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seiwas · 10 months

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₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

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writtensturn · 14 days

Text

glass doors | m.s

PAIRING : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

GENRE : smut! established relationship

SUMMARY : late night showering

!WARNINGS! : use of y/n, smut, foreplay, rough sex, cursing.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

y/n sat up from matt’s bed moving around in his sheets, she stood up and walked out into his bathroom. as she shut the door she heard a immediate knock that was placed at the door, knowing that matt’s brothers were home she peaked out the door. she tilted her head seeing matt stand against the door frame, she looked up at him with a smile. her and matt have been together for the past two years, in their relationship she discovered matt’s love for showering with her, anytime she stays over he always asks to shower with her or for her to join him. no matter the time of day, now it was around 11pm right about when she was ready to go to sleep. she looked at matt standing infront of the door knowing exactly what he was going to ask, her eyes shift to one of his brothers sitting on the couch eyes glued to his phone. her gaze shifts to meet matt’s again, she lets out a content sigh as he speaks.

“are you showering?“ he says with his soft smile as his voice hits her ears. she nods and matt’s smile grows bigger, knowing his next question.

“can i come with?” he says again his head tilted as his messy hair falls infront of his eyes, those blues staring back at her. she couldn’t resist.

“cmon” she said opening the door wider looking at chris too make sure he doesn’t see him walking in with her, she closes the door behind him and her thumb presses down to lock the door. she watches as matt moves to slide the glass doors and turn the shower on, him knowing the best temperature for her. her fingers go beneath her shirt as she lifts the fabric above her head, she places it on the sink watching matt doing the same. both her and matt undress fully, she moves past him taking her hair down as she walks under the water. matt walks in after her sliding the door shut, she turns her face to face him as the water hits her back wetting her hair. her eyes shut feeling matt’s gaze on her, his eyes roaming her body, his hands on her waist as she turns around towards the tiles, she feels his hands move from her waist to back back down further past her waist. she turns around knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“baby” she spoke out looking into his blue as they stare back into hers, matt’s lips crash against hers. moving in motion their tongues fighting for dominance, her giving up and letting matt take over. his hands roam her body again from her hips to her chest his fingers moving against her already hard nipples, a small moan escapes her lips into his own. she feels his smirk as he peppers kisses down her jawline and leaving his marks on her neck, her body against his moving against eachother. her nails dig into her back marking him as he marks her, she lets faint whimpers leave her lips as her head falls back into the water. his left hand travels down her body to where she needs him most, herself already wet and heated. his fingers trace inbetween her folds as he pulls away from her neck.

“already so wet for me angel” his voices spoke softly and gentle as he lowers himself onto his knees, lifting her leg and placing it over his shoulder. her back against the tiles as he places rough kisses softly bitting between her thighs.

“matt no teasing” she whined out as his smirk her against her skin, his tongue immediately licks up her folds his arms wrapped around the backside of her thighs. his moves his tongue around her moving at a steady pace. heavy moans fall from her mouth trying to stay quiet enough for none of them to hear, matt groans into her as his tongue moves quicker sucking her. her hand falls into his head gripping his hair, one of his hands come up from her. his fingers teasing her entrance as he moves a finger into her, he kisses around her as he moves at a pace.

“m- matt” her stuttering makes his kisses harder against her skin as he pumps his finger into her, after her moans he add another one moving quicker as he curls his fingers inside her

“matt im gonna” she moans as he squeezes her thigh to keep her quiet

“not yet” he says coming up from his knees immediately towering over her, he presses himself against her entrance. he looks into her eyes his head tilted as the water runs against their skin. he pushes himself into her, no matter how many times they fuck she’ll never be able to get herself to get used to his size. she moans a little too loud as he moves into her, his hand comes up to cover her mouth as he thrusts his hips into her holding her thigh against his waist.

“fuck angel you feel so good” matt groaned into her his eyes on her body looking at the way it reacts to him pounding inside her, he moves quicker as his eyes stay on her.

“holy shit, matt” she managed to mumble through his hand against her mouth, her moans vibrate through his hands as he continues to move inside her holding onto her body as the water falls perfectly inbetween them. matt groans his head falling between her neck and the beginning of her chest. his hand moving from her mouth gripping her waist as his mouth sucks her breasts.

“shit sweetheart i’m gonna” matt moans into her moving his head up as his eyes meet hers again

“me too” she moaned back at him the knot in her stomach growing tighter as it was about to break, in a couple more thrusts she releases on him the knot breaking as matt moans, coming in her.

