couch, the stiffness in your body a cruel reminder of where you spent the night. Without thinking, you drag yourself to the bathroom and turn the shower dial all the way to the left. The water scalds your skin, turning it blotchy and raw as you curl up on the tiled floor, knees pressed to your chest. You claw your fingers through your hair, letting the citrusy scent of shampoo fill your senses as if it might scrub the darkness off of you. For a moment, you pretend it does.

When you emerge from the bathroom, a heavy plume of steam billows behind you, dissipating as you move through the apartment like a ghost. Hours blur together. Eventually, you find yourself in your car, the engine purring beneath you, but no destination in mind. You just drive. Anywhere. Somewhere far from here.

Your eyes flick to the rearview mirror more often than they should, your fingers gripping the wheel too tightly. Each pair of yellow headlights in the distance sends your heart racing, your mind spinning through worst-case scenarios. You watch them obsessively, waiting to see if one set lingers too long, if one car hangs just far enough back to seem deliberate. But none do.

It’s only when you’re somewhere upstate, the city lights long behind you, that you let yourself relax. Twenty minutes pass without seeing another vehicle, and yet the absence of headlights brings no comfort.

You sift through every moment with Butcher and the Boys like looking for artifacts in the ashes of a house fire. You try to make sense of what you thought you knew with what you know now. What was real? Was any of it real? Had Butcher used you for your body or your proximity to Vought—or both? Had the rest of the Boys known and just played along, feigning friendship to coax you into giving them more?

You desperately search for a truth where you're not exclusively playing the fool. 

You shake your head free of the thought. Maybe Butcher was telling the truth; at the beginning they couldn't trust you. Not yet. You just needed to prove yourself. But somewhere along the way you know there was something real between you, something electric between you and Butcher. The way his touch lingered, the way his eyes softened when they met yours.  Beyond that, you know there was something between you and the rest of the group, a warmth and closeness that had grown. You saw it in Hughie's face after he heard your father berate you, in Annie quickly learning how you took your tea, in Frenchie's affectionate nickname for you. 

What if you had just been another lowly intern having a smoke in the alleyway that day, rather than a spoiled rich girl masquerading as one? Would things have gone differently? Would the Boys have let you join them properly, based upon your skills and merit alone, rather than because of who your father was?

Then again, would you really have had any desire to join a Supe-killing, vigilante group if you hadn't inherited the kind of trauma only bestowed upon the bereaved daughters of withholding, ultra-wealthy men?

It's a toss up in the end. 

The sky is starless and black by the time you turn the car around, heading back toward the city. Again, you check the rearview mirror compulsively, scanning for yellow headlights that aren’t there. The emptiness settles into your chest, heavy and familiar.

You know it’s irrational, maybe even pathetic, but some small, desperate part of you wants to see the bright yellow headlights of that all-too-familiar van trailing behind you. At least then, you wouldn’t feel so utterly alone.

Taglist:

@mystic-writings

@imherefordeanandbones

@bluemerakis

[thatartiststudios]

WIP Wednesday

From another new WIP, “Oh God, Please Don't Take These Beautiful Things That I've Got”

(Decided to spoil you guys with a little bit of an extra long teaser, since I haven't been good with fic updates recently 😉)

The first thing Callum noticed when he woke was the steady rise and fall of Rayla’s breathing, warm against his chest. Her breath was soft, like a quiet melody, and he could feel it against his skin, gentle and comforting. It was moments like this—before the world asked for anything from him—that he felt truly at peace.

He allowed himself a few moments, just lying there, listening to her. Her hair, dark and tousled from the night, spilled across the pillow in messy waves, some strands falling softly over her face. The sunlight, still soft and fresh, kissed her skin, turning it a soft, glowing shade of ivory. Her cheek was pressed into the pillow, the curve of her face looking so peaceful, so content, that it made Callum’s heart ache with a deep, tender affection.

How did I get so lucky? he wondered, unable to stop himself from reaching out to brush a few strands of hair from her face. He traced the line of her jaw gently with his fingers, marveling at how soft her skin always felt. Her expression remained calm, as if the entire world could fall apart around her, and she would still find peace in his arms.

It was these little things—the way her lips seemed to curl slightly in her sleep, the tiny freckles on her nose that he’d spent hours learning how to count, the soft sound of her breaths—that made him fall in love with her all over again every morning. And there she was, nestled against him, looking like everything he’d ever wanted, yet so much more than he could have imagined.

I get to hold you every night, and that’s a feeling I want to get used to.

The thought slipped into his mind with ease, as natural as the rhythm of his heart. He wanted this, wanted her, in every quiet moment they shared. The thought of waking up next to her every day, of holding her through the night, felt so right. It was as if his world had finally clicked into place the moment she stepped into it.

He allowed his gaze to travel down her body, noticing the way the blanket had shifted, exposing the soft curve of her shoulder. Her skin—pale and smooth—seemed to glow in the soft morning light, and he found himself utterly captivated by her. The sight of her like this, so vulnerable and trusting, always made him feel like the luckiest person alive.

Please, let me never take this for granted. Let me always appreciate her like this.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he admired her. Her lips, slightly parted, were pressed softly against his chest, the rise and fall of her chest in perfect sync with his own. He couldn’t help but feel a deep, protective urge—the urge to keep her safe, to ensure nothing would ever take this peace away. He ran his fingers lightly through her hair, just the tips brushing through the soft strands, his heart swelling at the simple act of touching her.

She's everything, he thought, everything I never knew I needed. And I get to keep her.

He gently kissed her forehead, pressing his lips to the skin as softly as he could, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. It was the kind of kiss he didn’t need words for—a promise he would keep every day, whether they were facing battle or waking up to mornings like this.

And as he lay there, holding her close, he let himself imagine the future. A future where they could wake up like this every morning, where they could share their lives without fear of what might come. A future where she would always be here, nestled in his arms, always his to love.

[rorasjournal]

Comfort in shadows | Azriel

lil short azriel fluff to start off my journey on tumblr hehe

pairing: azriel x reader

synopsis: y/n is stressed out about her responsibilities, and there’s only one person who can soothe her anxiety

word count: 819

warnings: none really, maybe some light man handling

~

     The balls of my knuckles turn white as my grip on the terrace rails tighten while I stare out at the night swept view of velaris laid out in the distance, anxiety plaguing my mind. I've been trying to distract myself from all the thoughts gushing around for the past hour, but nothing has been working.

     There's just too much going on right now, too much that I feel the need to deal with all on my own, and I'm fucking tired.

     Whispering shadows cling to my skin, dancing along my body before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a familiar chest.

     "It's cold out here," Azriel mutters, tucking his face into the crook of my neck and pressing a soft kiss there. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against his shoulder.

     "I know."

     "So why are you out here?"

     When I don't reply, Azriel spins me around, sandwiching me between the rail and his body and forcing our gazes to meet. "What is it?"

     I don't want to talk about any of it, especially not to Azriel. He's always so calm and collected, dealing with his responsibilities with so much grace and without complaint. I don't know how to be like that. "Nothing."

     He lowers his face to mine, our noses brushing together and pulling the air from my lungs as he whispers, "I thought we were done with the lies."

     "I'm not lying," I insist, ultimately webbing myself up in more deception regardless of the fact that Azriel clearly sees straight through me. He doesn't even need to use his shadows to figure me out.

A breath passes through his nose before he scoops me up, dangling me over his shoulder and walking inside while I yell out in detest.

"Put me down, asshole!"

     "Gladly," he says, flipping me so my back hits the mattress of our bed. He's on top of me in a flash, his mouth attached to my neck as he sucks on my sensitive skin. My breathe hitches in my throat, a hand instinctively reaching to his head and threading my fingers through his dark hair. "What's going on?" he asks again, mumbling the words against my neck as he continues his work.

     So that's what he's doing. Azriel is turning my mind to mush so he can get an admission out of me. Slick bastard.

Smart bastard though.

     "I just—" I'm not sure if I'm struggling to get the words out because I don't want to say it out loud, or because his tongue is running up the base of my neck. "I'm stressed out, I don't know. Rhys wants me dealing with the Autumn Court and Beron is just such an asshole, I don't know how to handle all of this at once."

     Pulling away, Azriel looks at me with furrowed brows. "Why was that so difficult for you to tell me?"

     I turn my cheek against the mattress to avert my gaze, but Azriel grips my jaw, forcing me back.

     What is with him and male-handling me today?

     "Can you not see how it would be embarrassing admitting that I'm overwhelmed to the spymaster, the shadow singer who always keeps his head level, who always knows what's going on and how to deal with it?"

With a sigh, Azriel sits up, grabbing one of my hands to urge me up as well.

     "I think you of all people should know that I've lost my cool a few number of times.”

“Yeah, a few," I reply with a roll of my eyes. "That's a few hundred less than me."

     The corner of his mouth ticks up. "Y/n."

     "Azriel."

     That just makes his smile grow. "You know it's okay to ask for help, right?" he whispers, tenderly tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear as I lean away. "Especially from me."

     "But that's my point, I shouldn't need to ask for help. I should be able to deal with this on my own like everyone else does."

     "There's not one person in this court that hasn't needed assistance from the others at one point or another, and I'm pretty damn sure you should know that considering it's usually you that's doing the assisting." He chuckles. "You don't even realise you're doing it, do you."

     I sigh, leaning over and resting my forehead on his chest as he drapes an arm across my shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

     "You're the strongest person I know, that's not going to change just because Beron is pulling your strings."

     "I wish you didn't always sound so wise, it makes it hard for me to not listen to your advice."

     His chest rumbles as he laughs quietly. He completely scoops me up into his arms, dragging me onto his lap as he whispers, "I will always be that reassuring voice in your ear."

[solsential]

Summary: remus takes care of sick!reader

Remus Lupin x reader

wc: 568

a/n: for my own pleasure after being sick for the past few days

——————————————————————————

Remus had noticed it since the day before, the paleness of your face and the sudden constant sneezing. You had just shrugged it off as allergies, busy with work and errands you did not have enough time in the day to think much of it.

That night, you had spent most of it tossing and turning, your clogged nose not allowing you to breathe properly. Each breath felt more and more like a struggle, and the heat of a fever creeping up on your body.

So by the time morning rolled around it was no surprise that you were barely able to get up from bed, your body felt weak, your face flushed with a high fever. You felt completely miserable, and every attempt to stand up only left you feeling dizzy.

Remus had gotten up quietly to not disturb you. He moved swiftly through the kitchen, putting together a soothing herbal tea that he had made for himself whenever he was ill. He poured the tea into your favorite mug and carefully walked back to the bedroom. He opened the door as quietly as he could, not sure if you had fallen back asleep.

The room was quite dark, the curtains were shut letting minimal light in so that it didn’t aggravate your aching head. He could hear your breathing, shallow and unsteady.

“Hey, love,” Remus' voice was gentle and quiet as he walked through the room. Noticing how quick you’d sat up on the bed, too quick he could see the pain that it had caused you, “Easy there.”

He walked over to your side of the bed, placing the tea on the nightstand before placing a hand on your forehead to check your temperature, “You’re burning up, love.”

“I’m fine, it's just a cold,” you say, although even you don't sound too convinced, “Just need to rest.”

