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muntitled · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

Hazel Callahan x F!Reader

Summary: "Jesus, dude, do you know what it means when a gay girl says they wanna have a "slumber party?"

Warnings: Hyper Feminine!Reader, Language, Fluff, Jealousy, Humor, Reader has a crush, Confessions, Teasing, Smut (+18, Minors DNI), Dom!Hazel, Humping, Grinding, Masturbation, Pillowprincess!Reader tbh, Thigh Riding, Public sex, Risky Sex, Massive Degradation Kink, Power Play, Ownership Kink?, Praise Kink, Slight!Hate sex ♡

Part two >

Hazel Callahan was rarely included into anything vaguely external, she would venture to say that she was even rarely included in her own thoughts. Therefore, infuriatingly, painfully aloof Hazel thought nothing of the invite you had presented to the entire group at Fight Club.

Why should she feel special?

Things like this seldom warranted her definite response, so when all the girls had affirmed their attendance, Hazel was... discombobulated to find a silence of anticipation growing pregnant in the gym.

It took a sharp stab in the ribs from PJ for Hazel to swing her head back into this specific reality in the space-time continuum. A reality in which you sat adjacent to her in a circle, legs crossed dainty underneath you to better accommodate the neatly pressed pleads in your pink skirt. There was nothing remarkably profound from you carrying yourself like the pretty princess you thought you were, what strikes Hazel as odd, however, was the look of expectancy in your dark eyes- a look you directed at… her?

"What?"

"You're coming? To my slumber party tonight?" you reiterate stifling the need to pat down at your braids corralled into a pink headband. You are basking under the scrutiny of her gaze but you also happened to suffer under it too. The longer Hazel watched you with furrowed brows, and her knee propped up to her chest, the longer you keened forward as if desperate to hear her say-

"Of course she's coming," PJ once again injects herself in between the two of you. "We'll all be there," You're perhaps nodding at PJ and Josie but your eyes are unable to leave the absolute prison that Hazel has them in. She does nothing except nod as well, before leaving you to your clique who all sit prettily under clouds of Chanel number 5.

The interaction replayed within the confines of Hazel's head throughout the rest of the school day. Right up until she finds herself, nestled in a car with Josie and PJ, taking the short drive in the more affluent neighbourhood from her place to yours.

"So, Hazel," the lascivious tone in PJ's voice already has her rolling her eyes as the car slows before an egregious house. "Are you ready to lose your virginity tonight?"

"Jesus Christ-" Murmurs Josie before PJ assumes what is expected to be your tone of voice- only its a hyperbolic and a higher in pitch reenactment of the real thing.

"Oh Hazel! I'd really like for you to come to my slumber party tonight!" All three girls leave the car as PJ continues her comedic display of seduction as she brushes up against Hazel and says "I really want you at my slumber party."

Hazel laughs as PJ grabs a hold of her upper arm, exposed from her open black button up and tank top. "You're coming right?" PJ sobers up as she says, "That's hot girl speak for "You're going to be cumming inside me-"

Josie does not keep her eyes off the approaching house as she interjects with, "Girls can't cum in other girls"

"Wow!" Hollers PJ, "-And here I was thinking you actually believed that girls can do everything that guys can do-"

"Wait," Hazel's eyes are on her shoes as she readjusts her tote bag and says, "You think she actually wants to like... fuck?" She lowers her voice drastically in the wake of making it up to your front door as she bends and reiterates, "Like actually fuck me?"

There is, frankly no time for Hazel to get a firm response on such a discombobulating thought because you quickly open the front door, and your skin is glowing everywhere from being completely exposed in your pink satin shorts and matching camisole set. Your hair is still loose as it frames your face- your round and constantly smiling face. Why had Hazel never noticed you until now?

Perhaps she did.

Perhaps she negated the possibility of forming a crush on you because you appeared so painfully… straight?

But here you are, smiling at her and only her. Your eyes had been bright at the sight of Hazel and her button up and how outrageously attractive she looked in a tank top but your smile dims significantly when you peer down at PJ'S hand still wrapped around Hazel's forearm.

"H-Hey," Said Hazel, with her voice that reminded you so vividly of a midnight snowstorm,

"Hey," you replied back, quickly turning away. Your mood had already been cemented for the rest of the evening. Despite it being your slumber party, you let your best friend host while you continued to wallow in the regret of your own unshakeable feelings. You hated that PJ and Hazel were very clearly a couple, but what you hated perhaps more, was that you still wanted her. You stole longing glances at her in your space, lazing on your bed while the rest of you sat encircled on the floor in sleeping bags. Hazel completely hijacked your entire brain throughout all the games and activities.

You had lost yourself in her presence and that only kicked up a notch when you felt a pair of forearms lazily splay onto your shoulders from above. With your bum still on the floor and your back against the foot of your bed, Hazel had decided to humour her turn in Truth or Dare. While she answered, she let her legs frame your body. So that it swung over the side of the bed, perfectly framing your sides.

Breathing had been impossible. So impossible in fact, you didn't know it was your turn until it took Hazel bringing her lips down to your ear. Your nerves had been shot to hell as she whispered, "Dove, it's your turn."

You cursed this idea and you cursed this wretched slumber party.

Luckily, It passed by in a significant blur that left you still riding on the high of being in Hazel's personal space until bedtime at 1am. While the girl's drifted into their own sleep, your eyes remained on the pink chandelier hanging from your ceiling while you cradled your stuffed frog to your chest. No matter how hard you try, sleep is a difficult thing to come by. You are left to your thoughts of the girl sleeping on the floor, while gentle snores sounded in the room.

"Fuck," you almost instinctively mutter as you find your hand drifting past your navel. You spread your leg ever so slightly before pushing your hand into your underwear. The quicker you came, the quicker your body could finally be allowed to slip into actual slumber. It sounded like a solid plan, and you had already taken to grinding your wet cunt against your hand- until it all went to hell and your duvet is being pulled slightly off of you.

You're quick to remove your hand and grab a hold of your covers as your eyes snap open to stare at the silhouette above you. Hazel's hair is a spectacular mess on her head and her skin shines orange from the glow of your salt lamp.

"Let me in," she whispers, not really waiting for a response before she's forcing herself into your covers, scooching you on the right side of the bed.

"What are you-"

"Shh," it's embarrassing, how quick you are to snap your mouth shut and heed her commands. Hazel's stomach warms significantly at how docile you are and she smiles as she says, "I cant sleep and I had the vague suspicion that you couldn't either." Hazel says, propping her exposed forearm under her head as she looks up at your ceiling. Her button up is discarded somewhere in the room, leaving her in basketball shorts and a tank but you're not complaining. Not at all.

"I told myself I'd be more intentional with my actions, and my actions are telling me to kiss you right now, but my feelings are telling me you might not want that." You're corraled into stark and naked shock as you watch the girl you've always wanted, confess to you in your bed. It feels unreal. The longing stares, the hours you've spent writing amatuer poetry in your notes app about her, the amount of times you made yourself cum with her heavy on your mind.

This does not feel real.

"Jesus," your voice is uncharacteristically coarse as you rush to say, "Dude, do you know what it means when a gay girl says they wanna have a "slumber party."

Hazel appears stunned as she watches you with wide eyes, "Well yeah," Says Hazel, "but… do you know what it means?"

"I've liked you since junior year," Your confession has her mind going hazy as she tries to recall all the subtle hints which she effortlessly discarded as you just being kind.

"God, you're such an idiot!" You release a chuckle that momentarily stirs a sleeping girl laying closest to the bed in her sleeping bag.

"Shh," Hazel's finger is pressed softly to her lips, you nod slowly only able to process mimicking her own actions.

"What were you doing just a second ago?" She says, swiftly removing the attention from her and her stupidity, replacing the atmosphere instead, with something much more dangerous. There's a difference in her whispers, a tone that has you melting into the covers as you unconsciously squeeze your legs shut. In this moment, she could ask anything of you, and you would simply comply. The silence stretches like honey between the two of you, and Hazel watches with doe eyes as you sink into your shame.

"You don't have to say anything." She finally whispers back, freeing you from your internal damnation but not completely letting you off the hook as she continues: "Just move your hips for me." It was an aggressively passive instruction that exploded a bundle of charged electricity between your legs. You are trapped in a distinctly uncomfortable position between wanting to comply, but wanting to be stubborn. The discomfort of these emotions are not entirely unwanted.

"Do you want me to show you how?" There is a challenging glint in her eyes that simulates the peroration of whatever the hell this is that you are both about to do.

This non-relationship which is so innately a relationship.

"Yeah." Your voice rocks with the signs of an oncoming tempest alerting your body to the possibility of something very, very exciting on the horizon.

Time and space seems so few and far in-between as Hazel keeps you arrested in those blue, endless hues. Examining her features keeps your wanton, unwinding nerves chaotically at bay. There is an intense exchange of control as Hazel shuffles closer, until her head is resting on your pillow and your both breathing into each other's parted lips.

She almost restlessly sets her palm onto your body, her hands on a slow path down your hips. It gives you a sliver of control knowing that bubbling behind her dilated pupils is a need that haunts her just as greatly.

"I'm gonna show you, okay?" She does not need to repeat herself but you recognize her words for what they are: masked behind the excitement and the charged atmosphere, is a real, and genuine need for consent.

The very moment you hopped over this threshold, you would forever be locked in a world anew. There would be no take backs. Your actions would forever be transcribed on the sacred tablet of our shared history.

"Are you going to show me, Hazel?" Desire is seated comfortably on top of your lungs and you speak only in soft pants, "Because it really feels like you're all bark and no bite."

There is a flash of excitement that sweeps momentarily over her lidded lustful gaze.

Her hands are much more sure of themselves as they lock into your sides, her fingers digging rudely into your silk pyjama bottoms.

"Shouldn't you be taking those off?" You ask cheekily.

A scoff slips through her lips as she shifts just a tad closer, her face now centimetres from yours. "You're awfully needy." Hazel whispers, "It's incredibly embarrassing."

What would prove to be even more embarrassing is the jarring way your hips stutter the very moment those words leave Hazel's lips. Your accidentally whorish slip up might have gone unnoticed were it not for the annoying fact that her right leg was seated quite cosily between your legs.

"Shut up," is all you manage to say - a desperate attempt at scrambling for your dignity crumbling in the bed between you.

Hazel laughs airly. Slowly, her hands at your hip begin to move, subsequently allowing your hips to move. A soft and slow moan passes through your lips, drowned out by the sound of sleeping girls as your eyes flutter shut.

"Hey," Hazel's lips are fully touching yours now, "Look at me." She could've never anticipated how the fucked out look in your eyes could ever make her feel. Your eyebrows are curved, as if you're in pain as you hump slowly against her thigh. The coarseness of the silk and her thigh pressing against your aching cunt… it makes everything feel so overwhelmingly real, unmarred by great expectations. The thump of her heart underneath your palm is so incredibly real. The beads of sweat growing pregnant on her forehead are real. Her dry, parted lips pressed against yours is in fact real.

"What are you thinking about?" It strikes you then that you had been a muddled, mindless haze, humping against her thigh with an urgency.

"I'm thinking about you." You reply, truthfully.

"Good things, I hope?" It is so unimaginable, the way her voice is able to remain so incredibly steady while yours is as shaky as a walrus thumping across an icy lake.

"I don't suspect anyone has ever had a single good thought about you." You shoot back and the fingers gripping your hips lock tighter, nearly prompting you to apologise.

The only other option left for you to exhaust is clamping your mouth shut as Hazel's hand assumed a much more aggressive administration. She grips on the plush skin at your sides with an unnecessary hardness, as if she wanted to tear in into you.

"See, I was gonna fuck you," it is absolutely shameful, the whimper that escapes your lips, "But now I'm gonna make you hump my leg like the slutty little girl you are." Before you could scold her, or perhaps violently disagree, rudely, before your cries of indignation could ever be forced out, Hazel is lifting you up from your side of the bed, her head shifting until her brown curls cover your pillow fully.

She turns onto her back, never releasing eye contact as she forces you down so you're straddling her steepled knee. The new position leaves you searching for a new anchor.

"Your hands are pushing down on my hair-" she grumble-whispers.

"If you'd let me finish faster that wouldn't be as much of a problem now, would it?" Hazel's response, in lieu of her thoroughly unimpressed face, had been to grind her thigh further against your core, eliciting a wanton, broken moan into the air.

"You're gonna have to be quiet, Dove." Her voice is gravel, "Wouldn't want anyone seeing how much of my whore you are, would you?" The sound of your own moans slam back into you as you press your pussy incredibly closer to her leg.

"Imagine what they might think of you? Our little star pupil getting herself off on my leg? Is that really all it takes to please you?" Staying quiet had become an unimaginable feat, a mountain that becomes even more difficult to surmount when Hazel's eyes search frantically over your crippling form for a trigger that might send you over the edge.

You couldn't begin to imagine how powerful she must feel watching your hips move wantonly on her thigh while your hooded eyes displayed desperation.

You feel so thoroughly hers, a previous existence in which you went without her hard ministrations guiding you to orgasm felt completely in vain. You want nothing more than to be so incredibly good to her, and the thought that she might want the same way sends you to an early grave.

"You're doing so well, Baby. Keeping going." An embarrassing wave of pleasure ripped straight through your spine leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. There is no mistaking that your reaction to her praise and her validation had not gone unnoticed.

Your pussy is completely soaked against her leg, burdened with the knowledge that it wants something but it didn't exactly know what.

"I need you," you whisper. Before your own shame might wave away the pleasure, you are delighted at the moan that slips through Hazel's parted lips.

You had been so thoroughly enamoured by your own pleasure, you had not stopped to consider hers. The pillow princess stereotype brought with it a wave of shame as you looked down and found her hips stuttering slowly against yours.

"I'm right here, Dove."

And you both began to melt for each other. Your legs are tangled in one another while her thigh is pressed against your clit at the same time your thigh is pressed between her legs as well.

You are pleasantly surprised when you begin to feel the fabric of Hazel shorts moving against your own legs slotted in between her. You didn't have to picture how gloriously lecherous it might have looked, using each other so blatantly to fulfil a need that had begun simmering since forever. "Oh fuck, you're so pretty," her hand finds purchase against your breast, tweaking your nipples until they hardened against the camisole while her other hand was comfortably gripping your jaw, staring up at you with lustful eyes.

"You don't even know how perfect you look right now," you did not speak a word of a lie. Watching Hazel's long and domineering form writhing underneath you is a mental image you wish to keep stored in your chest of sacred memories forever. It is discombobulating, watching someone so used to walking so tall and unbothered, being made a complete mess underneath you.

You never wanted this moment to end.

"I want you to kiss me." She croaks, despite already bringing your face close to hers by the strength of a single grip. Her eyes search yours for something. You only hope that grinding yourself even faster against her leg is a testament to whatever it is she might've been looking for. Soon, her lips crash onto yours. When Hazel Callahan kisses, she kisses sloppily and disastrously as if she wanted to swallow you whole before you ever thought of escaping. Her lips are all encompassing, her tongue is restless, pushing itself into your mouth with avid determination.

You moan softly into her mouth. A sound she appreciates greatly given the way her hips began to move against your thigh with a matching ferocity. Her hand slithers along your back, until she cups a handful of your ass, dragging your pussy once again against her, at her desired pace.

Rough. Arresting. Frantic.

"You're being too loud," She sighs, breaking away from your lips to trail them down your neck. "You're being too fucking loud-"

"Fuck, Hazel I'm close-" Your legs are locked against hers but the hand on your ass keeps your hips moving by proxy. "I'm so close."

"You're gonna cum for me, Dove?"

"Oh God, I love it when you call me that-" There is an embarrassing pool of wetness accumulated between your legs, dripping through your shorts and onto her skin. She is equally as wet and that fact only spurs you on.

"I need you to cum for me, baby?" Her stuttering hips told you her own release is dangerously close, sitting on the horizon. Perhaps your orgasm had bled into something prideful, her need to make you cum first caused her to delay her own release.

