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euphoriaslux · 5 months

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two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

#challengers #challengers fanfic #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x patrick zweig #art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader #mike faist #josh o’connor #mike faist x reader #josh o’connor x reader #mike faist fanfic #josh o’connor fanfic

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taviokapudding · 2 years

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Happy Lunar New Year

I have 1 fucking wish for the year and that’s the Genshin community being nicer to content creators

Everyone who told me on tiktok in 2022, just before Scaramouche’s Irminsul archon quest, wHy WoUlD zHonGli bE wOrRieD aBouT NaHidA? ArE yOu sTuPid? when I pointed out how weird it was that he didn’t ever get involved on checking up on her despite mourning the loss of the original 7 and how important it was that he told us the traveler to pay attention to what’s happening in the world - be the one with the memory

I see you all accepting Zhongli a descender theory

You all owe me an apology; I indirectly figured it out before we got the lore about the descenders confirmed.

The absolute backlash I got after making those 2 videos prior to that plot reveal is why I stopped making Genshin inconsistency plot detail videos & why I haven’t made that Scaramouche character design video. If everyone chills out, maybe I’ll indirectly reveal the plot again beyond just writing things down on here and hoping everyone sees. {like btw I’m calling it now, Zhongli probably has a contract saying he can’t get involved in Irminsul bs because of his descender status- probably the same reason why he worked out a deal with La Signora. Imagine if the people of Liyue found out their archon was an outlander & not just an adeptus}

#this is why I just write my thoughts on here now #because the folks who do see my #genshin impact #content on here tend to be not only more open to the ideas but tend to actually care about the lore enough to notice the stuff I’m saying #mun post #tiktok Genshin people are either the best or absolute hell spawn - there is no inbetween #if I make Genshin content this year I’m just going to block notifications because gfdi why were people hostile under those videos?#and it wasn’t like one or 2 comments - it was a majority who absolutely didn’t get that it was weird how Zhongli gives a shit about #record keeping and clearly is surrounded by grief yet didn’t think to check up on his friend’s reincarnation #side note I don’t like Nahida from a character design standpoint either but #goddamn put the anger you have about the appropriation aimed at the people who have a say in the matter- not those of us #who literally aren’t even being paid to make content - I’ve been really just doing it for fun- even now on here with my thoughts #but anyways I hope folks be nicer or start actually paying attention to everything being said because it’s obvious what direction #the story is going if you pay attention and try to piece things together as you go #doubly when they reuse terms in the past with new meanings like saying Zhongli descended and what descenders are

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torialefay · 4 months

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"Regardless of That Fucking Assignment..." 📝

professor!seungmin x fem!student!reader smut 🔞

✨ synopsis: you tried to be professional after being selected for a position under the hottest professor on your univeristy’s campus. turns out, the professor doesn’t give a fuck about “professional.”

✨ warnings: this piece, although consensual, does revolve around a morally grey area. this is strictly fictional work, and should only be considered as such. contains a lot of roleplaying that is not appropriate for everyday life. I do not condone any acts that are represented in this fic. this is strictly fictional work, and should only be considered as such. ; unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight breath play

Dr. Kim was easily the hottest professor at your university. Young, handsome, and intelligent were the perfect recipe for quickly becoming your favorite classes to go to.

Thankful that he actually taught courses for your major, people outside of it would still sign up just to see him. Well, more like fawn over him, in hopes that he would somehow notice and fall for them, like the clichés they’d seen in movies. It was a bit annoying, considering you’d have to make sure to register early for his classes, but you didn’t mind as long as you got your spot. It made your performance in his class look better in comparison at least.

You’d always performed well in his classes, but you always felt a bit behind. You’d considered asking for his opinion on who would be best to go to for tutoring, but you didn’t want to get flustered in front of him. You surely didn’t want him to think you were struggling in his classes because it was hard to pay attention to anything but him… But ultimately, that was the truth.

Which is why you were very surprised one day to receive an email saying that you’d been selected for the fellowship you applied for… with Dr. Kim as the head.

“Hello, Dr. Kim,” you said nervously after knocking and peaking your head into his office.

He was relaxed, seated behind his large mahogany desk with a plaque on the front ordained with the inscription “Dr. Kim Seungmin.” He’d had a pen in one hand while holding his chin with the other, lost in thought.

“Ahh, y/n. Come on in and take a seat,” he smiled, lifting his head out of his hands and gingerly resting the pen onto the paper underneath it.

You shyly opened the door wider in front of you, just enough so that you could glide through and carefully close it.

Afterwards, you smoothed your skirt down around your thighs and crossed the short space of the room before seating yourself in one of the nice, leather-backed chairs that he had placed neatly in front of his desk.

“I’m glad you could meet with me on such short notice,” he said warmly, looking you in the eyes.

You couldn’t help but blush a little. Even if you’d had around a hundred lectures with him under your belt, it was nothing like the one-on-one conversation you were having now. Butterflies crept up into your stomach that you quickly tried to shoot back down. If you were going to work with this man on a fellowship project for the next year, you were going to have to learn to set those feelings aside… starting now.

“Yes, of course,” you said formally. “I’m very thankful and excited that I was chosen for this position. It really does mean a lot to me, so thank you for giving me this opportunity,” you smiled back, hiding any nerves that you may have had.

Dr. Kim chuckled a bit. “No need to thank me. You’re a great student. I’m always happy to see your work. You have a lot of great ideas, you know? I don’t say that many students challenge me to think about things in a different way, but you’re… different. Very different,” he smirked.

You automatically felt your face flush. ‘Surely this will get easier with time,’ you reassured yourself, taking a deep breath as nonchalantly as possible.

“Oh really?” you began, calming your voice. “I do get worried sometimes that maybe people could find my work a bit… unconventional?” you raised an eyebrow, trying not to falter.

“Good thing I’ve never been the conventional type,” he winked as he smiled, looking down directly after to grab the paper sitting next to him.

‘Did he? Did he just?…’ your mind began running. ‘Surely he didn’t mean it like… No, there’s no way. That’s just his personality. He’s witty. Of course he’d play around like that. He’s just cool, calm down.’ You tried your best not to let your internal freak out show on your exterior.

“So,” he started, looking back up to you, “give me your ideas. Obviously on your application, you threw out quite a few interesting ones. As long as I agree, we can work on whatever you’d like this year.”

“Hmm, well…” you began before running through your list of ideas with him. You had one proposal that you’d been fixated on, but it would require a lot of effort and attention, and you weren’t sure about the logistics of it working out. It would required a lot of time from the professor as well, so you’d almost nixed it altogether. Something about it just kept coming back though, you you figured you’d at least mention it along with the plethora of other ideas that had been rattling around.

“Woah, woah- stop right there,” Dr. Kim put his hands out, preventing you from continuing on to another point. “That’s really good,” he nodded his head. “I’ve read up on so much, paper after paper. But no one’s ever done that before.” He sucked in his cheeks as he continued to lightly nod and fixate his eyes off into the distance. “That’s smart… that’s really really smart.” He smiled, bringing his eyes back to yours now. “I knew I chose the right one. You're really impressive."

"Ohh no," you said, blushing with a smile as you waved your hand in disagreeance.

"What, you don't think so?" He teased, leaning back in his seat. "Why's that?"

"I'm just really interested in it is all. It's not that I'm special."

"Ahh," he nodded, understanding. "Well, I disagree." He folded his hands. "I noticed you the very first class. I even remember what you were wearing."

The sudden comment had you taken aback. "Really?" you asked, wide-eyed.

"Of course. You're quite memorable," he said coily.

Your heart kept speeding up in your chest. 'Calm down. Calm down.'

"Come on, Dr. Kim, you don't need to say all that," you tried to play it off. "I appreciate building my confidence up, but I will always try to work harder," you finished with a solid nod.

He stilled for a moment as if contemplating his words. "Oh really? Work harder?"

“Well… of course?” your voice carried up, confused on why that was such a notable statement. “I could always be doing better in your class.”

Dr. Kim nodded. “Mmm, I guess that’s true. Tell me, y/n, whose class is your favorite? You can be honest with me. I’m just curious to know.” He cocked a brow.

“Hmm…” your eyes darted up as you began to think. “I’m not saying this to be facetious, but I really do enjoy coming to your lectures. Dr. Pramal’s lectures have been very good recently as well.

He giggled. “Dr. Pramal? Come onnn, he basically wears a toupee. My classes have to be at least a little more fun than his.”

“I don’t know,” you smiled, “He tells a lot of dad jokes. He may give you a run for your money.” You raised your brows at his daringly.

“Ahh, okay. Dad jokes. I’ll have to remember that. That’ll get me some brownie points then huh?”

“It just might,” you shrugged. “I think the class would really enjoy it.”

A smug smirk came over his face. “I didn’t mean brownie points with the class. I meant brownie points with you.”

“Ohh,” you blushed, looking down. There was no way, you thought, that he meant the words the way that they were coming across. But it did fluster you anyways. “But I guess… haha yeah, I guess maybe that’d put you ahead of Dr. Pramal… maybe.”

Lighthearted. This was the way to go, you thought.

“Playing hard to get… I see how it is,” he grinned ear to ear.

“Hey, we’ve gotta see how good those jokes are first!” you thought quickly.

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll get some good ones prepared for next time. Just for you.”

At that moment, there was no denying it anymore. There was no way, unless he was absolutely toying with you, that he’d be making all of these advances without realizing. You were sure he knew that almost every person was crushing on him, so you weren’t sure if he was just trying to play around, but either way, you knew that if you had been standing, your knees would have already buckled and given in. There was no going back now.

“Well,” you began, “since I shared my opinion, I think it’s only fair for you to tell me which classes are your favorites to teach?” You felt bolder now. More confident.

“Hmm… I wouldn’t say that I have any one favorite. They all have their pros and cons… but right now,” he tapped his pen on the table, “maybe I prefer the ones that you’re in. It always makes my day a bit better, but the classes go by so quickly.”

“So you decided giving me this position would be a good solution?” You giggled, finally leaning into the fantasy unfolding in front you.

“Absolutely not,” he stood with a smirk, gingerly beginning to walk behind where you were seated. “Excuse the language, but you’re fucking brilliant. It’s why I was so drawn to you... Having you on was a unanimous decision by the board.” He leaned down behind you until he was hovering just next to your ear. “But this…” he breathed out. “This is just a bonus.”

He took one hand to gently brush your hair over the opposite shoulder, making sure the area beneath him was open and exposed. He slowly let his fingers trail along your back until they rested on your shoulder, only for a split second, before sneaking lightly to trace along the lines of your collar bone. You could hear deep breaths coming from his throat.

“Tell me you don’t want it, and I’ll stop…” he whispered lowly.

Your head clouded. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine any of this. You wanted this, didn’t you? Yes, you wanted this.

But how would it affect your future? What if someone found out?

His hot breath hitting your ear drowned out any hesitancy you could have had. ‘Fuck it.’

“Don’t stop,” you whispered back, feeling shy, but excitement leaking out of you nonetheless.

He slowly let his lips find their way to your shoulder, planting the lightest kiss you’d ever felt, as if he was testing out the waters. As you began to get chills, he slowly began trailing kisses across your collarbone and to your neck, taking time there so gently suck. Nothing too crazy. Nothing too harsh. He wanted no evidence left behind. No emotions involved.

And that is exactly what you believed. Before he leaned in to kiss you.

His arm reached to rotate your shoulders towards him as he brought his lips to yours. The passion he poured in was immaculate. Like he’d been hungry for weeks. He tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth, asking permission to go even deeper.

Without breaking the kiss, the walked around to the front of the chair, holding your head steady for him the entire way. Once he reached his destination, you let his tongue find its way into your mouth. He started with light circles around your own until he was quickly moaning into you. The desperate sounds leaving his mouth had you echoing, making you squirm even more.

You could feel yourself growing more and more wet with each second. Swallowing in every last moment, you basked in the bliss of it all, but you couldn’t help but to want more.

He smiled as he realized how worked up you were getting. Resting one hand on your cheek and the other around to the small of your back, he guided you up until you were standing.

He slowly waltzed you around, never breaking the contact with your mouth. As the moans grew heavier and heavier, you slowly began to push yourself up and onto his leg, needing any sort of friction possible.

He took that as his cue to extend his thigh out for you, running his hands down to hold your ass before rubbing it harshly.

You winced at the new pressure as you slowly began to push yourself up and down on his thigh, losing your breath at how good it felt.

The scene in front of him was quickly getting too much to handle. You knew from the growing hard on that you felt each time your leg hiked higher.

As he groaned loudly, he pulled his lips from yours and yanked your body into his, separating any centimeter of space that could have existed.

You let out a low whine in response as his lips went back to your neck, nibbling away as you fucked yourself onto him. His fingers burrowed into your hair as he went, encouraging you to go faster.

You reveled in the way your clit was engorged now, making sure to hit just high enough with every thrust. And as he began to pant more heavily, Dr. Kim moved his thigh up and down for you, adding to the intensity that you felt.

“Oh fuckkkk,” you let out when things were getting too much to bear.

The sweet sounds coming out of you were too much for him. Abruptly, he pulled his lips from your neck, taking hold of your head to bring it eye level with his. He stared into you like he now owned you. “You can’t tell anyone about this. Promise me,” he demanded, rutting his leg up into you, forcing you to take it as he watched..

“I promise,” you breathed out, grappling to his chest as your eyes rolled back, about to reach your high.

“Feels that good?” He chuckled, planting a harsh smack to your ass.