“You're not fine. Here drink this, it'll help with the fever,” he hands you the tea, which you gladly take.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, not quite sure if you’re apologizing for your sickness or that now he is stuck taking care of you and tending to you all day.

“For what?” he smiled softly, pushing a strand of hair away from your hair as you drank your tea, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I love taking care of you.”

“Just try and rest,” he pulled the blankets around your shoulder, making sure you kept warm. He placed a comforting kiss on your forehead, and then one on the corner of your lips

“Remus- you’re going to get sick too if you do that,” you whisper, eyes flicking up to meet his.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head and reaching to kiss your temple, “I’ll be fine. I can handle a bit of sickness from my favorite girl, yeah?”

You smile at his words, placing the mug back on the nightstand, “I love you,” you murmur, your voice soft with drowsiness.

“I love you more, love” he smiles, helping you settle back into the pillows, “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips, “Just stay with me.”

With that, Remus climbs back into bed next to you. He pulls the duvet over you both, you nestling into him. You close your eyes, the warming presence next you helping you relax your muscles and slowly lulling you back to sleep.

[prongsielefthiswand]

a little jegulus special

@ersatzdagger hereee pspspsps

Their hands interlaced as they walked back from the carnival.

The light breeze made James shiver, but he didn’t mind, he’d given his jacket to Regulus, marvelling at how he seemed to drown in the red fabric.

The sight was precious enough, so he had nothing to complain about, braving the cold easily.

A soft toy laid clutched in Regulus’ hands.

A cheap little panda that James had won it for him at the dodgy carnival games, he’d done 5 pull-ups on a dinky, rotating bar, face puffed but determined.

They decided to walk by the beach after the carnival drew to a close, toeing off their socks and runners in favour of walking close to the shoreline, allowing the waves to lap at their feet.

Their hands brushed against one another every now and then.

Regulus hummed and reached over to interlace them properly.

James smiled softly into the night.

Squeezing him back, he ran his thumb along the back of his hand.

“I had fun tonight,” James started, looking down at him.

If he thought that Regulus looked amazing, flushed and sweaty in the hot sun, it could not compare to the sight that was him in the moonlight.

Steely, grey eyes were framed by dark lashes and soft freckles that dotted the space where James gazed upon now.

How he wanted to lean in and kiss them, memorising each and every one that decorated the elegant slope of his nose, like the stars that shone above them.

“I had fun too,” Regulus replied shyly, peeking up at him, his hands reaching up to play with a strand of his hair.

James shook himself out of his small haze.

“Thank you, for giving me a chance,” he mumbled, gaze falling to their interlaced fingers.

Regulus’ hands were roughened from days spent out kite-surfing in the hot sun.

“I- I wanted to” Regulus replied simply.

“If you hadn’t come bumbling into my restaurant, making a fool of yourself the way you did, I’d have gone out looking for you myself,” he admits, a delicate flush settling across freckled cheeks.

James shook his head, smiling.

“A bumbling idiot am I? Is that how lowly you saw me?” He asked mournfully, nudging the other’s side playfully.

Regulus laughed softly, covering his mouth as quiet snickers fell from his lips.

“Does it matter? I said I’d have looked for you anyway, Potter,”

“It does matter, I could have been doing something so much cooler for you to drool over,” he huffed, flinching as a bigger wave hit his ankle, flicking water up to his knees.

Before them, steps to a pier met them.

Regulus shrugged and stepped up them, tugging James down along the mostly empty pier.

“Well, I suppose I was drooling when you did all those pull ups earlier, even though the operator tried to scam you,” he hummed thoughtfully, playing with the toy in hand.

James puffed a small breath proudly, gently tugging Regulus closer into his side.

“Worth it,” he mumbled, burying his face in the younger’s hair.

The soft scent of sweet orchids met him, accompanied by a tang of the sea salt, drifting in the wind.

James wanted to bottle this scent up forever, he’d twirl it between his fingers, like how he was twirling the delicate strands at the back of the other’s neck now.

Regulus went still at the slow movements, before leaning in closer, allowing James to wrap his arm properly around his waist.

“This okay?” James murmured, pulling back lightly to admire those shining silver eyes once again.

“Yeah,” he whispered, steps faltering at they got to the end of the pier.

Sitting down, they huddled up on the end of the pier together, thighs pressed right up against the other’s.

Below them, waves licked at their feet timidly, foam coating the sand beneath the pier.

it was a comfortable silence, James appreciated the fact that Regulus didn’t mind the quiet. With Regulus, he found that he could just relax and not have to worry about entertaining a conversation, deep or unserious. It was this comfort that drew him to seek the other out, no matter how much he made a fool of himself at the Rosier’s restaurant.

he shook his head lightly at the memory. In the distance, a chorused countdown began, and rockets were lit.

“James?” Regulus’ voice broke out from the comfortable silence as the first firework set off. It exploded and bathed them in a stunning green light.

James frowned softly, studying Regulus’ mannerisms. He seemed to be nervous, almost fidgety.

“hmm?” James replied, looking down at Regulus’ hands and squeezing them comfortingly before looking back up.

he was met with Regulus’ red face, inches away from him. Those stunning silver eyes of his widened in shock at the proximity, and he jerked back, snatching his hands out of James’ arms to cover his face.

“I’m sorry-!” He stammered, cheeks burning as he ducked his head down.

“I- I just- I like you, James,” he mumbled into his palms, his silky dark bangs shadowing his eyes. He seemed almost jittery, knee bobbing all over the place.

“I like you too,” James replied simply, grinning like the idiot he was as he inched closer, to gently pry his wrists away from his face.

“Come on, look at me? I promise im not going to laug-“. “I want to kiss you,”

James stopped mid sentence, smile frozen on his face as his brain tried to comprehend what Regulus had just uttered.

His split second hesitation was enough for Regulus to panic, and the younger moved to pull away, when James snapped out of him and scrambled forward.

“I’m sorry!”

“no-no Regulus, it’s fine love-“

“just forget about it-“

“Regulus-“

“You don’t have to do anyth-!”

Soft lips cut him off, and suddenly Regulus’ world slowed down into soft shades of hazel, accompanied by a burst of gold.

James kissed him like it was easy, a simple hand on his jaw and the other wrapped tightly around his waist, lest Regulus tried to escape again, yet James was not going to let him go this time.

Regulus tasted sweet.

James couldn’t tell if it was from the fairy floss they’d shared hours earlier or if it was just the essence of the gorgeous boy in front of him, but he never wanted to pull away.

Regulus was a timid kisser, never straying too far or too deep, as he timidly explored James’ mouth, fireworks continuing to go off both behind their eyes and around them.

“fuck,” James mumbled breathily, some moments later, his forehead pressed against Regulus’ as he drew back for air.

“you’re so-“ he groaned and kissed him again, a soft laugh getting caught between their lips as Regulus finally relaxed, squirming lightly as James pressed kisses along his face and cheeks.

“you’re so perfect,” James whispered, twirling another dark curl around his finger, adoration in his gaze.

Silver eyes met hazel, and instead of replying, Regulus resolved to burying his face in the other’s shoulder instead, content to watch the fireworks as the burst over the beach, illuminating the sky in colours of red and green.

[lillxart]

WIP Wed!

From a Sotha Sil x Lorkir fanfiction that's way on the back burner lol. Since I made that thing about Sotha Sil the other night, here's the fiction where my thoughts stemmed from!

Tagging: @ladytanithia @dirty-bosmer @hircines-hunter @sanza-17 @fujisakisan @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla @theoneandonlysemla @sulphuricgrin @sanza-17 @ijiwaruuma @pocket-vvardvark

Title: "From One to Another"

Lorkir woke up with the sun hitting her face. The rays of light from the clockwork city working as her natural alarm clock. The sounds that greeted her ears were the chirpings of machines given songs by her own voice. Echoes of secrets passed from one to another. The sheets underneath her body were warm, no doubt from the heat coursing through her blood. She stared out the window, face melancholic and heart empty. Facing the reality of what she had lost, the wishweaver turned away from the window and rolled to the other side of the bed, expecting it to be cold and vacant. 

“Ah, I see you’ve finally awoken.”

But…much to the God’s surprise…it wasn’t? “Sothalis.” She sat up, blanket languidly falling down her bare shoulder. 

Sotha Sil sat there in a pair of bedrobes (funny, she didn’t think he had bedrobes) with a cup of tea in his hand and a book with a title she didn’t recognize. The bronze mask that was on his face last night was now removed, only the metal arm remained permanently attached to him, seamlessly integrated into his dark skin. When the light caught the side of his face, the glow was almost too striking to witness. “I didn’t think you would take so long to wake up, considering you have no need of sleep in the first place.”

Still speechless, Lorkir opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Feeling terribly awkward, she blushed and covered herself with the blanket. “I…well…”

“My, to think I’d hear you speechless, I’m almost disappointed.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be next to me when I woke up.” Lorkir quickly replied. 

“I must leave some room in my countenance for surprises. At least, in cases like these where I am allowed.” Sotha Sil found amusement in his own statement, the corner of his mouth up turning into an almost smile. 

Lorkir had no idea where to go from here. For the first time in a while she was at a loss. The fluttering of her heart demanded that she cuddle up next to Sothalis, enjoy a quiet morning in peace while he continues to read his book and she reads along over his shoulder. However, knowledge of her predicament suggests that the wisest course of action would be that she carry on like before. She had done what she came to do, initially, and so she has no reason to stay. 

But how badly she wanted to stay. 

“Love is the greatest cloud over the mind. No matter how the sun shines how and how the seas rise, the clouds remain ever stagnant, until not even love itself can be seen…” Lorkir tilted her head at the quote. Sotha Sil lightly smirked and turned to face her. “Something Vivec told me once. Though what inspired the words was a situation far different from your own.”

“I can imagine… -~-;” Lorkir sighed. Making her decision she shifted over to Sotha Sil’s side of the bed. She towered over him, naturally. But despite the size difference she was able to get comfortable. Sotha Sil made no effort to stop her, nor relaxed in her embrace. He simply remained as he was, focused on what he was reading. The text on his lap were his own journal entries. He was looking over schematics, various concepts and dreams meant to be given reality through his machines. His passions. Some of his ideas were perfectly viable, others stretched into mad conjecture. But the witch God felt the intensity, the desperation with each stroke of ink on the paper. Her heart pounded for the soul that was so poisoned by its compassion. The very scent of the false God choking her lungs yet intoxicating her like wine. “Anything I can help with?” Lorkir, perhaps callously, offered. 

“There might still be some use for you yet.” How it hurt for him to say what she wanted to hear. 

When Sotha Sil finished his tea they rose from bed and got dressed, Lorkir taking in the beauty of his body before it was covered up by his attire. Sotha Sil knew she was staring, and gave a chance for her to act on her desires before he tied the sash around his waist. But, as he predicted, she fled from his gaze when he met her eyes. When he reached for his mask, however, something happened that he did not predict.  

“Wait.” A plea, not silent, but concise. Sotha Sil turned around and met her eyes once more. They were almost fragile, the emotion so perfect on her face because of the light that shined through her fractaled eyes. Lorkir came close to him and put her hand on the mask, slowly pushing it back down to the table. She knelt down on one knee so she could meet him and stroked his face with a gentle reverence that was too raw to verbally express. Despite the intensity of her passion, his expression remained the same. Lorkir studied his face, committing every detail to memory, as he had committed his clockwork city to his own memory. Finally, after a time, she leaned in and kissed the side of his face that was normally covered by his mask, now vacant of cold metal and instead soft and warm with living flesh. “...Sorry.” She took a step back, now returning to full height. 