“oh fuck” he said moving into her slower riding out eachothers high as he lets go of her thigh, and placing more kisses on her lips. he pulls out of her as he pulls away from her face.

“can i shower now” she tilts her head, laughing at herself with a smile plastered on her lips.

(matt the much am i right??)

#sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #smut #Spotify #chris sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #18+ content #writers on tumblr #writtensturn

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niki-phoria · 1 month

Note

OMGGGG !!! I LOVED THE LATEST WORK SO MUCHHHH SO CUTE !!! would it be too much to ask a continuation of that but with different characters like gojo, toge, nanami and the rest ?? the exact same just different people where they fall asleep on the reader <333

⋆｡°✩ ANGEL / KNEW YOU WERE SPECIAL FROM THE MOMENT I SAW YOU

gojo satoru, geto suguru, inumaki toge, and okkotsu yuuta falling asleep on you

notes: gn reader (no pronouns used), not proofread, sorry if anyone is ooc !! not super happy with these tbh but i'm so glad you liked the last one !! i hope you enjoy this one too :)), header from pinterest, title from the weeknd - angel

curses make GETO SUGURU sick. they taste like a rag that’s been used to clean vomit. swallowing them is an indescribable feeling - one that cannot be forgotten, even with drugs or alcohol.

he sighs as he slips into your shared bedroom. moonlight illuminates your figure, sitting up wide awake on your side of the bed. “you’re home.”

suguru smiles. his hand slips into his hair, brushing a few stray strands away of his eyes. “you waited up for me?”

“of course i did.” his face flushes as you reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck. his hands linger around your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug. “how did it go?”

suguru closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. with each passing moment in your embrace, he can feel the weight of the world slipping off of his shoulders. swallowing his distaste for sorcery, he murmurs, “it was fine.”

you hum. pulling away slightly, you press a chaste kiss against his cheek. “come here.”

with flushed cheeks and a soft smile, suguru slips underneath the covers to lay beside you. his hair falls down his back in waves, finally released from the confines of the usual bun.

“i love you, suguru,” you whisper. “i’m glad you’re safe.”

“i love you too.” suguru sighs in response, hiding his face into the crook of your neck. curses make suguru sick. but when your arms wrap around his waist and your fingers tangle in his hair, maybe his life isn’t so bad after all.

GOJO SATORU flinches when shoko slams a cup of water down in front of him. “drink it,” she commands. “you’ve been sitting here wallowing for days. it’s not a good look on you.”

he remains silent, accepting the cup with a shaky sigh. shoko’s dark eyes study his features with a sharp glare. the usual playful glint in satoru’s ocean blue eyes is missing - replaced by a dullness she hasn’t seen in years. his shoulders slump from exhaustion; usually pristinely combed strands of his hair have become tangled from a lack of care.

shoko sighs. “y/n will be fine.” her words ring hollow through satoru’s mind. his gaze catches a glimpse of you once again - body laying limp in the hospital bed, covered in layers of bandages and bruises. his heart leaps into his throat.

it’s only when shoko places a hand on his shoulder that he realizes she’s expecting a response. satoru coughs, muttering a soft, “yeah.”

time blurs together. seconds turn into minutes into hours. it moves agonizingly slow and far too quickly all at once. he closes his eyes, cursing everyone he can think of. of all people - why did it have to be you?

satoru jumps when you cough; the quiet noise is enough to rip him out of his daydream. he digs his nails into his palms. this isn’t real, is it?

“y/n!” he scrambles to his feet; his face looms over you as he studies your face. “you’re awake! how are you feeling? are you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you chuckle. reaching up, you brush your thumb against his cheek. “you look worse than me.”

“i was just… worried.” satoru sighs, leaning into your touch. “don’t ever do that again.”

you softly smile, reaching up and gently carding your fingers through his hair. you guide him to join you in the overly cramped bed. “i love you, satoru.” closing his eyes, he presses his ear against your chest, letting the steady rhythm of your beating heart slowly lull him to sleep.

INUMAKI TOGE slumps into the seat beside you, not bothering to stifle his yawn. the hem of his uniform presses against the tip of his nose, effectively hiding the curse marks embedded into his skin behind the fabric. he leans against the wall as he studies the smooth plaster coating the ceiling.