“Oh fuck,” you winced, loving the roughness he was giving you. Your face flew into his chest. “It feels so fucking good. Harder… please.”

“Harder?” His voice was raised now.

In any normal situation, you would have been worried that someone would hear. But in this moment, you couldn’t have given a fuck if you tried.

Another smack left you dripping through your panties. “Fu-u-u-ck,” you cried. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer. You held onto him tightly as the knot in your stomach formed. “Keep going, keep going,” you whimpered out, chasing your release.

You heard him grunt as he began thrusting harshly, as quickly as he could, into your cunt. Although you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was enjoying every last second.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” you let out lowly as your clit throbbed in just the right way. The warmth got to be too much. The thrusts were too much, and suddenly, you lost it.

Flailing out all over him, you tried your best to cling on and ride out your high. The sexual tension that had been pent up for so long had finally spilled out- hard. You began shaking and crying out into him, not caring if you were too loud now or if anyone heard.

Once it was beginning to be too much, you pulled off, shaking and pushing him back. You were sure you couldn’t take one more second without passing out.

He took the opportunity of being separated from you to make the few strides toward his door to lock it. You couldn’t believe that you’d completely disregarded that once you’d been caught up in the moment.

Catching your breath, you turned around to grip onto his desk, holding yourself up with your arms. You were able to get a few deep breaths in until the professor returned behind you, pulling your ass toward him.

“Fuck,” he smiled, gripping your hips and squeezing, letting your ass push against his clothed dick. “That was so fucking beautiful.”

All you could do was moan in response, rolling your hips around. Although your heart had had a few seconds to calm down, you could feel it speeding right back up.

As he massaged you with his hands, he continued letting his thoughts turn into words. “Now I want to know how beautiful you’d look on my dick. Getting fucked right into this desk. Will you let me?” His hands ran up and down between your hips and your ass, rubbing you lightly. Almost as if he was… cherishing you?

“Mmhmm,” was all you could get out, still trying to fully recover.

“I need to hear you say it,” he barked back. “I need to hear you say yes. Say that you want this.”

“Yes, Dr. Kim,” you breathed out as harshly as you could, your response landing you another smack on the ass as he brought his hand to the back of your head to push it onto the desk and have you perfectly bent over for him.

He wasted no time, undoing his belt and letting his trousers fall to the ground, quickly pulling his cock out from his boxers to let it spring up and hit him.

He hastily threw the bottom of your skirt over your ass to reveal your panties underneath, completely soaked in the middle from the time you’d just had.

“Goddamn,” he chuckled. “All of this for me?” He rubbed his thumb up and down your slit, causing you to wince, before ripping your panties to the side. It caused them to partially rip, not that you minded. “Even prettier than I could have imagined,” he said, licking his lips and staring down at your pussy. “Fuck.”

He took one hand from you long enough to spit in it and bring it down to stroke his hardened cock. He moaned the slightest bit, touching himself while thinking of what was to come.

Using one hand to hold you down and the other to steady as he lined himself up at your entrance, he pushed in slowly, letting himself enjoy the feeling of your pussy stretching around him. He savored every last centimeter that he could get inside of you before bottoming out. A large breath escaped his lungs as he tried to stabilize himself. It was all too much of a sight to behold.

Pushing you into the table harder, he inched his way out before thrusting back in, trying to warm you up to him.

You couldn’t deny how delicious it felt. He was bigger than you were used to, and the way he had you pressed down was taking your breath away. You tingled head to toe from the sensation. It was better than anything you could have dreamed up in class- a few thrusts of his dick inside of you, and you could already confirm.

He picked up his speed inside of you as you let out a whimper, already feeling like you’d taken much more than he could give.

He railed into you relentlessly, letting out gutteral grunts and moans with each snap of his hips into yours. The sounds of it were lewd, but it only added to how you felt.

“Ahh fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he growled lowly, trying to focus enough so that he wouldn’t cum right away. “You’re taking it so fucking well.” He moved a hand up to your hair to form a pony tail that he could pull back on. “Don’t you think so?” he yelled, pulling your hair slightly back.

Surprised, you yelped, which only turned him on more. “Yes, Dr. Kim,” you managed to get out between shallow breaths. You didn’t know how much more you could take.

“You like it when your professor fucks you, don’t you? You always wanted to be used by me, huh?” he teased, thrusting into you even faster, tighter hold on your hair.

“Yes- yes, I love it,” you strained.

Something in him must have ticked because before you could process what was happening, you had been pulled up by your hair so that your back was arched, torso now fully upright. The professor now had a hold on your hair, but all the way around your waist as well to hold you up.

You felt yourself choke on your own throat from how far back your head had been tilted. The iron grab you felt from him behind you hinted that this would be something you’d have to get used to. He chuckled as you gasped for air, beginning to pound into you harder.

He admired the way you looked for him. Perfect ass slapping against him at every thrust. Your body contorted in the most unnatural shape, just because he willed it. Your face red from the blood rushing around. So perfectly behaved for him. Letting him do whatever he wanted. So willing to give it all up. He couldn’t fucking stand it anymore.

Relentlessly he growled, fucking into you harder than he had before. He could feel the sweat seeping from his brow, but it didn’t hinder him. All that mattered in this moment was using you until he couldn’t stand anymore. Each thrust into your tight pussy brought him closer and closer.

It was the hardest you’d ever been fucked. You were past the point of return. After moaning harder than you’d ever thought possible, you were officially fucked out. He kept hitting the same perfect spot over and over until all you could do was cry out and gasp for air. No thoughts anymore, just needing that second wave of relief. You clenched around him as you tried for a deep breath, quickly working your way there.

“Ahh shit,” he hissed as he felt you- pure, unadulterated, untamable lust now clouded his eyes. Something different had come over him now. He was no longer your professor. No. Now… his one purpose in life was to fuck you senseless.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to do this?” he spat at you, yanking your head back even harder so he could get a clear look into those pretty eyes while he rammed into you. “How many times I’ve wanted to stop in the middle of class to just bend you over and take you?! I’ve contemplated so many times if I should hold you back after class so I could talk to you. Get you to put those pretty lips on mine, ah?” He was aggressive, almost yelling out of his mind through gritted teeth. "I’ve wanted you from the very first day I fucking saw you. Last year. An entire fucking year of acting good,” a harsh pound into you, “and acting professional,” pound, “around you," pound. "But goddamn it, I just can’t do it anymore! You drive me fucking crazy, y/n! You drive me so fucking crazy!” He yelled forcefully, quickly releasing his grip on you so that you fell forward onto the table.

Your lungs sucked in as much air as possible as you had a momentary sense of relief. But within a few seconds, Dr. Kim was reaching with his hand to rotate your head around to the side, right next to his own as he’d bent himself over your body, still fucking into you with all the strength he had.

“I’ve got to fucking have you,” his voice rumbled lowly, looking into your eyes. The words alone made your pussy quiver.

'Fuck. There's no fucking way. Does he mean?...' You were sure you were going to cum any second.

“Tell me I can have you… Fucking hell, tell me I can have you,” he growled, watching you desperately. Hungrily.

You closed your eyes as they slightly rolled back in your head. “Yes… Fuckkk, yes, you can have me,” you moaned out as his thrusts became too much for you to handle.

He violently crashed his lips into yours as if he’d been starving for them this whole time- like he'd been saving his appetite for this very moment. He ate at you like you were the most delicious thing he would ever taste.

And with the perfect thrust, you felt it. The feeling that had been creeping up for so long, exploded now, leaving you in complete shambles. Cursing, moaning, throwing yourself all around, you just couldn’t control yourself any more. You tried pulling yourself back, but his mouth kept you anchored to him, resulting in you throwing all of your groans into his mouth.

You didn’t know how it couldn’t be over, but he growled as he finished fucking into you, the wet sounds of your release only adding to his pleasure. You were getting overstimulated to the point that you were sure you were going to cry.

“Ahhh,” you wailed, not able to handle it any more.

“Oh fuck, baby, fuck!” he yelled, throwing a few final, violent, thrusts into you before pulling out. He continued to moan harshly as he pumped himself in his hand, letting his cum spurt out all over your ass, covering it almost completely. He stroked it until there wasn’t a single drop left inside of him.

'Baby?' you thought, contemplating if you'd misheard him.

Once he was sure he was finished, he breathed in and out deeply, trying to catch his breath while grabbing for a few tissues on his desk. He used them to lightly clean you up while you too were still bent over, struggling to get your breath back.

As soon as you heard his pants come up and zip, you were sure he was done. You slowly used your hands to push yourself up and off the table. Your muscles twitched as you went, absolutely exhausted. You didn’t know if you’d even be able to stand on your own, let alone make it back to the dorm.

You were slow as you turned, flattening your skirt down and trying to get your footing, but failing.

“Woah, woah, take it easy,” Dr. Kim smiled happily, knowing he was the one that had done this to you. He reached his hands out for you to hold so that you could get your balance.

“Yeah, thanks,” you said, blushing while nodding downward to acknowledge his help.

You both stood for a moment, absorbing the scenery and what had actually just happened. You almost couldn’t believe it.

As if it finally registered, you were suddenly uncertain of what to do next. You ran a hand through your hair before crossing your arms over your chest. You wanted to act like you weren’t nervous, but you knew that you were failing miserably.

“Well, I should probably head out then,” you tried to play off as light-hearted, moving your body out of his way and toward the door. You couldn’t believe you were about to have to do the walk of shame… at fucking school.

“You don’t have to-” Dr. Kim started, almost too eagerly, “you don’t have to go…” he calmed himself. “If you don’t want to. If you need time to, umm.” You’d never seen him be at a loss for words like this. “Get collected and everything.”

His eyes were softer than you’d remembered. For once, he didn’t look intimidating. He looked almost… sweet?

But none of that changed the fact that you had just fucked your professor and needed to go clear your head.

“Oh,” you smiled, trying to look grateful. “I appreciate it, but I think I’m alright. I should probably go finish up on an assignment I’ve been working on for your class actually. But really, thank you,” you said, bowing your head in gratitude, about to reach for the door handle.

“Wait,” he insisted, moving closer to you. “I just wanted to say that I really did mean all the things I said about you. Regardless of whatever this was, you are so fucking brilliant. I don’t want you to think that this is why I wanted you for the position. I hope that you’ll stay on… and that we can actually work together.” You thought you could make out a plea in his tone.

“Of course I’ll stay on, Dr. Kim. I’m excited to work with you,” you smiled, realizing now that you had some kind of upper hand.

He smiled back as he took a few steps backward, letting you turn to reach for the door once more.

“Please, call me Seungmin… Except in class of course,” he winked with a chuckle as he moseyed back behind his desk.

“Alright then, Seungmin,” you annunciated teasingly, smiling at him with big, innocent eyes. “I need to get to work on that assignment, but I’ll email you later so we can find a meeting time that works for us both?"

Seungmin just rolled his eyes with an annoyed grin. “You’re getting an A, regardless of that fucking assignment. And please... just give me your number instead.”

1K notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 17 days

Text

strip poker — gojo satoru.

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “Alright, Gojo Satoru. Since you’re so persistent… How about we make this interesting?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Oh? I’m listening to you, doll.” he replied, clearly intrigued by whatever you had in mind. You took a sip of your drink, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, watching as his eyes remained locked on yours, his curiosity practically radiating off him. “Strip poker.” you said finally, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

WARNING/s: NSFW (R18+), Fluff, Romance, Love at First Sight, Strangers to Lovers, Pet Names (Doll, Boy, Baby, Etc), Profanity, Stripping Clothes, Oral Sex, Fingering, P to V Sex, Kissing, Making Out, Humor, Flirting, Teasing, Mention of Stripping, Mention of Body Parts, Mention of Sexual Acts, Mention of Alcohol, Depiction of Sexual Acts, Depiction of Nudity, Depiction of Alcoholic Beverage;

WORDS: 7.8k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: lately a lot of my works were really long, so i realized people need a refreshing thing from me than my long story formats. i thought about this during a writing block and i just thought that maybe, satoru would be the type to enjoy something like this, you know? and i think shoko and suguru would just try to make gojo greet all the guests and he'll be pouty. unless its reader, because reader is loved by gojo a lot (he just met you at this party) but anyway, if i posted this, it means the majority poll meant gojo won. but anyway i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all~ 🫶

ADDENDUM: with an hour left in the vote and the gap being wide — gojo does win 🙂‍↕️

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if you want to, tip! <3

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HE WAS LOOKING FOR SOMETHING EXCITING. Gojo Satoru leaned against the doorway, his drink swirling lazily in his hand, the dim light of the room casting playful shadows across his face. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing at once, were fixed on you. You were standing with Shoko and Suguru, laughing at some private joke, and he couldn't help but wonder how he had never noticed you before.

It was strange. He knew everyone worth knowing, especially those who moved in Shoko's and Suguru's circles. But you... you were different. Your laughter was genuine, your smile bright, and there was a certain ease to the way you carried yourself—a confidence that wasn’t showy but quietly powerful, drawing people in without even trying.

As you spoke, he watched the way your lips curved into a grin, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. He could see that Suguru was captivated, leaning in to listen more closely, while Shoko rolled her eyes with a fond smile that suggested she was used to whatever game you were playing. Satoru couldn't quite hear what you were saying from where he stood, but he caught snippets of your voice, warm and inviting, tinged with a teasing edge that piqued his curiosity even more.

"How is it," he muttered to himself, "that someone like you has managed to slip under my radar?"

He took a sip of his drink, his gaze never wavering, trying to piece together the puzzle that was you. Maybe you were new to their circle, or perhaps you had always been there, hidden in plain sight, and he just hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Either way, he was intrigued, and that wasn't something that happened often.