“Does a gift giver apologize for giving gifts?” He replies. 

“If the gift is forced upon them is it still considered a gift?”

For that split second, Lorkir saw regret in his eyes. But it was gone as soon as he adorned his mask. “Will you be at my side today, as you have been? Or shall you depart?” 

Do you want me here? It was on the tip of her tongue, but Lorkir couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I’ll stay a while. Not so long that I’ll make your clockwork disciples nervous.” the God teased. 

Sotha Sil chuckled. “I believe you already make them a great deal nervous.” He opened the door to his bed chambers and they left for the day. 

Lorkir did say she would be at his side, but she had developed a routine of flying around the clockwork city during the morning. The beautiful gears shimmering in the light while petals from apple blossom trees were carried by the wind. It was a picture perfect sight, and the God enjoyed basking in it greatly. The sight of a dragon flying around the city brought great terror the first time it happened, but now there was only slight unease instead of fear. A positive progression, she supposes. 

Finding her favorite spot near the top of one of the towers, Lorkir landed and discarded her dragon avatar. She felt a chill as her feet touched the metal, before fully laying down and staring up at the turning sky. 

Absolutely beautiful. And how easily she was lulled by it. 

Sotha Sil worked in the heart of the city, locked away in his laboratory. What he was attempting was nothing short of extraordinary and required a delicate hand and quiet mind. To craft a new imperfect took immense concentration, building off of what he had learned previously. Yet despite his complete focus on the task, his desire separated itself from him. A separate entity that stood behind him, beckoning his mind to stray from the task at hand. 

His mind should not be consumed with her.

Lorkir, the God of Covetousness, the Wishweaver, the White Dragon and Bane of the Firstborn Son. She was the source of horrors written in stone yet untold by word of mouth. She represents all forms of temptation, of folly, her mere existence meant to unravel any heart. And Sotha Sil cannot allow his heart to be unraveled. From the moment he saw her approaching in the distance he knew a great doom would threaten the role he was now compelled to. Every stolen whisper, every freely given smile, every glance in desire is a crack in a carefully constructed mirror that he has built for himself. Lorkir knows this, in truth, he knows that she does. And yet she lurks like a shadow, mouth open and wanting, begging to be fed by him. And, though he cannot admit it, how badly he is tempted to allow himself to be consumed. “I have made the gravest mistake someone in my position can make, and I knowingly continue in it…” Seht rubbed his forehead, exasperated with his own lingering weakness. 

“Seht, I have prepared your tea, as you have asked.” One of the Clockwork disciples entered into his chambers bringing the camomile tea with honey per his request. A look of worry was etched onto the Dunmer’s face, since the great Sotha Sil rarely asks for refreshments.

“Thank you. It is much appreciated. Now, go and seek out Lorkir. I suspect she has fallen asleep somewhere in the city. Wake her up, and inform her that I request her presence.”

“Yes, Great Seht.” The disciple scurried away.

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

Destiny

Masterlist

Oh no

It was dark when Everest woke up.

Well, it was always dark for the blind vampire. But still, light could filter through the white veil covering his irises, allowing him to differentiate night from day. Wherever he was, it was dark.

His heart started beating faster when he realised that he was restrained. There was a leather muzzle snugly tied over his mouth, but there was no silver bit, and it felt almost comfortable. Almost. His wrists were cuffed together with iron handcuffs. At least it didn't burn.

Everest stood up, struggling to keep his balance as he did so. Whatever he had been injected with, it must have been some strong sedative. He stumbled forward, a grunt escaping him as he bumped into something. Bars. His heart sank and he scrambled away, reflexively. The small vampire was reassured to find that his skin wasn't burnt, at least the bars weren't silver.

This didn't tell him where he was though.

Minutes turned into hours in the dark, and the vampire remained curled in his corner. There was a folded blanket there, isolating him from the cold concrete floor. It reminded Everest of his cell at the hunter's headquarters. And without silver. The only sounds coming to him were low whimpers and others sounds coming from the dark around, indicating him that he wasn't alone. No audible words though, either the other creatures couldn't speak, or they were too scared to. He wasn't sure what exactly the place was. Unlike the underground prison the hunters kept him in, this cage didn't seem to be designed to cause him pain. It was much larger, the bars were iron, and most importantly, there were other creatures around. Even though he was much too scared to try to talk to them.

Suddenly, the lights were turned on. Everest perked up, shaking lightly. What was happening?

Footsteps echoed in the building, several people, accompanied by chatting, and the sounds of latches being moved. This only got the small vampire to be more on edge, and he protectively wrapped the blanket around him. He didn't back up any more though, more curious than afraid.

The previously silent building was now slowly awakening, with the humans moving around and... interacting with the others creatures ? Everest could hear chitters and warbles coming from all around, as well as gentle voices answering.

People walked past his cage, sometimes stopping, but never for long. He could smell them, smell their blood. Humans. He was hungry, he hadn't eaten in... Four days now ? Five ? The hybrid couldn't tell. He was scared, and just wanted to go home, to sit near the fire, and to snuggle close to Raphael.

Raphael. Everest felt like crying just thinking about his human. Where was he? Maybe he was the one who had sent him there. Maybe he got tired of caring for the stupid, disabled creature. Or maybe his fall had been fatal.

It must be that. Raphael was dead, gone, and he was alone. The human was the only one who knew exactly what herbs to mix to make blood edible for him. Which meant that he was gonna starve again, now.

The small vampire couldn't help but sob, his shoulders silently shaking as he buried his face in his knees. He was either abandoned, or an orphan. Locked in a cage again. And so hungry.

Maybe it was his destiny.

Taglist : @sausages-things @jumpywhumpywriter @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thataquaticwhumper @alyscat

@whatamidoingherehelpme @fleur-a-whump @ratsupremacy88 @whatiswhump @scoundrelwithboba

@phoenixpromptsandstuff

[girlivealwaysbean]

i hate getting gifts because first of all are you trying to buy me make me feel obligated to you so I feel the need to be polite and sweet to you all the time and secondly once you inevitably leave what the fuck am i supposed to do with them

[spokelseskladden]

Im so mentally ill right now pls hand me my vitamin d pills i need to be fixed, i haven't felt sunlight upon my skin for a week and it's raining over the snow so it's all sloppy and slippery and dark out so i can't go anywhere without getting my feet soaked and my inlaws are asking me what i want for christmas like specifically which means i have to share my interests but i don't want to be perceived right now because I'm feeling the winter paranoia/madness and also i had to take the trashcan out yesterday and faceplanted in the snow and my glasses are all scratched up so i think im going to need new ones and if i want to go ANYWHERE i need to defrost my fucking car on the daily and i hate it. I hate winter i HATE IT. And i have an exam on friday as well as work and a christmas party to attend. I need to move to the forest and become one with nature, just leave society behind and live like Isak in Growth of the soil even though i fucking hate Knut Hansun, that nazi bitch.

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your Mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute. He let me decorate it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, you see, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell him seriously, “he’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually, I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you) and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 01.02.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[nochepsicodelica]

You wake up from a nap that went on a little too long, only to see that Toji still isn't next to you in bed. It's dark already, and when you check the time on your phone, the screen reads 10:14. You see light underneath the bedroom door and get up, dragging the blanket along with you. When you open the door, there Toji is, sitting on the couch, watching TV with his hand in a bag of chips. You peek at him from the hallway entryway and watch as he puts another chip in his mouth.

"Hi," Toji says, not the slightest bit oblivious to your eyes on him. His gaze shifts to you and the big, puffy blanket you have draped around you. "How'd you sleep?"

You don't answer, but instead start making your way towards him, the blanket tailing behind you as it drags on the floor. Five more steps and you're right in front of him. Without a second thought, you're climbing onto his lap and making yourself comfortable. Your big blanket covers him, as well as his bag of chips, now, too.

"Still tired, mama?" Toji asks, when you bury your face in the crook of his neck. You grunt, affirmatively, in response, tightening your arms around him. "That's how you answer, now?" He asks, chuckling when you grunt, again. "I'm rubbing off on you. You sound like a bear."

"Why didn't you come sleep with me?" You ask, your voice quiet from being underused.

"I went into the room to check on you and you were knocked out. Even got some cute pictures of you drooling, and you still didn't wake up."

You whine, annoyed at this revelation. "Not cute at all. It's like you don't even love me," you mumble, turning your face away from him, your cheek now positioned on his shoulder.

"Love you enough to keep an album full of these pictures."

"What? Toji." You briefly turn your attention back to him.

"There's eighty in there. Well, eighty-three, with the ones I got today."

You sigh, dramatically, and rest your cheek on his shoulder, again. "I have nothing more to say to you. Goodnight."

You can hear the smirk on Toji's face when he says, "'Night."

In the short amount of time that you slept on Toji, he was witness to yet another one of your dreams. He's been around for plenty of them. Some were nightmares, others just random dreams that made you jolt awake with a jump scare. He's even been around for the good ones that cause breathy renditions of his name to spill from your lips. This one was just weird.

Toji felt you stirring and watched as you nuzzled into his shoulder. He listened in on your nonsensical thoughts and grinned, amusedly, at the randomness. You sounded worried as you mumbled things about your eyes and how you wanted to keep them, and then something else about changing your mind and not being ready. He had no time to wonder what you weren't ready for, because you woke up and you looked scared.

You sit up on Toji's lap and blink a few times as you look around. "Toji, do my... my eyes?" You question, not finding offense in the way Toji looks like he's trying not to laugh. You're still very much concerned about your eyes.

"What about your eyes, ma?" He asks, his gaze darting after yours as you keep looking around.

"Do my eyes still work?" You ask, still panicking on the inside.

"I don't know. Do they?" he says, only further adding on to your fear. There's a small crease between your eyebrows, making you look conflicted. Your expression goes sad when you look away from Toji.

"Ma, wake up," Toji says, pinching your cheek a few times, while wearing a teasing grin on his face. "Look, if you're actually scared, we can check." You really need that confirmation, so you give Toji your full attention. "What's this?" He asks, tapping the scar that strikes his lips.

"Your handsome, sexy, all you can eat, full course meal of a scar," you mumble.

Toji deadpans and tilts his head, furthering his unamused expression. "Your eyes are fine."

"Test me, again. Pleaaaase?" You beg, giving him a soft smile and puppy eyes.

He sighs and gives in, no fight put up against you, whatsoever. "What color are my eyes?"

You hum as you lean in to examine the subject more closely before coming to your conclusion. "The most handsome bobansome, beautiful, crispy green apple, shade of green."

Toji scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. "See? Your eyes are fine. On that note, you're banned from sleeping on me."

You gasp, dramatically, as if he offended you. "Aren't you the one always manhandling me so that i'm sleeping on top of you? And during our afternoon naps, you put my leg over your hip. And when I try to get up, you--"

"Okay, you're not banned. Jeez." You outsmarted him and it shows through the way he subtly clenches his jaw. "If you like sleeping on me that much, just say so."

You narrow your eyes at him, before pushing off of his chest in an attempt to get off of him.