"You're fucking unbelievable." You sigh with troubled realisation.

She uncovers herself from your chest, panting heavily without her hips ever stopping. "You're gonna cum first, okay?" She nods, persuading you to mimic her movements because despite everything, you are putty in her hands.

"Okay."

As she kisses you once more her hand travels back to your now exposed boob. Between your kiss, Hazel had somehow managed to haphazardly lift your camisole enough to expose your breasts.

A straggled sound leaves the back of your throat as your orgasm crested.

She succeeded in making a mess of you. Your hair had been set free, braids spilling like wild snakes down your torso.

"Oh God, oh fuck-" a hand slaps over your mouth. Hazel's eyes are wide as she continues to guide your hips to release.

"Such a good little Dove, aren't you?" Your eyes are blown with stars and pixie dust as you nod drunkenly. She's humping your thigh and you're humping hers and soon the orgasm sneaks up on you, stealing your breath right from inside your lungs. Your strangled moan is muffled by her palm.

Her eyes take it all in with a very certain hunger, drifting from watching her own hips grinding your thigh, to the choked expression of utter euphoria splashed against your face.

"Fuck, baby." Her Eyebrows knot as her breathing picks up. The pressure visibly building across her face is nearly enough to send you back into your pool of euphoria.

"Oh fuck- oh baby," The wave of pleasure that courses through her is violent and incredibly validating. It is you who had gotten her to this point, humping your leg so desperately as if it might be the only thing she could ever hope to achieve. For someone who had built such a notable reputation for always mainting an I-dont-give-a-fuck mentality, this feels like an immense achievement for you.

Once the smoke clears, and Hazel finds herself back on planet earth, the relics of her euphoria register as intermittent aftershocks. The dawn of what you had just done begins to settle and almost instinctively, you revert to your teasing.

"How nice of you to finally join us," you are still hovering above her, her long neck craning to look at you.

"You talk a lot of shit for someone who squeaks when she cums."

The dampness between your legs is a reminder. "You're gonna learn to take just as much as you give sooner or later," You don't miss the hint of a promise thinly veneered along that whisper. Choosing to ignore the fluttering in the pit of my stomach at the sound of it alone, you climb off of her and back to your space on the bed.

"What's its name?" Hazel asks, peering into the darkness to bring your stuffed frog back into your arms. "You strike me as someone who gives their stuffed toys names."

You're still out of breathe as you reply, "Texas,"

She cracks a smile at that. Before you can finally drift off, a hand slips across your hip, trailing over your torso before brushing over your breast and staying there. "I'm gonna buy you one...I wanna watch you hump it like you just did my leg okay?"

All you're able to do is nod.

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan fluff #bottoms x reader #bottoms fanfic #bottoms movie

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blxxdsex · 6 days ago

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"The genius, Michael Gavey." - Michael Gavey x Reader.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, masturbation, foul language, loss of virginity, cum control.

English is not my first language, so I hope you will forgive me if there are any mistakes.

It’s not as if anyone’s queuing up to see what’s behind those smudged glasses or that same red sweater he pulls on every Monday. And that's fine. Honestly, it is. He's made peace with it. It’s their loss, isn’t it? That's the mantra he clings to, the thread keeping his fragile ego intact: They're the ones missing out. And God, doesn’t he need to believe it.

Michael’s good at a lot of things, and he knows it. Brilliant, really. Genius, if we're being honest. Maths? Please—he’s never even touched a calculator. Numbers are his domain, his sanctuary, the one place where he feels entirely at ease. Books too—though never fantasy; he’d rather lose himself in something real, something concrete. But everything else? Social skills? A complete disaster, really. Painful to watch.

When you arrived in Oxford, it hit him hard. Why? Because even when he was buried in the silence of the library, there you were, watching him. Always watching. Maybe intending to read a book—upside down, no less—or lounging with your legs thrown over a table, headphones blaring as if you couldn't care less about the world around you.

Michael Gavey isn't used to being seen. For fuck’s sake, he’s Michael Gavey. Nobody. Invisible, as he’s always preferred. But then you came along, and suddenly, invisibility wasn't an option. You became something else entirely: a problem, a distraction, a bloody nuisance he couldn’t seem to get rid of. And maybe, deep down, that’s what scared him most.

So, naturally, his response was to start staring back. Maybe if he leaned into being a proper weirdo, you’d back off. But no, of course not. You didn't flinch. You just stared right back, unwavering, unbothered. It didn't take long for one of the teachers to step in, warning him, of all people, to knock it off. And you? You just smiled. Smiled like you'd won some secret, twisted game, baring all your teeth like a predator who'd just cornered its prey.

When he squinted at you, furrowing his eyebrows in some attempt to decode whatever the hell was going on, you simply glanced at the table, still grinning like you had a secret you were dying to keep.

What was your problem? Were you planning something? Was there a game being played here, something sinister he couldn’t quite see? The questions clawed at him, gnawed at his focus, and yet, no answers came. Only that smile. God, he hated it.

Things weren't improving, no, they were deteriorating rather quickly. And it all took a turn for the bizarre when, in the dead of night, he awoke still half hard, with his shorts drenched in cum and his mind? Cluttered with vivid memories of a particular dream from the previous night. Never had he scrubbed a piece of clothing with such fury in his life; this treacherous body was doing him in. And the most egregious part? His cock was a bloody jest, because even after such mortification, he had to wank off once more just to make the torment subside.

That day, the Oxford corridors felt like they were smoldering beneath him, each step fueling the inferno inside his chest. His sneakers might as well have been on fire for how much he burned with rage. And then he saw you, loitering by your locker, looking infuriatingly calm as always. It was like you wanted to drive him insane.

He stormed over, slamming your locker shut with a single hand, his nostrils flaring like he was ready to tear you apart—not literally, of course. Well, maybe a little. He was unraveled, utterly tormented, and you? You were only making it worse.

“Stop.” The word came out flat, almost pitiful, his voice cracking under the weight of his irritation. His blue eyes, usually so sharp, were clouded and bloodshot, as if they’d been scorched by his fury.

“With what?” you asked, tilting an eyebrow, that insufferable smirk tugging at your lips. Carefree. Effortless. It made his teeth grind in pure frustration. He didn’t even understand why he felt so unhinged—just that he did.

“What the hell do you want?” he barked, his voice echoing down the corridor. Heads turned, a few people pausing to glance at the scene, but you didn't so much as flinch. No fear, no embarrassment. You just leaned lazily against your locker, staring at him down like you had all the time in the world.

“Your number, to start with, would be great.” The words hit him like a physical blow. His pupils dilated so fast it felt like the world had tilted. If darkness swallowed everything right then and there, he was convinced he’d still see you.

And that’s when everything shifted. You weren’t messing with him—not in the way he’d thought. No, you were interested in him. The realisation hit Michael like a slap, and even then, his perpetually self-loathing brain struggled to piece it all together. For once, his stupid mind was just that: stupid.

But then the messages started, tentative at first, and something clicked. You actually got on—really got on. It was strange, almost unnerving, how much you seemed to have in common. You liked some of the same nerdy things as him, and he found himself listening to bands he’d previously written off because you mentioned them. Slowly, the conversations moved out of his phone and into the library, where you started sitting at the same table.

People noticed, of course. Curious glances trailed after the two of you, some even daring to linger when Michael—Michael Gavey, of all people—was caught smiling. Not a smirk or a grimace, but an actual smile, albeit half-hidden behind his hand. But it was there, and for once, he didn’t mind. Not entirely.

And then, on a Friday night when everything seemed eerily serene, the text message arrived. 'Do you want to come to my dorm?' Panic ensued. Perhaps it's a tad presumptuous to assume you want to fuck him, isn't it? Yet, he was presuming precisely that. But the truth is, Michael has only kissed one girl in his entire life; otherwise, his knowledge comes from pornography, books about the human anatomy, and the hushed conversations in the men's locker room. And it's not that he didn't want to; in fact, he wanted to, desperately so, but the truth was that no one seemed sufficiently captivated to offer him the chance. But you, you were offering. Maybe. What does one do with that?

He took a shower, donned his usual jeans and a white shirt, slipped on his sneakers, and even spent time before the mirror wrestling with his blond hair, to little avail, of course. He decided he wouldn't be a coward; he had this chance, maybe, and he wouldn't squander it with timidity. He made his way to the girls' dorm on campus, garnering more than a few disdainful looks from the passing girls. It was just because it was him; if it were Felix sneaking in, they'd be all smiles. But who cares? There was only one person he hoped would truly appreciate his presence. He reached your door, his breath caught in his throat, and knocked so feebly that perhaps he thought you wouldn't even hear. Pathetic, honestly.

But you heard him, and when you opened the door, he froze for a moment. You'd just taken a shower; your skin was still slightly flushed from the hot water, wearing an oversized shirt, once black but now faded to grey, and some pajama shorts that honestly looked more like his underwear than actual shorts. He swallowed hard, managing a crooked smile. You leaned against the doorframe, your smile much more genuine.

"You came." The words slipped from your lips with such ease, rolling off your tongue with a genuine satisfaction that straightened his crooked smile.

"Yeah, well. It's not like I have anything better to do, of course." His reply lacked the sharpness he'd rehearsed in his mind, accompanied by a glance at the floor and a stupid, silly smile.

"Yeah, of course." You laughed, rolling your eyes, and turned your body to give him space to enter, if he wanted to, though he looked as if he might bolt at any second.

But he didn't run away; no, he actually stepped inside. The room was like most others, yet he was struck by how orderly it was. Like any typical dorm, there was the TV, the two single beds, a small table, and in the corner of an adjacent smaller room, the bathroom. The scent of cleaning products lingered, indicating you'd taken the time to tidy up before inviting him over. This shouldn't have pleased him as much as it did, but it did.

"Just take off your sneakers before you lay on the bed," you said with that nonchalant tone of yours, picking up the TV remote from the table.

He glanced at the paused movie on the screen before turning his attention to the bed. His mind wasn't exactly racing as he sat down, beginning to untie his sneakers, but his focus soon shifted to the side of your face. He was transfixed by how your hair framed your features, how your lips were so perfectly shaped, and how your eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. He had to run a hand over his face, nearly knocking off his glasses, to bring himself back to reality, blinking several times to refocus on removing his sneakers.

"I chose 'Evil Dead,' but they didn't have the classics." Your voice drew his gaze upward again. You casually made your way to the bed beside him, practically throwing yourself down, causing the mattress to bounce. "Is that a problem for you?" you asked, turning to look at him, your eyes locking with his.

His throat visibly tightened as he swallowed, while you didn't even blink. For a moment, he found it a rather amusing jest. What could a girl like you, with the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, with lips that curved into the brightest smile he could imagine, possibly want with him? He was either the luckiest bastard in the world or the biggest delusional of the year. But that was fine, at least for now.

"No, it's not a problem at all," Michael mumbled, unsure if he was referring to the movie choice or something else entirely. But it would suffice either way.

He saw you smile widely, and you felt you should, noticing his blue eyes dilate behind his glasses. Looking down where you had crossed your legs beneath you, you tried to focus and simply pressed play on the movie. The low noise from the TV soon filled the room, the colors of the film painting your faces and reflecting in Michael's glasses. The silence was comfortable, as always. The sounds of calm breathing filled the space, but well, his eyes weren't really on the TV; they were on you. To the point where he had to rest his hand on his face, just to appreciate it, perhaps.

"You know, watching a movie works better when you're looking at the screen," you commented, your eyes still fixed on the screen, though you felt the heat from his gaze on your cheek.

"I prefer to watch you." His words were barely above a whisper, but they reached you, making your smile widen even more.

Your eyes flicked to him, while his remained steady, though he felt his palms sweating against his cheek. He was nervous, and his attempt at an impassive expression wasn't fooling you. The words that left his lips were just truths, and seeing you smile, it was good to see you smile, it brought a subtle curve to his own lips. Sighing, you drew your knees up to your chest, resting your chin there, unsure of what to make of his words or of him. Just as he was unsure of what to make of you or how much you unsettled him.

"I hate almost everyone here except you." Your words mirrored his in tone, quiet, perhaps too intimate to slip out.

They made him pause, just looking at you, wondering. Time seemed to stand still, the screams from the movie not reaching your ears; things were quiet, almost silent. And that's when his hand rose, wrapping around the back of your neck, perhaps with the most courage he'd ever mustered in his life. Your lips parted slightly when you noticed him shifting on the bed to get closer, and you responded in kind, leaning towards him, your hand hesitating before also reaching up to the back of his neck, slipping between the golden strands to hold him firmly. Bringing your faces close, your breaths began to mingle, and soon all that was reflected in his glasses were your lips, all his attention focused solely on them.

"You're trouble, and you want to know why?" Michael whispered, your gaze falling to his lips as they formed the words. They were thrown at your face, raw and direct. "Because it seems like after I met you, there's been something wrong with my brain." He lifted his thumb to trace your bottom lip, as if to commit it to memory.

"Yeah?" Your response lacked strength, not truly. "That's good, because it seems like after you I'll never be the same." Whispering another confession, now it seemed more than fitting, even with your breathing too rapid to say much more, or what you truly wanted to.

A faint smile touched Michael's lips, perhaps an attempt at composure before he leaned in closer. Tilting your heads in opposite directions, your noses brushed against each other, the taste of each other's breath mingling on your lips, shared. His lips were the first to part, capturing your lower one slowly, almost tentatively, until yours responded, capturing his upper lip. The kiss started slowly, your lips moving together with an unhurried grace, despite your quickening breaths at the contact. His free hand found your waist, attempting to pull you closer, while your hand tangled in his hair, gripping it almost in a fist.

But it wasn't enough, far from it. Leaning forward, Michael guided you both down onto the bed, supporting himself with each hand on either side of your head, positioning his body between your legs, which parted to welcome him. One of his hands slid down to your thigh, lifting it and pressing it against his side, your hips naturally seeking each other, and his already hardened cock brushed against your increasingly aroused intimacy. Sounds escaped between kisses, your hands sliding to grip his back, when Michael pressed your bodies together again, rolling his hips and drawing out a sly moan from his own lips, making it difficult to continue kissing you.

Your hands reached for the hem of his shirt, attempting to pull it up, but his hands caught yours, pinning them above your head, fingers intertwining there, as he pulled back just enough to look you squarely in the eye. His heavy breathing made his chest rise and fall, sweat causing his glasses to slide down his nose.

"I..." the words seemed reluctant to escape as he gazed down at you, your lips flushed and your chest heaving. He didn't want to dissuade you, but he had to say it. "I've never done that."

Your only response was to lift your head from the bed, seeking his lips and succeeding in a gentle capture, with him lowering himself to return the kiss. Though not deep, your teeth nipped at his lower lip, tugging gently, perhaps trying to draw him closer. Your fingers pressed against his above your head, yearning to be free, you just wanted to touch him, feel him, it didn't matter if he was inexperienced, if you had to guide him step by step, or if this was all you would have, feeling him like this above you.

"Just touch me, I don't care," you murmured against his lip, without the strength for more words, which in response prompted him to roll his hips against yours again, closing his eyes with a moan, just as your head tilted back, lifting your hips to meet his movement.

His hands released yours, and you quickly grabbed his shirt, pulling it up and off him, and he reciprocated, lifting yours inch by inch until he could pull it over your head. Without a bra, your breasts were bared to him, making him pause. His lips went dry as he took in the sight of your hardened nipples, ready for attention, despite his momentary hesitation. You saw it in his eyes, in how they flickered to meet yours, and your hand reached to caress his cheek before grabbing the back of his neck, gently guiding him toward your chest, arching off the bed to ensure he understood your consent.