When Shoko glanced over and caught his eye, she raised an eyebrow, smirking as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He gave her a playful wink in response, but his attention quickly returned to you.

Suguru, noticing the shift in focus, turned and followed Shoko's gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Satoru, come here." he called out, motioning for him to join. "Why are you lurking over there like a ghost at a party? Come say hi."

Satoru grinned and pushed himself off the doorframe, making his way over with a casual, easy stride. "I wouldn’t call it lurking, Suguboo." he said, slipping effortlessly into the group, his gaze still locked on you. "Just... observing."

You turned to face him fully, and for the first time, he felt the full force of your presence. Up close, you were even more intriguing—eyes bright and challenging, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Observing, huh?" you echoed, clearly amused. "Is that what they’re calling it these days?"

His grin widened, loving the way you didn’t shrink under his scrutiny but seemed to meet it head-on. "Well, you know, doll." he replied smoothly, "I like to get a feel for things before diving in."

Shoko snorted softly, rolling her eyes. "Translation: he likes to watch before he pounces."

"Careful, Satoru." Suguru added with a chuckle. "You’re starting to sound like a creep."

Satoru laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Maybe I am, Maybe I’m not." he admitted, his gaze still fixed on you. "But I like to have some good surprises for the interesting ones."

Your smile widened, clearly enjoying the attention, and you leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you. "So, am I interesting to you, Gojo?"

He felt a spark of electricity at the way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue like you’d known him for years. “Oh, definitely.” he replied, his voice dropping to a low, playful drawl. “Interesting enough to make me wonder how I've missed you all this time.”

You laughed softly, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Maybe you just weren’t looking hard enough.” you teased him. “Maybe you need to have a better look, don’t you think?”

He leaned in closer, his smile turning sly. “Oh, I’m looking now.”

There was a beat of silence, charged with unspoken words and possibilities, and Satoru could feel the air between you crackle with an almost tangible energy. He was used to this game, the dance of flirtation, but there was something about you that felt different—like you were two steps ahead of him, and he was enjoying every second of trying to catch up.

“Let’s see if you can keep up.” you said, your eyes glinting with challenge. “Because I’m not that easy to catch, Gojo.”

His grin widened, excitement bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I do love a challenge, doll.” he murmured, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “And trust me, I’m very persistent when I sense something good for me.”

“Then am I good for you?” You grinned at him, eyes full of amusement.

He returned your grin. “Why, the moment I saw you, doll — you were good for me and all of my lifetimes.”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged glances, their amusement clear as they observed the growing tension between you and Satoru. Shoko's eyes sparkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama, while Suguru's smirk spoke of his own quiet amusement at the game Satoru was now fully immersed in. They didn’t need to say a word; their silent communication conveyed everything—this was going to be entertaining.

Satoru, however, was oblivious to their silent exchange. His focus was entirely on you, his mind buzzing with possibilities. The playful challenge you’d just thrown at him had ignited a spark of curiosity and interest that he couldn’t ignore. As he watched you, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief and your smile held a promise of excitement, he found himself drawn in even more.

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “Alright, Gojo since you’re so persistent… How about we make this interesting?”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Oh? I’m listening to you, doll.” he replied, clearly intrigued by whatever you had in mind.

You took a sip of your drink, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, watching as his eyes remained locked on yours, his curiosity practically radiating off him. “Strip poker.” you said finally, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

"Are you serious?" Satoru chuckled, his grin spreading wide across his face. The light overhead cast a gleam on his white hair, making him look even more striking under the dim glow of the room.

"Dead serious, darling." you replied, eyes glinting with a playful challenge. "Unless, of course, the great Gojo Satoru is afraid of a little game."

His grin only widened at the bait. "Afraid? Not exactly my style. But I've got to admit, it's not every day someone proposes strip poker to me the first time we meet." He took a sip from his drink, eyes never leaving yours, scanning for any sign of bluff or mischief.

You shrugged, leaning against the table with an easy confidence that only intrigued him more. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting. And you looked like you could use a little excitement."

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. "So, what's the catch? I lose, and you get a fun little story to tell your friends? Or do I win, and...?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Who says I intend to lose? Besides, winning isn't everything. It's the fun in between, Satoru."

He blinked at the use of his first name, a small surprise evident in his expression. Most people would hesitate to use it so casually, but coming from you, it felt oddly natural—like it had always been meant to be spoken by you. There was something about the way you said it, with that hint of mischief and confidence, that made it feel less like an invasion of personal space and more like an intimate invitation.

For a moment, Satoru’s gaze flickered around the room. It was then that he realized Shoko and Suguru had somehow vanished. The two had a knack for disappearing at precisely the right moment, leaving him in a situation that was both intriguing and precarious. Typical of them, really. They always seemed to know exactly when to make their exit, leaving him to fend for himself in whatever delightful predicament they had orchestrated.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he looked back at you, his eyes twinkling with both amusement and a hint of challenge. “Well, it looks like we’re on our own.” he said, his tone light but laced with a playful edge. “I suppose that means we get to make our own rules now.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the turn of events. “Seems like it, glasses.” you replied, your voice smooth and teasing. “So, what do you say?”

He grinned, the playful glint in his eyes growing stronger. “I think we should make the most of this opportunity, doll. Let’s not waste time,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “After all, it’s not every day I get to have a game of strip poker with someone as intriguing as you.”

His words were laced with a mix of flirtation and eagerness, his tone smooth and inviting. The term “doll” came out with a casual intimacy, making the moment feel even more charged. You could feel the heat between you intensify as he closed the distance, his presence commanding and electrifying.

You met his gaze with a confident smile, your heart racing a little faster. “Alright, Gojo.” you replied, your voice low and sultry. He pouts. You returned to calling him by his last name. You liked teasing him, he thinks. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“You better watch it, doll.” he said, setting his drink down and crossing his arms over his chest, still grinning. “I’ll bite. Let’s play. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. And don’t think for a second that I’ll be the one taking off anything first.”

You laughed, a sound that made him feel strangely lighter, more at ease. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” you said, your voice full of playful confidence.

His grin widened, the challenge lighting up his expression. “You’re so interesting, doll.” He chuckled, clearly delighted. “Where have you been all my life?”

You tilted your head slightly, enjoying the way his words seemed to both flatter and intrigue. “Well, you know….” you replied, your tone teasing. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for the right moment to make an entrance. And tonight, it looks like the stars finally aligned.”

Satoru’s eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity and admiration. “I have to say, I’m glad they did, doll.” he said, leaning in a bit closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Because you’ve definitely made this night unforgettable.”

“You’re quite the flirt.”

“Gotta shoot all the shots to win, doll.” He winks at you.

You shrugged, your smile teasing. “Well, you say this now….but you’ll lose to me too.”

He laughed, a carefree, confident sound that made Shoko and Suguru glance over with a raised eyebrow from a distant space. “Oh, I never lose.” he replied, leaning closer, his voice a low, tempting drawl. “Especially not when there’s something I really want.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin didn’t fade. “Then prove it.” you said, nodding toward a quieter, dimly lit room down the hall. “Let’s go.”

Satoru, for his part, didn’t hesitate. He set his drink down with a casual flick of his wrist, his bright cerulean eyes still locked on yours as he pushed off the wall. He reached out and took your hand, his grip warm and confident.

“Lead the way, doll.” he said, his voice dripping with playful challenge.

You felt a rush of excitement at his quick agreement, and you couldn’t help but grin. You felt a thrill of excitement as you led him down the hall, the dim lighting casting soft shadows and adding an air of intimacy to the moment. With every step, the noise of the party grew more distant, replaced by the soft thrum of your heartbeat and the electric tension between you.

As you reached the door to the quieter room, you glanced back at him, a teasing smile playing on your lips. Gojo Satoru’s gaze was unwavering, his bright eyes reflecting a mixture of anticipation and admiration. He could feel the adrenaline in him. This was exciting. And he liked it. He liked you.

You pushed open the door, revealing a cozy, dimly lit space that felt almost like a secret hideaway. The room was furnished simply but comfortably, with a plush carpet and a few scattered cushions. It was the perfect setting for the game you had in mind.

He looked around, a playful smirk still on his face. “Alright, doll.” he said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, shuffling them with a practiced ease. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Gojo.” you teased, dealing the cards out between you.

Satoru sat opposite you, his posture relaxed, but his gaze was intense, locked onto you with an almost predatory focus. “I think I’ll take my chances, doll.” he replied smoothly. “And please, call me Satoru. Gojo is too formal for your gorgeous lips to mouth.”

You smiled, enjoying the tension that hung thick in the air between you, the game already beginning before a single card was played. "Alright then, Satoru." you said, your voice dripping with anticipation. "Let’s see who’s getting undressed first."

He chuckled, picking up his cards and leaning back comfortably. “Oh, it’s on now.”

And just like that, the game was set—a battle of wits, charm, and maybe something more.

You watched as his long legs folded with a graceful ease that didn’t quite match the competitive glint in his cocky blue eyes. He grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, his movements fluid, almost theatrical as he shuffled with deft, experienced hands.

You sat across from him, the distance between you feeling both vast and electric, like an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. The way you held his gaze, unwavering and unyielding, only made Gojo Satoru more intrigued. He wasn’t used to people looking at him like that—like he was just another person in the room, not just some role people fit upon him or a man with a reputation that preceded him.

“So, doll….” he began, dealing out the first hand with a practiced flick of his wrist. “How do you know Shoko and Suguru? And why haven't we met before tonight?”

You picked up your cards, smiling slyly. “Oh, I’m sure they’ve mentioned me. I’m just good at staying under the radar… when I want to.”

He leaned back, considering your words. “Mysterious. I like that. But I'm pretty good at picking up on secrets. Better watch out.”

You chuckled softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

The game began, and with each round, you both played with a mix of strategy and daring. He tried to read you, his eyes narrowing whenever you made a bold move, but you held your own, bluffing with an expertise that surprised him. His usual smug grin faltered slightly, and you could tell he was trying to decipher the mystery in your gaze. The room seemed to shrink with the tension between you, each card dealt heightening the stakes.

Satoru leaned forward, his gaze never leaving your face, a playful yet challenging spark in his eyes. “You’re a lot harder to read than I thought.” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling upward in amusement. “But I like a good mystery.”

You smirked in response, feeling the heat of his stare, knowing he was trying to unravel you with every glance, but determined to keep him guessing. You were sure that soon enough, a pile of discarded clothing would grow between you steadily. But so far, there has been little, with your little ties. All you had removed were little, like a hair tie or a necktie.

You agreed it was still part of clothes. But then again, you just both wanted it to last a little longer. One after the other though was tossed aside with a flick of your wrist or a slow, deliberate grin from him, marking the razor's edge between victory and defeat.

The room little by little crackled with tension, the air thick with challenge and heat, and every turn of a card seemed to bring you closer, like magnets drawn together by an irresistible force. The game had become something more than a little fun thing — it was a dance with a Russian roulette where every bluff was a whispered confession, every raise a daring promise.

Your pulse quickened with every sly smile he threw your way, every calculated tilt of his head, and his eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a hunger that was impossible to ignore. The stakes climbed higher with every move, the line between a win and a loss blurring into something electric, something tantalizingly close to dangerous.

You could feel it in your bones — this was no longer just about cards or luck; it was about who would yield first, who would surrender to the inevitable tension simmering in the space between your bodies. And you like winning. But so did he. Winning was after all, a different sort of drug to be enjoyed.

Neither of you spoke, but the room was filled with a silent conversation, an exchange of glances and gestures that spoke volumes. The game wasn’t just about winning — it was about who could push the other further, who could tease out the truth hidden behind those guarded eyes. Neither of you wanted to lose, not when the real prize was so tantalizingly close. And as another card fell, you knew this was only the beginning.

"You're not bad, doll." he admitted, his shirt still firmly on but with a hint of pink on his cheeks, likely from the alcohol. “But I’ve been known to turn the tables.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested this game if I didn’t think I could win, Satoru.” you replied confidently, leaning forward. The playful spark in your eyes never left, and it only seemed to fuel Satoru’s competitive spirit further.

Round after round, pieces of clothing slowly came off. A shoe here, a sock there. He was still confident, leaning in closer as he laid down another hand. "Full house." he declared, his grin downright wicked now.

You glanced at his cards, then backed up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Nice." you said, sounding impressed, before laying your cards down with a flourish. "Straight flush."

He blinked, then laughed—a genuine, delighted laugh that came from deep in his chest. "No way! You little—"

“Looks like someone’s going to lose a little more than just their pride, Satoru.” you teased, enjoying the way his grin faltered for a moment, his confidence taking a tiny, amusing dip.

He leaned back in his chair, pretending to think deeply, then slowly began to unbutton his shirt. “Alright, alright. I’m a man of my word, doll.” he conceded, though his eyes never left yours, sparkling with mischief. “But don’t get too comfortable. The game’s not over yet.”

As he shrugged out of his shirt, you found yourself momentarily distracted by the unexpected sight—his lean, toned frame catching the dim light. Satoru noticed, his smile turning sly. “See something you like?”

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. "Just waiting for my next win."

He laughed again, a sound that seemed to fill the room, light and unburdened. “Oh, this is really crazy. I like that.” he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “I like you.”

You raise your glass, meeting his gaze with a bold smile. "The feeling might be mutual, but don't think for a second that means I'm letting you win."