"Whatcha doing?" He asks, holding your hips down so that you can't move.

"Going back to the room," you say, trying to peel his hands off of you, to no avail. "I would like to sleep on our bed, now, Toji."

"Then, tell me that and I'll take you. What are you doing pawing at my hands, trying to get them off of you?" He takes one look at the involuntary lift of your lips and already knows what's going on. "Oh..." he chuckles. "You a grumpy little bear, now?"

"Don't talk to me," you grumble, huffing childishly and turning your attention away from him.

"Aren't you the one always calling, saying you just wanted to hear my voice while i'm working? And you get goosebumps all over when I talk directly into your ear. And when I don't--"

"Stooop," you whine, leaning forward and burying your face in the crook of his neck, again. Your arms wrap around his neck and your thighs squeeze his waist. "You're not fair," you mumble, into his warm skin.

"Yeah, i'm so cruel to you, huh, baby?" He says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, a soft smile lingering on his lips when you hum out a little "mhm" in response. He moves his bag of chips aside and turns off the TV, before wrapping the blanket around you and tucking the excess away, so that he doesn't trip over it as he walks. With ease, he stands up from the couch and starts towards the bedroom, with his lump of a blanket clinging to him.

[tteokdoroki]

jock bf yuuji who’s tongue lolls out of his mouth when he feels u cum on his dick and then he ends up cumming when you suck on his tongue as it hangs out of his mouth <3 he’s a big manhandler and so unbelievably strong, has def broken the weak frame of your dorm bed at least once <3 loves sleeping over and then waking up to you in the early morning light, eats you out then has you ride him and you’re both thinking about it for the rest of the day <3 yuuji sends you the riskiest texts too, texts you that he can’t stop thinking about how good you looked when you sucked him off the night before and now you’re distracted in the library <3

ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ — JOCK BF!YUUJI ENTRY #6. pleasure prioritised.

about. just some scenarios of an incredibly strong jock boyfriend pleasing his girlfriend in different ways. thank you nonnie for driving me up the wall with this!!! ( 1K )

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, smut, college!au, characters aged up to 20s, creampies, messy makeouts, breaking the bed, strength!kink, unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m!receiving), jock bf!yuuji, weird + fem!reader.

everybody knows that yuuji itadori is strong, he wouldn’t be the star athlete in the soccer team if that wasn’t the case. 

with muscles that ripple when he moves, thick thighs that spread wide and flex on instinct and dark eyes that shine like gold while pulling you in — it’s no wonder why half of the campus wants a piece of him. luckily enough, yuuji itadori only wants to give himself to you.

yuuji only uses the full extent of strength when he devotes his body to pleasing you. when it’s lights out at your dorm go out, and the common spaces are vacant while your roommates party the night away and all that remains is a man who loves his girlfriend with all of his entirety. and a girl who loves him all too much, right back. he pins you to the bed, pelvis to pelvis as yuuji uses all of his might to pound into you.

his thrusts are usually heavy, but thoughtful and with meaning — designed to make you see bright, shining stars behind your eyelids and pull an angels song from between your lips. itadori doesn’t just fuck you —  his sweet girlfriend, his everything, his purpose. he makes love to you, makes the bed rock while his sticky tip stays tacked to your g-spot and safe, comforting brown his eyes stay locked on yours, reminding you of how much you are loved as you tremble and quake beneath him. 

there’s often a dull thump to the wall from where the force of yuuji’s hips drive the headboard into it. only you ever have the power to make your man that feral, have him drooling like a dog with its tongue in the wind whenever he has the chance to sink into your tight heat. it’s the way your snug little pussy ripples around the giant jock’s fat girth, his tummy smooshed up against your puffy clit does nothing to help him either. the more ecstasy he gives you, the more you clench down on your boyfriend and the further his eyes disappear into his skull. 

itadori just loves being inside of you, tucking his thriving dick away inside your velveteen walls, hearing your pussy suction around you and your cheap dorm mattress squeak in harmony with your hiccuped moans. yuuji, yuuji, yuuji. his name on your kiss swollen and tear glossed lips is enough for the pink haired man to break the bed from how hard and deep he thrusts into you. even when it does collapse in on itself, yuuji doesn’t dare stop until you’re cumming in sweet streams around him — painting his toned stomach and washboard abs in your arousal before he fills you up with his own thick white.

he usually cums with his drooling tongue in your mouth and an arm wrapped around your head, keeping you tucked underneath while he grinds his hips through your shared highs. sometimes salacious laments and high-pitched whines manage to slip through the cracks — which mean noise complaints from the Dean of your dorm and a call to maintenance in the morning to fix your destroyed bed (and walls).

mornings are no different (once your bed is fixed), yuuji itadori always fails to keep his hands to himself and if he’s lucky enough to stay the night — he uses those very same greedy and large hands to pleasure you all throughout sunrise. you wake up to find fingers on the swollen little nub tucked between your puffy pussy lips and his eager tongue swiping over the eight of your slit to catch any of your juices before they’re wasted on cheaply made college-friendly sheets. 

it’s a sight to behold, the way you arch your back from the bed and your thighs quiver either side of a head full of bright pink hair that tickles their insides. you can’t help but tug on the soft tufts — dragging yuuji further into your creamy cunt while accidentally kicking plushies galore from their place amongst your pillows and blankets. itadori remains a messy eater, slurping on your succulent folds, running laps over every inch of the heat between your glorious thighs. 

except you don’t get to cum on his mouth or his tongue on mornings like this — instead yuuji likes to really show off his strength. he likes you in his lap and seated on the swell of his fat, oozing girth. he adores plugging you full, watching you writhe above him for something, anything. any type of thrust or friction. yuuji can’t help himself, he’s always dying  to grope the globes of your ass when you’re riding him, using the strength in his arms  to hold over his bright red ans milky tip before pumping himself all the way into you in one calculated thrust upwards. 

both of you cum before either of your alarms go off, messy as always but content. you’re happy with yuuji and he’s always so happy to please you — it’s the least he could do for his precious girl. 

itadori always leaves you with a limp throughout the rest of your day — a comfortable pain in the base of your spine that reminds you of how deep he’d gone. there’s a dampness to your underwear during your classes too, reminding you of how much hot, oozing seed the jock had filled you up with. ‘keep it there,’ the pink haired soccer player tends to ask with those guilt-tripping puppy dog eyes of his. ‘want you walking around with my cum dripping down your thigh, so that everyone knows who you belong to.’

you often wonder what the campus would think if they knew how debauched their star player really was.

they’d have a field day if they saw the texts yuuji sent you while wiping the floor with his teammates during practices. pictures of his erection in the changing room mirrors and maybe some of your pretty face while he had you cumming on just his tip. sometimes paragraphs detailing how he was going to ruin your pussy, make you see god or even reach cloud nine. some tell you how much itadori misses your plush lips wrapped around him as he cums down your throat. 

but no matter what way you look at it, your jock boyfriend yuuji itadori always has your pleasure prioritised at the forefront of his mind. he’d use whatever part of his body, whatever strength he has to keep you satisfied. all alongside his insatiable appetite for you and only you. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[cumironi]

SAY HIII! TO THE CAMERA s. geto

☆ sum. stay quiet and keep him warm and hard, while he is playing video games, that’s the order. but it seems like too much hardness making you lose control of your body.

warning. non-sorcerer au, roommate geto, spank, cōck-drunk reader, petnames, dirty talk, overstim, praises, fem! reader, sugu gets annoyed when you can’t stay still, he’s annoyed because you make him lose, lol, tats-spank, háir-pulling, choking, bit exhibitionism.

there’s something deeply comforting about having geto suguru as your roommate, a kind of unspoken reassurance that no matter how life twists and turns, you have someone in your corner. he’s not just kind; he’s the kind of person who’s genuinely considerate, remembering the little things that most people overlook. his gentle humor fills even the quietest moments with warmth, and his manners, always so natural, make you feel valued and understood. he’s the type of person who holds open doors, who waits for you when you linger on your way home, and who genuinely listens when you speak, as if your words are the only ones that matter.

living together, you’ve come to depend on him in a way that feels both new and familiar. in the late hours of the night, when silence settles over the apartment, there are moments of connection that you’ve never found with anyone else. he's seen you in every state — the vulnerable, raw moments when you’re barely holding it together, the giddy highs when you’re spilling over with excitement, and even the quiet days when all you need is to be near someone without saying a word. every joy and every sorrow, he’s there, a constant presence, filling the empty spaces of your life.

over time, though, there’s another unspoken need that starts to creep in. it’s there in the lingering glances, the way your touches linger just a moment too long, the awareness that builds between you both, each brushing touch leaving a faint trace of longing. you’ve found yourself drawn to him, in a way that goes beyond friendship, a desire simmering under the surface that you don’t dare voice. it’s been a while since you’ve had anyone to share that kind of closeness with, and every time he’s near, you can feel that need building, that craving that he seems to sense. and that ‘desire’ you crave so much, geto is there with an open arms and. . . open legs.

it was one of those days a mix of emotions swirling, a growing desire that had been building in the space between you two, bubbling to the surface. without overthinking it, you found yourself outside geto’s room, feeling a thrill as you opened the door without knocking. you were wearing only your skirt and a simple bra, skin tingling under the weight of anticipation.

geto was at his computer, focused on whatever he had been doing, but as soon as he heard the door creak open, he turned, spinning his chair around slowly. his gaze swept over you, eyes darkening with a spark of something unmistakable as he took you in. he let out a low whistle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the view. “well,” he drawled, his voice a touch rougher, “looks like someone’s feeling bold today.”

his own appearance was casual but undeniably alluring. he wore only a pair of loose grey sweatpants, his toned chest bare, catching the soft light from the room. his long, dark hair fell loosely around his shoulders, framing his sharp features and giving him an almost untamed look that made your heart race faster. he watched you with a steady, appreciative gaze, that familiar, playful glint in his eyes turning to something deeper as his eyes traced over your form.

“you here for something, or just planning to drive me crazy?” he teased, his voice low, dripping with that lazy confidence he always wore so effortlessly. you felt your cheeks warm as you stepped into his room, but you didn’t waver, letting your gaze flicker over his chest, taking in the way his muscles shifted.

“i think you know exactly why i’m here,” you replied, keeping your voice light but letting the meaning behind your words settle between you. his smirk widened, and he straightened, reaching a hand out to you, his touch gentle but insistent as he pulled you closer.

his hand brushing your waist, guiding you to stand between his legs. his other hand came up to rest on your hip, fingers tracing small, lazy circles along your bare skin as he looked up at you.

god, the way he looked at you, with that sultry gaze sweeping over every inch of your body, made it nearly impossible to keep your composure. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare skin, each touch almost enough to send a shiver down your spine. the air between you two felt thick, electric, as if it held every unspoken thought, every lingering glance and desire that had built up over time. you could hear the faint hitch in his breath as you stepped closer, closing what little distance remained between you.

“is that right?” he murmured, voice low and rough, his tone thick with barely concealed amusement. “and what did i do to earn this little visit? not that i i’m complaining.” his fingers toyed with the edge of your skirt, tracing a slow line up your thigh that sent waves of warmth through you, each touch building a sweet tension that had you leaning in, craving more.

you couldn’t help but hum in response, letting your fingers glide over his bare shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid strength beneath your touch. your other hand found its way to his hair, threading through the long, dark locks that framed his face so perfectly handsome, your fingers lingering as you gently pulled him closer.