And he understood more than clearly, leaning down to kiss the space between your breasts before moving to one, enveloping it with his mouth entirely, using his hand to squeeze it firmly. The sensation of your skin against his mouth elicited a low sound from him that vibrated through your body, prompting you to grind your hips against his already hard cock. His tongue followed, swirling around your nipple, sucking as if his life depended on it. His mouth salivated, saliva running down your chest, glistening your skin with his essence. His free hand went to your other breast, squeezing it tightly, his lips trailing kisses to the other side, his tongue sliding along until it reached your other nipple, circling it with fervent enthusiasm.

"Fuck," you murmured, your intimacy throbbing, squeezing as you leaned on the bed to create friction against his erection, making him to bite the nipple in his mouth to stifle a loud moan.

His lips left your chest, observing the glistening, swollen flesh from his attentions. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight, going straight to his core. He looked down to where his hardness met your shorts, stopping himself from climaxing right there, taking deep breaths.

"Tell me..." his words trailed off, his lips struggling to draw in breaths. "Tell me how to be good for you." His whisper was broken, he was too far gone to really care about it.

You smiled, even in the throes of your overwhelming need for him. One of your hands took one of his, slowly guiding it to your core, and he watched intently as you slipped it inside your shorts and soaked panties, biting his lip as his expression contorted with pleasure. Slowly, you positioned his fingers perfectly over your clit, starting to move them in circles, making your breathing quicken further. Fortunately, Michael was a quick learner, or perhaps just desperate enough. Your fingers left his as he took over, moving them faster, circling over your soaked clit. You tried to reach for his hardness in his pants, but with his free hand, he caught yours and pinned it to the bed.

"Don't." The words came out swiftly, a desperate command because he knew well that if you touched him, he would cum right then and there.

You accepted it, not attempting to touch him again. Feeling his fingers slide over and over your most sensitive spot, the sounds began to fill the room, the wetness so intense it seeped through your pajama shorts, and he could hardly believe his incredible luck. His eyes moved to your face, noticing your parted lips, your cheeks flushed red, and your breasts, still glistening from his saliva, seeming to beckon him. One of your hands gripped his wrist, and he could see from your expression how close you were. The hand that had been holding yours to the bed released it, moving to the back of your neck, lifting your head to make you look down.

"Watch," he murmured, sliding his thumb perfectly over your clit, and you felt like stars were bursting behind your eyes even as you complied and stared.

You saw his hand moving inside your shorts, the veins in his forearm pulsing with the effort, the muscles there flexing. His hand held you tightly, almost encompassing your neck. And when his fingers started moving side to side, you knew you were finished. Your lips parted completely, a groan trapped in your throat escaped, you tried to throw your head back but his grip prevented it, and then, your walls clenched, he could feel the pulsing around his fingers, your belly flexing as you reached your climax, clamping your legs around his forearm.

Your body goes limp on the bed, your thighs still trembling as his hands slide from your neck down to your thighs, smearing his taste there. He grips the hem of your shorts, pulling them down along with your panties. When his eyes meet your pulsing, glistening pussy, a sigh escapes him, eyes closing momentarily to regain control. You hear the sound of his pants being unzipped, him kicking them off along with his underwear. Your eyes open just in time to see him grip the base of his cock, bringing the head to your sensitive clit, eliciting a tight, desperate moan from you.

"You're so beautiful." he murmurs, dragging the precum-slick tip of his cock across your clit, making your walls clench as he watches. His free hand runs down the inside of your thighs, ensuring they're coated in your own wetness.

He squeezes his eyes shut in pure ecstasy, rubbing his cock from your clit to your entrance, gripping the base tightly to stave off his climax. Your thighs tremble, your hands gripping the sheets, but nothing seems to alleviate the intensity, there's no escape. You're consumed, completely. Your hips start to move desperately for contact, even as your body protests, your fingers threatening to tear the sheets apart. He rubs once more, the almost sinful sounds echoing off the walls, mingling with his low moans and the contractions of his stomach. You can tell he's doing everything in his power not to cum.

"Can I?" He opens his eyes to whisper, looking directly into yours, and with no strength left to speak, you simply nod.

He sighs deeply before positioning himself at your entrance and pushing inside, feeling your walls resist yet yield as he presses in until fully seated, your groins meeting. A drawn-out moan escapes your lips as his head falls back, a soft groan leaving his throat followed by a sequence of breaths that made his entire body tremble. Michael pauses, trying and failing to calm his racing heart and the overwhelming sensation of your hot, tight insides. Leaning forward, he rests one hand on the bed while the other removes his glasses, setting them aside. Your hands rise to the back of his neck, bringing his forehead to yours, holding it there as he makes the first thrust. Both of your lips part, your moans and breaths mingling.

His thrusts were deep, yet slow. He would withdraw almost completely before sliding back in, each time making your eyes squeeze shut tighter and your head press against his. The sweat on your foreheads seemed to meld you together, turning you into one entity. His eyes opened, burning into your face, and you met his gaze, your eyes filling with tears of pure pleasure as he thrust even deeper.

"I like you," he murmurs, cupping your cheek as his other hand grips the headboard, making the wood creak. A smile graces your lips, almost cut off by his cock sliding in deeper.

"I like you too," you manage to reply between ragged breaths, your fingers tightening around the back of his neck as if it's your lifeline.

He brings his lips to your forehead, giving you a long, lingering kiss, his breath warm against your skin. Then, he brings his hand to your mouth, and with that signal, he starts thrusting with all he has, making you scream into his hand, which hopefully muffles the sound. He rests his own mouth there to also muffle his moans, feeling sweat run down every part of his body, mixing with yours. The bed bangs against the wall, your eyes roll back when he hits that sweet spot inside you, your hands lifting to dig your nails into his back. As your walls clench around him, he feels your climax spill out, soaking the sheets and his lower abdomen. With a louder moan, he quickly pulls out, his cock spilling his cum over your belly.

He releases your mouth and the headboard, letting his full weight rest on you, his head finding solace in the crook of your neck. Your arms encircle his neck, keeping him close as your entire body trembles with the aftershocks of pleasure. Both of you are exhausted, both satisfied. Michael's thoughts drift back to the early weeks of knowing you, how he wished you would vanish, and now, how he dreads the thought of you leaving, like everyone else. The irony might have drawn a bitter laugh from him if he weren't so physically spent.

"I wasn't bluffing," you hear him murmur into your neck, capturing your attention amidst the sensations still coursing through your body. You slowly turn your head towards him.

"What?" you whisper, perhaps fearful that even a slight increase in volume might make this moment slip away, just as much as he is. His eyes, those blues that most people overlook, capture your senses.

"I really like you." Hearing those words again, this time not in the heat of the moment, did something different to you stomach, perhaps quickened your heart more than the entire act itself, burned your skin more than anything else.

Drawing him closer with your hand, you adjust his position so he lies on your chest, where he places a gentle kiss. Your fingers delve into his hair, and you cast a brief glance to the side where his glasses still rest. A smile graces your lips because the truth is, you are utterly and hopelessly in love with the genius Michael Gavey. The irony is that he doesn't seem genius enough to realize it.

#smut #michael gavey #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #aemond targaryen #aemond #house of the dragon #oneshot #saltburn #fanfic #x reader #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

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lacrimosathedark · 11 months ago

Text

I need the comic book fanfic writers to be made very aware of something:

Roy Harper is the only one to EVER call Jason Todd "Jaybird".

This isn't a family name that he picked up on, or that Roy made and the family has adopted. Roy is literally the only person to call him that. Dick doesn't, Babs doesn't, Bruce doesn't, nobody but Roy does.

The others call him Jay sometimes, in old comics Jace was said a few times (which I actually like and wish people would use literally at all). Bruce has said "Jay, lad" like once and fandom adopted him calling Jason "Jaylad" but that's not horribly egregious so I tolerate it. Dick occasionally calls Jason "little wing". That's about it.

Jaybird is very specifically a Roy Harper thing.

(Honestly yall better appreciate me actually looking back in RHATO 2011 because BOY do I hate this comic. It's not only poorly written, but in my opinion, ugly as fucking sin and I need to burn my retinas now)

That is the first instance of Jason ever being called "Jaybird", and it becomes a lowkey running gag that Roy calls him that and Jason "hates" it.

And then we get this post Heroes In Crisis

This whole thing may have been poorly written because, again, Scott Lobdell sucks, but the intent is to evoke intimacy to make Roy's death hurt. Jason is supposed to have just lost his best friend and was told by Bruce Wayne whose last appearance in his life was beating the shit out of him and, oh yeah, who saved Jason? Roy Fucking Harper.

In addition to the fact that Roy only left Jason to get help for himself. He was supposed to be in rehab/therapy, somewhere safe, and he fucking died because of handwavy Speedforce shenanigans or whatever it's been retconned to now because nobody liked Heroes in Crisis. Roy was supposed to be getting better and he died ostensibly in an accident. Like if that's not the worst fucking bullshit--

This scene of Jason calling himself by what he deems a stupid nickname would mean jack shit if everyone and their goddamn cat called him "Jaybird". But it being a Roy-specific thing makes this scene distinctly about Jason being vulnerable and actively grieving. It's such a cliche trope, and a real coping mechanism, to call a deceased loved one's phone just to hear their voice in their inbox message again. He probably has no thoughts that Roy will ever hear it so this is just for him, but he's letting himself accept this dumb nickname Roy gave him now because it was Roy that gave it to him and Roy is fucking dead.

Like, in fairness it probably frustrates me more because I ship the two and parallel it with Oliver calling Dinah "pretty bird", but like...even as just a cheeky friend nickname, nothing romantic behind it, having everyone else call Jason that feels wrong. Especially his family who he still has so many issues with and, like it or not, he's closer to Roy than literally any of the Bats at this point.

This isn't the only time I've seen the fandom do this (this being giving nicknames between characters that just don't exist); Jason calling Tim "replacement" is absolutely rampant in the fandom and I hate that too because he never calls Tim that, and refers to him as such like once. I have a whole list of actual nicknames and insults these motherfuckers call each other somewhere, but maybe another time.

In short

STOP HAVING EVERYONE CALL HIM JAYBIRD.

Thank you and have a nice day. <3

#DC Comics #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Jaybird #Roy Harper #Arsenal #I am losing my goddamn mind #I'm just so tired #RHATO #Heroes in Crisis

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 10 months ago

Text

Yandere Coworker

Tw: violence, afab reader, A Lot Of Words

masterlists part 2

This is a pretty slow burn fic, enjoy yall

Minors and ageless blogs DNI please i will block u <3

You only ever talked to him once or twice, barely even remembering his name. You always mistook him as 'Citrus'. But he would correct you and say his name is Cyprus.

He doesn't speak to anyone, always working away at his cubicle. You would have to pass by his seat a few times to hand some reports, it was always barren. Nothing that showcases his personality outside work, no framed pictures, no trinkets, no keychains, and definitely no bowl filled with candies.

Yet, everyone gossips about him. He is undoubtedly attractive, you could see a faint outline of his toned muscles through his white, dress shirt. He wears a pair of titanium, rectangular glasses on the bridge of his nose. Always clean-shaven with a short, smart haircut. His skin has a healthy glow and gorgeous tan to it with barely any blemishes except the scar that cuts through his thick eyebrows and full lips. That adds to his rugged charm.

Everyone thought that his ears were weird, but refrained from talking about it, fearing that HR would pay them a visit for workplace bullying.

Your coworkers tried to buddy up with him before, either for office politics or genuine interest in him for being tall, dark, and handsome. But in the end, they failed and gave up. Because he would only talk to them about work, or not speak at all, just stare at them deadpan before telling them he has something to do.

You knew his good looks earned him your manager's favor. You have been observing him just like everyone in the room, he comes in at 9AM on the dot, and leaves at 5PM on the dot. Once his shift is over, nothing can stop him. No matter how high up there in the office hierarchy, no one can convince him to stay even as little as 5 minutes. It is especially egregious during meetings, despite being obviously nowhere near its conclusion, once the clock hits five, Cyprus would get up, politely yet albeit gruffly excuse himself, and leave the room.

You tried following his example once. You were called into HR the next day for not being a "team player". It isn't only you, even your other colleagues received a scolding for setting such boundaries while Cyprus left the building without having any sass thrown at him. It's either he gets preferential treatment or he does not give a damn if he gets fired from this job.

He disappears during lunch. Absolutely no one can find him, not in the break room, not the bathroom, and not even the parking lot. It was like a sighting of a cryptid when he would occasionally enter the communal kitchen to make himself a cup of black coffee, no sugar nor milk.

Of course, each time people would try to entertain him with small talk. Cyprus would simply reply with one-word answers or nothing at all.

Obviously, he isn't interested in letting his professionalism slip. Why bother trying to gain his approval? Whenever you had the pleasure of being alone in the coffee room with him, you would nod at him as a greeting, and he would do the same. After either one of you finished your business there, no goodbyes would be said.

There was a day when you decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator, it's always occupied and you would have to wait ages. By the time it reaches your floor, it will have already taken up half of your lunch break. Might as well get some exercise in.

You frowned at how dingy it was, but you started your journey downwards.

After reaching the next floor, you were surprised to catch none other than Cyprus sitting on the steps. He turned his head to you, seemingly annoyed at something. He has his phone in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other one.

You happen to be holding a lighter for your friend. You offered it to him, and Cyprus would gladly accept it. He grumbled out a 'thanks' before handing it back to you. Not liking the smell of cigarette fumes, you gave him an acknowledging look and left him alone.

He gazed at you pensively as you descended the stairs while blowing a puff of smoke from his mouth. The cigarette was held between his index and middle fingers.

It's been three months since you first joined this company. The only thing you knew about Cyprus is that he worked here longer than you, has a cig for lunch, and isn't a pushover. From what you learned from your colleagues, he only worked here for a year before your arrival. Right off the bat, he's already acting like this. Never sucking up to the higher-ups or going above and beyond like other newbies would.

Though, it isn't like he's a horrible worker. Cyprus wasn't the best either. He just does just enough not to get dismissed. He reaches his deadlines, has everything in writing, and would professionally call anyone out for giving him too much to do.

Since the day where you used the stairs, you would always bump into Cyprus without fail. Looks like you found his hiding spot and he is always filling up his lungs with grey poison. But you had no desire to share it with anyone, he probably would prefer to keep his safe haven unoccupied. The only constant daily interaction that the two of you had was a mutual nod.

There was a particular day when you decided to put on a new pair of work shoes. It was also the same day when you had to rush out of the building for an important appointment. You didn't realize how slippery the soles were, it took one misstep and you found yourself tumbling down the stairs.

Luckily though, your collision course was stopped by a pair of strong arms catching you before you could hit the wall.

Cyprus helped you up. But you had no time to waste, you muttered a quick thanks before rushing to flee the scene again.

His sharp eyes must have picked up what the problem is. Well, it didn't take a genius. You were already barely keeping your balance while scrambling to get back onto your two feet. So, Cyprus would apprehend you by the wrist, preventing you from going down.

"Stop rushing, you're going to slip again." He said, his voice was deep enough to feel it vibrating in your bones.

You end up taking off your shoes and assuring him you're going to be fine. He lets you go and you take off running, regardless of his command.

You came back the next day with a bruise on your forehead and another pair of shoes on your feet. Your nosy coworkers flocked around your table to ask what happened. You said your stupid shoes were too slippery, you slipped and hit your head. Leaving out the part where Cyprus helped you out at the stairs.

Just like usual, you took the stairs again during your lunch break.

You expected a nod and nothing else.

"You okay?" He asked. Which surprised you. Switching the focus from the steps to Cyprus, who is standing tall on the platform with a cigarette between his lips.

You muttered yes, and a "thanks for asking". You had somewhere to be, so you moved past him and left him there. Cyprus didn't make a move or say anything else.

The week goes by like usual. Though, Cyprus is oddly "chattier".

"How's your head?" He would ask this on random days. You would always reply with a "fine" and a "thanks for asking", not wanting to waste his precious smoking time, you left him alone almost immediately.

You had a bad day at one point, you got yelled at by five different bosses, someone took credit for your contribution, you weren't invited to lunch and you were told to work overtime. Dragging yourself down the stairs with your head hung down low. You didn't look up to nod at the male leaning against the wall.