For the first time in a while, Gojo Satoru felt a genuine thrill that had nothing to do with curses or danger. Just the electric spark of a moment, a challenge, and the intriguing mystery of the person sitting across from him, daring him to come closer.

The game continued on, the air thick with anticipation, each round upping the stakes. Satoru was completely absorbed now, his usual nonchalant demeanor replaced with focused intensity. For every card dealt, every sly smile exchanged, he found himself more drawn into this unexpected encounter.

As the rounds progressed, it became increasingly clear that you were holding your own. The playful banter between the two of you had turned into something sharper, more personal. It wasn't just a game anymore; it was a test—a test of wills, of understanding, of reading between the lines of every look and laugh.

Satoru tossed his next set of cards on the table. "Three of a kind." he said, tapping his fingers lightly against the table, eyes flickering with amusement. "Not my best, but not bad."

You looked down at your own hand, considering your options. "Hmm…." you hummed, tapping your chin thoughtfully before placing your cards down. "Four of a kind."

His mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. "No way! You’re cheating!”

You laughed, a carefree sound that seemed to light up the room. "Maybe you just need to step up your game, Gojo Satoru."

He tilted his head, pretending to look hurt, but his smile was as bright as ever. “Oh, I see how it is. You're trying to humble me. I can't let that happen. I have a reputation to uphold.”

He reached for his belt, starting to unbuckle it with deliberate slowness, making a show of every movement. "You really want to play with fire, huh?" he teased, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Careful, you might get burned."

You met his gaze head-on, your smile never wavering. "I think I can handle the heat."

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re something else, you know that?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his energy, his presence suddenly more intense. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not here just for a game, are you?”

Your eyes sparkled, the corners of your lips curling up just slightly. “Maybe I’m here to see what all the fuss is about. People talk about you, you know… like you’re this untouchable legend.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with a playful smirk. “And what do they say?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Oh, you know… that you’re the strongest, the smartest, the most arrogant—”

“Hey!” he interrupted, laughing. “I’m not that arrogant… just very self-aware.”

You laughed too, feeling the tension between you soften into something warmer, more familiar. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

His grin widened. "You think I’m a show-off, huh?”

“I think,” you said slowly, leaning in just a little closer, “that you like being the center of attention. And I think you’re not used to people seeing through that.”

Satoru blinked, the playful glint in his eyes dimming just slightly, replaced by something more genuine, more intrigued. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

You paused, considering your answer, letting the silence stretch just long enough to keep him guessing. “I see someone who likes to keep people at a distance. Someone who hides a lot behind that smile.”

He tilted his head, his expression softer now, almost contemplative. “And you think you know what I’m hiding?”

You shrugged. “Not yet. But I think you might want someone to try and figure it out.”

For a moment, he was quiet, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and yet reveal nothing. Then, slowly, he smiled—a softer, more sincere smile than before. “Maybe I do.”

The tension in the room shifted again, this time to something less tangible, a mix of curiosity and possibility hanging in the air between you. The game had become secondary; it was clear now that something deeper was at play. Satoru leaned back, his grin returning, though his eyes were still searching for yours.

“Alright, doll.” he said, voice vibrant and light. “One more hand. Winner takes all.”

“All?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘all,’ Satoru?”

He leaned forward again, his smile turning mischievous. “That’s the fun part—we get to decide. Maybe it’s another game. Maybe it’s just a walk under the stars. Or maybe…”

“Maybe?” you prompted, leaning in as well, feeling the pull between you tighten.

“Maybe, doll….” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper now, “it’s just finding out who you really are, and why you make me feel like I’ve met you before, even though I’m sure I haven’t.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected honesty in his words. This was not the Gojo Satoru you’d expected, not quite. But maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something neither of you had anticipated.

“Deal.” you said finally, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He took it, his grip warm and firm. “Deal.”

You felt the warmth of his hand linger longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. Neither of you pulled away, your hands still clasped together, as if testing each other’s resolve.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you teased, but your voice came out softer than you intended, betraying the flutter of anticipation building in your chest.

Satoru’s smile widened, a hint of something darker and more thrilling sparking in his eyes. “Is it working?” he asked, his voice low and velvety, closer now, his breath brushing against your skin.

You held his gaze, feeling the air between you grow thick with tension, the kind that made your pulse quicken. “Maybe a little.” you admitted, and his grin grew even more wicked.

He didn’t release your hand, instead using it to pull you closer across the small table, until you were only inches apart. “Good.” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill down your spine. “Because I’m curious… What else could I do to distract you?”

Before you could answer, his free hand reached up, his fingers lightly tracing the line of your jaw, his touch gentle but purposeful. “I’ve got a few ideas.” he continued, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement like he was memorizing every detail.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as his fingers moved down, tracing the curve of your neck, his touch feather-light but sending sparks of heat through your veins. “You talk a big game,” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady, “but can you back it up?”

His eyes flashed with amusement and something else—something darker, hungrier. “Oh, I think you’ll find I’m very good at keeping my promises.” he replied softly, leaning in until his lips were a breath away from yours. “Especially the fun ones.”

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft at first, almost teasing, before deepening with a sudden intensity that made your head spin. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, and you felt the world around you disappear, leaving just the heat of his mouth, the press of his body against yours.

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that sent a rush of heat through your body, your skin tingling everywhere he touched.

He broke the kiss, just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re full of surprises,” before diving back in, his kiss rougher this time, more insistent. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap in one swift movement. You gasped against his mouth, feeling the firmness of his body beneath you, the heat of his skin through the fabric of your clothes.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a low groan from him, a sound that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Satoru.” you breathed, his name slipping from your lips like a secret, and his response was a grin against your mouth, wicked and knowing.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest, his hands roaming up your back, sliding under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left trails of fire in their wake.

You didn’t answer, just kissed him harder, pressing your body against his, feeling the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. His lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp, your head tilting back to give him more access.

He chuckled softly, his breath hot against your neck. “Sensitive, are we?” he teased, but his voice was strained, as if he was barely holding himself back. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and pressing you down against him, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you.

You let out a soft moan, your fingers gripping his shoulders for support. “Maybe,” you whispered, your voice breathless. “But I think you like that.”

He laughed, a low, husky sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I do,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I like everything about you… so far.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, seeing the raw desire there, the need that mirrored your own. “Then maybe, Satoru, baby.” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his, “You should stop talking and show me.”

He grinned, a wicked, knowing grin that made your heart race. “Challenge accepted, doll.” he said, and then his lips were on yours again, his kiss consuming, his hands exploring, leaving no part of you untouched, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

You looked at him and grinned. “Let me make you feel good, boy.”

“Make it happen then, lovely.” He steps out of his pants and you sink to your knees on the plush carpet beneath you, licking your lips as he frees his member.. Your eyes meeting him.

You held his gaze, your grin widening as you saw the anticipation flicker in his eyes, a mix of mischief and hunger that mirrored your own. “Oh, I will,baby.” you promised, your voice a low purr that seemed to send a shiver down his spine.

You let your gaze trail down his body, taking in the sight of his lean, toned form before letting your eyes settle on his length, now freed and hard. A spark of excitement danced through you, and you licked your lips, feeling a wave of heat wash over you as you dropped to your knees on the plush carpet, every movement slow and deliberate, keeping his attention locked on you.

Satoru watched you, his breath hitching, and you could feel his intense gaze on you, almost like a physical touch. Your hands reached up, fingertips brushing lightly against his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over his length. His eyes widened slightly, a soft exhale escaping his lips, and you could tell he was already on edge, trying to maintain his composure.

You looked up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze with a wicked grin. “Ready, Satoru?” you teased, your voice soft and sultry, letting the anticipation build for a moment longer.

His eyes darkened, a soft growl escaping him. “Stop teasing, doll.” he muttered, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly, betraying his eagerness. “Do your worst.”

Without another word, you leaned in, your tongue flicking out to tease the tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum that had formed there. Satoru sucked in a breath, his hips jerking slightly at the contact, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the effect you were already having on him.

Slowly, you wrapped your lips around him, taking him inch by inch into your mouth, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way he filled your mouth completely. His hand moved to your hair, fingers threading through your strands, not pushing, but just holding, grounding himself in the sensation of your warm mouth around him.

You started to move, your mouth sliding up and down his length with slow, deliberate strokes, your tongue swirling around him, adding just enough pressure to draw soft, breathy moans from his lips. You glanced up at him, his head tipped back slightly, his mouth parted as he tried to keep his breathing steady.

“Fuck…..” he breathed, his voice strained, the hand in your hair tightening just a bit. “That’s… you’re good at this…”

You hummed around him, a low, vibrating sound that made his hips twitch, his fingers tightening in your hair. You felt a surge of triumph, your movements becoming bolder, faster, as you took him deeper, letting him feel the heat, the slick slide of your mouth, the way your lips tightened around him.

Satoru’s breathing grew heavier, and you could hear the soft sounds of pleasure escaping his lips, his usual confidence wavering under the intensity of your attention. His hips began to move with you, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into your mouth, and you welcomed it, matching his rhythm, taking him deeper still.

You felt his muscles tense under your hands, heard the low growl building in his throat, his fingers gripping your hair tighter as if he were holding on for dear life. “God… you’re driving me crazy, doll.” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, his control slipping.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to speak, your breath warm against his length. “Good.” you whispered, your voice a husky murmur, “because I’m not stopping until you come undone for me, Satoru.”

He looked down at you, his eyes blazing with need, and you saw a flicker of surrender there, a flash of vulnerability that made your heart race. “Then don’t stop, doll.” he whispered back, his voice a low command. “Make me lose control.”

You grinned up at him before taking him back into your mouth, your movements faster, more deliberate, determined to bring him to the edge and push him over. You felt his body tighten, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hips thrusting in time with your movements, and you knew he was close.

With a few more strokes, a few more swirls of your tongue, you felt him shudder, his whole body tensing as he let out a low, deep moan, his release hitting hard and fast. His hand tightened in your hair as he rode out the waves of pleasure, his breathing heavy, his eyes closed, his lips parted in a satisfied grin.

You pulled back slowly, watching him as he came down, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his skin flushed, his hair tousled. He opened his eyes, a lazy smile spreading across his face, his gaze soft and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Damn.” he breathed, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re… something else.”

You smiled, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, feeling a flush of your own. “Told you I’d make you feel good.” you replied, your voice light, teasing.

He chuckled, pulling you up to your feet and closer to him, his hands resting on your hips. “I think you’ve more than proven your point.” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips, his smile warm against your mouth. “But now… it’s my turn.”

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his touch moves with a deliberate, tender pressure. The sensation sends ripples of pleasure through you, making your breath hitch. Your back arches instinctively, your body pressing closer to his. Every touch, every movement feels electric, your emotions swirling in a beautiful, overwhelming storm.

His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Each kiss feels like a spark, igniting a fire that grows with every passing second. His hands glide along your back, pulling you closer still, as if he wants to feel every inch of you against him. Your breath quickens, matching the rhythm of your racing heartbeat.

His gaze meets yours, a mix of tenderness and something deeper, something that makes your heart flutter. “I want to make you feel everything, baby doll.” he whispers, his voice low and filled with promise.

You feel a surge of anticipation, your senses heightened, every touch sending a shiver down your spine. He takes his time, exploring every curve and contour, as if memorizing you. You’re lost in the sensation, in the way he makes you feel cherished, wanted, and entirely his. The world fades away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared intimacy and unspoken connection.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responds with a soft, satisfied hum, his smile widening against your skin. “Stay with me, ‘toru.” you breathe, the words escaping almost involuntarily, a plea and a declaration all at once.

His hold on you tightens, and he nods, his eyes filled with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. “Always.” he promises, sealing his vow with another lingering kiss that sends a wave of warmth through your entire being.

His hands roam down your sides with a deliberate slowness, tracing every curve as if savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips. His touch is both gentle and insistent, a wordless reminder of the connection between you. As his lips move back to yours, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, more consuming, his tongue teasing yours in a dance that sets your nerves alight.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket. Every movement is careful yet filled with an undeniable urgency. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your clothes, his touch sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. Your breaths mingle, becoming heavier, the room thick with the electric charge of your shared desire.

He pulls back just enough to study your face, his gaze intense and filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through you. “You’re so beautiful, doll.” he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. “Every part of you.” His hands move lower, caressing the sensitive skin of your waist, drawing a soft sigh from your lips.

You could feel the edges of your nails dig deep into Satoru’s back, leaving red marks once after another in the canvas of his supple skin. Each breath comes out in a shaky gasp, and you can feel him shiver beneath your touch, his skin heating under your fingertips. He groans softly at the sensation, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kisses you deeply, hungrily.

“‘Toru…baby….” you gasp out between moans, voice trembling with need. “You feel so good, goddddd…”

Your hips move instinctively against his hand, seeking that delicious friction, chasing the elusive climax that seems tantalizingly close but always just out of reach. You wondered where he has been all your life, where has this pleasure been all your life.

He smiles against your lips, his voice a low whisper, almost teasing. “I’ve got you, doll.” he murmurs, his fingers pressing deeper, moving with a slow, rhythmic intensity that makes you cry out softly. “Let me take you there.”

Satoru’s thumb circles gently, adding a different sensation, his eyes fixed on yours, watching every expression, every shudder of pleasure that passes over your face. His other hand is firm on your waist, guiding your movements, coaxing you closer, pulling you toward that edge with a deliberate slowness that drives you mad.

You feel the tension build inside you, every nerve ignited by his touch, his name spilling from your lips in a breathless whisper. “Satoru… baby....please…” you beg, the need in your voice is unmistakable.