“are you tired?” you murmur. toge startles slightly at the sound of your voice before he nods slightly. you smile. “me too. i wish they would stop sending us out so early.”

shivers run down toge’s spine when your shoulders casually brush against each other. he hadn’t noticed the limited space between your bodies until you were already touching. hesitantly, he leans over until his head settles against your shoulder. “mustard leaf?”

“yeah, it’s fine.” you smile, warming his cheeks once again. toge’s breath hitches in his throat when your lips casually brush against the crown of his head. his heart beats erratically in his chest and his face burns a deep red, thankfully hidden behind the fabric of his uniform. deep violet eyes stare into your own as you brush his bangs aside, softly smiling down at him. “get some rest. i’ll wake you up when ieiri-san gets back.”

toge doesn’t tell you that it’s nearly impossible to relax around you - butterflies swarm around in his stomach relentlessly and he can feel his face burn. he doesn’t tell you that shoko will likely just hand him another bottle of cough medicine and send him back to the dorms to sleep it off. he doesn’t mention that you probably need the sleep more than he does.

instead, he simply smiles, murmuring a soft, “salmon,” beneath his breath before he allows himself to relax, finding solace in the crook of your neck.

OKKOTSU YUUTA groans, nuzzling himself closer against your couch cushions. his throat scratches every time he swallows and the world spins each time he opens his eyes. his body aches with every movement he makes as he kicks his blankets off, letting the fabric fall into a heap at the corner of the couch.

you chuckle softly as you make your way into the living room, sliding into the seat beside him. “how are you feeling, yuu?”

“like death.” his worlds slur together in his sleepy state; syllables mush into one until you can barely comprehend the words escaping his lips. his skin is flushed, stained a light pink from his still-ongoing fever.

yuuta raises his head, tired, dark eyes finally meeting your gaze. “i can’t believe i got sick.”

“i’m sorry, honey,” you hum, reaching over to rub your hand against his back. yuuta shivers at the feeling, further relaxing against your touch. his eyes flutter shut; stray strands of ink black hair framing his sharp features. “just focus on getting some rest, okay? you’ll feel better in the morning.”

yuuta grumbles quietly, but relents nonetheless. your hands slip underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. your fingertips rub miscellaneous shapes against his skin, gently massaging the tension away from his shoulders. a soft smile lingers on yuuta’s lips as he sighs, finally falling back into sleep’s familiar embrace.

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

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violetpixiedust · 3 months

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thinking about spending a day at the beach with your bf jj and the rest of the pogues. ♡

18+. afab reader. no description of appearance. fluff/smut. use of ‘papa’ once, mentions of spanking. shy!kook!reader x dom!jj.

in between searching for the cross, evading the law, and intense fights with the kooks, a beach day was certainly a nice escape from an otherwise hectic lifestyle.

the sand is warm and pale beneath your knees as you sit in your cute little bikini beside jj’s damp body. he’s laid along a ratty old towel, littered with a few holes and fraying at the edges. beads of saltwater meld themselves within his tan skin from his previous surfing exertion, eager to soak up the sunlight with you now that he’s gotten his adrenaline fix. you had been searching for seashells and sea glass with kiara while the boys were out on the water. ending up with a good sized pouch by the time your boyfriend ran up to meet you on the shore, shaking out his soaking dirty blonde locks at you like a dog. squeals and joyful giggles left your lipgloss coated pout, strumming alongside the seagulls.

absentmindedly, you hum when your manicured nails sort through your small treasures, careful not to let them get lost in the never ending sand. it isn’t until you notice your boyfriend’s baritone voice humming alongside you that you burst into giggles. you meet his sea-foam blue eyes from where they peak out above his black sunglasses, frames falling to the bridge of his lightly freckled nose. one of your pearly teeth reach out to bite along your plush bottom lip, shyly taking in the handsome sight of jj laid beside you.

damp swim trunks hang low on his paler hips, golden happy trail leading you up to the toothpick balancing between his freshly licked lips. the pogue grins slyly in amusement, satisfaction at your sudden shyness running through his veins like the sweetest high. “c’mere, princess. up.” you don’t have time to check for the whereabouts of your friends before the large palm of jj’s hand crudely reaches underneath your thigh, skin burning as he leads you to straddle his torso. you briefly hear pope gagging and john b’s amused laughter behind you, but ultimately choose to ignore them when jj’s calloused fingertips reach out to play with the hem of your swimsuit, effectively distracting you. “‘gonna show me those pretty little rocks takin’ up all of your attention now?”