He cocked an eyebrow as he saw you sitting on one of the steps with a somber expression.

You asked him if you could have a stick too. Cyprus handed you one without a complaint. He fired his lighter and lit your cigarette between your fingers up.

It was obvious to him that it was your first time smoking. You immediately started hacking wildly as soon as the sharp, unkind fumes hit the back of your throat. This did not calm you down at all, what a scam. You thought it would lift the weight off your shoulders like how it was advertised in movies, it gave you more stress instead.

"Bad day?" He asked, with a new amused expression on his hunky face. You confirmed it, but not giving him any details.

You said that smoking sucks and it didn't help you, looking visibly upset and at the brink of tears. Asking if he could dispose of it for you. He gladly took it from your hands.

You walked away, grumbling incoherently as you tried thinking of other ways to relieve your stress for the day.

Cyprus snuffs his older cigarette out using the heel of his leather shoes. He brought yours to his lips and closed his eyes as he inhaled the newer smoke.

Days turned into weeks, into months. It just repeats every day, you would encounter him at the stairs, and sometimes he would say something more, or nothing at all. The only notable event that happened to both of you, is that you brought back a takeaway that you didn't like and bumped into him at the stairs. You were clear as to why you're giving him a box of food, you personally hated it but you couldn't let it go to waste. None of your 'friends' wanted them either.

Luckily, he is alright with it. He ate something other than his cancer stick that day for lunch. Cyprus thanked you for it and you went back up to your cubicle.

Come Valentine's Day, you're baffled as to who left you a bouquet of roses and a heart-shaped box of chocolates on your desk. It couldn't have been Cyprus, that's for sure. Because you come in earlier than he does.

You looked over to his cubicle to see that it's piled with Valentine's day gifts. But no Cyprus nor his belongings since it's still 8:45AM. You're more likely to catch him dead than acting enthusiastic to come to work.

Scratching your head, your admirer left a cryptic note that said:

"I like you and I want to get to know you more.

Meet me in parking lot 1-A at 5:30pm. I'll take you out for dinner.

-R."

Cyprus definitely doesn't start with an R. You tried thinking about the times where you interacted with coworkers with R as part of their initials. You may be amicable, yes, but you don't think you come off as flirty. It was all an act to not get eaten up by office politics.

God, you hope none of them had the wrong idea. You hope whoever this is, doesn't have a big influence over your boss. You're cooked if you do. Because you are not meeting them at all.

You shoved the gifts under the desk, removing all evidence of it before you attract the attention of your noisy colleagues. You were so distracted clearing your desk that you didn't realize Cyprus walked past your cubicle a bit closer than usual.

You're a bit frazzled over this. Worrying about the consequences of rejecting this mystery person, but fearing that you will be a victim of violence when you meet them at a secluded parking lot.

So you head to the break room to make yourself a drink. The room was empty, everyone was too busy fawning over their own gifts instead.

Except Cyprus, it seems.

He entered a moment later as you're filling up your cup with hot water.

"You got anything?" He asked. You whipped your head to him and saw that he was focused on fixing his own cup of coffee.

"For valentines. I mean." He leaned against the counter as he waited for the coffee machine to drip liquid caffeine into his mug.

You said yes. Roses and chocolates. You are trying to figure out who it is.

He looked taken aback. You don't know if he's surprised that you have admirers, or the fact that you look like you're being hunted.

You excused yourself with a stammer and scurried away, having your mind occupied with anxiety.

You barely paid attention to your work, dreading as the clock ticks by and inching closer and closer to 5:30PM.

When it reaches lunchtime, you climb down the stairs as usual.

"Bad day?" He asked, taking a drag out of his cigarette.

You said no. But before you could leave, he blocked your path.

"What's going on with you?" He asked, with a mild concern written on his face.

You said there is nothing wrong. You have to leave now for a galentines day lunch with your female coworkers. So you squeezed past him.

In the end, you decided not to go to the parking lot. Once you saw Cyprus leave the floor at 5pm sharp, you began packing up. Bringing your roses and chocolates with you.

However, you didn't go to the parking lot. You went straight home instead, wondering if you made the right choice.

The next morning, your coworkers were gathered in a crowd to discuss their new gossip material. You joined in, wanting to appear as a "team player" just like how the HR department wanted you to be.

"Yeah! That's so weird, do you think he was waiting for someone?"

"Must be, why else would Cyprus stay here till ten?"

You asked where they saw Cyprus.

One of them showed you a picture of him leaning against his deep blue sedan. A lit cigarette in his mouth while his hands were in his pockets. The floor was littered with cigarette butts. The photo was taken from a distance, they probably wouldn't want Cyprus to catch them in the act.

You examined the picture for any clues as to where he was located.

Your face pales as soon as you see the sign "1-A". So that was him.

He didn't come in today. Your manager said he had to take an emergency leave, so you're tasked with covering his workload.

You were gnawing on your fingernails. Feeling extremely guilty and afraid, you are not using the stairs anytime soon. You do not want to face the awkwardness.

It was his fault anyways. How the hell would you know there is an R in his name? He had multiple chances to tell you about it yesterday, yet he didn't.

But you're scared. You have no idea what this man is capable of and you value this job too much.

You refrained from going into the break room and the stairs. You would rather waste your time waiting for the elevator than to face Cyprus alone.

Only to find that he started smoking outside.

You stayed at your desk during lunch.

Only to find Cyprus doing the same now.

In the end, you found refuge in the women's bathroom. Camping there for the entire duration of your break.

He is actively trying to talk to you. But you always act like you have a bladder infection when he approaches you, urgently needed to use the toilet now.

You avoided eye contact with him and whenever you have to hand him a stack of papers, you would just drop them on his desk and rush back to your own.

That was embarrassing. Although you weren't the one being rejected, you felt crappy.

Even if he was upfront with his feelings for you, it was unlikely you would have agreed. Cyprus is too enigmatic, who knows what lies under his cool exterior? Plus, you don't like the smell of cigarette smoke.

This is crazy, you're constantly under pressure everyday. From Cyprus's silence on the matter and the fear of having your coworkers finding out about your 'relationship' with him over that one year.

You decided to head to a bar one night to drink your worries away.

It was nearly empty, save for a few patrons scattered around. You swore you saw a lot more people walk in when you got off the bus. Where did they all go?

Someone sat next to you, a stranger. A charming one too, bought you a drink. You smiled as you warily decided to chat with him.

The alcohol certainly helped to ease the jumpiness, you're calm and enjoying the time you're sharing with this man who you never met. He cracked jokes which you would laugh at and you would talk about your office woes to him in a drunken stupor.

The drinks kept coming, you were heavily intoxicated whereas he is completely sober. The man barely drank while you finished around seven glasses. The bartender didn't seem to care that you're too giggly and swaying side to side. Your speech is slurred as you let yourself relax.

The man paid his tab and rose up from the stool. He wrapped his arm around your waist and slung your arm around his shoulders. You told him that you wanted to stay here, but he didn't listen. You asked him multiple times where he was taking you, but the man didn't respond to it.

You're about to be lifted off your seat, until a fist travelling at lightning speed collides with the stranger's jaw. The impact made a sickening crack, followed by the clattering of loose teeth onto the wooden floors.

Some droplets of red got onto your cheeks and your office wear.

You sobered up a bit from the sudden attack, you were left unharmed but you couldn't say the same to your new friend.

A hulking figure was giving him the beatdown of his life, throwing powerful punches after powerful punches. The bar was thrown into chaos at the sudden act of violence, the screams, shouts and hollers were hurting your ears and head.

You threw yourself at his assailant, trying to get whoever is pummeling the man senseless to stop. He's not moving anymore! His blood pooled around his body and the two pairs of feet, including yours.

The bartender tried to break it up, this man was so full of rage, that nothing would stop him from taking out his anger on this stranger.

You cried, sobbing and begging him to stop. But he never listened, only after he was satisfied did he turn around to face you. His knuckles dripping with blood that isn't his, pecs that rose up and down as he breathed heavily. Adrenaline was still coursing through his bloodstreams, that is why his pupils were dilated within his steely grey eyes.

You were harshly tugged away by someone else. You looked behind you and it's the bartender, he brought you to safety as more people joined in the fight.

Maybe they wanted to avenge their friend, or they just wanted to beat him for bragging rights, or they could simply be drunk. Regardless, they were armed with chairs and broken bottles.

Cyprus dodged the first few blows and blocked the next ones. He grabbed an attacker by the arm and painfully twisted it, leaving him to scream and writhe on the ground. He blocked the strike from the wooden chair with an arm and punched another person square in the face, disfiguring their nose.

He delivered a devastating uppercut to one of the more erratic and violent patrons, swiping them off their feet using his leg before kicking them with enough force to push them far away.

One of them had the misfortune of tasting his deadly hook to the side of the face, knocking them out cold. Their limp body hits the floor with a deadening thud.

After that, no one dared to take him on. They're either keeping their distance or unconscious on the floor. He turned around and glowered at the bartender, who shrugged coolly and guided you to him.

Through your tears, you make out that familiar face of your quiet coworker. You were stunned with a million questions running through your head.

His massive hand grabbed you by the face, turning it left to right, examining if you endured any injury from the creep.

You were still under the influence, so you broke down crying and apologizing that you stood him up on Valentine's. You pleaded with him not to hurt you.

Cyprus supported an arm behind your back and under your knees, carrying you close to his chest as he fled the scene before he could get in trouble.

Your legs dangle as he carried you bridal style. The world is spinning and you could barely stay awake. This felt like a nightmare that you would have after pulling an all-nighter to finish a report.

But one thing that you kept your eyes on are his ears. You realized that you remembered seeing it somewhere online:

Seasoned boxers have cauliflower ears like Cyprus's

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #x reader #tw afab reader #yandere love #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x female reader #oc Cyprus

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pfhwrittes · 11 months ago

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retail hell reader is being bothered by an uncomfortably friendly customer and tf141 handle it in their own ways.

warnings: female!reader (she/her pronouns) isn’t being overtly harassed but you know when a man is being too interested and too friendly? its that. egregious use of scots as inspired by still game, pet names “love”, “hen” and “bonnie girl” used to refer to f!reader.

word count: 1.5k

pairings: kyle garrick x reader, john mactavish x reader, simon riley x reader, john price x reader.

each reader x named character interaction should be read as a standalone but i stuck them all together as they were too short to post individually in my opinion.

- -

this customer is making you nervous as fuck. you don't think you've been inappropriate with him in any way, just polite and friendly as you sorted out his refund. the problem is that he's massive, easily taller than simon by a couple of inches and he keeps looming over you blaming his difficulty understanding english as to why he keeps getting closer and closer. he's practically mounting the customer service desk to peer down at you (and you have a horrible feeling he's trying to get a look down your polo top).

you're beginning to panic so you do the only thing you think to do (which admittedly is pretty stupid looking back on it) and make your excuses to leave the customer service desk to find one of your friends. or at least find a colleague who will act as a witness if this guy gets any creepier.

gaz handles it like a champ. as soon as he spots the creep following you around he's there. arm around your shoulders and tucking you into his side at the kitchen consultant's desk. his customer service smile is fixed on his face and he refuses to even acknowledge this giant arsehole of a man, just keeps talking to you softly and shows you the kitchen he’s working on. kyle’s beautiful brown eyes only briefly leave your face so he can point out another favourite part of his design, he never once looks over at the creep. it works to soothe you, especially being so close to him. after ten minutes of being blatantly ignored, the creep walks off muttering under his breath. hopefully he’s left the store but unfortunately it’s around that time that kyle has a couple walk up to him asking him if he’s free for a drop in consultation. before he agrees he checks in with a gentle “you alright if i take this appointment, yeah? come straight back if that guy is still hanging around. i’ll deal with him.” he looks so serious you believe him. you reassure him that you’ll be fine and he gives your arm a gentle squeeze before you separate from his warmth already missing the slightly woody scent of his cologne. before you’re completely out of earshot you hear the couple cooing over how cute kyle was with you and his reply of “well, it’s not exactly hard when she’s one of my favourite colleagues…” and the fondness in his voice makes your cheeks heat up.

johnny nearly trips over you as you’re crouched behind the paint desk. “steamin’ jesus, what’re ya daein’ under there hen?” you hush him quickly and silently with a finger raised to your lips. you don’t want to speak because you know the giant is still out there looking for you, you thought you’d given him the slip near the paint brushes but then he’d rounded the end of the aisle so you darted for the relative safety of the paint desk. johnny crouches down next to you and whispers “are we hidin’ from someone? is it simon?” you shake your head and go to answer him but then your blood runs cold as you hear that familiar accented voice. “excuse me? i was wondering if you might help, i’m looking for the fräulein who was helping me?” johnny shoots a look at you and you squish yourself further into the corner of the desk hoping against hope that johnny won’t give you away. thankfully, johnny straightens up from behind the desk with his most charming customer service grin “sorry pal, i’ve no’ seen her. ‘s only me on the desk the day.” the creep sounds nonplussed at johnny’s thick glaswegian accent (you’ve certainly never heard it ramped up like that in all the times you’ve spoken with him) and a little crestfallen when he starts to reply with “oh, perhaps you’d be good enough to -” johnny interrupts him, voice still pitched in a friendly manner but you can hear an undercurrent of tension “naw, sorry pal. i’m busy pitin’ the hems oan the tins. is there anythin’ i can dae fer ye mixin’ wise?” there’s a moment of silence and you watch johnny’s smile slowly slip off his face, his lips thinning into a stern line. “ah, um. no thank you. perhaps she will find me.” the creep sounds a little nervous now if the uncomfortable laugh he lets out is any indication. “aye right. well i’d best be lettin’ you get oan then eh?” johnny shifts on his feet slightly so his calf brushes up against your arm. after another tense moment you hear the lumbering footsteps of the giant move away from the desk. johnny looks down at you with a mischievous grin, “i’ve got to say bonnie girl, you look a right sight down there.” you only feel a little bit bad when you punch him lightly in the leg and he yelps in shock as the blush on your cheeks spreads down your neck.

simon is less than impressed when you duck under the chain across the warehouse doors and flatten yourself against the noticeboard out of view from the shop floor. “you stupid? chains up which means the forklift is out so you need to be too.” he’s pissed off and thinking about how much paperwork he’ll have to fill out now because you didn’t bother to think about the cameras in your dash for safety. he takes a big step towards you before swerving off to the side to block the customer that has just appeared at the chain. “the fuck do you want?” he practically snarls. ‘this isn’t the fucking caff.” simon squares his shoulders and glares at the oversized dickhead that’s wasting his time. “well? can’t you fuckin’ read? staff access only. and you’re not staff so fuck off.” simon barks at the man, not letting him get a word in edgewise to start bitching about stock or whatever it is that he wants. simon couldn’t give a shit, he just wants the customer (and you) to fuck off promptly so he can start moving pallettes around. the customer just blinks and takes several steps back before turning away. you let out a shaky sigh and thank simon quietly. simon hums in acknowledgement and sweeps a critical eye down your lightly trembling form. “he botherin’ ya?” at your nod he hums again before jerking his head towards the back of the warehouse “go put a hi-vis on and sit in the office, i’ll come get you when i’m done on the ‘lift.”. when simon comes back into the office two paper cups of tea in hand thirty minutes later, you offer him a small smile and catch his lips twitch up briefly before he turns away to plunk his cup down on top of a cluttered filing cabinet.

price practically walks into you as you come flying around the end of the plumbing aisle. it’s unusual to see you so far away from the customer service desk and looking so flustered. “alright, love?” his hand is on your elbow as he asks. you crane your neck round to look behind you, too worried about that customer to enjoy his large warm hand on your bare skin. price straightens up and drops his hand away from you when he spots a customer behind you, in his opinion the customer is moving a little too fast to be considered casual. price bristles slightly when he catches the dark look on the gentleman’s face. oh no, he doesn’t like the look of this one at all. especially when you look at price and mouth “help” quickly. price steps forward and puts you at his back, blocking the creep from getting any closer. “can i help you, mate?” his gruff voice is just shy of sounding friendly and you watch his back muscles shift under the black polo top he’s wearing. “no thank you, i wanted to speak with the little woman some more.” god the customer is weird, you shudder a little at being referred to as a “little woman”. price shifts to block the customer’s view of you more fully as he does you notice the back of price’s neck has gone a little red. “not possible. i need her for a job.” price’s words sound like they’re being ground out through gritted teeth in response. “i’m sure simon would be more than willing to help you.” you jolt a little when you spot simon at the customer’s shoulder. a man shouldn’t be able to move so silently in steel toed safety boots. you catch a brief wince flicker across the customer’s face when simon’s hand comes down on his shoulder, slightly too hard to be entirely polite. “ah, um, yes. perhaps that’s for the best.” simon leads the customer away and you step up beside price to thank him. he looks deadly serious when he turns to face you “any time love.” his stern blue stare softens slightly and you’re sure you catch his gaze flicker to your mouth briefly before he clears his throat and turns away “c’mon then. back to the returns desk with you.”.