He chuckles softly, his breath hot against your ear. “I love hearing you say my name like that, doll.” he whispers, his touch becoming more insistent, more purposeful. The heat between you grows, every sensation amplified by the intensity of the moment, his pace quickening, matching the desperate rhythm of your heartbeat.

Your body arches toward him, every inch of you attuned to his movements, and you feel yourself spiraling, that sweet ache within you growing sharper, hotter. His fingers find that perfect spot, and suddenly, you’re lost to the wave of pleasure that crashes over you, your body trembling, a moan of pure ecstasy escaping your lips as Gojo holds you close, his name a soft prayer on your lips.

“I’ll eat you out later, doll. I promise.” Satoru whispers against your ear, his voice laced with a playful promise that sends a shiver down your spine. “But right now… I need to be inside you.”

He positions himself between your spread legs, leaning down to tease the head of his member against your hungry, slick folds, rubbing himself gently against you. Each movement is torturously slow, spreading your wetness across both of you, the friction drawing a gasp from your lips. He watches your reactions with a smirk, his bright blue eyes darkened with desire.

Looking up at you, Satoru grins, his expression mischievous and full of intent. “Let’s do something else for now.” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. He starts to push into you slowly, stretching you inch by inch, his gaze never leaving yours.

The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively arching to take him deeper. You can feel every part of him, the way he fills you perfectly, the way your body molds around him. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he moves further, a low groan escaping his throat. “You feel incredible, baby doll.” he breathes, his voice rough with pleasure, his control hanging by a thread.

Your nails dig even harder into his shoulders as he continues to push in, stretching you, filling you completely. He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips, his voice softer, seeking reassurance even amidst his own urgency.

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. “I’m okay… more than okay, ‘toru.” you murmur, a breathy moan escaping you as he begins to move again, slowly pulling back before thrusting in, setting a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

His pace quickens, each thrust more intense, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to draw every sound, every sigh, from your lips. His name falls from your mouth in a mix of gasps and pleas, and he responds with a low growl, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss.

Satoru’s hands wander, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip, guiding you into his rhythm. Every movement feels perfectly timed, perfectly in sync, as if he knows exactly what you need, where to touch, how to move to drive you to the brink of ecstasy.

“God, I love the way you feel, doll.” he murmurs, his voice rough and desperate, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace becomes relentless, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. Your body tightens around him, drawing him deeper, the heat between you building to a crescendo, and you feel yourself start to unravel.

“Don’t hold back.” he urges, his voice thick with need, his eyes locked on yours. “Let go, doll… I want to feel you come undone.”

And with those words, everything inside you shatters in a wave of pure, overwhelming pleasure. Your body trembles, your breath catches, and you call out his name, your world reduced to the feeling of him moving within you, holding you, as you both reach for that beautiful, shared climax.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

epilogue

You were exhausted. But you still had a curfew and your mother would be looking for you by now. When Satoru heard that, he immediately jumped up and said he'll take you home.

As you both fumbled to put your clothes back on in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, Gojo’s mischievous grin didn’t fade for a second. His white shirt was still unbuttoned, hanging off one shoulder, and his pants were inside out — not that he seemed to care.

You tugged your shirt over your head, smoothing down your hair with a breathless laugh. "You look like you got dressed in the dark." you teased, glancing at the ridiculous state of his attire.

Gojo chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. "Well, to be fair, I was a bit distracted by you, doll."

Rolling your eyes, you gave his chest a light push. "Sure, blame me for your lack of coordination."

He winked and, with a dramatic flair, flipped his sunglasses back on, even though it was well past midnight. "Oh, definitely. It’s always your fault when I can't keep my hands to myself."

You both burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. Finally, Gojo took a deep breath, still grinning but with a hint of sincerity creeping into his voice. "So… now that I've seen you at your best — and, uh, at your most undressed — how about a date?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "A date? Like… a normal date?"

He nodded, his expression surprisingly earnest despite the disheveled hair and the inside-out pants. "Yeah, you know, the kind where I take you out, we eat something that isn't each other, maybe even talk about our feelings."

You snorted, trying to stifle your giggles. "You sure you can handle that, Satoru? The whole talking thing sounds like a lot of work for you."

He dramatically clutched his chest as if wounded. "Ouch, doll, that hurt. But yes, I think I could manage… if it means I get to see you smile like that again."

You pretended to consider it for a moment, then shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. But I’m picking the place, and you’re wearing your pants the right way this time."

Gojo laughed, pulling you into his arms. "Deal. As long as you promise to wear something that makes me lose at poker again."

You smirked, leaning in close. "Oh, I think I can arrange that."

And as you both laughed, tangled in each other’s arms, the idea of a "normal" date didn't sound so bad after all.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults.

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard.

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like.

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow.

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you.

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady."

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes.

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance.

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times.

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock.

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?"

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in."

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them.

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?"

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury.

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all.

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him.

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout.

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips.

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing.

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes.

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep.

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job.

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then.

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?"

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up.

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two.

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #bodyguard au #bodyguard!Ghost

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maxknightley · 9 months

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on the one hand I do understand where people are coming from when they respond to The White American Desire For Authentic Culture by going "you already have a culture" and pointing out that this desire often has reactionary undertones

that being said, I think it's largely sidestepping the actual issue, which is that American culture fucking blows chunks. American culture is strip malls and military worship and the elevation of mass-market pablum to Bold Artistic Statements.

and subculture is only partially an escape from this, because most subcultures exist within the same constraints of American culture as a whole; they are captured and redefined by capital on such a frequent basis that it often feels impossible to hold onto them in any meaningful way.

moreover, even the parts of American culture that aren't complete garbage are more or less inextricable from the colonial, imperialist, and racially-stratified history of the country. like, I think of that post that went around a while ago talking about "America sucks but has some good parts," and one of the things it listed was national parks, and people (rightfully!) pointed out that the national park system is fundamentally flawed and tends to shit on indigenous nations by design.

the only thing I can think of that's even sort of an exception is pop culture - jazz and rock music, superhero comics, Hollywood. and all of those are, again, captured and defined by capital, and in one way or another have historically been built on screwing over the artist.

so we come to a position, one way or another, where a lot of people say something like: "I'm alienated. I'm surrounded by traditions and institutions I think are shit; I have no way to meaningfully undermine them, and I can't escape them without effectively destroying my life. the culture I was born into is a gravestone on top of another gravestone, lifeless and miserable, and people are constantly shouting that I should be grateful because it's The Greatest Country In The World."

at that point, one seeks an escape, and I think there are three major routes here.

one is to become a weird lib obsessed with the Real Soul Of America. America is really about the good parts, not the bad parts which outnumber them and which they are built upon.

another is to fixate on the Exotic, for lack of a better word. cultures which you do not have an obvious "connection" to, but which fascinate you or appeal to you. obviously this can be pretty fucking fraught, though I would argue that taking an interest in other cultures is a good thing if you aren't shitty about it. (That's its own conversation.)

the third is to fixate on the culture(s) you feel you "ought to have" had, that which was sacrificed on the altar of whiteness by grandparents or great-grandparents who, frankly, had different concerns. to look at a culture that may still be defined in many ways by cruelty and stratification - the way I would argue most human civilization has been - but that seems to have had something else going on, at least. a culture that may not have been recognizable 500 years ago, but at least it existed.

again, none of these impulses is beyond criticism, and I think it would be naive to say that the last one can't have reactionary undertones. I also doubt these impulses are unique to the USA! alienation is extremely common in today's world, and it's not as though the USA is the only settler state in existence.

what I am saying is more that I think the conditions that lead to these fixations are worth paying attention to, and that dismissing them with "you already have a culture" kind of misses the point in favor of getting in a zinger. people wouldn't want a different culture if they were happy with the one they had. like so many other things, people want one that Doesn't Completely Suck. failing that, they'd probably like to not be defined by any culture at all - but that, tragically, is just as impossible.

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andy-wm · 2 months

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Back to WHO : the MV

This is a continuation of the earlier post that discusses the song WHO, by Jimin. That post was a first impression focused on the lyrics - while this one looks more closely at the MV.

(Remember this is my interpretation, not an official statement by Hybe)

The more times I watched the music video, the more I wanted to yell, because look...

IT'S REALLY STARING US IN THE FACE.

And again, kudos to Jimin's team because it's the most obvious thing in the world ever but only if you ALREADY KNOW what's going on.

Here's a summary:

The music video loosely represents Jimin's attraction/sexuality/love life as a timeline.

New colours - a new spectrum shall we say - filter into his life even though he's trying so hard to 'keep to the program'.

He searches high and low for a girl to love, but alas, nobody makes the fireworks happen for him. Then Billboard Boy crashes into his life, threatening to destroy everything. Jimin has to weather the storm and figure out where his place is because Billboard Boy is a major disruptor - a tornado in fact. In the end, the fireworks are popping and the chaos is happening, and Jimin has to just go with it and finds his place again. His colours have been getting brighter and louder as he goes along and in the end he's prepared to walk away from everything in order to be the spectrum he is.

<<I'm not saying it's literally a count of how many girls or boys or enbys he's kissed. I hope his kissed all of them and then some, frankly, but that's none of my business.>>

A few things to pay special attention to:

Burning cars > cars = masculinity. fire = hot. 1+1=2.

Dancers > people he's interacting with

Rough weather, as represented by the wind-whipped papers and eventually even cars being tossed about the set > His attraction to men (and dare I say it, culminating in a focus on one man in particular)

Colour flares, machine text, and marks on the tape (horizontal lines etc)

Are you ready? Let's go...

Jimin enters the scene looking like sex on legs (no surprises) and strolls casually onto the road. Immediately our view of hm is blocked by a pop-art style poster blowing across the screen. It's immediately followed by a car coming around the corner onto the road. The car is on fire. Jimin watches it pass by and follows it.

He follows the burning car.... and so it begins.

The narrative starts from before BTS even exists. Jimin encounters several female dancers who he has brief and sexy interludes with. In fact i don't think there's a single woman in this MV who he doesn't at least look at. He really does try everything (and everyone) in his efforts to find HER.

BUT WAIT.... rewind...

Let's go back to the poster... it depicts a street scene much like the one we see here, with the words:

WHO IS!! TORNADO OF LOVE

Note: those are exclamation points not question marks.

It's not a question. This is telling us UP FRONT IN BIG LETTERS that 'WHO' is tornado of love.

I could probably stop here and just say 'ok go watch it again' but it's too much fun to go through all the details.

So let's continue...

Jimin has a little more steamy choreo with the female dancers before the lyrics tell us he has so many people to see and places to go, and he leaves them and joins 6 other men in what looks like a work environment....

Hello we are BTS!

Yes you guessed it... like Yoongi did in Haegum, Jimin has his members represented here. (Fan chant going off in my head...) and more delicious choreography follows.

Notice that while Jimin was dancing with the girls, the only signs of rough weather were a few glittery specs floating through the air, barely noticable. Those bits of glitter multiply when he joins the 6 men, and instead of a sprinkling of glitter, it starts looking like a light snowfall.

That's all about to change....

The first moment of reckonning:

At the end of this section of choreo, as Jimin sings 'who is my heart waiting for' and moves into the next phase we have a barely visible flash of light across the screen and rainbow colours bleed into the footage (at 1.14).

This is also the moment the significant rough weather starts. I'd say this is where Jimin starts noticing how he feels, and the turmoil begins, because this is also where he makes eye contact with the camera (1.23).

He sees us watching.

Fuck. I had a moment here. There's a look on his face as he walks past the camera and stares right into it.

AUTO CALLIBRATION...

As another millisecond flash of light and rainbow colours seep into the footage, The machine text 'AUTO CALLIBRATION' appear on the screen and flash there for a couple of seconds.

CALLIBRATE: To standardise... by determinning the deviation from a standard so as to ascertain the proper correction factors (Meriam-Webster definition).

"Get a hold of yourself, Jimin. Reset (your behaviour and desires) to correspond with expectations"

Jimin makes a very determined bee-line for the nearest girl and dances with her, ignoring the burning car in the foreground.

This brings us to the next phase of the narrative, and the next location - the performance space in front of the OASIS cinema.

(Do you see the doors of the cinema - BTS referenced again).

As he dances with this girl, the camera zooms out and we see that a crowd has gathered outside the cinema, watching them, but the crowd does not seem friendly and the dance seems performative - the movements are exagerated and obvious. The girl has Jimin in a headlock at one point and then she pushes him away and leaves. All in all it's an unpleasant event.

At this point the BTS members return (Although now there's one missing) and they dance with and around a number of female dancers. flashes go off in the crowd as the choreo is performed.

As they dance the wind picks up quickly and papers and cans are blown about. Even when Jimin is obviously interacting with female dancers the weather continues to pick up. Dancing with the girls isn't helping.

The camera pulls back and we see the same car as before, still on fire.

This is the moment when the penny (or billboard) drops.

All the other dancers scatter, dissapearing in a matter of seconds as the billboard comes crashing down. The billboard blocks his path. Wherever he had been planning to go - or whatever course of action he had planned to take - this man on the billboard forces a new decision. Jimin has to rethink his plans.

Jimin turns and goes in the opposite direction to everyone else. (A similar scene occured in Like Crazy, Jimin going the other way, rejecting the norm, going against the tide).

The machine text flashes "REWIND ... REWIND" on the screen and we see Jimin heading back to where all this started... where the original car on fire was seen.

He's travelling his own path now, but as he walks, alone in what seems to be the wrong direction, we see the store lights brighter, reflecting off cars and filling the space around him.