you nod with a soft smile, shyly avoiding jj’s heady gaze for a moment, unknowing to the way his expression softens incredibly at the sweetness emitting from you. floaty and radiant, like his own personal angel. his calloused thumbs rub soothing circles along your hips as he watches you begin to explain each piece of sea glass you chose, head feeling as if it were underwater still with how gorgeous you are. his ringed fingers faintly shake when he thinks about how undeserving he is for someone like you. an angel from figure eight. outer banks pride and joy. who used to send him a shy little wave at the boneyard, eyelashes fluttering when he would wave back, his split lip pulling up into a smirk at the dazed look that overtook you. the girl who now jumped onto the back of his bike in boarder-line scandalous mini skirts, sweet and powdery perfume clouding the pogue’s judgement for a second too long. until your freshly done nails would dig into his waist, melodic voice urging your pogue boyfriend to hurry up and drive. the overprotective housekeeper would attempt to chase after the two of you with a broom in her wrinkled hand, before being buried by the dust billowing beneath the bike’s spinning wheels every single time.

it isn’t until you hold up a few pieces of sea glass to the side of his face with a cheer of excitement that he tunes back in. “mm, what’s the squealing for, cupcake?”

“i found a piece that looks like your eyes. see!” you bend over to get a closer look at the comparison, completely unaware of the way your tits push up together near jj’s face. a shaky breath leaves your boyfriend’s bitten lips, his suddenly rosy cheeks startling you for a moment before you feel the noticeable shift of his hips beneath you. instead of gasping cutely and sitting up like jj expected you to, your moment of realization morphs into a sly expression.

and jj knew that look.

“don’t-“ you riskily pay no mind to your boyfriend’s warning tone, “innocently” slinking back along his body with a soprano sigh. your manicured nails rake over his abdomen on your path backwards, cupped heat just brushing past the now obvious tent in jj’s swim trunks-

instantly, the pogue manhandles you into place. you squeak at the firmness of his ringed grip, heart pumping with adrenaline when his sun kissed hands force your back against his warm chest in record speed. shark tooth necklace digging between your shoulder blades. your bum pushes against jj’s erection with a final maneuver- now out of sight, but still painfully hard against you.

“whoa. chill out, mike tyson-“ john b drunkly remarks with a surprised laugh before sipping on his nearly finished can of pbr, blissfully unaware of the previous situation. meanwhile, sarah smirks knowingly at the two of you from beside her aloof boyfriend, meeting your playful gaze with one of her own.

you’re about to suggest a game with a mischievous wiggle of your hips, clearly not learning your lesson- before jj’s long fingers cup your jaw from behind, gripping you in place. the blonde’s rosy lips press to your ear, his left hand intertwining with your own smaller one, voice low. “y’not going anywhere, duchess. need you to calm down and behave. unless you want me to spank you raw on this beach in front of our friends, hm?”

your breath hitches with surprise at the threat as you watch kiara and pope run back from the ocean dripping saltwater, jj’s words echoing in the now hollow structure of your head. “and if you’re good,” the blonde nods your head up and down for you like a ragdoll for good measure, smirk curling along his chapped lips with faux innocence gleaming from his eyes. he’s more than aware of the pressure building between your pretty legs, your glossy eyes looking up at him for guidance. not to mention the shivers that clatter down your spine at the idea of being put in your place for everyone on the beach to see. all he could do was harden at the thought. “papa’ will let ya show him which one of these rocks he can put on your pretty little finger soon, yeah?”.

the pogue waits for you to nod your own head ‘yes’ like a big girl before placing a kiss on the crown of your head. your shy expression stays hidden against his heart, a giddy smile drawing across your glossy lips as you think about your future with jj.

needless to say, you behaved for the rest of the afternoon.

#this is my first time writing for himmm sorry if it’s a bit ooc #jj maybank #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader fluff #jj maybank x reader smut #jj maybank fanfiction #dom!jj maybank #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

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bluejutdae · 5 months

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• Stray Kids as very specific vibes | OT8

Chan: brushing your teeth side by side, making sure the other sleeps enough, late night city dates, plaids, dimples, racing each other on the street, spraying perfume on pillow cases, trying new stuff, 3 am runs at the grocery store, trust, last minute flights, glass clinking, lightnings, early morning fog.

Minho: reading books to each other, cat cafés, cooking together, the crackling of the fireplace, the first snow of the season, camping and fishing, quiet acts of service, giving each others silly gifts, cats stickers all over the house, warm blankets and cups of tea.