- -

AN: i have very much hidden from customers in the warehouse and behind the paint desk at B&Q. don’t be like reader (or me) and hide in the goods-in area, you will get shouted at for it.

translation for johnny’s scots: “pitin’ the hems oan” = putting the hems on, meaning to put something in order or to restrain something/someone.

#retail hell au #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #f!reader #female reader #kg #jm #sr #jp #also i'm not saying that the creepy customer is that giant austrian cod guy but i'm not saying that he isn't *wink wonk*#everyone say thank you to early for bringing back my love of retail hell au

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nina-ya · 8 months ago

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A/N: I have no words I was inspired by an anon and I wrote this at 1am and its probably riddled with a bunch of grammar issues CW: erotic depiction of sucking on a popsicle, yeah thats really it law watches you suck a popsicle and he gets horny

The day was egregiously hot and it didn't help that the Polar Tang's ventilation system was broken. You found some freedom from the growing indoor heat on the main deck, laying back on a chair as the warmth seeped into your skin. The heat was absolutely relentless, causing beads of sweat to form on your body. Of course, it was too hot to wear your boiler suit, so you opted to lounge around in a tank top and shorts.

With a sigh, you reached for the cooler of popsicles you had brought with you, the icy treat offering some semblance of relief from the heat. You brought the popsicle up to your lips and started to suck on it, your tongue wrapping around the frozen treat as it plunged into your mouth. The contents of the popsicle started to melt and the sweet syrup started to dribble down the sides of your mouth, some droplets even cascading down your chin and landing right onto your chest.

As you savored the sweetness of the popsicle, you couldn't help but feel a gaze boring into you. That gaze belonged to none other than Law. His eyes were intense, the golden orbs fixed on your every movement.

This did not deter you, though. You brought the popsicle right back up to your lips, your tongue tracing the length of it as you sucked on it teasingly. Your eyes locked with Law and you could notice the way his demeanor shifted at your actions. Glancing down you could see the growing tightness in his jeans, an indicator that you are absolutely having an effect on him.

You pulled the popsicle from your lips with a small pop, and you transferred it to the other hand, taking the opportunity to lick the sticky sweetness that dripped onto your fingers. The sight only bringing Law closer and closer to losing his internal battle of restraint. You had him right where you wanted him. You knew all he could think about was how he could have your mouth wrapped around him instead, but here you two are, unable to make a proper move just yet due to the possibility of someone coming out to catch you guys. But that just makes that more exciting, doesn't it?

With that, you heard the thump of his footsteps as Law closed the distance between you, sitting besides you as his hands wrap around you to hoist you up. He guided you onto his lap and you dropped the popsicle onto the ground as his lips crashed against yours. His tongue darting out to taste the sweetness of the popsicle on your lips. You moaned into the kiss, bringing one of your hands to the back of his head to pull him in more and deepen the kiss.

The both of you pulled back from the kiss with heavy pants, his own lips glossy from your exchanged saliva and slightly tinted the color of your popsicle. You could see what he was asking for before he even spoke a single word. You shifted off of the chair, knees hitting the ground as you planted yourself between his legs. You worked to free him from the confines of his jeans as you planned to fulfill those dirty little thoughts he had while staring at you sucking that popsicle from afar.

#nina writes~✦#trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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multiwreckedmess · 9 months ago

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February Filth Fest Day 22

Prompt: Masturbation Pairing: Gymrat!Yeosang x fem!reader WC: 1,760 Summary: Yeosang has an embarrassing problem. Have you ever heard of a core-gasm?

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Yeosang or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. By clicking the “Read More” you agree that you are of age to interact with my works.

TW/CW: Male masturbation, sort of subby Yeosang, lots of praise for yeosang, yeosang called handsome and big boy, reader called “hot” and has breasts. tbh not much to warn about.

Yeosang has started wearing two pairs of pants to the gym. It’s not really a notable change to anyone, simply adding some compression leggings to a pair of sweats or loose shorts wasn’t revolutionary fashion. If anyone asked, he’d planned to joke that it was “pump cover” or something like that. As if the problem was that easily explainable. No no, the problem had only started recently, as he worked to define his abs further. Yeosang wanted to fulfill his title of the “statue of Ateez '' to perfection. It was the addition of hanging leg lifts, pushed into the workout by his trainer, that were the culprit. Meant to better define his v-cut and improve his posture, it seemed the exercise provided other less welcome effects. In particular and perhaps most curiously, was seemingly spontaneous orgasm. Almost always on the 2nd to last rep of the final set, as Yeosang trembled and fought against gravity, he’d feel the familiar dangerous twinge in his core. Unable to stop it, endorphins would flood him as warmth spread into his underwear. The first time it happened he jogged to the locker room to change, horrified at the thought that he’d pissed himself. It wasn’t, he hadn’t. Instead sticky white clung to him as he peeled back his clothing. Embarrassing. And then it happened again, two days later. And it kept happening, not every time but enough. Enough that Yeosang had to wear two pairs of pants to hide the stain as it soaked through. “I like those pants!” You remark as you pass Yeosang who is drinking feverishly from his water bottle. Track pants with snaps up the sides to the very top, mostly unfastened, allowing the fabrics to billow between his legs. “Very ‘Magic Mike’ if you wanted to just rip them off. Heeeyaw!” You mimic the motion and giggle. Yeosang chuckles and nods, but you’re already halfway to another machine. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as you work in between sets together. Energetic yet reserved, friendly but solitary. In a way you remind him of Wooyoung. You have more of an ass though, and certainly more of a bust. He chides himself for noticing, it’s indecent of him to ogle, but it’s hard to miss how the tight spandex hugs every curve so beautifully. “The way you’re staring at me I’m gonna think you want to fight me or fuck me,” you blurt in passing from machine to machine. Yeosang’s ears go red and he stammers. “So sorry,” his eyes burn holes in the floor. “I was just spacing-” you’d already moved on to your set, but he keeps going, keeps apologizing and stuttering and blushing. For some reason he can’t stop himself from it, having so egregiously breached so many unspoken rules of the gym recently, he rambles on like a kid in a confession booth for the first time. Pausing mid set, you laugh, startling him. “You’re actually really cute for a gym bro.” This stops him, looking up at you again incredulously. “I’m not aiming for cute!” Your eyes are kind, “oh? So you’re just naturally flusterable?” You ask as you giggle. Yeosang’s mouth flaps open and closed, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Okay handsome, I’m going to go finish up on the treadmill if it’s all the same to you.” It’s your turn to stare as Yeosang finishes up his workout, rounding out with leg raises. He’s really beautiful when he does each exercise, nose crinkling with effort as his muscles shake. Closing his eyes and knitting his brow, his pouty lips begin to tremble, jaw slackening. All of his muscles seem to seize at the top of the leg lift, eyes flying open as he lets out the most pitiful whine. Yeosang’s expression changes from pleasure to panic as you look at each other. He starts to try to scuttle away, tail between his legs as he strategically speed walks to the locker room. The room has never felt farther than it does as Yeosang feels you breathing down his neck. The sanctuary of the men’s locker room where he can clean up the mess he’s made both literally and figuratively. Maybe even cancel his membership as he sits in a stall. A small hand with a firm grip gets his shoulder as he reaches the door. “Did you just cum?” “Don’t ask that so loud,” he whimpers. “Someone could hear you.” “Who? The teen at the front desk with his headphones in? There’s not exactly a ton of people here right now. But wait,” you shake your head, “you didn’t answer, did you cum?” Feet stuck to the ground by a supernatural magnetic force, Yeosang nods shamefully with a high pitched whine. “It just happens sometimes, it’s not- I’m not a perv.” “But you aren’t even hard,” you start to wonder aloud, eyes locking to the crotch of his pants. Yeosang is fully flushed, beat red from his chest to the tips of his ears. “I know, it’s so-it looks like I-” Yeosang stutters, his cock twitching in interest so suddenly he jolts a bit more upright. It’s a small comfort that if anything you look fascinated by him instead of horrified or angry. Your hand migrates down his arm, tracing a vein from his bicep to his wrists where he fears you can feel his pulse pounding wildly. “Show me. Can you do it again?” Yeosang’s eyes roll back as blood flows into his rapidly engorging member. If the post workout high didn’t have him dizzy, this certainly did. The husky purr to your tone melodically curling around his ears. It’s the opposite reaction that he’d never planned for. All of the time he’d rehearsed in his head what to do if someone noticed but never had he thought about if a person wanted him to do it again. He starts to shake his head, he’d only ever done it once a workout. “You wanna see me cum?” “I’m sorry if i’m being too forward but I’m-I’m interested,” you stammer, the weight of your question finally hitting you like a ton of bricks. “I thought you-sorry if i misread-” It’s Yeosang’s turn to panic, eyes wide as his hands spread open palmed in front of him. “Ah! No! I’m-I’m-you’re-” he gulps, mouth dry as the desert. Brow furrowing he doesn’t even register the decision he makes. It happens so fast. He tugs you with him, back pushing through the locker room door, into a stall. “I’ve only ever done it once like that but I can-” “I could help!” You offer as you watch him tug his first layer of pants off his body. There’s a large splotch, not obvious on the black fabric from afar but mere inches away its hard to miss the shiny dampness of the area. Instinctively you reach forward to touch him, already at half mast and growing. Yeosang nearly yelps, “no! If you do I’ll-” the blush on his cheeks darkens, “you’re really hot.” You smirk, “okay then handsome, I’ll watch.” Unceremoniously, Yeosang tugs the second pair of shorts and his boxers down to his thighs, the mess of cum and sweat still coating his pubic area and cock. Purple and blue veins run prominently up his member all the way up to the flare of his red tapered tip. He pulls his tight black tanktop up enough to expose the muscles of his torso. Taut abs, defined vlines and muscles you didn't even know the name of all on full display as he drags his fingers up the underside of his shaft. “God you’re beautiful,” you murmur, sinking to your knees in front of him. His eyelids flutter and quads tense, the refractory period is much shorter than he thought. “Ah! Ha, you-you-too,” Yeosang gasps and giggles at the same time, leisurely pumping his cock. “Your tits are really-oh my god- from here- they’re so-” he shudders and gasps, a weak spurt of precum erupting from the tip. You scoot closer to better admire him. His hands are just as veiny, large around his equally girthy member. “Where’d you hide all that?” He whines a tiny high pitched sound from the back of his throat. You can see his abs tense and kick his diaphragm up as a wave of endorphins hit. Almost a direct opposite of his ripped physique, the vocalizations that escape him are small and squeaky, the product of both pain and pleasure. “You like it when I call you handsome? When I tell you how big and thick your cock is?” “Ghnughn- yes,” he chokes back a moan. The praise immediately goes to his head, his grip tightens and pace speeds up. “Moan more for me, you sound so pretty.” A guttural groan escapes from him as he shakes, followed shortly by a hiccuped inhale. “I’m close.” His cock is almost purple with engorgement, precum flowing out of the tip easily. Hips working in tandem with his fist, the sounds of his whining and mewling that flood the bathroom are unmistakable. “Hurry, cum. Cum for me,” you urge him, scooting just a bit closer, close enough to feel the warmth of the air around him. “Shit- wha-where-” “On me on my face on my tits, wherever you want, big boy, coat me in it.” The twinge of desperation in your voice sets him off. He’s beautiful when he cums, head tilting back to expose his muscular neck and sharp jaw, drawn out high pitched whimper is the cherry on top. A forceful jolt of release erupting forth from him and coating your cheek, hot and sticky. The next spurt drops from your jawline to your tits which is quickly followed by another volley aimed squarely at the center of your chest. Yeosang’s vision swimming he could swear he still saw you slowly rubbing the liquid against yourself, lifting a finger to your mouth to clean it with your tongue. The thought makes him nearly black out, hand slamming into the wall of the stall to catch his balance. “Which locker is yours?” Your breath is hot on his ear. He didn’t even know you’d stood up. His head swims again under the spell of your proximity. “117.” “Wait a sec before you come out, it’ll look less suspicious.” He nods, and collapses back onto the toilet, he needs to collect himself anyway. The entire encounter feels like a fever dream, it’s not until your note falls out of his locker that he starts to concede maybe it wasn’t.

Sorry this is so late. Lightly based on someone at some point saying “what if Yeosang cums when he works out.” I don’t remember where i saw this but whoever you are, yeah, what if?

#February Filth Fest #ateez smut #yeosang smut #ateez yeosang smut #atz smut #atz yeosang smut #kpop smut #yeosang x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months ago

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I know that yuu going for every event just so the player can experience the event from their pov, but I do wonder if in game, yuu are just tired of being dragged places. the first few times probably were fun! they got to experience different places in a world they don't know! but after the second time, I feel like it would get exhausting, especially considering some kind of chaos follows them onto their trips. I can imagine yuu desperately trying not to go on trips only for luck to constantly be against them haha

Yeah, most likely! There's always some convenient excuse that amounts to Yuu and Grim being present yet insignificant 99% of the time.

The most egregious example of convenience that comes to my mind is how Yuu and Grim went along to the City of Flowers/Fleur City.. Crowley claimed they might be able to gain more knowledge of how to get Yuu back to their original world from this conference for talented young mages. (That topic never comes up again in the event.) Depending on who you ask, you might find fans that say it's a missed opportunity that the ONE event where being magicless is an advantage, they didn't give Yuu a bigger role in saving the day and instead relegated to them to off-screen involvement.

I feel like Yuu actually doesn’t mind traveling to places beyond NRC! (After all, as large as the school’s campus is… surely it starts to feel samey after a while, a change of scenery would be welcome.) Most events which involve travel typically give you the chance to pick between two dialogue options to express your own interest in tagging along (though it is typically Grim who first expresses wanting to go).

There’s really no down sides to it either—they don’t have to pay for transportation, food, or housing so every trip is basically a free vacation and a chance to experience extremely different countries and cultures!! The set-ups can be super swanky too due to how affluent some of the students hosting them are (Kalim, Leona, now Vil). No jet lag either, since the Mirror of Darkness instantly teleports them to wherever they want to go. That’s the dream life 😂 And while it’s true that problems sometimes arise during these trips, they’re often small personal conflicts that Yuu and Grim don’t need to intervene in or help with. (Someone insulted Deuce’s mom, competing against the delinquents/RSA in a race, helping the fireworks guy, seeing who wins Catch the Tail, etc.) It’s definitely more relaxed overall than Crowley knocking on their door every few weeks to personally ask them to fix problems.

I guess it really depends on the type of Yuu you have in mind (assuming we’re talking Yuusonas and not the generic in-game Yuu)? I can see why constantly going on trips might be exhausting if you picture Yuu as being more introverted, or perhaps more short-tempered or tired due to whatever else they have on their plate. It would suck if they didn’t actually enjoy their travels…

#twisted wonderland #twst #Grim #Yuu #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #glorious masquerade spoilers #Dire Crowley #Leona Kingscholar #Kalim Al-Asim #Deuce Spade #Vil Schoenheit #tamashina mina spoilers #white rabbit fest spoilers #harveston sledathon spoilers #a firelit sky over the sands spoilers

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ratatatastic · 3 months ago

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the things ekky has done or said that i cant stop thinking about. the 4 minute cut.