He's going through the motions with the girls he passes but the interactions are brief and in one case he actually dodges the girl completetly.

He retraces his steps amidst the chaos, and the weather really goes nuts. Now there are cars being thrown through the air, streetlamps exploding. The storm is almost upon him.

As Jimin steps into that original street again, the one with the neon letters spelling BLISS, the machine text reads PLAY. It's almost ike he's having a redo, where he accepts who he is from the start and allows the chaos to happen. And the chaos DOES happen, because the tornado has arrived.

THE TORNADO OF LOVE.

There's a flash and the whole screen is flooded with colours, blanking out the footage.

Jimin can no longer dance in step with everyone else at this point. He's doubled over, belting those high notes at the climax of the song while the chaos rages in the background. Without the music to give his actions context, it almost looks like hes in agony.

Sparks fly, lights flash, even the film itself is affected...

He eventually gets it together and rejoins the choreography, picking up his life so to speak. But his callibration is forever changed. the colours that bled into his life are there for good now, and and as he walks away after the music stops, we see that those colours are not just for the performance, they exist outside of that.

A note about the light flares we see throughout the MV:

It was really hard to catch these, some of them were literal milliseconds. I had to slow the MV down to play at .25 original speed and even then they were fleeting - well hidden.

Only the one at the very end was really visible.

In this one, the word PAUSE appears, as the MV ends. I wonder if that relates to their military service?

The flares of light and colour, those rainbow flashes, aren't always easy to find. Youvhave to be prepared to seek them out.

We will find them if we look for them, but i think Jimin won't show his true colours until after the lights go down and the performance is over.

I respect his decision (if that's what that is) and i will continue to meet him here his stands. I'll support everything he does knowing what I know and I'll continue to search for and uncover the hidden messages he sends us.

#park jimin #jikook #국민 #bts jimin #park jimin who #jimin who #tornado of love #jimin muse

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 8 months

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My Valentine 🌹 ✉

Eddie has a Valentine card from a Secret Admirer and is on a quest to find who it is ✉

Major fluff and pining ahead 💕

🦇✉ 💞

Eddie hated Valentines Day. It was just an excuse for bullshit consumerism and stores to make money. A ton of hearts, flowers and cutesy shit that made him sick to his stomach.

He wasn't interested in it one bit. So when Eddie gets to school the morning of the fourteenth and opens his locker, he has quite the shock.

The card must have been slipped inside before Eddie even set foot in school. It roots him to the spot, he stares at the card and takes it hesitantly.

It must be a joke. One of Jason's ideas to piss him off because Eddie let out exactly what he thought of Carver and his idiot friends every so often.

Truthfully it was the better part of his day to wind that douchebag up. Scowling at the card he shoves it in his pocket, he's not giving Carver the satisfaction of reading it.

In fact most of the day he forgets it's even there, until it's lunchtime and he's looking for some smokes, emptying the card and his cigarettes on the table.

"Ooh, Eddie has a Valentine" Gareth coos and only shuts up when Eddie glares at him.

"It's a prank from that idiot Carver. Should have burned it earlier" he grumbles then Mike reaches for it and opens it.

"Don't think Jason would pay that much attention to detail" Mike shows him the card and Eddie pauses. Whoever sent it has drawn him shredding on his guitar, surrounded by Hellfire, bats and tiny hearts.

He tugs it away from Wheeler, squirrels it away so he can take in the details himself, hovers over the signature.

From your Secret Admirer 🖤

His heart skips a beat, he feels himself blush and smiles in spite of himself. He hides his blushing face behind his hair and places the card back in his pocket reverently.

An Admirer. Someone in this school liked him, more than liked if he was guessing as it must have took some time to hand draw a card for him.

The question was, who sent it?

❤️

You stay quiet as the rest of Hellfire tease Eddie about the card. There's no way they know it's you that sent it, you signed it by saying you were a Secret Admirer.

Would Eddie want it to be from you? You really hoped so. The crush you had on Eddie had grown and grown over the last few months.

Ever since you joined Hellfire last year you had been intrigued by Eddie. That materialised into a small crush that grew bigger and bigger every day.

All last night you made the card, after dithering over whether to make it for days on end. It was a burst of courage that had you up until three am, perfecting your work..

Then you slipped it in his locker before he could notice. You were going to tell him that it was from you. Of course you would. It's just you didn't know when you would or if he even liked you back.

If he didn't then it might make things awkward for you being in the group. If you didn't then you didn't... but Eddie was determined and he wouldn't stop until he found out who sent it.

He'd grill anyone he could think of to get some information, you knew plenty of people who were intimidated by Eddie, many of whom were in your art class.

Didn't matter that Eddie was as soft as a marshmallow, they took in the clothes and the demeanour that he put out and didn't look any further. Never thought to scratch under the surface, to want to know more.

But you did and every day you got to know Eddie the more you fell for him. You just wished you knew if he liked you back...

❤️

For the whole day Eddie had tried to find his Valentine and with no luck. There was no clue and it's frustrating him so much.

"Why sign it from a Secret Admirer and yet give me no idea who it's from" he rants and Dustin rolls his eyes, what a little butthead.

"Dude, there is clues. This person knows you love D&D and that you're in Hellfire, has seen you play on your guitar" Dustin ticks the clues off on his fingers as he says this.

It still doesn't help Eddie. Everyone in the whole school knows he plays guitar and likes D&d and is the leader in Hellfire. Who knows who has seen him play at the Hideout, usually, it's just a couple of drunk dudes.

"They like to draw, probably were up all night doing the card too" Dustin adds and Eddie lights up. If he hung around the art unit after class then maybe it would give him an idea who did this.

It's boring work trying to spy on who could have sent Eddie the card. Everyone was busy doing different projects and their teacher Mr Edwards kept a close eye on Eddie and his tendency to cause a bit chaos.

Art class calmed him if he was being honest, stopped the chaos in his head, gave him something to do with his hands and kept him occupied.

His mind still wanders to who is his Valentine and he doesn't realise he's zoned out and is staring at you. Something has caught his eye, a smudge of pen on your wrist.

Eddie stills as he zeroes in on the mark, vibrant orange, you weren't using orange today or the other day for your project. Jesus H Christ. Was it you who made the card?

Fuck fuck fuck. How did he even bring this up? Could it be a coincidence and he was getting his hopes up for nothing?

His heart is beating really fast and all he can think about is kissing you, he needs to know if it was you. Usually he wouldn't think twice about confronting some dumbass or calling out Jason and his dipshits.

You were different, he adored you and he felt excruciatingly nervous about talking to you but he had to know if it was you.

Unless... a thought springs to his mind and he has an idea. Taking his art supplies to the back of the class he begins to work on his new project.

❤️

You hadn't seen Eddie since art class, he didn't even show up at lunch and that was a worry in itself. Even the rest of Hellfire was angsty about where he was.

It wasn't like Eddie to miss an opportunity to wind up Jason and the rest of the basketball team during lunch.

Just when you're seriously beginning to worry Eddie shows up at the end of the day, he's holding large card, when you get closer you notice what it is.

I'm batshit crazy for you 🦇 Will you be my Valentine is written on on the card. Bats holding hearts decorate the page, it's gorgeous.

Blinking once, twice, you rub your eyes and when you open them Eddie is still there. This time he calls out for Dustin who grumbles as he holds another card in place for Eddie.

The Dungeon Master would like you to be his Queen 👑

He's drawn a picture of you as a queen, his queen. Dressed all in black, Hellfire surrounding you and you're sitting on a throne that looks a lot like Eddie's DM chair.

"I know you sent the card sweetheart, I'd love to be your Valentine, will you be mine?" he asks and bends down on one knee to kiss your hand.

You don't even hesitate, you throw your arms around Eddie, it almost knocks him off his feet but you're both beaming. "Yes I'll be your Valentine Eddie"

He smiles and kisses you again, loving the way you melt in his arms, marvelling at how fucking amazing the kiss is. Dustin groans in the background but Eddie ignores him.

Maybe Valentines Day wasn't so bad after all.

✉

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie fluff #stranger things eddie munson

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m4nj1r0s · 9 months

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Slightly!Yandere Shinichiro general headcannons

Note: I went off-track a little with cute moments 😭

- SIMP. You’ve probably heard it 100 times, so let me be the 101st, he is a SIMP.

- Has your picture as his lock screen and Home Screen, has a polaroid of you two in the back of his CLEAR phone case, another polaroid in his wallet and a framed picture of the two of you in his shop.

- Looks at you with love-hearts in his eyes whenever you’re talking. It could be about the economical state of the world and he’d still listen intently just because you’re the one saying it.

- Everyone says he doesn’t have any skills with girls, which is true, but he is genuine and that’s already better than the majority of men.

- Will hug and kiss you in front of his friends because he literally does not care what they think. They’ll all probably groan and tell him it’s gross.

- Has accidentally blown a puff of smoke in your face from a cigarette and when you started to cough he panicked. Got you a cute teddy bear to say sorry though.

- Has your skincare and makeup routine memorized, and products. This man knows your shade and the brand you use for foundation and concealer. Always stocks it up for you when he sees you’re running low. Loves to watch you apply skincare and makeup and will get flustered if you ask him to put it on for you.

- Is always so gentle with you. He hasn’t hurt you, and won’t ever. Not even accidentally. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him!

- Benkei and Takeomi give him bad girl advice. Wakasa knows better but he’s never around when the other two give Shinichiro advice… When he tries it with you, he gets genuinely shocked when you tell him you don’t like whatever he tried.

- One time, he asked you if you were on your period because you were mad at him, and when you asked him why the hell he would ask that, he replied “Takeomi told me that you’d think I was attentive and knowledgeable about women’s hormones if I asked you!!”

- They’re probably the reason he doesn’t get girls tbh

- But he has you, he doesn’t need anyone else.

- He does get jealous super easily. He doesn’t even know how he pulled you in the first place, but he WON’T lose you.

- Has and will use his connections from the Black Dragons to beat anyone who tries to get with you. He’s not going to get his hands dirty (probably because he doesn’t know how to) if he has people to do it for him.

- Celebrates every little milestone in your relationship. Expects you to remember as well. Like, what do you mean you forgot this is the anniversary of the first time he fed you?!

- Dreams of a nice, domestic life with you in the future whenever he sees you with Emma and Mikey. He wants 4 kids and a nice house by his grandpa’s dojo.

- Mikey and Emma LOVE you. You’re their big sister now! Especially Emma. It’s hard for her in an all male household, so you’re her rock when it comes to things her brothers and grandpa don’t understand.

- Emma loves to do girl things with you, like face-masks, doing nails and gossiping about boys you guys like. Although it’s only really Emma who talks about boys she likes, since she’ll get grossed out if you talk about Shinichiro in a romantic manner. That’s her stupid, goofy older brother after all..

- Mikey is constantly asking you if Shinichiro is paying you to pretend to be his girlfriend because you’re wayyyyy out of his league! Shinichiro is a bland 4 and you’re a 10!!

- Mikey and Emma definitely crash your guys’ dates sometimes. Especially if you guys are going on a picnic or to the mall.

- Grandpa Sano likes you as well, you’re keeping Shinichiro from getting into trouble and being a goof. Although, most of that is just how he is.

- Mikey definitely introduces you to Draken as his big sister. And Draken probably sees you as his big sister too, you guys probably do have cute moments.

- One time, you saw Draken sat on a bench on his own and you took him to the convenience store and got him candy to cheer him up and talk about why he was looking down. Mikey joined you guys half-way through with a bag of dorayaki (no, he did not share).

- All in all, you guys are a cute ass couple and the kids all look up to you two.

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pinkbunny268 · 7 months

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Lucifer x Fem!Reader

(mentions it a couple times but can be read as any!) kinda long but not really.

I love this short king <333 pls send requests for him (or anyone for that matter) foaming at the mouth for him specifically

Reader and Lucifer both dancing around the fact they like each other <333 MAJOR FLUFF and sappy,sweet puppy love.

It was painful to watch. For everyone in the hotel, that is. When Lucifer came to the hotel to see his daughter (and you) it was so hard to watch as you both gave quick hellos at the same time, sputtering out apologies at the same time for talking over each other and then rinse and repeat because you did it again.

Now, Lucifer wasn’t new to the flirting or dating game. But he’s been out of it for so long and on top of the fact that he still has feelings for Lilith? Now, that made him feel downright guilty for how he felt for you but he just couldn’t help it. You were so kind and sweet and beautiful and just lovely to be around. He often wondered what you did to end up in this hell hole, but he was glad for it. Because he got to meet you.

He’d find himself quietly watching you as you spoke to other people such as Angel dust and Husk as you three were sat at the bar, laughing and chatting about who knows what and often had to restrain himself from walking over here and inviting himself into the conversation just to be near you. Charlie had caught him doing this several times and each time she’d ask him about it he’d brush her off and deny it.

“No, no! I’m just… admiring how well all three of them bond together! It seems your… uh job of redemption for them seems to be working out.”

Lies, of course. But he’d die before admitting he’d been staring at you.

But he’s not the only one.

You’d watch as he spoke to Charlie. With his toothy smile and rosey cheeks, laughing with her as he tried to make up for lost time. You sometimes caught yourself smiling to yourself as you watched, longing for you to experience such a sight up close.

Even when he’d be arguing with Alastor, throwing insults back and forth in hushed whispers as to not upset Charlie or make a scene. You found it endearing how he’s trying to prove, even when he thinks no one else is watching, that he’s the best dad for her and that he’s cares and loves her so much. Seeing such a sight made you feel all warm and fuzzy seeing how caring and protective he can be for those he cares about. Oh how you wish to be one of those people.