“it’s not what you did,” you replied, your voice a low, teasing murmur, your lips close enough to brush against his ear. “it’s what you can do.” the words hung between you, dripping with anticipation, each syllable filled with a promise you knew he could hear.

geto chuckled, a warm, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he leaned into your touch, his hand sliding up under your skirt, fingers splaying against your skin, and you could feel the heat of his palm, the barely suppressed tension in the way he touched you.

“oh?” he drawled, tilting his head so his face was dangerously close to your bellybutton. his lips grazed the shell of your skin, his breath hot against your skin. “and what exactly is it that you need me to do, pretty girl?”

before you could answer, his hands found your waist, gently but insistently pulling you down to sit on his lap. his arm wrapped securely around your bare waist, the other hand still warm and steady on your thigh. you felt yourself sink into him, the heat of his skin against yours, the way he held you close with that effortless confidence.

you leaned in, lips close to his ear as you whispered, voice teasing but edged with a hint of urgency. “you know exactly what i want, suguru,” you murmured, your fingers tracing along his collarbone, feeling his breath hitch as you spoke. “stop pretending to be stupid.”

a lazy smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze darkening with satisfaction as he tightened his hold on you, his hand slipping higher on your thigh, tracing lazy circles that sent a spark of anticipation through you. “oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with restrained desire, “i’d never be that stupid.”

geto shifted his hips, the heat of your bodies pressed together, his hand sliding slowly to the curve of your hip. there was a raw, unabashed hunger in his eyes, his gaze traveling over every inch of your exposed skin, taking in every subtle shudder, every quickening breath.

he pulled you even closer, desperate, and you could feel the tension building between the bitten of you as his other hand slid further up your skirt, his knuckles brushing over your inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. his hand squeezed your thigh, fingers digging into your skin, an unspoken promise that sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

“if you want something,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper, “all you have to do is ask.” then he leaned in, his lips trailing a warm path from your collarbone up to your shoulder, and you could feel the low rumble of his voice against your sensitive skin. he nipped at your ear, his voice a dark, lustful murmur. “beg me for it, sweetheart.”

his lips traveled back down to your neck, teeth scraping against your skin, and a small gasp escaped your lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. his lips curled into a satisfied smile against your flesh, and his hand slid even higher up your thigh, the heat of his touch searing through you.

“beg me,” he repeated, his voice low and gravelly. “beg me to give it to you… and i’ll give you everything you need.”

and he lies.

you sit on his lap as he games, his cock buried deep inside you, you trying to stifle moans as occasionally he thrusts up into you, barely— either too distracted by his stupid games or he just being his usual self, a fucking jerk and a tease. “such a gooood girl, baby,” he growls lowly into your ear, muting his microphone. after all, he didn’t want his teammates hearing what a good little toy you were being, taking his cock like you were.

how had things turned out like this, you wonder? you were the one that was supposed to be teasing him, not the other way around. now you were the one, stifling whimpers and moans, and almost begging him to fuck you.

“s-suguru, p-please..” you whimper.

he ignores you completely as he goes back to his game, turning his microphone back on, saying, “son of a bitch, you fuckers can’t do anything right, can you?” you wiggle your hips on top of him, trying to get him to pay attention to you more, and his hand comes to rest briefly on your thigh, squeezing it tightly. a warning to knock it off. but you continue doing it. you had to take things back under your control, and what better way than by wiggling your hips, feeling him brush up against your sensitive spot, and letting out a quiet whimper.

he mutes his microphone again, letting out a warning growl, and lowly says, “y/n.. stop moving and be a good girl for me, hm?” his voice is dangerous, a sign to dare you to move even just a beat. but youuu, you tilt your head back, peering back into his face, and smile innocently. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about, suguruuu. . .”

your back was facing him as you sat on his lap, elbows resting hard on his computer desk. only you cute pink skirt wrap loosely around your waist with no underwear. your bare nipples pressed against the hard surface. geto’s fingers dig into your thigh, holding you still as he continues playing his game, ignoring your attempts at seduction. his breathing grows heavier, the scent of his arousal filling the air between you. he’s clearly struggling to focus on the match with you writhing atop him like this.

“y/n... i swear if you keep this up, i’m going to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless,” he warns through gritted teeth, voice menacing. despite the threat, there’s an unmistakable note of desire lacing his words.

“now be a good girl and sit still,” he warned, his hand reaches up to grab your hip, pulling you down harder onto his throbbing erection and continue to cockwarming him while he’s playing games with his friends— stupid gojo satoru. a choked gasp escapes your lips as he grinds up into you, stretching you deliciously around his girth.

his grip tightens on your hip, guiding your movements to grind yourself against him even more. he doesn’t care who hears anymore, his mind consumed with thoughts of claiming you right here and now. his game character takes a hit from an enemy player the moment you do a harsh slammed on his cock, causing him to curse loudly into his mic.

“fuck! ’m distracted,” he admits before cutting himself off mid-sentence, realizing just how loud he’d been. he quickly mutes his mic once more, though he makes no move to stop grinding you against him. “that’s what you wanted, isn’t it, y/n? for me to lose focus so i could finally give you what you've been craving.”

his hand slides up your spine from your hip, gripping your neck firmly enough to let you know he means business. “i’m not going to repeat myself y/n, stop fucking moving.” his other hand comes up to slap lightly against your ass after retreating from the keyboard, leaving a warm imprint on your skin before he pushes your chest further to his desk and continues to play his game. gasp!

geto’s dominant grip on your hips and neck sends shivers down your spine, your body responding instinctively to his commanding touch. the sharp slap on your ass makes you gasp and gasp, the sting mixing with the pleasure of having your bare bottom exposed to him.

despite his warnings, you can’t help but subtly rock your hips, seeking friction against his thick length still buried deep within you. your upper teeth sinking lowered on your lower lips, a subtle way to hide the desperate moaning. your breath hitches as he pushes you harder against the desk, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body beneath you.

as geto focuses back on his game, you find yourself leaning forward more— your nipples touching the cold surface making you shiver, bracing your hands on the edge of the desk under you. this position allows you to sink deeper onto his cock, your inner walls clenching reflexively around him.

with each subtle roll of your hips, geto lets out a low groan, his focus waverting from his game momentarily. he pulls you closer, forcing his cock deeper inside you until you feel every inch of him pressing against your most sensitive spots.

“fucking hell, y/n...” he curses under his breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control. but it’s clear that he’s losing the battle against both his own desires and yours, even against his own stupid games. he smacks your ass again, this time harder, leaving a bright red mark on your flesh.

“be still!” he demands, his voice laced with both frustration and lust. his fingers dig into your neck, applying pressure just shy of pain. the smack on your ass sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your body arching back against him instinctively. the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you panting, your pussy clamping down on his cock as if begging for more.

despite his command, you can’t seem to obey. instead, you press your breasts further into the desk, enjoying the sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against the cool surface. each movement sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the ache building between your legs.

“suguru... please,” you whisper, your voice barely above a whimper. the desperation in your tone is undeniably begging. geto’s grip on your neck tightens, his thumb brushing over your pulse point rhythmically as he fights against the urge to simply throw caution to the wind and claim you right then and there. instead, he focuses back on his game, cursing loudly when his character takes another hit.

“shit... y/n, shut up before i really lose my shit,” he growls, punctuating each word with a deep thrust of his hips. his cock surges deeper inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids. his other hand losing the touch of his keyboard for a beat to sending a slaps down on your ass again, this time in slow deliberate strokes meant to draw out your pleasure. he’s punishing you for making him lose focus, but also rewarding you for being such a tease.

geto’s punishing thrusts send waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your nails digging into the desktop as you struggle to hold back cries of pleasure. the slow, deliberate slaps on your ass echo through the room, each impact sending tingles racing up your spine.

“ahh!” you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths, your pleas growing more desperate as the coil of tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. the combination of his thick cock stretching you open and the relentless stimulation to your sensitive ass has you teetering on the brink of climax. you can feel the telltale fluttering in your core, signaling your impending release.

geto’s jaw clenches as he battles to keep his composure, refusing to let go and indulge in the sweet release that beckons him. his fingers waltz down from your neck to the curve of your hip, tightening on the soft flesh, his grip bordering on bruising as he holds you in place, denying you the friction you crave.

“not yet, y/n... you don’t get to come until i say so,” he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. his hips buck upward sharply, burying himself to the hilt inside you for the countless times and grinding against your clit with a forceful thrust.

he repeats this motion several times, using your body for his own pleasure, before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in with brutal intensity. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled moans and his guttural groans.

the rough treatment only fuels your desire, pushing you closer to the edge with each powerful thrust. your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him for more as you ride the wave of pleasure he’s forcing upon you. the way you roll your hips like you are either desperately looking for the climax you’ve been craving for the past hours, trying to get revenge for keeping you waiting, or just simply trying to suck his soul— geto are fine either way.

“pleaseee. . . sugu’—’m gonna cum,” you stutter out, the words trailing off into a series of whimpers. your inner walls clench and flutter around his cock, pulsing with the intensity wanting of your release, “please, ’m sorry,” you cry. your body convulses, each tremor rippling through you as you cling desperately to the desk.

geto grunts, feeling your walls clamp around him, urging him towards his own climax. but he refuses to give in just yet, determined to make you pay for distracting him with your teasing. “not good enough... beg properly,” he commands, his voice a low growl. he slams into you again, driving his cock even deeper than before, stretching your inner walls to their limit— kissing your cervix each time. his hand moves from your hip to your dripping cunt, his fingers delving into your wetness, stroking at your swollen clit.

he keeps up this merciless pace, alternating between hard thrusts and swift withdrawals, driving you to the brink of madness. your pleas become more frantic, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensations. “please— let me cum, i need to...” you gasp out, your voice hitching on each word as you fight to maintain coherence.

each stroke of his fingers against your clit sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, amplifying the ache in your core. the combination of his thick cock pounding into you and his skilled fingers working your clit has you teetering on the precipice of obliviation.

“i’m sorry, i’m sooo sorry— pleasee...” you sob, your plea turning into a keening wail as you about to reach your pea only for geto to lift you up off his cock before slamming back into your pussy— playing with your climax and just generically being an asshole.

geto leans over you, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispers darkly, “not yet... not till you learn your lesson.” with each thrust, he aims to prove his dominance, showing no mercy as he punishes you for your disobedience. his fingers never relent from their torment of your clit, adding fuel to the fire that’s consuming you from within.

he reaches around to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. the sharp pinch sends an unexpected surge of pleasure coursing through you, making your back arch off the desk and the game long forgotten.

“beg better...” he taunts, knowing full well that he’s playing with fire. without saying a word to his friends, geto left his game to open his computer camera. he grab a fistful of your hair to pull your face away from the desk. a soft light illuminating your face. geto smile to his camera as he saw your fucked-face, ruined by your tears and your mascara.

he pulls you closer until your back touches his sweaty chest before snake his arm under your thighs and opens your legs wider to his camera. “say hi, to the camera y/n,” he whisper in your ear as he rest his chin on shoulder. your breath comes in short gasps, each thrust of his cock sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. the split pinch on your nipple only adds to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

you whimper, your voice choked with unshed tears. the sight of his hand gripping your hair tightly sends a shiver down your spine, reminding you who’s in control. with the way he pressing your back against his chest, knees straight glue to your chest, you can’t help but squirm on top of him. his heavy breathing in your ear, the warmth of his body against yours—it’s all too much.