#theres a lot more #but those videos exist in vertical and like wow yeah #obviously because of that honourable mentions:#ekky on the pole almost kicking luosty in the face falling on his ass while he gets hauled up by multiple cats and mikksy put his hat back #ekky calling forsy a perfect swede #ekky slowdancing with sasha at the club #ekky saying im below you to benny while pointing out his name #ekky showing off his tat every minute he can by pulling up his shorts at the parade and gave us an egregious look at his dick #the first time ekky and mikksy do the bumpy ritual and ekky grunts at each bump and goes I LIKE THAT #any practise day mini mic shenanigans i.e “forsy cuz i love him” “forsy but only with his shirt off”#when he went tarps off for his cupday because it was raining on the golfcourse #additionally when he shimmied the cup to feeling hot hot hot #that time he was wearing shorts that they were bunching up in the front and he had to “subtly” pick it out in front of a crowd of phins fans #that time he organised a sturgeon tagging trip and invited the boys who liked fishing and also monty for vibes #because fishing is his love language #oh letting maffhew pour champagne in his mouth at the club #feeling up stolie at the end of the parade and lifting up his shirt #drinking out of the cup with forsy and also feeding himself the champgane cam but forsy taking it away from him #him hugging senko into his stall #honestly anytime he brings up forsy whether its his footspeed/speed. his body.#or how blessed he is to play with him #and likening him to a greek god #please dont make me go on

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cellophaine · 5 months ago

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Chapter III: RALLY

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: More flirting if you can believe it.

Author's Note: I did not run this through Grammarly so hopefully it's still digestible.

GIF Source: @/roranicuspond

The music, the chatter, the shouts of excitement reverberated throughout the big house and became a concentrated fusion of noise in your ears. You took another sip of the spiked fruit punch and grimaced at the taste. It burned all the way down, but the buzz it provided was pleasant. You watched all these strangers mingling about, chatting and dancing and playing games you weren’t privy to, no one paid attention to you. After several failed attempts at striking and maintaining a conversation, you retreated to the corner of the kitchen after escaping the common area. The array of food and drinks was within reach, and from here, you could people watch.

Midterms came with the guarantee of long hours into the nights, and went with the promise of celebration. Ashley, your roommate, was more than eager to deliver on that promise, and also the reason why you came to the party. Your other roommate, Grace, went out with her book club, leaving you the only chaperone, and confidence boost Ashley needed to talk to her crush. It took an egregious amount of convincing from Ashley for you to finally agreed. You needed to get out more, Ashley said on the way to the party, you worked so hard for midterms and it showed in the results. Your wandering mind thought of Art, a minor diversion in your study these days. You hadn’t seen him since the day he treated you to lunch, and never approached him for the few times you saw him on campus. Most of the time, he had a bag of racquet on his shoulder. You wondered if he noticed you, and if he also contemplated whether to say hi to you. You were grateful either way, since you had no doubt he would become a great distraction that you couldn’t afford.

More people poured into the kitchen, so you took that opportunity to fill your cup with a ladle of the same fruit punch, and slipped outside through the back door. The yard was big, with high wooden fence wrapped around the property. There was a pool to your left, and an open grass field with a bonfire blazing. Most people hung around the pool, so you made a beeline for the fire. You shivered as a cold breeze brushed over the skin on your exposed arms. You chose the small wooden bench after asking the few people who were already there if you could take a seat. The flame, alongside the alcohol, warmed you up from the inside out. You grimaced at a small sip, the taste of the punch somehow became more foul than the last. Bracing yourself, you took another, hoping the pleasant buzz would amp up, and wishing the time would past even quicker.

“If this isn’t the girl I’ve been looking for.”

You thought your hearing was mistaken, but it was him. You turned your head, and there Art was, standing two feet away, looking at you with a bottle of Sprite in his hand. He was wearing a Stanford hoodie and shorts, the golden waves of his hair were tousled softly in the gentle wind. You couldn’t help the complacency in your voice.

“You’ve been looking for me?”

“All the time. Ever since when I last saw you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re such a stalker.”

“No. Just an admirer.”

You took another moment to appreciate the sight of him in front of you, before scooting to the other side of the bench as much as you could. You patted the empty space you’d just left, and Art immediately accepted your invitation. His knee knocking against yours as he sat down. Your thighs grazed when he settled, and you felt your cheeks warm at the contact.

“How are you?”

“So what brought you–?”

You talked at the same time, and then broke into a nervous chuckle together. Art jerked his chin at you.

“You go first.”

“Okay. Well, my roommate brought me here.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s with her crush. I’m here because she didn’t want to go alone. You?”

“Robbie invited me. He’s my hitting partner this semester. He knows some guy who lives here.”

You hummed noncommittally. You cleared your throat after a mouthful of your drink when Art asked.

“How did your midterm go?”

“It went … very well. You?”

“Uhh, maybe less well than you.”

“If you study as much as you train then I have no doubt that you did great.”

You said it without much thought. Art looked at you with a new interest.

“How did you know that?”

Your brows knitted in confusion.

“Know what?”

“That I train. Quite often.”

You stumbled over your words as you thought of an answer.

“Well, it was … I just … I’ve seen you on campus a few times, and you always have a racquet bag with you. In the few times that I saw you. In case that wasn’t clear.”

Art leaned back as if to take you in fully. The way he cocked an eyebrow coupled with the playful smile on his lips screamed mischief.

“So you’ve been stalking me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Your denial was immediate. You diverted your gaze to the fire and took a long sip from your cup to hide the embarrassment tinged in your features.

“You know, if you want to hang out more with me …”

Art leaned in, and you couldn’t resist the pull from his gaze. A light citrus scent stirred at your sense of smell, and it was soothing.

“ … all you have to do is to give me your phone number. You know, to make it easier for both of us.”

You pretended to think about his proposition, sucking air through your teeth.

“I don’t know. You haven’t proved yourself to be anything but a distraction.”

“Me? A distraction?”

“Yup. As a straight A student like myself, I can’t afford distraction.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the fact that it was your clumsy attempt at flirting wth Art, but you felt bolder, your lips more loose. He moved in even closer, invading your space, and you could see the flutter of his long lashes that framed his widened eyes. Everything about him made you feel like you were in a big trouble.

“Oh my god. You’re obsessed with me.”

“No, I’m so not.”

“Yes, you are. You must think about me all the time.”

Your cheeks burned and you were certain it wasn’t due to the alcohol. You felt like you were caught with a crime you were guilty of committing. Art had been more than just a passing thought. He was a frequent recurrence in your mind. You stammered for a defensive stance.

“What about you? If anything, you’re the one who’s obsessed. You’ve been asking me for my number every time we see each other.”

“Right. You can deny it all you want, but I can see it clear as day.”

“I’m not denying anything. I’m just … telling you that I don’t … think about you.”

His brows raised as if he didn’t believe you.

“Not that … often, anyway.”

He grinned, satisfied with your answer. You put a hand over your eyes.

“Can we … move past this, please?”

Art chuckled and leaned away with his hands held up, satisfied like a purring cat after a big meal. He watched as you took a swig of your empty drink.

“Do you want a refill?”

“Yeah. Not the same thing though. I’ve had enough of gasoline juice.”

His chuckle was light, rising above everything else around you even though you weren’t alone.

“I can find something decent for you.”

You moved to go with him, but Art held out a hand.

“You stay here. I’ll get it for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

You watched as he disappeared into the crowded house. You caught the smile that crept onto your face, and for once, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. The waning crescent was an imposing presence amongst the stars in the clear sky. The fire was warm, and so was the feeling you harboured inside. You were glad that you stuck around and saw Art again, the one person who had occupied your mind more often than you’d like to admit. The easy banter and flirtatious remarks were only bonuses to what he was to you. A person who seemed to like you for who you were, and not for what you could do for him. He had been nothing but nice to you, reducing your well-constructed wall to a feeble fence that parted in half whenever he came around.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as a gust of wind swooped by. You rubbed your arms to alleviate the cold and drew into yourself. And then you heard it, his name in a cheerful voice. Your head turned to the source as if the call was for you. Art had already walked to her with a drink and a paper bag in hands. You watched as they conversed. She was gorgeous, her light golden brown skin glowed even in the low light. She was slim and tall, almost matched Art’s height. From this distance, you couldn’t hear them, but you could see the way they laughed at something she said, their heads bowed towards each other in the movement. You felt like you were an intruder in their conversation, even though you were only watching. She touched his arm and left, leaving Art looking after her as she disappeared into the house. Something stirred in the back of your mind, but you quickly dismissed it before it even took form. You whipped your head back to the fire, pretending that you’d been looking at it as Art turned around and made his way over to you. Art held out the cup and you accepted it with a word of appreciation. He settled in next to you for the second time that night, and your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

“Did you miss me while I was gone?”

“You wish.”

He chuckled, and looked at the way you held yourself.

“Are you cold?”

“A little bit. But it’s fine. The fire is keeping me warm.”

An involuntary shiver broke through your body.

“You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

Art stood up and took off his hoodie. The movement tugged the white t shirt he wore underneath upward, and you could catch a glimpse of his leaned lower torso, the faint V line leading into the band of his underwear. You quickly averted your eyes to meet his own under the messy blond locks, your cheeks burned at the quick glance.

“No, Art, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

He held out the hoodie.

“Just take it.”

It looked like he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you took it and put it on. The sleeves covered your hands and more, the body fabric pooled around your midsection. His warmth settled over you like an embrace, igniting the excitement that brewed underneath your skin. You relaxed into the scent and the comfort of him, and sighed softly.

“All better?”

He put his arms around you, making rapid up and down motions to create friction and warming you up. Your heart jumped at the contact even though there was a layer between his hands and your skin.

“This is really nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He let you go and held up the brown paper bag he left at his feet.

“Do you want some s’mores?”

“Wow. I’ve never seen someone who’s this bad at making s’mores.”

Art commented after your third burned marshmallow while you frantically blew on it to put out the fire. The charred remain sagged sadly on the stick. You frowned.

“It’s still … edible.”

“Edible? It looks like a lump of coal.”

You bowed your head, defeated.

“Here.”

Art put a perfectly toasted marshmallow on a graham cracker for you.

“Take it. And please, it’s just a s’more.”

You accepted the treat, and bit into it. The gooey sweetness enveloped your tongue, and you hummed in approval. You watched as Art discarded your burned sweet into the fire.

“How are you so bad at this?”

“Well, my parents aren’t exactly the outdoor type.”

“Lucky for you, you have a master at work here.”

He taught you to put the marshmallow near the ember, not directly in the flame. Eventually, you made one without burning it to crisp. Art cheered as you showed in your stellar achievement in between the graham crackers. Your heart hammered as he leaned in and took a bite from out of your hand. He closed his eyes, a moan sounded deep in his throat.

“The sweet victory of my teaching.”

A marshmallow string dripped over his bottom lip. Your eyes glued to his movement as he swiped it off, brought the thumb to his mouth and licked it. But there was still some left on the curve of his lip. Out of instinct, your hand reached for the spot he missed and wiped it off with careful tenderness. Art held still, and his breathing seemed to follow. He gazed at you with an impossible softness in his eyes, and you felt a new fervour of heat warming your face. Neither of you said anything, nor dared to breathe too loudly. Your hand lingered on his face, and you felt an urge to run it over his jawline, to pull him close, eager to taste the sweetness of the treat from his lips.

A loud whoop shrilled in your ears, followed by the sound of water being splashed. Pulled away from the moment, you drew your hand back and cleared your throat.

“I think I’ve mastered it now.”

The night ended with Art walking you home. Before you left party, you found Ashley and made sure she was okay. She beamed ear to ear and told you she’d spend some more time here. You asked her to be careful and to text you if she needed anything. You parted ways, finding Art waiting for you outside on the green lawn. The walk to your apartment building was long, but the two of you filled the distance with things like classes and what you’d been up to since you last saw each other. Art told you about his upcoming match and what he’d done to prepare for it. You expressed interest in seeing him play, and Art perked up at that like a little puppy.

“I’ll let you know when the date is announced.”

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of the gate to your building.

“This is me.”

“Are you sure it’s not for another block?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. You observed him for moment, tracing the soft edge of his eyes, the way his lips flattened against themselves, shaping into a faint, endearing smile. You held out your hand.

“Give me your phone.”

“For what?”

You arched an eye brow. It took him three seconds to arrive at the same thought you had. He scrambled to take his phone out, almost dropping it to the ground. You put your number in along with your name and saved it.

“Here you go. You can move on to something else now.”

“Never.”

Art returned his phone to his pants’ pocket. A need struck you, something you’d wanted to do since he sat down next to you earlier in the night. The urge was overwhelming, your heart hammered in your chest, your skin itched to make it happen. But you didn’t want to overthink anymore. Brushing asides all cautions, you stepped closer so that you could grasp his shoulder and rose on your tiptoes. Your lips softly brushed his cheek, lingering there for a moment before pulling away. You watched as a blush quickly spread all over his neck and ears, tinting his cheeks a faint pink.

“Good night, Art.”

You entered through the waist high iron gate, and walked the distance before hearing Art saying good night. You turned around and waved at him. He held up a hand and reciprocated. Once you made it to your room, you fell onto your bed and sighed. You felt light and happy, already recounting everything that happened tonight in your head. You put a hand on your hammering heart, and only then, you realized that you were still in his hoodie. You pulled the collar up to your nose and inhaled the comforting scent of him. You smiled. It would be yours for now.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

#art donaldson #art donalson x reader #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x f!reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson x you #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson fanfiction #challengers #challengers fic #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers x y/n

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wings-of-ink · 3 months ago

Text

Looking for your Input for IF Patreon

Hello my friends and neighbors! I hope you are all safe and well. I had some things to share with you and I am once again fishing for thoughts and opinions.

Like many of us who create these IFs, I am strongly considering a Patreon. I have no plans to go exclusively to Patreon, so don't fret. I want to make extra content to go along with any IF I work on, and I'd like to be able to put more things into these projects such as real art (including character portraits), and not just the stuff I flounder through on Canva. I'd like to pay my artist a fair wage and devote more of my time to this. Getting some support would help me allocate even more to these projects and extras. I'm testing the waters here to see if it's sustainable for both myself and subscribers as well. I do not know what timeframe I'm looking at to start this either.

I only want to do this if it's worth the while for everybody, so I'm putting out feelers and asking for your input.

Most of all - I want to know what you want in a Patreon sub. I also want to know what you feel to be a fair sub price for different tiers. Over the years, when I have been able, I have subbed to help support my favorite creators at all different levels. So, I have some ideas on what I am looking for in a subscription, what keeps me coming back, and what prices are both fair for the effort of the creator as well as for my pocket. But, what suits me may not be what you want, so that's why I need some feedback.

Below, I have compiled my ideas, so far, for possible tiers. None of these are set in stone, just a framework to build on to see if I'm on the right track. At the bottom is a poll (of course, it's like my favorite thing), and is probably the first of a few about this topic I will use. I welcome comments and suggestions on this topic. Tell me what you are looking for in a Patreon. What do you want from one each month? What keeps you subscribed? Please feel free to comment below or to send comments and suggestions via the Ask inbox, especially if you prefer to be anon (do let me know if you do not want your response posted - I may post some that either have questions or that I find relevant to the conversation).

I still do not know for certain what the ultimate future of God-Cursed will look like (meaning when it is all finished). I've played with the idea of eventually refining it to sell on itch and/or Steam. I have to admit that being able to do so would really feel like a huge accomplishment to me. I've always had dreams of being published and such, and it feels like a part of that dream. I, personally, prefer to buy IFs through either platform whenever I can. It supports my favorite authors, shows my appreciation, it compiles my favorite stories into an easy-to-find library, and I can relive my favorite stories over and over easily. So, needless to say, this is calling to me more and more.