Changbin: vanilla scented candles, gym dates, sharing food, laughing carelessly, meeting the families, kissing on the shoreline, summer days, sea salt on your skin, warm hands, blowing on birthday candles, quality time, feeling safe, warm bathrobes, the smell of fresh laundry.

Hyunjin: paint stains, oversized shirts, matching nail polish, staring into each other's eyes, waking up in the middle of the night, heart wrenching movies, holding hands, whispers at night, talking about true love, soulmates, words of affirmations, sharing a blanket, museum dates.

Jisung: hysteric laughing, iced americanos, playing catch, fixing hair behind the ear, sharing earrings, falling asleep on the floor, neon lights, chapped lips and bitten nails, sharing earbuds, calming tones, shaking hands, goodnight pecks, dreaming of flying, Icarus poems, silver jewelry.

Felix: late night train rides, sitting on a car roof to watch the sun rise, the fresh water of a pool, the relaxing presence of your best friend, videogames, arcades games, golden hour, pretty smiles, silly tattoos, sharing playlists, trying new food, learning to braid hair.

Seungmin: study dates, white and baby blue flowers, coffee stained pages, journals and diaries, house keys, silly key chains, good morning videocalls, matching outfits, the warm wind on a summer night, the smell of oranges in the air, the feeling of belonging, tight hugs.

Jeongin: the glint of the snow, cold hands around warm chocolate, daily outfit pics, playgrounds, pranks, sharing secrets, watching reality shows, watching the full moon, counting stars, no fear of being judged, first love, setting goals, singing out loud into fake microphones.

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lipglossanon · 3 months

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Infatuation

Stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

sequel to Kiss & Tell - for @nvoirs of course 😉

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, stepcest, pussy eating, cum eating, slight hair pulling, spit kink, pussy slapping/spanking, dirty talk, degradation, name calling, fingerfucking, squirting, masturbating, scratching, nipple play 😏, ball sucking, facial, praise, unprotected sex, creampie, feelings 🥹

title from Infatuation by I Don’t Know How But The Found Me

Leon carries you into the bathroom and sets you on your feet in the shower.

“S’gonna be cold,” you scrunch your nose as Leon flips on the taps for the shower.

“It’ll warm up quick,” he winks, turning to go shut and lock the door.

Walking back, he steps into the tub with you and closes the shower curtain, bodily blocking the water.

“There,” he smooths his hands down your arms, “I’ll move once it’s warm for you.”

Appreciation thrums warmly in your chest and makes you smile at him, watching as his sandy blonde hair darkens with the water.

“Thank you,” stepping forward, you tilt your head up, offering your mouth to him in a kiss.

“Of course, princess,” his low voice creates goosebumps as he dips his head down to press your lips together.

Sighing into the kiss, Leon slips his tongue inside to lap against your own, sucking the slick muscle into his mouth before pulling away with a quick bite to your lower lip. Spinning you around, he swaps places with you, letting the now warm water sluice down your body making you gasp.

“Now, didn’t I promise to eat that pretty little cunt, sis?”

“Yess,” you drag out your reply while he kneels down in front of you, blue eyes locked on yours.

Flicking his gaze down, he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips, baring your cunt to the steamy air. You can still feel the creamy mixture dripping from your hole only to fall into the bottom of the tub and swirl down the drain.

“Fuck, look at this messy little cunt,” he mutters to himself, eyes dilating until the blue is nearly gone, “I love filling you up.”

Leaning forward, he spits on the hood of your clit, using one of his fingers to smear it across the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Gonna lick and kiss this sweet little princess pussy til she’s fucking gushing,” he promises, parting his lips to run his tongue up your cunt, flicking your pudgy clit on the end.

Shuddering, your hands move down to tangle in his soaked hair, roots darker than the rest as he presses his face into your pussy, tongue lapping at your drooling hole. With a low groan, he licks his own cum from your slick cunt, tongue fluttering deeper into your hole with every thrust of the muscle.

“Taste like mine,” he growls out, pulling away to spit on your spread open cunt, “got me hard again, baby sis.”

You whimper, eyes dragging down his wet and naked body, skipping past his abs to see his fat uncut cock bobbing between his thick thighs.

“Leon,” you mewl, pulling his hair and bucking your hips against his face.

“Mmm yeah, hump my face, baby,” he moves his hands to grab the fat of your ass and pull your cunt into his hungry mouth.