“hi. . .” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible. the words are directed towards the camera, but they’re laced with desperation and pleading.

geto chuckles, dark and mocking, at your feeble attempt to address the camera, his amusement evident in the way he tightens his grip on your hair. he increases the tempo of his thrusts, his cock pistoning in and out of your drenched cunt with ruthless efficiency— visible to the camera of his computer.

“that’s iiiit... look pretty while you’re getting fucked,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends chills down your spine. he watches you through the screen, purple eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as he observes your reactions. his free hand trails down your body, exploring every curve and crevice with possessive intent. he cups your breast, giving it a firm squeeze before smacking it hard enough to leave a red print on your skin.

“still think you can distract me?” he asks, his tone laced with challenge.

your body quivers under the onslaught of sensations, each thrust of his cock sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his thrusts. “n-no—can’t, i won’t,” you stammer out, your voice choked with emotion. the sting of his slap on your breast makes you flinch, but it also intensifies the heat coiling in your lower belly. despite the pain and humiliation, you find yourself pushed closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of orgasmic bliss.

geto smirks at your admission, pleased with the submission in your voice. he drives into you harder, relentlessly in his pursuit of your pleasure—and your punishment. “mmm, good girl... now cum for me,” he orders, his voice a seductive mix of command and promise. he lets go of your hair to grasp your throat, applying just enough pressure to ensure your attention remains focused on him and nothing else.

the hand that had been smacking your breasts now finds its way between your bodies, rubbing circles onto your clit while still keeping a firm hold on your throat. he watches intently, observing how your face contorts in pleasure, enjoying the sight of you succumbing to his will.

“let me hear it... let me hear how good it feels when i fuck you senseless,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “come on baby, i know you are dirty girl.” your entire being focuses on the sensation of his cock plunging into you, each thrust hitting spots inside you that send waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the pressure on your throat and the stimulation of your clit combine to push you closer to the edge.

a strangled moan escapes your lips, your voice breaking as you try to comply with his demand. “it- it feels so good— so fucking good...” you pant, your words punctuated by gasps and whimpers. your pussy clenches around his cock, desperate for release as you cling to the last threads of sanity.

geto grins at your words, satisfaction washing over him as he feels your pussy tightening around his throbbing member. he tightens his grip on your throat slightly, forcing a choked cry from your lips.

“that’s it... that’s my good girl,” he praises, his voice a deep rumble of approval. he quickens his pace, each thrust becoming more powerful and deliberate. the sound of your moans and the sight of your flushed face spur him on further. he wants to see you unravel, to witness the moment when pleasure overtakes reason. “cum for me... show me what a fucking mess i’ve made of you,” he grunts, his fingers rubbing furiously against your clit, eager to draw out your climax.

your body trembles on the brink of release, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. the feeling of his fingers circling your sensitive clit sends you spiraling into oblivion. you throw your head back to his shoulder, closing your eyes as you feel your toes curling and your legs shaking in the air. stars running around behind your eyelids and burst into fireworks.

a loud cry rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt clenching tightly around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body. your limbs feel weak, your mind foggy as you ride out the intensity of your climax.

“oh god, oh godddd...” you whimper, your body wracked with sobs as you struggle to regain control as geto watches you through his screen. geto relishes the feeling of your cum spasming around his cock, begging to milk him dry and sucking his cum out, and paint your velvet walls white. he lets out a low groan, his own climax building rapidly.

he continues to rub your clit mercilessly, determined to prolong your pleasure even as he approaches his own peak. his grip on your throat loosens slightly, allowing you to breathe raggedly. “look at you... crying and coming like a fucking whore,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. he gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself completely inside you as he releases his seed deep within your womb.

your body continues to convulse with aftershocks of pleasure, your cunt still clamping sporadically around his cock. the sensation of his hot cum filling you up pushes you over the edge once more, another wave of ecstasy washing over you. through tear-filled eyes, you gaze up at the screen, meeting geto’s intense purple stare. your mouth hangs open just a wee, panting heavily as you struggle to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“fuck, suguru,” you whimper, your voice hoarse from crying out during your orgasms. your arms fall limply to your sides, unable to support your weight any longer. you’re utterly spent, drained of all energy and willpower, finally. all you can do is sit there on his lap, impaled on his cock, as he fills you with his essence.

geto watches you intently, drinking in the sight of your ravaged expression and trembling form. he keeps his cock buried deep inside you, relishing the feeling of his cum slowly leaking out of your used hole.

he finally releases your throat, his hands moving to cup your breasts instead, squeezing them gently as if testing their weight. he strokes your nipples with his thumbs, teasing them back to hardness. “such a beautiful mess,” he whispers, his tone filled with pride and satisfaction. he reaches up to gently wipe away some of the tears trailing down your cheeks, his touch surprisingly tender given the rough sex you just endured.

once he’s satisfied with your appearance, he leans back in his chair, pulling you against his chest as he cradles you in his strong arms. he strokes your hair soothingly, humming a soft melody that seems to vibrate through his body and into yours.

“so beautiful,” he coos, his voice a warm caress against your ear, eyes meeting yours in the land of his screen. “shame we’re only roommate,” he smiling softly before kissing your forehead. your body molds against his, seeking comfort and reassurance after the intense session. struggling the way your body trembling, with the energy left you move to face him, nuzzle into his neck and curl up on his lap, breathing in his scent as you slowly come down from the high of your multiple orgasms.

you let out a soft sigh, your breath tickling his skin. despite the tenderness of the moment, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness at his words. as much as you crave his touch and desire him intensely, you know that this is all it can ever be—a secret tryst between roommates.

“yeah, what a shame,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. you trail off, not daring to finish the thought aloud. you know it would be futile to hope for more, to dream of a future where suguru could be yours openly and without shame. geto holds you close, his arms encircling your waist possessively. he tilts your chin up with one finger, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“don’t look so sad, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “we have this, don’t we? these moments, just you and me...” he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. his tongue delves into your mouth, exploring and claiming every inch of you. when he finally pulls away, you’re both left panting softly.

“i know it’s not ideal,” he admits, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? at least we can have this... this connection.” he smiles ruefully, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “and who knows?”

you nod slowly, trying to convince yourself that yes, this is enough. it’s not ideal, but it’s something—something real and raw and incredibly satisfying. you capture his hand and press it against your cheek, holding it there as you gaze into his eyes. “yeah, whatever,” you agree softly.

you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm before releasing his hand. you snuggle back into his embrace, feeling contented and oddly fulfilled. maybe this was all you needed after all—to share these stolen moments with geto, to experience the depth of emotion and physical intimacy that he alone could provide.

geto’s smile widens at your acceptance, relief washing over him with hummed followed along after. he wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you flush against his muscular frame. “whatever indeed,” he chuckles, the vibrations of his laughter resonating through your body. he nuzzles your hair affectionately, inhaling your scent deeply.

“i’m glad we understand each other, kitten,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “now, how about we take a nap? i think we’ve earned it after that intense session.” he settles back in his chair, cradling you in his lap as he reclines comfortably. his cock, still semi-hard, presses against your ass, a constant reminder of your recent activities.

“just rest here with me,” he whispers, stroking your back soothingly. “let’s recharge our batteries for the next time.” geto grins, a devilish glint in his purple eyes. “what a sweet shit-talker,” you mutter, too tired or maybe too much of a coward to say it out loud.

the soft insult making the raven-haired man snort, “well, aren’t you a cynic?” his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch gentle yet firm. “but hey, even the biggest cynics need a little sweetness now and then, right?” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “and besides, i’m just looking out for my favorite roommate.” he winks, his smirk playful yet dangerous.

you roll your eyes, attempting to put up a facade of indifference, but you can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “oh, so i’m your favorite, huh?” you retort weakly, leaning into his touch. “i must be so honored.”

he lets out another of those low laughs, the sound sending a shiver through you. “oh, you should be,” he says, his voice lilting with playful arrogance. “i don’t just let anyone sit on my lap, you know. you should count yourself lucky, sweetheart.”

you let yourself relax in his embrace, the warmth of his body surrounding you like a comforting blanket. his hands continue their soothing motions, roaming over your back and hair, lulling you into a state of blissful contentment. despite your exhaustion, a cheeky thought crosses your mind as you snuggle closer to him.

“favorite roommate, huh?” you tease, your voice low and sultry. “i thought i was your only roommate.”

geto chuckles once again, his chest rumbling against yours. “ah, semantics,” he replies, his voice a mix of amusement and feigned nonchalance. “details, details. my favorite… my only… same difference, really.” he pulls you even closer, his arms encircling you like a warm, muscular embrace. “besides,” he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck. “you're the only roommate i need.”

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his chest rumbling with his quiet chuckle, his voice laced with that familiar mix of amusement and teasing. his arms tightened around you, drawing you closer until there was hardly any space between you, his embrace both comforting and exhilarating.

as his lips found that sensitive spot on your neck, a soft sigh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, letting your fingers trail gently along his shoulder. the way he held you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, everything felt like second nature, the kind of closeness that only he could bring.

snuggling closer, you let out a quiet laugh, your eyes half-closed as you nestled against him. “cheeky bastard,” you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you relaxed into his arms. his warmth enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, letting the moment wrap around you like a gentle haze.

his lips curved into a smirk against your skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back. “damn right i am,” he replied, his voice low and amused. he shifted in his chair, his muscular arms flexing as he pulled you even closer. you were practically pressed flush against him now, the heat of his body seeping through your skin, a comforting and exciting presence.

geto hums, a pleased sound that vibrates through his chest. his fingers continue their gentle, soothing motions, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body. “but i prefer the term ‘charming, irresistible bastard,’ thank you very much,” he replies jokingly. “and besides, you like it when i’m cheeky.”

a laugh escapes you as his words sink in, a warm, playful sound that melts into the air around you. “i don’t know where you got that idea,” you reply, your voice light with mock indignation. “i never said i liked it when you’re cheeky.”

but even as you deny it, your arms find their way around his bare waist, pulling yourself closer, and you can feel his warmth seeping into you, steady and grounding. the rhythmic beat of his heart thumps under your ear, a soothing lull that makes the rest of the world feel like it’s melting away.

with a soft, relieved sigh, you let yourself relax into him, the tension slowly leaving your body as you settle in his embrace. it’s moments like this—his warmth, his quiet hum, the way his fingers trace gentle patterns on your back—that remind you of how safe and at home you feel with him.

geto's lips curve into a satisfied smirk as he feels you relax against him, as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. his arms wrap even tighter around you, enveloping you in a comforting embrace.

“mmm,” he murmurs, the sound of a low vibration in his chest. “deny it all you want, sweetheart. but we both know you secretly find my cheeky behavior adorable,” he punctuates his words with a light nip at your neck, a teasing gesture that sends a shiver through you.