Anyway, what I have come up with so far for possible offerings are these. Please let me know if something like this would work for you or if you have any suggestions for improvement:

An appreciation/tip jar - if the other tiers aren't for you or you just want to give a little love. Subscribers could get updates and public posts, and participation in polls.

A "Supporter" level - all the other stuff plus GC demo releases 1 month (30 days) in advance. I debated about the time, but I want to really make the early access feel worth it. This level would also be privy to some "insider" info (things cut, character development, the egregious typos, etc…). Of course there would be some sort of dev-log to go with this as well.

A "Plus" tier - all the above plus early release of demos for other IFs, more "behind the scenes" type things, and I'm thinking some POVs and other extra content (some interactive) such as short stories. These extras need not be exclusive to IFs either if anyone is interested in other things I write.

"SMUT" or "Spicy" tier - (being very honest, I'd be the most excited for this tier, lol) all the above including all things smut for each IF. This will include interactive extras, short stories, and any other horny content we want. Likely will run some polls and take suggestions for the spice you desire each month.

"Smut plus" (lol) - all the above, PLUS a patreon-only IF that I will have in the works (so, access to 3 projects in total). I have an idea for an IF that will focus on 1 RO at a time (each with their own complete and unique story within the same world), and I am itching to write it even if updates for it will be a bit slow. It will be more like a traditional dating sim type thing and may comprise all sorts of genres. This may be one that would be good for just subscribing on months that will have updates, and that's something I would probably post about publicly so if you're just interested in getting access, you don't have to worry about staying subbed.

And finally a sort of "Power Supporter" tier - this may be like a limited number sort of thing and be a bit pricey (not sure yet how much). You'd get a custom interactive story set in whatever world of mine you want that can be spicey or not. You'd give me all your MC's details (mostly cannon things but some liberties could be taken), physical traits and personality, and pick your RO and/or other desired characters. I'd take prompts or ideas from you as well concerning what you'd like in the story. You want a sexcapade - you can have that. You want to have tea with Oswin and his weird twin sisters - you got it. The main limitations are spoilers, of course, especially for any mystery ROs depending on when and if this all comes to pass. There may be some subject-matter that I will not write about, but I'd let you know what is out of bounds for me.

Naturally, I would also pop your name in the credits, I just don't know which tier that should go on.

So, there you have it. This has been on my mind for a while and I've gotten some questions and messages asking about if I will do something like this, so I'd like to give it a go at least.

Looking forward to hearing your ideas and desires! ^_^

~Lunan

#god cursed if #twine if #if wip #twine wip #interactive novel #if game #interactive fiction #patreon

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biscuitsngravie · 11 months ago

Text

"time's up."

levi x reader

cw: piv, no prep, blowjob, degradation, orgasm denial, rawwwwww

wc: 2,004

Levi is… irritated.

Well, that's the closest to describing the mixture of emotions he’s feeling during this “interaction.”

“Irritated” could best refer to the heat between his legs. The heat that he is praying isn’t visible as he steps behind the desk to sit during the debriefing on the mission. This room is too full of people for you to be such a shameless slut. You wearing that too small top — the one he told you to throw away — and that too small skirt — that he’s sure he threw away — while looking up with… those eyes.

You.

Youyouyouyouyo—

“Ah! And that’s how we make the double decoy! Right, Captain Levi?”

To others his face is deceptively neutral, well, as neutral as a resting bitch face can be. But you, Honee, you know better than anyone else. You’re the only one who notices the extra firm grip he has on his teacup, the cool flame that ignites behind his eyes the way he pointedly avoids meeting your gaze. And surely the squirming from the continuous pressing of your thighs has caught his peripheral at least once or twice.

“Right. That’s it for now. We’ll do a test run in forty-five minutes. Gear up and be ready to leave.” The room empties rather quickly after a quick salute. And of course… you are the last to leave. “Honee.”

You jump out your skin, your back already turned from him, but too far from the door to craft the excuse of not hearing him. Your mouth upturns into a grin that you’re sure would accrue more points towards your impending punishment. So you remain with your back turned to him, answering an all too even voice, “Yes?”

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve.” slow and deliberate footsteps stalk behind you, growing louder than the thrumming in your chest and between your legs. He stops just barely short of touching you, lowering his voice so that it sits as not much more than a gentle purr against your ear. “I expect to see you in the field. Dressed properly.”

He walks around you out the door, presumably to his office to retrieve his gear. It’s only once you hear the click of the door followed by fading footsteps do you finally breathe. You bite your lip and groan, gripping the hem of your skirt to keep from reaching a hand up it instead.

Your feet move faster than your brain, flying to his study. It was always this with you two: some seemingly innocuous thing catches his attention, to which he finds stress relief and solace in your slutty little pussy. Though this time his distress lies with the very one he comes to for comfort (of sorts), and the very thought of it is proving to be the bane of his existence.

After three quick raps, an enthusiastic “Enter,” allows you in. He’d be disgusted at your perverted mind if you admitted that his look of disdain had you nearly crying down your legs. That, punctuated by a curt “What?” has you biting back a small whimper.

“I—” you cut yourself off as you evaluate your best course of action. Outright asking for it has proven effective in the past, but the egregiousness of your behaviour has finally hit you . Before speaking again, you begin racking your brain for a suitable game plan.

Unbeknownst to you, it draws a long pause, to which he prompts, “I don’t have all day.”

His voice makes you flinch as it snaps you back to him out of your cluttered brain. “I’m sorry!” you blurt aloud without much thought.

“I hate liars,” he grunts as he tightens the fastenings on his gear. His hands move methodically over the latches, ensuring he doesn’t slam someone in the face with a cartridge of spare blades that come loose. “Hurry up before—”

“I just!” you shrug as you look off to the side, your face tingling with a warmth as you feel blood rush to your cheeks. “I just wanted some attention, I don’t know,” is finally pushed through in a low mumble.

Levi closes the gap between you two, grabbing your face in his hands to turn you back towards him. When your eyes drift away, he follows their gaze until you’re forced to succumb to his intense eye contact. “Are you saying I don’t give you enough attention?”

Your eyes nearly bug out. “No! It’s just that—”

“If you wanted more attention you could just say that. But no, you decided to be a fucking brat, instead,” he grits. Your eyes swell up a bit, your wires crossed between a growing fear and an intense need.

While you decide which emotion to land on, Levi stalks over to his chair back behind his desk. He spreads his legs and points to the floor. Without even a hint of shame, your feet fold over each other to kneel not too far from the bulge in his pants. Your mouth begins to salivate at the sight, but you will them to make contact with grey ones that hold a cool flame behind their irises.

Levi is nearly impressed with how quickly you take position: your legs folded under you with your hands folded in your lap. It’s easy to see your shameless cleavage from this angle, and part of him passively wonders if you’re overdue for a tit job. He pushes the thought away immediately. No matter how nice his cum looks painting your skin, he needs to focus.

“Go ahead.”

The simple command has you clawing at his belt buckle. Your fingers make quick work of it all, grateful in the way he lifts his hips for you to pull them down a bit. You don’t even care enough to bring them to his ankles, only down to the knee as you begin to try and free his still hardening dick from his boxers. You use the hole in the front to let it spring upwards towards his abdomen. It’s only a second before you’re wrapping your lips around the head, suckling at the slit as you lap up the precum that’s already begun to drip there.

Though he’s silent, the twitch in his cock when he feels you moaning in satisfaction is enough for you. You bob your head a bit, holding the base to keep steady as you swirl your tongue around the shaft. Your neglected clit is only soothed with the feeble rubbing of your thighs. You rock back and forth a bit, feeling the wetness coating your thighs grow.

“Do what you must,” he sighs in faux exasperation, hiding his own arousal in the fingers gripping his chair, “you have my full attention.”

The purr in his voice as he eggs you on goes straight to your core, just like the hand now playing with your clit through your underwear. Unsurprisingly, you’re met with an undeniable wetness, your own arousal having completely drenched the fabric.

Two deft fingers massage your aching clit as you work on him in earnest. You pull away to breathe and pool your saliva a bit, opening your mouth to watch it coat the length of his dick. As much as Levi hates a mess, you’re his favorite one to clean up. Watchful eyes follow you as you trace the prominent vein on the left side of his cock. His nostrils flare as the only sign of his arousal he allows through.

Your own body almost feels as if it’s vibrating with need. Levi’s gaze remains uninterrupted, deceivingly bored if it weren’t for the tension in his jaw. You feel naked under his eyes, for he misses nothing. Goosebumps pimple your skin, the vulnerability that rocks you urges you to cover yourself and incites a newfound search for modesty. The way desperate fingers fight against cotton to finger your leaking pussy definitely doesn’t go unnoticed.

Whether it’s annoyance with the pathetic display before him, or his other head thinking, he waves you off his cock, much to your disappointment. You bite back a whine, confused on your infraction, yet trying to avoid another. His voice breaches right through your developing spiral. “Sit.”

Perplexed, you tilt your head and adjust your posture. “I am…”

His facial expression doesn’t change. After a few moments you process the command and excitedly climb into his lap. After a few moments of maneuvering yourself around his gear to properly straddle his lap. Arms cradle his neck in glee, but he lets himself all but be pulled into a kiss. “You have fifteen minutes to get yourself off.”

You begin to open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you kills any argument you could muster.

Do I make myself clear?

Fifteen minutes.

How much to spend on prep? On stretching? Is worth it to tease yourself a bit or—

“Fourteen.”

“Levi!” you shriek in a mini panic. A grip on your chin ends your oncoming tantrum. Fix your tone. Your voice gets smaller now, meek. “It’s not fair…” you mumble.

“Now you care about fair?”

“I just—”

“For someone closing in on thirteen minutes, you sure spend a lot of time talking.”

“Levi please,” you start getting worried now. You keep your voice hushed, but maintain your urgency.

“Please what?”

Bingo. You’ve won.

The poutiest of lips. The truest of doe eyes. The vulnerability found in an unabashedly neediest of voices. “Can you fuck me?”

Levi’s hand is over your mouth in flash. Momentary confusion is interrupted by a burning between your legs, your cry muffled by a thick layer of calluses. Tears prickle your cheeks, your sniffle all but dying in his palm. You clench uncontrollably around him as you register that he’s bottomed out in one swoop.

Running his other hand up and down your back, he lets your mouth go free as he tucks your face into his neck. He saves the comment on the mess you’re making there as he repositions his hands to your hips. He lifts you up and…

“This is what you wanted,” he cooes.

Slam.

“You wanted attention, huh?” he scoffs.

Slam.

“Bullshit.”

His thrusts speed up, the clanking of his equipment joining the cacophony of sounds the two of you are making; the papping of your asscheeks against his pants; your sniffles twisting into groans; his intermittent grunts as he listens to the wet sounds of your pussy taking him over and over and—

Fuck!

“You’re a fucking riot. Couldn’t survive without it for a week.” he curses to himself when he hears you mewl, every decibel going straight to his dick. “Putting this on. What do you have to say for yourself? Ah?”

He pounds into you from below, his gear rustling erratically as he forces his hips to meet yours. A quick smack to your ass wakes you up beyond your wanton moans. “Ah! I-I…” your mind starts to melt when he comes down to a slow grind, dragging his thick cock along your abused, gummy walls.

He grabs a fistful of you r hair to pull you back. Puffy and weary-eyed, your lip trembles as you futility try to gather your thoughts. “Don’t cry now. You weren’t crying when you put this shit on.”

“L-Levi, I—”

He stops you with a hand in your face and checks the time. Without much ado, slides you off his lap, not sparing you so much as a glance wen you wince. “Time’s up.”

“Levi!” you shriek, entirely too loud.

“Volume,” is his only warning as he tucks himself into his pants. He grabs a spare handkerchief to clean where you leaked out and prays it’s not noticeable.

“What am I supposed to—”

“You were supposed to get yourself off, you understand?” his tone sharp, only surpassed by his gaze. “Not my fault you’re a faulty little cockslut and got distracted.”

He leaves you to yourself, not before smirking when he sees the dripping between your legs. Levi hates messes, but this is one he can get behind.

an: i tried something new. i'm gonna try again soon. after this is true form s*kuna x reader cause im a monsterfucker first before a fraudkuna hater, so ig ill be putting my whole jordussy into it 😭

taglist: @honeeslust @blkkizzat @arlerts-angel @halobuns

#jordussy #jordussy speaks #levi x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you

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gojos-thot-patrol · 1 year ago

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hiiii i learned your name Aiden!!! How are you? Hallow i’m the sugu angst anon, sadly not asking for angst because poor sugu need a break and i love him so much so he deserves the whole world, i wanna thank you for writing my requests 🫶

and if you wanna consider 👀 perhaps an au where sugu didn’t spiral into the whole monkeys thing and so he is a teacher just like satoru? and he’s dating reader whose also a teacher, and they’re in a secret relationship that got revealed and gojo feels betrayed LMAO, anddd that’s all, hope you’re doing great! 🫶

Angsty Anon, how are you!? I love your requests, it's always a pleasure to write for you 💙💙 and yeah, I'm Aiden! I'm only now realizing I've never properly introduced myself on here, so, I guess this is my official introduction lol. And of course, I would love to consider Sugu as a teacher, that's so cute!

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Starring Suguru Geto, in a slightly softer world.

Have you ever heard of the multiverse theory? It gets switched around and misinterpreted a lot, but the basic premise of it is that for every possible outcome, there is a universe that follows it. So, for example, if you're on a walk one morning, and come across a fork in the road, you may choose the left path. When you do this, another universe is created in which you choose the right path, and yet another still where you didn't go on any walk at all.

As such, this implies that there are some fundamental truths across all universes. Every universe you encounter will have stars in the sky, and a force of gravity will keep everyone down. You won't find a universe where atoms aren't the building blocks of life. You won't find a universe that doesn't have a sun in its center. And you won't find a universe where Suguru Geto is a morning person.

He all but yells into his pillow as his alarm sounds off at 5:45 AM. He considers violence, a possible war crime against his phone for committing the egregious sin of waking him up before the sun is even up. He considers aggressively turning the alarm off and going back to sleep, letting the world continue on without him as he becomes one with his comforter.

And in the end he does none of it. He turns his alarm off like a normal person, and forces himself out of bed at the truly ungodly hour of 5:45 AM. Why you ask? Because class starts at 7 AM, and the kids he teaches are relying on him to show up and be a model jujutsu sorcerer, just like they are for all of the other teachers at Jujutsu High. And just as it is a fundamental truth that Suguru Geto is not a morning person, it's a fundamental truth that he would do absolutely anything for those he loves. And Suguru loves all of those kids, even if they can get a little annoying at times.

He’s falling asleep while brushing his teeth when he gets his first text of the day from you. A short and sweet “Good morning sweetie 💜” to give him the motivation to push through his morning routine.

He sends “Good morning to you too Darling 🖤” to you while smiling, finishing up brushing his teeth before mentally preparing himself for the arctic plunge of a shower he’s about to take to finish waking himself up.

Once he’s dressed and as awake as he’s going to be at 6:00 AM, he goes to check on Nanako and Mimiko out of habit. Of course, he finds their shared room empty, considering they moved into the dorms a week ago when school started.

“Right.” He grumbled to himself, shaking his head. At this point, it feels like he’ll never get used to them not being around. He wondered how Satoru adapted so quickly when Megumi moved into the dorms. Then again, Satoru seemed to be made for adaptation, meanwhile, Suguru had always struggled more with change.

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, A car horn blared through the quiet suburb. “What is he-?!” Suguru snapped at the air before rushing outside and into his friends car.

“What the hell are you doing Satoru?!” He asked, suddenly very awake.