As the months went by leading to the next extermination, the sudden thought of you dying before getting to tell him how you feel made you feel ill. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything in fear of being rejected and possibly kicked out of the hotel due to your feelings for Charlie’s father.

So you began to try and show for it in small ways. Attempting to give him small smiles and compliments whenever you saw him. Standing near him when all of you as a group were together. Ghostly touches when you walked by. And paying close attention when he spoke about anything, especially if it was something he was passionate about.

He noticed these small things too. But he was scared he was reading into them and when he didn’t seem to respond to your advances (if one could call them that) you were afraid you were overstepping and making him uncomfortable.

It was a hard situation for those involved… and those who weren’t. As said before, it was torture for everyone to watch you two do stuff like this but never actually do anything about it. So a plan was set.

As Lucifer sat on the couch mindlessly chatting with Charlie, she got quiet for a moment and Lucifer took notice.

“Are you ok, Charlie?” He asked with concern, his voice lowering slightly.

“Yeah, I just.. wanted to ask you something.” She replied, suddenly nervous.

“Yeah, you can ask me anything! I’m your dad after all!”

Charlie fiddled with her sleeves and shifted slightly in her seat.

“How do you feel about Y/n?” Lucifer felt his stomach drop at the question, suddenly very aware of the lack of people around. He sat up straighter and tugged at his collar.

“Um… she’s a lovely gal! Very kind…” He replied, his voice trailing off. Charlie looked at her dad with a soft expression.

“Yeah, she really is… I’ve, uh, noticed her liking towards you.”

“Liking..? No, no, she likes pretty much everyone here, even that radio deer.” He said with a smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Charlie takes a deep breath. “Yeah, well, um… I’ve also noticed your liking to her…” Lucifer’s smile dropped.

“Charlie… I’m sorry… I just- I’m not..” Charlie takes her dad’s hands into hers and gives him a soft smile, her eyes looking at him with such a warmness to them it could make a grown man weep.

“Dad, it’s ok… if she makes you happy, then I don’t mind. I just want you to be happy… I don’t want you to feel like you can’t ever find someone else just for my sake. I know that whoever you find, you aren’t doing it to try and replace mom…” Lucifer’s eyes gloss as tears build up, a genuine smile reaching them as he gives her hands a gentle squeeze. “I’d want nothing more than you to be with her… I know she’d treat you right.”

“Thank you Charlie… but I don’t even know if she feels that way about me.”

“She does, I’ve talked to her about it. She had the same fears and I talked to her about them. She just wants to make you happy.” His heart swelled hearing that.

That she, someone as kind and beautiful as her, wanted him in the same way he wants her. He felt lightheaded at the thought and his stomach was suddenly filled with butterflies fluttering around in excitement.

After a few more minutes of talk, Lucifer set out to find you. He walked through the hotel until he got to your room and lifted his hand to knock, stopping inches away from it as the high from finding out your feelings started to subside. It was replaced with an anxious feeling as his knees felt weak and his hands began to sweat. His mouth dry as he shifted from one foot to the other as he looked at your door.

One knock could finally bring you two together. One conversation could finally end this unintentional game before you two. One knock-

“Lucifer?”

You had opened the door, Angel Dust stepping out of your room with a quick smirk thrown at the King of Hell before practically skipping down the hallway until he was out of sight. He was suddenly aware that he had been quiet, leaving your questioning call of his name lingering in the air.

“Uh, yeah- uh hi!” He said just a bit too loudly, a nervous chuckle escaping him as he tried to act as normal as possible. As if he wasn’t mentally kicking himself in the face for his behavior.

“D-do you need something..?” You ask quietly, as you open the door slightly more.

“Yes! Yes I do! Um- yeah uh can I please come in? I have something very important to talk to you about.” He says, trying to use his ‘ruler of hell’ voice to steady his nerves and to keep his voice from failing on him. You nod and open your door all the way, stepping behind it to give him room to enter.

He quickly walks inside and you shut the door behind him before facing him, nervous of what had brought him here. Usually, when you did find yourselves talking it was with others around. And now here he was, in your room, alone with you.

You sat down on your bed, knowing if you stayed standing your legs would give out. Especially if he was here to discuss your behavior.

You wanted to throw up at the thought of having that conversation.

“So, uh,” he fumbles over his words, trying to think about how he should say anything.

He really should’ve thought about what to say before coming to find you. But, dammit, he was just too excited. So how could you blame him?

“Charlie told me something very interesting… and it involves your recent behavior lately.” Your stomach dropped.

Oh fuck, he knew. He had put the pieces together and he didn’t reciprocate them and now he was gunna tell you he didn’t like you and now you’re fucked and can’t show your face again. Oh, fuck, the extermination couldn’t come any sooner. The first Angel you see, on sight. Dead. Let it put you out of your misery. Cause being dead is a better feeling than being rejected.

“Um… I just want to tell you… that… I feel the same way.” He mumbled, his cheeks even redder than they usually are. He had taken off his hat, holding it to his chest on both hands as he looked at the ground, shifting his weight from the back and front of his feet. “And, I’d love to take you out to get to know you better before we do anything if that’s alright..?”

When he didn’t get a response from you, he looked up at you to see your shocked expression and he felt immense fear. Had Charlie not actually talked to you? Did you not feel the same way?

“R…really?” You said, eyes wide and mouth ajar. He slowly nodded his head, cringing at the lack of words. “I’d love too.” Processing your words, he felt relief. His eyes lit up and the color from his cheeks drained, leaving them the usual red color. He felt his strength return to his body as he quickly placed his hat back on, a smile gracing his lips showing off those pearly white fangs.

The next hour or so was spent talking and getting to know each other on a deeper level and not so deeper level. You talked about like and dislikes, places as ideas for future dates, etc. all that fun stuff. And by the end of it you found yourselves laying on you bed, laying down cuddled up in his arms.

What a lovely day it had turned out to be.

“I’m so glad Charlie talked to me… and you. She told me you had told her that you felt the same way so that’s how I found it in myself to come talk to you.”

You look at him questioningly and your reply shocked him.

“I never talked to her about anything? Angel Dust and I have been in my room talking all day. I haven’t seen Charlie since yesterday.”

Clever girl. Playing matchmaker for the devil and a mere sinner. How cute.

Fluff for ya boy. I really enjoyed writing this. It’s currently 3 am and I just felt in the mood to finish this. I’m such a sucker for good, wholesome fluff <333

#hazbin hotel #y/n x character #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #hazbin fanfic #fluff #hazbin fluff #fanfiction #hazbin hotel lucifer #y/n #x reader

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

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Intimidation Ranking / Yan Sumeru Boys.

Kaveh — 2/10

Like... he's writing your names next to one another in his notebook and drawing a heart around it. Kaveh isn't inspiring much fear in the traditional sense. You find him endearing more than anything. He visibly brightens up when you're around, stares off into the horizon and sighs when you're not. His more socially unacceptable tendencies are kept under lock and key (such as his innumerable blueprints for how he'll build your house when you get married, despite how you're both only friends). His romantic rivals don't have to fear for their lives as much as they would if put up against the others on this list. That being said, he still has his methods for dealing with them. It's more psychological in nature. Once he's cemented himself as an important figure in your life, he'll 'exaggerate the truth' (he thinks the word lying has a negative connotation), about any rivals' negative traits. He does this covertly over increments of time so as not to arouse any suspicion. You couldn't possibly look at Kaveh and suspect any wrongdoing on his part.

Alhaitham — 5/10

Alhaitham is weird because he has the potential to rank high, but he'd rather not go that route if it isn't necessary. Outsourcing to criminals would require extra work. He'd prefer to stay in the realm of legality for convenience's sake, perhaps pushing gray areas, but nothing that'll require a major coverup. Just a little good old-fashioned coercion if you're being stubborn about returning his affections. He's crafty, he needn't get his hands dirty to obtain the outcome he desires. Should you be of an academic inclination, he'll utilize his influence in those spheres to impede your progress. There's no physical evidence so you have no means of retaliation. Given his dispassionate demeanor, people will have a hard time believing you should you tell them about this. Alhaitham himself will utilize a similar tactic should you ever confront him. His sound logic and steady voice make you wonder if you really are imagining everything. It's maddening.

Cyno — 7.5/10

Cyno is a force of nature. Once he's set his sights on you, that's it. While it isn't you who needs to be frightened per se, the same cannot be said for those he deems as questionable influences in your life (basically anyone who isn't him that receives your attention). He has the authority and resources to comb through their entire bloodline for any potential wrongdoings. No one's lived a perfect life, he's bound to find something, even if it just ends with them having to pay a fine. Still, in a highly competitive area like Sumeru, having anything on their record is a death sentence. Rumors start circulating that anyone who hangs out around you is subject to meticulous background checks. No one knows why, but that doesn't matter, the risk alone serves as a sufficient deterrent. If they cheated on a test when they were ten, Cyno is going to find out. The man's nothing if not determined. Cyno genuinely thinks he's doing this in your best interest — his conscience is crystal clear. This adds another layer of formidability because there will be no convincing him to stop.

Wanderer — 9/10

As Scaramouche, it would've been a 10/10, but he's had some character development. Emphasis on the word some. Nahida considers his budding attachment to you a healthy development, especially since you're the first person he's taken an active interest in without her involvement. He's keen on maintaining this innocent, well-meaning façade since he's still under surveillance for his previous crimes. This unintentionally works wonders for him. While he still has a sharp tongue, the fact he actively chooses to be in your general vicinity proves you're special to him. You think he's harmless, if not a touch blunt. He's perpetually hanging around and offering to help with whatever you're up to. You're happy, Nahida's happy, and surprisingly enough, he's happy. This cannot be said for anyone else in your friend group. He increases his unpleasantness when around them, never to an incriminating degree, but just enough to give them pause. They'd rather not deal with him and he's always around you, like a miserable little forcefield that repels any outside force. Wanderer may not be free to wreak havoc anymore, but all that means is that he has to get creative about it. Nahida's lack of omnipotence gives him enough room to slink around. Where there's a will, there's a way.

#yandere kaveh x reader #yandere alhaitham x reader #yandere cyno x reader #yandere wanderer x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #cyno x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #my stuff

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hope-drunk · 1 year

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BITE THE HAND

| you misbehave at an important event with abby, she puts you in your place.

| wc: ~3.7k

| cw: vague plot tbh, abby's a premed major, abby smokes cigarettes, punishment, brat!tamer abby, f!reader, spanking, edging, overstimulation, degradation, oral, fingering, strap usage (all r!recieving), mean!abby, praising, mentions of aftercare but not really a full scene of it, abby gets called mommy, lmk if i'm missing something

Abby’s really pissed off; she’s genuinely infuriated. You were embarrassing her; in front of a lot of people who mattered. Important people, who determined what was going to happen with her future. She brought you to the banquet because she wanted to share this moment with you. She wanted to show you off to her peers and brag that you were supportive, and the best girlfriend that she could ask for, but you weren’t being supportive.

You sit yourself down to sulk; spinning your straw around in your drink. You let out an agitated sigh. It’s boring here. Not only was it boring, Abby hasn’t paid attention to you the entire night. You thought that she was going to show you off, you even bought a new dress for this! But she didn’t seem to pay you any mind.

She seemed really interested in all the other people here though. From your point of view, Abby has spent the whole night bragging to them about her accomplishments. You’ve seen her arm get rubbed in amazement more times than you can count; it didn’t matter to you that they were just being friendly, that was your arm to rub. That was your girlfriend to praise. Every time you tried to insert yourself into conversation, Abby brushed you off. If she was already treating you like you were embarrassing her; you’d do it for real.

Abby walks over to the table you’re sitting at. “Hey, can you get up for me? Want you to meet someone.”

You look up at her. “Oh, now you want to show me off?”

“What are you talking about? Been trying to get you to meet people all night.” She puts a hand on your shoulder and rubs it up and down; a signal for you to stand.

“I don’t want to meet anyone.”

She scoffs; puts her pointer and thumb on the bridge of her nose and squeezes. “Please, baby, I really can’t deal with this right now.”

“Fine,” You say, standing and lacing your arm through her’s.

You walk over to an older man in a tux. Abby smiles politely at him.

“Doctor Smith, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.” She says.

You shake his hand, trying your hardest to act like you want to be there.

“So nice to meet you. You know, you have a rather impressive girlfriend. Miss Anderson is one of the best students I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, she does well to remind me.” You reply. You see Abby give you a look from the corner of your eye. The look isn’t a kind, loving one. The look says be fucking polite.

Luckily for you, the Doctor laughs and pats Abby on the shoulder. “She’s a firecracker, huh!”

“That’s one word for her.” Abby says. Now it’s your turn to shoot her a look, she ignores you, continuing her conversation with the Doctor.

After they talk about the class that Abby is in, he says goodbye to you both, walking away to mingle.

“Come here,” Abby says. Before you can even ask her where, she’s yanking your arm and dragging you behind her.

You feel like a dog being yanked by the leash, her strong arms left no room to shimmy out of her hold; forced to go where she wanted. She pulls you into a family restroom and locks the door.

“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you? That was embarrassing!” You practically yell at her, placing your hands on your hips.

“Embarrassing? I’m embarrassing you? You’ve been a brat the whole fucking night, sitting there with a goddamn pout on your face.” Abby says back at the same volume. You’re sure if anyone walked by they could hear you, but neither of you seemed to care.

“I’m not being a brat, you’re not paying attention to me.”