You lean your head back, water from the shower head running down your heaving chest as you pant wantonly.

Leon’s tongue slips up from your hole to circle and lap at your sensitive bundle of nerves. He sucks the swollen bud into his mouth with a moan, tongue flattening against it. Rolling your hips, you whine at the perfect pressure on your pudgy clit, little bolts of electric arousal pulsing through your body.

“Big brother,” your nails scratch along his scalp making him groan into your cunt.

He moves his head away and he chuckles meanly when you try to pull him back.

“I’m gonna do what I want, baby sis, so stay still,” he nips at your thigh, one hand slipping around to cup your pussy, middle finger pressing against your wet heat.

He pulls his finger out until it rests at the edge of your hole, moving his mouth closer until you can feel his lips press on your slick cunt. You watch and feel as he spits messily inside your pussy, pulling back to smirk at your low disbelieving moan. He leans forward and flutters his tongue into your leaking cunt, spitting noisily into your hole until it’s spilling back out around his lips.

“Gotta get this tight pretty cunt ready for my fingers, princess,” he chuckles derisively as you whimper and tug on his hair, “what a dirty slut, getting off on her big brother spitting in her hot little pussy.”

“Leon!” You mewl brokenly, tears beading at your waterline from the hot burst of arousal pulsing in your clit and sending chills all over your body, “I’m- I don’t— it’s so much.”

You’re not even able to articulate the sheer want overtaking your mind, eyes still watching as Leon grins at you, the faux innocent look making your nipples tighten in anticipation.

“Aww, don’t worry, big brother’s here to take care of you,” his hot breath washes over your soaked pussy, tongue darting out to lick up your slit.

He pulls back and spanks your mound hard.

“Say thank you, little sis,” his eyes narrow up at you, “or I might just tease you all night.”

“T-thank you, big brother,” you whisper, water almost drowning out your voice— but Leon hears it, humming agreeably before sucking your clit back into his mouth.

He braces his palm above your cunt and uses his thumb to pull back the hood of your clit. His tongue softly kitten licks the swollen bud, soft ohhhs spilling from your throat to echo off the bathroom walls as you roll your hips into the soft caress.

“Good girl,” he croons before spitting a hot glob of saliva onto your pussy, “so good for me, baby.”

With a groan, he shoves his tongue into your fluttering hole, grinding his nose against your clit as he eats you out eagerly. He sporadically spits up into your cunt, chuckling every time as you moan from how dirty it makes you feel.

“I’m c-close, Leon,” you stutter out, hands cupping his jaw when he pulls away, tongue lathing against your clit as he sits back on his haunches.

“Mmm, then let me see if I can make you squirt,” he smirks, face slick with arousal while his middle and ring finger press against your hole, “I don’t think it’ll take much, this pretty princess cunt is fucking dripping.”

“Please, big brother,” you hiccup a whine, “w’nna cum so bad.”

Using his free hand, he pets across your thigh before tapping it, helping you lift that leg over his shoulder to open up your cunt further.

“Fuck me,” he whispers to himself, fingers sinking easily into your soaked hole, “love your hot little pussy.”

Moaning, you try to stay still and keep your balance as Leon’s fingers curve upwards to rub against the spongy spot at the front of your cunt.

“Tight as hell,” he remarks, eyes glued to the apex of your thighs, “c’mon, cream my fingers, baby. Squirt all over your boyfriend’s face.”

“Leon!” You wail, body shuddering all over from his words, pussy walls clamping down on his fingers, slick dripping down his fingers and off his bent wrist; the tight band of arousal in your abdomen so very close to snapping.

“That’s it, cum for me, show big brother how wet he gets this sexy pussy,” he groans, fingers rubbing and pressing against your g-spot as his thumb softly glides across your clit.

A few more passes of his fingers inside your cunt sets off your orgasm like a bomb detonating in your body. Not able to move without falling, your back rounds you forward, hands scratching Leon’s back hard enough to leave marks. Your hole gushes slick, pushing his fingers out of your body as your pussy pulses and clenches around nothing while you keep cumming.

He sucks your clit into his mouth with a low hum, making you scream at the overstimulation. Your nails dig into his back even deeper and he hisses at the pain, the hand that he’d been fingering you with dropping down to his cock. Stroking the swollen length, he tilts his back, sighing at the slight relief from his slick coated palm as he fists his cock. Shakily, you move your leg off of his shoulder, now standing unsteadily on both feet.