“Letting you know I’m here.” Gojo smiled as he pulled out of Sugurus drive way and onto the road.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but could you not have just texted me?” Suguru grumbled, “You’re going to wake up the entire neighborhood!”

“My phones dead.” Satoru shrugged. He had a habit of passing out while scrolling tik tok and forgetting to put his phone on the charger.

“And I suppose knocking on my door was out of the question?” Suguru asked. Gojo clearly did not see the issue with violating air pollution laws, and it was starting to irk him.

“In the rain? No way dude!” He laughed. It was at this point Geto looked out the window. Well shit, it was raining. He was so focused on just getting to the car he managed to miss it.

“It’s like, barely raining.” He argued with his friend. The white haired main beside him just shrugged.

“Hey man, you’re lucky I give you a ride at all,” Gojo reminded him, “I could just teleport to school.” Suguru would have tried to argue with that, but he knew better than to enter an argument on the losing side. He just sighed and shook his head.

“Whatever man….thanks for the ride.” He added at the end.

“You’re welcome!” Gojo smiled. Suguru sighed as he got comfortable in the seat, leaning against the window. The main reason he got rides from Gojo was so he could take a nap on the way to the school. It was a long drive, and the thirty minutes he spent passed out in Gojos car went a long way to making him not an asshole to his class in the morning. It felt like his eyes had been closed for all of two seconds before Satrou was waking him up, letting him know they had made it to their destination.

“Good morning Geto, good morning Gojo!” You greeted the men as they joined you in the teachers lounge. Suguru smiled warmly when he saw your face, familiar and bright, even at 6:30 in the morning.

“Good morning L/n.” Geto yawned as he rushed to the coffee pot in the room, still half full.

“Morning L/n!” Satoru beamed as he sat next to you. Normally, the three of you were on a first name basis, but a professional setting calls for professional dialect. “So, you two do anything fun on your weekend?” Gojo asked. Geto looked at you from the corner of his eyes, seeing how you handled this situation. You would have stolen a glance at him, but Gojo would have definitely noticed that.

“Eh, not much really,” You shrugged, “I went and visited my parents, and mostly just tried to catch up on reading.” That was definitely, 100% not what you were doing this weekend. In actuality, you had spent the entire weekend with Suguru. The two of you had seen a movie, checked out his favorite soba shop, and spent the vast majority of the time cuddled in his bed watching horror movies to get ready for ‘spooky season’ despite the fact in was, indeed, April.

But you couldn’t say any of that to Gojo. You and Suguru were co-workers, your romantic relationship wasn’t just discouraged and taboo- the employee handbook strictly forbid it. As much as the two of you wanted to tell your shared best friend about the beautiful relationship you’d found, you couldn’t. Mostly cause Satoru couldn’t keep a secret to save his ass.

“Cool! What about you Suguru?” Gojo smiled as he looked to his best friend, deciding for now that professional language was for the birds.

“Eh, I mostly stayed in. I re-watched the scream movies.” He shrugged as he drank his black coffee.

“Isn’t it kinda early to be watching horror movies? Or, I guess late?” Gojo asked.

“It is never too early for spooky movies.” You said, jumping to Getos defense maayybe just a little too quickly. Gojo raised his eyebrows at you.

“So I see were feeling a little defensive.” He pointed out.

“Not defensive, I’m just saying. It’s always horror movie time if you’re not a coward.”

“Hey, I-”

“Uhh, Sensei?” Itadori asked as he popped his head into the door. Immediately all attention went to him, and silently, you thanked the pink haired boy for saving your ass.

“Hey Itadori! What’s up?” Gojo asked, all smiles for his student.

“I could really use your help with the algebra assignment from last night,” Itadori explained, “I don’t think I really grasp…well numbers.” He explained. Gojo chuckled and shook his head, but didn’t argue cause he, like Geto, knew better than to argue with the truth.

“Yeah Kid, no problem. Let’s go to the classroom.” Satoru said, getting up and letting Itadori lead the way. There was a heavy silence that filled the room after, both of you listing to Satoru’s footsteps until they vanished. Once they were gone, you both let out a deep breath.

“Well that could have gone worse.” Suguru chuckled softly.

“Yeah, that was my bad,” You sighed, “I swear, he looks into the littlest of things.”

“That’s Satoru.” Suguru confirmed with a nod, “Always suspicious of something. Somethings never change.” He shrugged. You looked around, making sure the coast we clear before standing up to give Suguru a quick hug.

“Ain’t that the truth.” You chuckled. Suguru smiled as he held you close, his mind wondering off to the other things that never seemed to change. The school, sorcerer society as a whole, the way he felt for you- even all the way back in high school. He had a crush on you even before you saved him, and it only intensified after.

Of course, as far as you’re concerned you didn’t save anyone that day in the graveyard. You just talked some sense into an old friend. You would never know just how close to the edge Suguru was that day. How could you? All you knew was that his faith was shaken, and he needed some reassurance.

He could still go back to that afternoon in his mind like replaying a movie. He could still see the gray skies of fall, heavy with dark clouds. He could still smell the rain water and grave dirt hanging in the air. And could still sense the confusion he felt when you brought him to your best friends grave. He had never met the girl, she had died to a curse long before you enrolled in Jujutsu High. So why were you bringing him here now?

“This is where my friend lies,” You explained to him what he already knew. “It’s been a few years now, but I still think of her every day.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Y/n.” He said the only think he knew to say.

“Suguru, why are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer?” You asked, suddenly looking at him with overly intense eyes that made him feel so small. Why did he was he a Jujutsu Sorcerer? He didn’t fucking know! Especially not anymore. He used to know. But, he lost that direction. After Riko died. After Haibara died. He didn’t know what the point to any of this was anymore.

“Why are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer?” He asked back, not so smoothly dodging the question. You just pointed at the grave.

“For her. And for you, and for Riko and Haibara. For everyone I have loved and will love, I do it to protect them.” You explained it as if it was just that easy. And maybe it was. For you.

“How are we protecting them exactly?” He asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “Please, tell me just how exactly we protected Riko and Haibara?” He questioned.

“We protect them in death.” You shrugged, “Honor what they would have wanted. Do you really think Riko would want you to waste the life she so desperately wanted because of her death? Do you think Haibara would have wanted you to throw away all of your potential because some higher ups fucked him over? Or do you think they would want you to live your life to the fullest, and work hard to see that potential fulfilled?”

“I think they would want us to fight for a fundamental change in the system. For a world without curses.”

“Suguru, you and I both know that’s not possible.”

“But it is,” He argued, saying things out loud he had only thought up until now, “Humans are the only ones to produce curses, you know.”

“So what? You’re just going to kill all humans?” You scoffed at the absurdity of the idea, and he genuinely felt a little embarrassed. “What would that fix?”

“Well, there would be no curses, for one.” He pointed out.

“And what would that achieve?”

“We wouldn’t have to watch our friends and family die at the hands of disgusting curses!” He argued, frustrated that you couldn’t see his vision.

“No, we would just have to watch them die at the hands of other sorcerers, right?” You pointed out. “A world without curses doesn’t fix the cruelty that created them. Curses aren’t what killed Riko, and removing them won’t bring back Haibara.”

“No, Humans killed Riko.” He could still hear that god forsaken cult, clapping away as if a little girl hadn’t just been slaughtered. No, worse. Clapping away because a little girl had just been slaughtered. It was all he could hear late at night. You sighed and nodded.

“That's true. She was killed by a human, who was raised by sorcerers.”

“So are you trying to argue that actually sorcerers are the root of all evil?”

“No Suguru, I’m trying to argue that there is no “Root of all evil.” That it’s all just beings that exist. There are bad humans, of course. Just like how there are bad sorcerers. Everything that exists exists with some good and some bad. You can’t just fix the world with one final, fucked up solution.”

“I just don’t see the point in trying to save people who historically treat us like were fucking disposable!” Suguru snapped, hating that it was starting to seem really hopeless. Were you right? Was there really nothing he could do?

“Sugu, I think you’re getting caught in the details. You’re not seeing the forest for the trees.” You sighed. “ Yes, the Star Cult was full of the most fowl people. And yeah, a lot of humans do treat us like shit. But there are just as many humans who are kind to us. Humans who see their children's cursed techniques as blessings, not curses. Humans willing to die if it means being there for the sorcerers they love and standing by them. Humans like your parents, and my best friend. Humans that are worth protecting.”

“So we have to protect them all just because a few are good?”

“Would you protect a bad person to save me?” You asked. He hadn’t really thought of it like that. It was a moral question he wasn’t ready for, and struggled to find an answer to.

“I mean, I guess I would.” He finally said.

“Exactly. That’s kinda the point of Jujutsu Sorcery for me. It’s not to protect the world- that’s too monumental of a task even for Satoru Gojo. It’s to protect the ones I love and care for.”

“And what about when we can’t protect them?” He could feel the tears prickle as his eyes now, a stinging that demanded attention. He rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to make it go away.

“Then I live to honor them, in a way I think would make them proud. I understand where you’re coming from. Heartache is a hell of a thing to battle, and witnessing a young death changes a person. But, continuing to perpetuate that hurt, won’t make it go away. Especially when it comes to such grandiose ideas like “kill all humans!” it doesn’t fix anything. It just hurts the people around you, both with us and departed. I mean, is slaughtering a billion strangers really worth ruining the people closest to you? The ones who love you? Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru.”

He didn’t know what to say. But that line rang in his ears. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru. It drowned out the clapping in his mind. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru. It played louder than Yuki telling him that humans were the only ones to create curses, and that he knew what he believed. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru. And it was what was playing in his ears as he stared at two kids in a cage. Scared, alone, neglected. He felt it then, his hate rise up like bile in his throat, threatening to slaughter him. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru.

He took a minuet to breathe. Was killing this village really going to do anything? It would feel good, yeah- righteous even. But there were a million more like it. And he couldn’t single handedly slaughter them all. Not without hurting You, Gojo, Shoko, Riko, Haibara, and his own mother all in the process. Were a billion strangers worth the people he loved?

“You know, if you don’t want these girls in the village, there’s a better way to handle it.” That night he adopted Nanako and Mimiko. Sure, he may not be able to save every Jujutsu Sorcerer in the world. But at least he could save these two. A few weeks later, that village burned to the dirt in a forest fire, so maybe karma was real.

The bell ringing broke his train of thought, and snapped him back to the real world. You smiled as you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you at lunch!” You winked to him as you grabbed your bag and made your way to your classroom. He smiled softly as he watched you go.

“Yeah, see you then.” He said, making his way to his own classroom.

Suguru swore up and down his class wasn’t hard. It was classical literature, if ya just read the book, and did the assignments, he was pretty generous with the A’s. It was why conversations like this were always at least mildly amusing to him.

“I just don’t understand why you’re being to difficult about this” Nobara argued, “It’s just a few points!”

“Nobara, rounding from a C to an A is not a few points. It’s an entire letter grade.” He gently reminded her.

“Yeah, and what’s an entire letter grade if not just a few points?” She argued back. He sighed and rubbed his temples. Nobara had always been a forced to be reckoned with, and was always determined to get what she wanted.

“Look, Nobara, I’ll compromise with you. You know the big report we have coming up on Fires on the Plain?”

“I do.” She confirmed.

“If you do really well on it, And I mean really well, I need you to make at least an A on it- I’ll bump your grade to a B+” That was where her grade would be at anyway if she made an A on the report, “Sound good?” Nobora grinned like she got away with something.

“Oh yeah, I could do that in my sleep!” She declared, and Suguru had to hold back a laugh, “You’re on Sensei!” She grinned, muttering a soft ‘sucker’ under her breath as she left the room. Once she was gone, Suguru let his chuckle out. It was always fun tricking his students into accidentally taking their studies serious.

“Whats got you giggling?” You asked from his doorway, a small smile creeping onto your lips from the sound of his light laughter.

“Oh, nothing,” He said with a wave of his hand, “Just my students thinking they’re gaming the system by-” He pretended to check his notes- “Doing the work.”

“Let me guess, Nobara?”

“It was Nobara.” He confirmed, and you both let out a small giggle. You walked into his classroom and leaned against his desk facing him.

“Very on brand for her. So, have you thought about dinner tonight?” You asked. He smiled and nodded, getting out of his chair to come and wrap his arms around your waist. Was it risky? Kind of, everyone was out to lunch, sure, but that didn’t mean that you two weren’t out in the open. He couldn’t help it though. Whenever you were around, he had to have his arms around you. He didn’t spend almost 6 years chasing your affections to not hold you whenever he could.

“I have actually,” He smiled, “I thought we could cook something together tonight? I found a new pork belly recipe that seemed right up your ally.”

“Oooo, another night in! How exciting!” You giggled. And you meant it too. While to most people, a night in was a boring everyday thing, Jujutsu Sorcerers weren’t blessed with the luxury of having a night at home promised to them. They weren’t even guaranteed the simple pleasure of coming home at night. So, a night in to the two of you was fun, exciting, and unquantifiably valuable.

“I thought you’d be excited,” He smiled lovingly at you. You look so precious in his arms. He couldn’t believe something as beautiful and pristine as you found any value in him. That you had found him worthy of the time it took to save him. Suguru wasn’t a religious man, but he thought maybe he could believe in angels if they were half as perfect as you were. He had no idea what he did to earn the right to have you as his angel, but he was so fucking happy he did it.

His swelling emotions got the better of him, and he leaned down to kiss you. A warm current flowed between the two of you, the familiar taste of cinnamon coffee filling your senses as you melted into him. He was comforting and safe, and in his embrace you were almost convinced nothing bad could ever happen.

“OH, I KNEW IT!” Of course something bad had to happen. The two of you scrambled away from each other, looking at Gojo like two teenagers that had been caught making out in your parents car. It was actually embarrassing. “I KNEW YOU TWO HAD A THING!”

“Satoru, It’s not what it looks like!” You panicked.

“Yeah, It’s not like that, Y/n just…had something on her face! I was wiping it off.”

“With your mouth!?” Gojo scoffed.

“...Yes?” Someone, take away Suguru’s lying privileges. Your face hit your plam at the lame lie, and Gojo rolled his eyes.

“I’d asked if you guys thought I was dumb, but clearly you do! Why would you keep this from me?” He all but whined as he fully entered the classroom.

“Well Satoru, it’s…well..” You tried to think of something to save his feelings.

“There are celebrity tabloids better at keeping secrets than you Satoru.” Nevermind Suguru, go back to lying.

“Hey, that’s not true!” Satoru said on his own defense, “When Shoko started smoking again I kept that secret!”

“Shoko started smoking again?” You gasped.

“...fuck.” Satoru whispered.

“See Satoru! That’s what we mean.” Suguru sighed, seeing his job flash before his eyes.

“It’s still not cool!” Gojo pouted, “My two closest friends in the entire world fall in love and they won’t even tell me! No wonder you guys haven’t wanted to hang out on the weekends. You’ve been together, haven’t you!?” You and Suguru looked down in shame. Maybe it wasn’t exactly fair to keep him completely out of the loop.

“Do you guys hate me?” Gojo asked, the betrayal he felt seeping into his voice.

“No, Satoru, we love you!” You assured him.

“You’re our best friend, of course we love you!” Suguru confirmed, “We just also like being able to pay rent!”

“Paying rent is so important!” You nodded.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone!” Satoru insisted, “I would never do anything to put your livelihoods at risk! I thought you guys would have known that.” He pouted.

“We do know that,” You sighed.

“Do we?” Suguru whispered, just for you to swiftly pat him to remind him to behave.

“We were just being cautious. I’m sorry we hurt your feelings Satoru.” You apologized as you went to your wounded friend, patting his back for comfort. Suguru joined you on his other side.

“Yeah man, I’m sorry. We’ll try and keep you in the loop about more things, okay?” Suguru promised. Satoru sniffled and nodded.

“Okay…I forgive you guys.” He said, looking up and smiling at the two of you. “So when do I get to come to date night?”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #suguru geto #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader fluff #geto x reader #suguru geto fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #Angsty Anon #🥐

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