“That’s because this isn’t about you. I wanted to bring you here so I could show everyone how supportive you are; how much patience and love you show me even though I am so busy with work, but I guess they don’t get to meet that version of you!” Abby yells at you, clearly frustrated with your attitude and accusations.

You’re rendered silent. You guess you don’t know what you thought this was going to be, maybe you had a different idea of the evening than Abby did. You slowly start to realize that you may be in the wrong; that you may have created some narrative in your head that Abby was ignoring you when really, she was trying to include you.

Abby sees you thinking, “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

Abby stands in shock, but she doesn’t let it show. She turns around and rubs a hand over her face. You’ve never apologized so fast. Usually it took a lot of coaxing to make you realize that you’ve done something wrong, but not this time. “Sorry for what?”

“For– y’know,” you wave your hands around. Saying sorry was one thing, but you know what she really wanted from you; she wanted you to say you were being a brat; that you had been bad and embarrassed her.

“No, I don’t know.”

You whine, “Abby, you do know.”

“Listen, here’s what we’re gonna do; we’re gonna stay for thirty more minutes, and then we’re going to go home, and I’m gonna make you say why you’re sorry, alright?”

Tears well in your eyes. Abby was relentless when it came to punishments. Even if you told her what she wanted to hear after the first ten minutes, there was no stopping her. It’s like she became a completely different person. With how mad she looked, you knew you were in for it tonight. Suddenly, you want to stay at the banquet, afraid of what will happen when you step foot into your joint bedroom.

Abby watches as you fiddle with your hands, and despite how angry she was, she takes a deep breath and walks over to you. She lifts up your chin and plants a kiss to your forehead, reminding you that no matter how much you piss her off, she’ll never stop loving you. She walks out of the bathroom, swinging the door open and extending a hand behind her so that you would grab on. You quickly lace your fingers into her’s and let her pull you out of the small room. The rest of the time you’re there, you try your hardest to stay on your best behavior. This time, it’s harder, because you’re studying your every movement to make sure it won’t piss Abby off more; scared of what the girl would do to you if you kept acting up even after the talk. You do well the rest of the night though, and when Abby says her goodbyes, you cling extra hard to her arm; looking for comfort in the girl who’s about to put you in your place.

When you get into Abby’s car, she pulls her box of cigarettes out of her glove box; grabbing one and lighting it. A familiar pop song is playing on the radio, and there’s wind blowing through Abby’s cracked open window.

She takes a long drag and looks over at you, “You know you can say stop at any time, right?” She exhales the smoke.

“Yeah,” you answer, meekly.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

The rest of the drive is silent. Abby finishes her cigarette and lights another one. You wish she would let you smoke one, but every time you ask, she gives you a lecture about how she wishes she never started and how bad they are for you. Since you were already in for a lecture about another thing; you figure it’s best to not ask her for one. She pulls into her spot at the apartment complex. Abby steps out of the car and comes over to your side, opening the door and offering a hand to help you out. You gladly take it; happy to soak up the last bits of nice Abby before she completely turns on you. She walks behind you as you go up the stairs to your door. She uses her key to unlock it, and you both walk in. Abby throws the keys onto the table that sits by the door.

“You know how I want you.” She says. It feels like her voice has already dropped lower.

You nod your head at her and walk into the bedroom, stripping off your dress and undergarments. You bend over the bed. Your legs kick up a few times, a nervous tick that only comes out in this situation. The waiting was brutal. You knew that Abby was in the kitchen preparing a glass of water and making sure the aloe vera gel was in the fridge so that when the punishment ended she’d be ready for aftercare, but it didn’t stop the anxiety from creeping in.

You hear Abby’s footsteps come closer and you fix your position; knowing it’ll only be worse if she catches you slacking. Abby sighs and rubs a hand up and down your back, it slowly starts to trail down to your ass.

“Do you know why you’re in trouble?”

“Yes,”

“Tell me why I’m punishing you.”

She grabs a handful of your ass and releases a few times; it distracts you for a moment. She pats it lightly to remind you of the question. “Was a brat, embarrassed you in front of your friends and teachers.”

“That’s right. You just can’t help yourself, can you? Always gotta act up when I need you to be good. The night could’ve gone so much different, huh baby?” Abby moves around the bed and squats down so that she’s face to face with you. She pouts when she sees the tears welling in your lower lash line. “Poor girl, now you gotta be put in your place. Can’t have you doing that again, right?”

You sniffle, “No,”

“No,” she mocks. She takes a deep breath and stands, moving back to where your ass is in the air. “Gonna give you ten, alright?”

“Okay,”

She starts slow, rubbing up and down your ass again. She loves to work you up; loves to get your energy so high that you listen for every shift of her body. It works every time. After a while, you can’t help but become hyper aware of everything that’s happening in the room. Your back arches against your will; Abby’s movements turn you on although that’s not the point of them right now.

She scoffs, and lands the first smack to the right side of your ass. You yelp at the sting. She spanks you twice more on the same cheek before grabbing it harshly. You push your head into the bedsheets, letting your tears make a stain. She moves her hand to the left side, delivering three more hits to even out the punishment. Your tears were falling silently before, but now you can’t help but let out sobs at the pain on your ass.

Abby pulls you up by the hair, forcing you to stop hiding. “You see what bad girls get? They get a spanked ass and no mercy from their mommy.”

“I’m sorry!” You wail.

“You’re gonna be.”

She smacks the spot where your ass meets your thigh on both sides. You’ve always hated when she does this; you couldn’t sit comfortably in a chair for a few days when she hits that spot. She delivers two more hits to each cheek and steps back. She lets you cry for a bit and admires her work. She loves how easy it is to break you. She just has to tell you you’re a bad girl a few times and give you a couple of smacks and you’re apologizing; begging to show her how good you could be. That wasn’t enough for Abby though. She wanted you completely at her mercy. She wanted to turn your brain into mush so that you couldn’t even imagine ever being bad again.

She decides she’s spent enough time looking at your backside and walks back up to you, flipping you over on the bed so that you were looking into her eyes. She doesn’t break eye contact as she shoves a hand down between your bodies, swiping a finger through your folds. You watch her pupils dilate as she realizes how wet you are.

“Seriously, sweetheart?” You don’t say anything in response, you’re not sure if the embarrassment or the fear took over, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to answer her. “You’re disgusting, you know that? Can’t believe you’re getting off on this. ‘Supposed to be a punishment.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

If Abby was good at one thing, it was making you embarrassed. You don’t even care though, because her finger is still running up and down your folds, gently touching your clit every once in a while. You try not to jump at the shock of electricity it sends through you when she touches it because you don’t want her to stop. Unfortunately, she catches on and removes her hand.

“Move up.”

You comply and go to the top of the bed. Abby stays close to you as she makes her way up too. It makes you feel so small; it makes you feel hunted. You sit up on your elbows once you’re at the top of the bed. She smooths her hand over your stomach and glaces down, looking at how your hips twitch every time she moves it lower.

“Want me to touch you, baby?”

“Yeah,” you say, basically a whisper.

“Think you deserve to be touched?”

A frown pulls at your lips, “No,”

She mirrors you and puts on a faux frown, “That’s alright, mommy’ll take care of you.”

Before you know it, Abby’s made a home between your legs and her tongue is diving between your folds. She laps at your cunt like it’s her last meal. You gasp at the sudden sensation and buck your hips, trying to grind on her face. Her nose hits your clit and you feel dizzy. The pleasure is too much. The punishment paired with Abby’s degrading words already had you reeling, and now you felt your headspace start to slip. Your ears feel stuffed with cotton as you whine at the strong girl below you. She licks a particularly sensitive spot and your thighs try to squeeze together, but her shoulders stop you. You put a hand on top of her head, trying to slow her down or reposition her, you weren’t sure at this point.

“Close– I’m close, mommy”

She hums into your cunt, but doesn’t give you permission. You whine, trying to remind her of your predicament while also trying to focus on not coming. You feel like you’re about to fall over the edge. The hand on top of her head is now trying to push her away. You didn’t want to come without permission, but you knew you would if she didn’t stop. Suddenly, Abby’s mouth is off of your cunt. You gasp; legs snapping closed at the ache that’s left behind.

You try your hardest not to say anything about the orgasm slipping away; knowing that Abby hates complaining. She had you believing you would be able to come for a split second. It felt like you could have reached out and grabbed it.

“Bad girls don’t get to come.” Abby pants.

You start crying for what feels like the millionth time that night. Abby pushes your legs back open, inserting two thick digits into your weeping hole. You basically scream at the intrusion; sensitive from the ruined orgasm.

“So fucking easy to get you to be my good girl again, isn’t it? Just needed to be put in your place, didn’t you?” Abby says.

You’re not paying attention; head floating away from the amount of pleasure you’re getting from her fingers thrusting in and out of you. Abby grabs your face with her free hand, forcing you to look at her and focus on what she's saying.

“Dumb girl, get you all full and messy and you can’t even talk.”

The cruel words send a wave of arousal through you, and Abby smirks when she feels it.

You feel the knot tighten again, and your brows furrow; your mouth forms an ‘o’. Abby notices, watches you closely; sees how far she can push you before you break. Your mouth closes and you pull your bottom lip into your mouth, biting hard so that you focus on the pain from that and not your impending orgasm. Right when you feel the wave start to come, Abby pulls her fingers out of you, wiping them on your stomach.

“No!” You shout this time.

Abby doesn’t even entertain you. She moves off the bed and goes to the closet, getting out the box that holds her black strap. As she puts it on, she watches you on the bed. You’re holding your tits for comfort as your legs shake. You have your eyes closed, and you’re taking big, deep breaths. Abby makes sure the strap is secure and walks back over to the bed. You open your eyes when you feel the bed dip down. You’re met with the thick silicone and you can’t help but gulp. Again, Abby watches your reaction. She’s always been a watcher, it’s what gets her turned on. Seeing the effect she has on you; how her words, her hands, her strap mess with your head in their own way. After you’ve been dating this long, she knows exactly how you’ll react to whatever she draws out, but she loves to watch you every time.

“Gonna let mommy fuck you, baby? If you’re really good, I’ll let you come, okay?”

Before she’s even finished the sentence fully you blurt out, “Yeah, gonna let you fuck me.”

Abby laughs, “So desperate,”

She lines up the silicone cock with your hole and presses in gently. You’re already pretty stretched out from her fingers, and you’re certainly wet enough, but she still wants to be a bit gentle. She knows that the strap can sting sometimes; she also knows that you’ve learned your lesson by now. Once her hips meet yours, Abby lets out a grunt. Sometimes she feels like she can feel it; can feel how tight you’re squeezing her and how warm & wet you are. She knows the strap isn’t attached to her; knows that she can’t feel it, but that doesn’t stop her from pretending she can.

“Fuck, so tight, bunny.” She grunts out, edging the strap out before pushing it back in again, setting her pace. “Feels good, yeah?”

“Feels so good, mommy. So good.” You moan out.

Abby rearranges your limbs, putting your legs over her shoulders so she can make sure you really feel it all. You shiver at the new position, when Abby slides out and back in, she hits your g-spot perfectly.

“Oh God,” you say.

Abby loses herself in your cunt. She’s not able to focus on anything other than how wet you are; how the strap thrusts in and out of you. She focuses on how badly she wants to make you come and how the strap has started to rub her clit perfectly. She uses a hand to grab your tit, squeezing it over and over again as she picks up her pace. This is another version of Abby. Long gone is the chivalrous Abby, and even punishment Abby. This Abby wants to make you come over and over again until you’re asking her to stop. She wants to please you until you’re sick of the pleasure.

“Shh, you’re okay. Gonna make you feel so good now. Mommy’s not mad anymore. Just need you to come for me.” Abby says.

Your legs start to shake harder as your orgasm approaches for the third time that night. You feel it come closer and closer, threatening you. You’re scared to ask; not sure if Abby’s still playing games with you.

“Really need–”

Abby cuts you off, “Go ahead, been so good for me.”

Her words allow the wave to crash into you. Your whole body shakes as Abby fucks you through your orgasm. Your head spins as you come back down to the room. Abby’s hips haven’t stopped once.

“Too much– can’t,”

“Yes you can. You can, princess. You’re gonna come with mommy, okay? We’re gonna come together. Take a deep breath for me, there y’go. I’m almost there, just let me– fuck.”

Abby talks you through it, but also talks herself through it. If she knows you’ll come with her, she won’t be able to stop herself. She takes her eyes off of your cunt so she can watch how your face contorts at the overstimulation. She’s ready to tip over the edge and she sees that you are too.

“Come, come now.”

You do as she says. Abby’s hips finally stop, the strap finds its home deep in your cunt, keeping you full while you spin out from your second orgasm of the night.

Abby comes to first, she quietly mutters that she’s taking the strap out of you, knowing that you won’t be able to understand her anyway. You let out a small breath at the removal, and your legs fall down onto the bed. Abby massages your calf, and leans up to place a kiss on your forehead.

“Hi,” you mumble.

Abby smiles at you, “Hi, pretty.”

“Are y’still mad at me?”

“Nah, was never mad; could never be mad at you, sweet girl.”

You smile back at her. She gives your calf one last squeeze before getting off the bed. You whine; asking her where she’s going in your own blissed out way.

“Gonna get you water, okay? Be right back.”

You nod and close your eyes. You shift and feel your ass sting.

“Ow,” you whisper.

Although it does hurt, you’re happy to have a small reminder of Abby left on you.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fic #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fan fiction #abby anderson x you #abby !#tlou fic

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