“Goddamn that was hot,” he pants, eyes so dilated they look black as he looks up into your dazed expression, “spit in my mouth, sweetheart, ‘m close to busting a nut.”

White hot arousal makes your clit throb. Leon never asks you to spit on him; it’s always him doing it to you. Catching the motion of his hand, your attention drops down to watch as he fucks his fist, thick cock slipping in and out of the tight tunnel of his fingers while the muscles in his forearms shift. Your hands shift from his clawed up back to his shoulders as he lolls his tongue out.

You drop your mouth open, letting a line of spit fall from your tongue down onto his. His chest rumbles with a low moan while he tugs you closer.

“Make it messy,” he pants against your lips, “fucking spit on me you little slut.”

Even though Leon just made you cum so hard you squirted, slick wets your pussy with fresh arousal at his words. Pulling back, you spit on his mouth, the hot liquid hitting the corner of his lips and dripping off.

He laughs a mean low sound, “Good girl, now spit on my cock so I can jerk off faster.”

Nodding, you work your tongue around your mouth before drooling saliva down onto his dick while he holds it steady, cupped in his palm. He smears your spit over his cock, grunting as it throbs in his hand. You shift down onto your knees in front of him, hands skating up his twitching stomach to his chest.

“What’re you doing?” His question comes out in a gasp as your fingers ghost over his soft pink nipples.

“Oh fuck,” he huffs out a pained noise, but you see his cock leaking precum as he grips the base.

“S’this okay?” Your breath comes out shaky as your fingers slowly circle his hardening nipples.

“God,” his head falls back, showing off his adams apple when he swallows heavily, “didn’t realize how sensitive— fuck.”

You tweak his pink buds and bite your lip hard as his cock blurts out a sticky rope of cum onto his fist.

“Fuck, g’nna make me cum from this,” his hips flex as he rocks into his hand, fucking the slick tunnel of spit and precum.

Your clit throbs in time with your heartbeat, eyes watching him shiver and grunt while you play with his nipples. Pinching one bud while you roll the opposite has his eyelashes fluttering, mouth dropping open with a whine. You can’t stop staring at how hard his cock has gotten, fat tip drooling precum everywhere.

Mouth watering, your eyes snap back up to his face, a half formed thought spilling from your lips.

“Can I suck your cock?”

His eyebrows raise in surprise for a split second before he grins at you, “Yeah? Wanna get that slutty tongue on my dick, lick me clean?”

Eyes drooping as he speaks, you nod, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. His rough laugh makes you press the dough of your thighs together.

“How about… sucking my balls, princess? Think we’d both like that better,” he shifts back into the basin of the tub, spreading his thighs and lifting his cock.

Maneuvering into a better position, you kneel between his legs, pressing a trail light kisses across his body. You place a brief kiss to the base of his cock before your lips drift down to his balls, lightly kissing and licking at the soft skin.

“Ohh, good girl,” he relaxes against the tub, cock kicking against his leg, “nice and easy, let me really get a feel for that sweet tongue.”

Moaning, you suck one of his balls into your mouth, tongue swirling and lapping against it before you pull away with a soft pop. You repeat the same thing to the opposite one before pulling away and licking up the seam of his sac. Open mouthed kisses let you dart your tongue out against his balls before you try and fit them both into your mouth.

“Fuck me,” he groans, “don’t think they’re gonna fit, little sis, but keep trying, y’look hot as hell.”

He slowly strokes his cock but then drops his hands down onto your head, bringing you so close to his squishy sac that your nose presses against the bottom of his dick.

“Warm that cum up, princess, wanna bust a hot load all over your face,” he growls out, eyes watching you heatedly.

Mewling, the vibrations make his stomach clench, one hand moving up to stroke his cock so fast it’s a blur.

“Right there, keep your slutty mouth right on my balls as I cum all over your fucking face,” he grits out, hips rocking as he jerks himself off.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

You feel his balls tighten in your mouth, sac pulsing under you tongue as his cock spurts hot thick cum all over your face and down his shaft. It drips across the bridge of your nose, more spilling down his dick to slip off your lips as you softly suckle on his sac.

“God that’s good,” he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you away, “wish I could take a picture, so pretty, little sis.”

Instead of wiping it away, he smears his jizz across your lips, thumb pressing into your mouth.

“Bet your pretty pussy is begging for a nice thick load like this,” he murmurs, eyes narrowed gleefully, “after we wash you off, I’ll stuff that messy wet hole til it’s leaking my cum.”