[muntitled]

Girl On TV

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader

Summary: After being humiliated by his not-so-innocent friends for being far too innocent, you decide not to be such a prude for once in your life

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Virgin!Reader, Coercion, Peer Pressure, Drug Use, Virginity shaming, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Sadomasocism, Grinding, Porn, Corruption Kink, Pillow Humping, Mutual Masterbation

A/n: I love being a problematic Namgyu stan

You hadn't known it would come down to this.

Had you been told before you would be dragged to sit on his lap under the dim lights of Club Pentagon and made to see this... you might not even have some at all.

Perhaps if he had invited you under the guise of distracting you from academics for one Friday night, you might've been more open.

Less of a prude.

But you had never seen such a clean line of powder stretched across the table in your life. In fact your body burns with not only embarrassment at being in the proximity of such hardcore drugs, but your bones were also set alight in fear.

The arms that have been cradling your waist pulls you in tighter, making you feel smaller than you actually were on his lap. This is what you loved about him. He liked you. Your curves. Your face. Your everything.

You could stick this out, couldn't you?

You should.

"Woah," He calmly whispers into your ear. All at once, every morsel of discomfort is driven out by your overwhelming need to please him.

The club is dark.

The music is good.

Namgyu's pulled you onto his lap in front of an embarrassingly large group of strangers. Everything is perfect.

"What's wrong?" He's so attentiative, bending his head down to whispers conspiratorially into your hair. His voice drowns out the oppressive rap song being performed on the center stage on the ground floor of the club and for all of five minutes its just you and him and the cocaine. Buy mainly, just him.

"You're strung up." He whispers.

You're quiet for a few tense minutes, wondering if you should voice your concerns and risk having him disappointed in you for not having fun like he intended.

"I don't know if I'm too comfortable."

"Here?" You hear him whisper, slightly poking his head forward to nudge his nose into the back of your neck, "With me?" He's using that petulant almost needy voice of his when he's inebriated and it tugs at something deeply troubled inside you.

"Not with you," you reassure him, "With that-" you nudge your head forward slightly, leading his half-lidded eyes to the long stripe of cocaine marring the table. "And your friends," you reluctantly murmur, letting yourself sink against him as if he had the power to scare these drunken people away. As if he wasn't forcing you here, amongst them at all.

"You know Thanos is a big name in the club scene-" He begins and you cut him off by sighing very loudly as you resch forward to grab your glass of water off the small, reflective table.

Thoroughly annoyed because he's sung this song before.

"I know, Namgyu but-"

His fingers weave into themselves around your waist, securing you against him like a baby, "Just be cool for like 40 minutes- maybe and hour-"

Your blood pressure skyrocketed as you turned back to shoot him, not only a look of immense incredulousness but betrayal.

"Namgyu, you said you wanted to take me out- yeah? Not your friends-”

"-Then we can get out of here, and I'll give you all the kisses you want."

You sigh heavily once more. “You didn't say anything about-"

He loosens his grip from your waist before standing up, forcing you to stand up in the process.

"He's coming," he whispers, keeping his eye off into the distance. His attention is much not on you and your present moral struggles.

"This is work, baby, you know this-"

"Namgyu- I have a test on-"

He pinches your side as a new guest enters the section. "Shh." Namgyu whispers at the same time the guest's boisterous hollers cause you to quite literally flinch.

"Yo, Namsu!" He's dripping in gold chains and purple hair. "Who is this fine Senorita you've brought with you?" He asks despite having two women under his arm. "You trying to outdo me bro?" Thanos takes a seat directly beside you and Your boyfriend.

"This is my girl-" He says at the same time Namgyu pulls you back onto his lap.

"It's Nam-Gyu-" you say through gritted teeth. "Not Nam-Su." Your eyes are narrowed at the man who only listens and smiles.

You glare daggers at the man before your boyfriend taps you slightly, reminding you to answer. “I have water- so no thank you." You say before mumbling, "I'm not a snitch either-"

"Is she partaking with us?" He asks your boyfriend, despite looking right at you. “Or is she a snitch?"

The girl under Thanos' arm snickers. "Water?"

You once again, tried to crawl further into Namgyu's lap.

He, thankfully tightened his grip around your waist, never letting you go as he conversed in inebriated chatter with Thanos. The more drugs they consumed the louder they got, until Namgyu started flailing his right arm wildly while he told a story, still having somewhat enough sense to keep a languid grip on your waist.

Somewhere, amongst all the useless chatter, you decided to add in your two cents, snickering quietly to yourself as you mumbled over the rim of your glass, "I've actually never watched porn before-"

"What do you mean you've never watched porn before?" Your eyes widen when you realize you'd spoken louder than you intended to and one of Thanos' girls snicker loudly. The sound carries across the table to his degenerate friends and their girlfriend's and causes a whole new wave of laughter to be birthed from your embarrassment.

You begin to squirm in Namgyu's lap.

Despite the drugs and the loud music, the two of you were having such a nice evening... You never fancied partying much and yet, your boyfriend had to sink his claws into you to get you to agree to one night of partying. The consequences of that decision are playing out in front of you.

"You've been banging a virgin this entire time?" Thanos asks Namgyu the same time and nameless girl says-

"Even I've watched porn."

Despite the anxiety flooding your veins at being the center of unwanted attention, Namgyu's grip around your waist is firm. It keeps you grounded. It tightens around you now, nudging you against him like his nose at the nape of your neck.

"Have I?" Namgyu asks with his eyes as hazy as the city caught in dusk. There isn't alcohol on his breath, only a light dust of snow under his nose.

"Have you what?" You ask, staring down at your trembling hands.

"Been dealing with a virgin this entire time?" He asks, unraveling your very private life to a room full of strangers. He's high. And incredibly loose with his mouth. You have to find it in you to take his inebriation into account but you only feel annoyed.

“Is that why you don't do drugs with me?"

"I don't do drugs with you because I actually value my health-"

"Sick burn," Thanos snorts in his little corner.

Your eyes widen. Your throat tightens.

These aren't your people.

Your people are nestled in the university library, cramming one final time before their semester tests.

Yet here you were, caught under a thick cloud of smoke that had your throat burning, all for a boy.

And admittedly priceless one.

"Don't be an asshole." You turn to glare daggers at him.

"Don't be a prude-" he shoots back. A few locks of hair fall from behind his ear as he watches you with a darkened gaze. "Is that why we haven't had sex yet?" Your heart plummets, "cus you're a virgin?” Namgyu asks. You don't know which side he's on.

"Woah!? A virgin in the flesh-" Thanos hollers, staring at you like a specimen in a petri dish. He nudges the girl under his arm, "I'd cheat on you if you ever tried that shit with me.”

"I know!" The girl responds before turning to look at you with dazed, dilated pupils. "Aren't you scared he's gonna do something if you wait too long?"

These aren't your people.

"If Namgyu wants to sleep with someone then by all means-"

You wrestle out of his iron grip, thanking God for the water that's keeping you sober and steady on your feet.

"Ooh, spicy, spicy-" Thanos mumbles

"Can I go please?" Namgyu keeps his hand in yours, looking up at you with a deadly glare.

"Nah, you leave when I leave, I'm still working-"

You pull your hand out of his.

"I have a test on Tuesday. Goodnight.

Its not like you thought he would follow you. Namgyu was especially selfish, as was the case for most addicts. Right now, you imagine him snapping out of his daze, leaning back over that table, tucking his hair behind his ears as he snorted up whatever Thanos wanted him to.

You didn't think you were being followed and so you feel thoroughly and completely alone once you get to your apartment.

Despite being completely alone this evening, you still try to hide what you're watching on your phone. Your headsets are pulled over your ears, your head reclined against the arm of the couch while your blankie was pulled over your supine frame. You hadn't exactly planned on watching porn this evening but the group's bullying had left you curious.

The girl projected on your phone screen looks up at the actor about to rail her insides. "You've been a bad girl,"

You roll your eyes into the back of your skull. This was precisely why you refrained from mainstream porn. Some of the best stuff was either in your audio files or in your reading list. Visual porn never did much for you- until you scrolled a little too far down to a new, more promising video.

The actress has a crimson handprint on her ass, as her dom forces her to ride her pillow. Despite the difference in skin tone and the overall mediocre acting, you were having a considerable amount of fun imagining yourself in her place. You thought about an invisible collar clamped around your throat with a big, strong, domineering man loomed above you, forcing you to push your clit right up against-

The more you slipped into a pleasure filled haze. You watch with bated breath.

"Sh-it-" you nearly fall off the couch. Your phone plops out of your slippery hands, right onto your face and your headphones slide off. Standing above you, is Namgyu, trying to fight a grin off his face as he stares down at you. You look up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Wh-when did you get back home?" the words barely leave your mouth before Namgyu's grabbing your phone.

"Naughty, naughty girl," He doesn't seem surprised to see the contents on your screen. In fact, the only giveaway that he saw anything at all is the slight flicker his eyes make towards you, before he stares back down at the phone.

"H-How was 'work'?" You're desperately trying to steer your attention away from the blatant porn on your phone screen, away from the smirk on his face as he bites his lips, away from his exposed tattoos in his short sleeve shirt.

"Work was work." He replied, still watching the porn, "I'm high as shit." He says casually as he disappears into the bedroom, your phone still in his hand.

"Hard too." He says when he returns. Your phone clutched in one hand and the large teddy bear he bought you for your 21st clutched in the other hand. You furrow your brows up at him, confused when he takes a seat on the couch. Your feet against his thigh as he clicks a few buttons on your phone before seating the giant teddy bear beside him.

He grabs the remote before pressing a few buttons.

You freeze when you hear the moans first.

Your gaze catches the TV.

There, the girl from your screen rides her pillow and you're forced to watch.

You're almost too embarrassed to feel turned on. Ungluing your eyes from the TV, you instead watch your hands in your lap.

He places a hand under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He's sitting comfortably on his side, remarkably unfazed by the girl's pornographic moans.

"Fuck the bear." Is all he says, as he leans against his arm and he strokes your chin. Petting you.

"Wha-"

"You gonna make me ask again?"

It's something in his tone and his hazy, half-lidded gaze that kickstarts your senses as you languidly stand on your feet. You're trembling and he reaches out to interlock your hands in his. Namgyu loved how eager yet innocent you are for him. He can see in the clumsiness of your movements that you were already slipping into subspace. With trembling fingers, you reach up to the thin straps of your pyjama dress and he nods his head.

"Should I take off my panties too?" Your voice is small.

Namgyu tilts his head. "You even have to ask?"

Behind you, the girl's breathing doubles and her moans increase.

"Better hurry or she's gonna cum." He taunts, watching like a stone statue as you mount the bear seated beside him. Namgyu's breathing catches as you straddle the bear, your movements tense and uncertain.

"Fuck the bear-" you lower your cunt onto the fur material and you moan, having not realized how wet you'd actually been this entire evening.

"That's it- fuck." He spreads his legs, leaning back more as he lets his hand brush over the tent in his jeans.

You don't moan because it feels good. It doesn't. Not immediately at least. You moan because Namgyu is watching. Reclined against the couch as his eyes stay on you.

"Ride the plushie like the girl in the video." He says. Your throat dries when he continues to languidly stroke his hand over the bulge in his sweatpants.

"Fuck- Gyu," he knew when the nickname fell from your lips that you were done for.

You both were.

Your eyes steadily roll to the back of your head as you grind your pussy against the bear, already creating a wet spot.

Behind you, you heard the girl moan and whine and somehow that spurrs you on.

"So fucking needy-” you gasp when you feel a hand cupping your exposed breasts. Namgyu reaches over to tweak your nipples just as his other hand finally slips inside his pants.

"Crane your fucking neck back. Try to watch the slut make herself cum." When you do, your hips stutter hard and your clit twitches.

"You watch her." Namgyu commands, stroking his exposed cock, "I'd rather watch you."

As you watch, his mouth runs. Namgyu swore a lot but it doubled when he caught himself in the throes of arousal.

“You look just like that bitch, you know that?”

Your mouth snaps open as you watch her. Your expression is pained.

“You want everyone to think you're such a quiet little girl but your just a slut, yeah?” He speaks lpuder, “Just my fucking slut- fuck.” It nearly causes you to cum everywhere. Her hand is pushing down on the face of the poor, poor pillow as she rides it. You can tell she's close.

Unable to look any longer, you turn back. Your hazy eyes meets Namgyu's dilated ones. He's stroking his cock, head thrown back against the back of the couch, mouth slightly ajar. His cock is throbbing in his hand and he squeezes, showing you the precum sliding down the length.

"Gyu, please-" you grinded harder against the plushy and Namgyu picked up the pace.

"You imagining me fucking you, huh?" He throws his head back, closing, his eyes momentarily close as his cock twitches in his hand.

"Fuck- I-" your clit was rubbing against the plushie just right. Namgyu's fingers mercilessly squeezing your nipples have you seeing stars. This friction was enough.

Fuck.

Air could be enough to let you come in this moment. All you had to do was buck your hips a little more- but the pain blooming across your breasts were distracting you from cumming.

"Please-" your whole body was trembling- "It fucking hurts!"

His mouth falls open at that, before leaning his head against the couch. He squeezes the base of his cock and you watch the precum slide down its length.

"Fuck, say that again-" he brings his head back before stroking his cock faster. "Fuck the plushie, baby," His hips move up from the couch to meet his hand. "Tell me it hurts again-"

He sits up to tweak your nipples again and you whine. "H-Hurts so bad-"

"Yeah, Princess, just like that," he groans, throwing his head back, "Such a stupid fucking slut-" he admits, voice groggy.

Somehow that final degradation has your hips twitching as your clit spasms and you slip into the stars.

The second you cum, Namgyu does too. Cursing and mumrering a quiet and slightly broken, "Fuck- such s-slut-" before reaching over to grab a fistfull of your braids. Your hips are still writhing, your eyes as blank as a corpse as he pulls you forward to spray his cum all over your face.

He squeezes his cock, unable to keep his pretty eyes shut as he watches you writhe and moan. "Fuck me-" he sighs.

"Don't watch this shit again." He says, huffing and puffing. "It's bad for you."

In a second, he presses a button on the remote and the TV screen is black.

"If you need dick, come to me."

"You were making f-fun of me," you grumble under your breath, and you sigh heavily.

Your eyes are shut but you can feel him playing with his cum on your face.

"I wasn't making fun of you. I was just surprised. You're surprising." There's a thick layer of emotion in his voice. It has your body wracking with aftershocks. "You're not like anything I've ever experienced."

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, boss/employee relationship, stupidly domestic, little wife kink in there somewhere, nanny reader, single dad gojo, breeding kink [18+ only]

You sometimes find yourself wistfully imagining having a family of your own—a soft and sweet little bundle to cuddle and someone strong and capable (competent) at your side. But you can’t think of the last time you’ve been on a date where that person had the same interest in something more serious than casually sleeping around. 

Nannying seemed like the natural conclusion, especially when you’re still settling in a new city and barely scraping by for rent and student loans for a degree you don’t use. 

You pick up a few jobs just to get a feel for it: parents going away for a honeymoon, a last-minute call-in, a weekend business trip. Then a friend of a friend says she makes enough to afford one of those picturesque apartments that overlook tall high-rises and iridescent lights, the very ones you’ve dog-eared in real-estate magazines.

All it takes are a few phone calls and an interview until you’re packing up your apartment and taking the freeway outside of the city to somewhere remote and expensive, your car looking almost out of place parked beside the shiny new one in the long driveway.

You rap on the front door before you lose your nerve, and a few moments later, it opens, and you’re unsure who looks more out of place: this man with a smile too big, dressed for work, immaculate suit dampened by the baby rag slung over his shoulder and what looks like drool on his crisp collar, or you in your scuffed shoes and second-hand store clothes, standing in front of the nicest house you’ve ever seen.

“The nanny?”

“Yes,” you mutter, licking your lips. “That’s me.”

“Good, Ren just woke up from his nap,” he says, opening the door a little wider with a creak. The darkness behind him is almost comforting.

You take a deep breath and pass over the threshold into his home.

The entire time, his hand stays on the small of your back to steer you toward the nursery, and a shiver threatens up the length of your spine.

Three months. That’s how long it takes before your employer poses a problem.

It’s not that he’s a terrible boss; in fact, he’s quite the opposite. He lets you take over one of the many spare rooms in his massive house, pays you double the regular rate, and gives you time off when you ask for it.

It also helps that Ren is cute, only a year old, and still so sweet and tiny. 

Perfect.

The problem lies in that you know what he sounds like first thing in the morning, that he knows how you like your coffee, that he helps you fold laundry in the living room while the baby naps, how you catch him staring anytime you hold his son—his expression shuttered, a foreign thing that you can’t read. It’s all so terribly domestic. 

Terrible in that you think it’s a horrible idea to develop a crush on your boss, that you can’t help but get flustered anytime he so much as looks your way, even if it’s fleeting. How a sleepy smile before he retires to his room for the night can turn your thoughts into a scattered, ill-defined mess of what they used to be until all that’s left are words like spun sugar melting on your tongue.

But also, it’s not normal, at least not from your experience. 

You were lucky in the past if your employer even wanted to know about their kid’s day. Barely saying hello once they walk through the front door before sending money to your bank account.

Satoru—because that’s what he asked you to call him one afternoon while you were in the middle of feeding Ren mashed banana, a lazy smile curling the edges of his lips after you say it for the first time—wants to know everything: what Ren ate, if he laughed, how your day was, if you finally got your hands on that book you’ve been meaning to buy. 

“You don’t have to ask about my day,” you tell him shyly, accepting the glass of wine he proffers you after spending the past hour trying to put a teething baby to bed. “To make me feel better, that is.”

“Would it be so bad if I said I want to? You live here, too.”

You try to separate the two: that he cares as your employer and not for any other reason, and how you sometimes catch the soft look in his eye whenever he looks at you could make you believe otherwise.

Cool fingers cup your chin gently, thumb caressing the top of your cheek, now close enough that you catch a few of the warm notes of his cologne, a move that’s probably very inappropriate between a boss and an employee.

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

You swallow, nodding, slightly shaky, breath caught in your chest. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” He retreats to his office before witnessing how those two words knock the wind out of you.

He starts saying things like our shopping list, our car—because he gave you the keys to the SUV parked beside his car and hasn’t touched it since; for you and the baby, he said, plus it’s terrible on gas when I drive it to work—our house, our baby. You don’t think he means to do it; it's more of an easy slip in conversation.

But then, one morning, he’s rushing around the kitchen, hair still damp and smelling like his shampoo, as he grabs his coffee and briefcase from the counter, kissing Ren’s forehead first…and then yours.

You’re half convinced that you imagined it—that his lips hadn’t stayed there for a second longer than necessary—until he straightens his tie and heads out for the day with a ‘be good’ tossed over his shoulder, and you’re left wondering if he meant to say that to you or Ren.

It sets off a chain reaction of thoughts whirling away in your head, leaves you wanting and wondering—only ever allowing yourself to fantasize a little when the house is quiet and dark, the baby monitor humming on your nightstand, and images of your boss flit behind closed eyelids as you fit your hand underneath your soft sleep shorts.

In the morning, you worry he can tell what you did, his smile almost too sharp, too something—more teasing than what you’re used to—his hand resting on your lower back as he leans down to kiss Ren’s chubby cheek while you make breakfast.

“I have a meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be late. Want me to pick up some food on the way home?”

No, you think, there’s no way he knows.

You spend most of the morning cleaning and folding the array of graphic onesies Satoru has a penchant for dressing Ren in, and the later half walking around the pool because it’s warm and Ren enjoys splashing around in the water. It’s enough to tucker him out for bed early, unable to keep his eyes open while eating a plate of mashed potatoes.

It’s also the first time in weeks that you have the night to yourself, no baby keeping you busy, no Satoru to—well.

After a long shower, you step out of the bathroom, moving into the hallway. And there are many reasons why you felt confident walking the few steps it took to reach your bedroom. Most revolve around what Satoru told you that morning, so you don’t expect him to be standing there, shirtsleeves rolled up, piercing gaze sliding down the length of you wrapped in a towel and little else.

“I brought home those drunken noodles you like,” he says when his eyes focus back on your face, his whole expression softening into a smile.

A beat. “Thank you,” you whisper, unable to look away.

He tucks the wet strands of hair clinging to your cheek behind your ear. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll join you downstairs?”

The noise in your brain goes static.

You’re unsure what causes it, but everything changes when he comes home early one afternoon and finds you and the baby napping in the nursery. He has this soft look on his face and something else you can’t decipher with his piercing blue eyes settled firmly on you.

Ren coos softly into your shoulder. 

When Satoru picks him up and settles him in the crib, then walks you to your room—here, let me help you—and when he hovers in your doorway, you let him in without question.

He doesn’t waste any time peeling off your clothes, eager to have you naked and splayed out underneath him. You cum on his tongue more times than you can count until you’re silently begging him to fuck you.

He laughs, large hands spread over your tummy. 

“Use your words, baby. I’m not a mind reader.”

You feel like you’re someone else watching you from somewhere else, another body rocking against the length of your boss’s cock, back arching every time you manage to find the friction you need. He’s hard against your back, thick in a way that makes you wonder if he did enough to stretch you out. 

“I-I want—”

All other thoughts are obliterated by the stretch and press of him against your cunt. 

“Think I’m going to keep you,” he rasps, lips dragging over your throat. “Keep this drippy little cunt spread open on my desk whenever I want while the baby naps. Would you like that? For me to fuck you full until you give me a baby.”

You clench, nerves shot.

“Gonna get all round with my baby, stay here forever,” he mumbles when he draws away, and you can’t tell if the words are meant for you to hear or slip out without him realizing. “Fuck—breed my little wife until it takes—”

Your eyes roll up, lost in the little promises he paints across your skin, body shivering over and over until you’re sobbing from it until he has to clamp a hand down over your mouth—shh, you’re going to wake the baby—going limp when he finally cums, pressing as deep as your body will allow, as if he can somehow imprint himself there. 

Wonders if maybe he’s been building up to this moment all along. 

It’s so easy to lay there after, blissed out while he litters kisses across your face and collarbones, letting him lift your hips up to slide a pillow underneath, even though the position is awkward when he tries to cuddle you afterward.

His fingers draw shapes on your stomach, giving you a wistful look, like he can’t believe he’s laying here with his cum still dripping between your thighs—no matter how many times he scoops it up and pushes it back inside you. “Do you think it’ll take?”

And you don’t have the heart to tell him about the little foil packet of pills tucked away in your nightstand.