Whining, you suck on his thumb, cleaning off his spend and running your tongue around the digit. Leon slowly stands up before placing his hands under your arms and helping you up as well. Pins and needles rush through your legs making you slump against him.

“You okay?” His hands run down your back.

You nod against his chest, “Yeah, my legs are asleep kinda.”

He hums and kneels in front of you again. Softly massaging the muscles, he glides his hands across each of your legs, working out the tingly feeling until you can stand up straight.

“Better?”

You cup his face in your hands and smile, leaning down to kiss his nose.

“Much better.”

He joins you back under the shower spray, tilting your face into the water to clean off the rest of his cum. Leaning around you, he grabs his soap, lathering his hands up before running it down and across your shoulders. He spins you out of the water so he can wash you off without the soap rinsing away too quickly.

The warm water sliding down his back makes him hiss under his breath. Turning his head to look, he snorts a laugh at the scratches you left behind. Leon nuzzles his face against the side of your neck as he runs his hands down your sides. His soapy hands move across your ribs to cup your breasts in each hand.

“Got me good, princess,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, “maybe should start calling you kitten, hmm?”

The tenuous grasp you had on yourself frays even more as Leon tweaks and pinches your nipples before squeezing the soft fat of your breasts. You moan reedily, the sound spilling from your throat before you can think twice. The soap makes it easier for him to touch and tease your stiff peaks, fingers circling your areola before flicking across your hard nipples.

“Feels good?” He hums cockily, kissing the side of your neck, “so sensitive aren’t they?”

“Can say the same for you, big brother,” you snark back, so turned on its making you frustrated.

He quickly pulls one hand away, the flat of his fingers coming down in a stinging slap against your mound and swollen clit. That same arm wraps around your waist to keep you from falling as your legs buckle.

“Behave,” his baritone rumbles against your back, “and stand up, little slut.”

Knees as weak as a newborn foal, you let Leon help you back onto your feet with him supporting most of your weight. Once you're steady against him, he lets go of your waist, fingers trailing down your belly until he’s cupping your pussy.

“She’s so swollen and wet,” he praises in your ear, fingers teasing along your slit before parting your pussy lips to rub against your slick hole, “feels like she’s ready for big brother to stuff her full.”

Gasping, your hips arch into his hand, “Please, Leon, please, need you so much. Need your cock, big brother.”

He bites down on your shoulder, teeth digging into the muscle while he grinds his stiffening cock against your ass.

“Eager little sis,” his lips brush across the bite mark left behind, “here, let me give you the tip for now.”

His right hand grabs onto your hip while the left lifts up your left leg by the bend, hooking it over his forearm as he pulls it up towards your side. Once you're balanced, he slips his right hand down to notch the head of his cock against your fluttering hole. You both moan as he sinks the first few inches into your pussy.

“Squeezing so tight already,” he rocks his hips back until the fat tip is pressed just inside your hole, “want it hard and fast or deep and slow, princess?”

“Deep and slow,” the words tumble out, head falling back against his shoulder, “please.”

“Such a sweet girl,” he coos, flexing his hips to slowly work more of his cock inside your soaked pussy.

Choking on nothing, you whimper and gasp as he finally bottoms out inside your clenching heat. Your fingers dig into his forearms where he’s holding onto your body. With your left leg held up at an angle, his cock grinds right against your g-spot and makes your clit throb from the pleasure. He pants against your ear, water misting over you both as he pulls out halfway to thrust in again.

“S’good,” you slur, tongue feeling fat and heavy, “you feel so good, Leon.”

“Fucking hell,” he sinks his teeth into your neck, cock kicking inside your pussy as he shakily fucks into your spasming walls.

“Making it hard for me to take it easy, y’r wet needy pussy’s sucking me in like she’s desperate for cum,” he licks across the indentations his teeth left in your skin before sucking your earlobe into his mouth.

“Want it,” you moan, “want you to cum in me.”

He snaps his hips up into your soaked cunt before forcefully slowing himself back down.

“Made for my cock aren’t you princess? You and this sweet little cunt are a perfect fit,” the words pressed against the shell of your ear has your pussy clamping down on his fat dick.

“Uh huh,” you nod, “s’all yours big brother, ‘m all yours.”

He clicks his tongue and ruts his cock in and out of your cunt, tip catching on the edge of your hole before sinking balls deep back into your pussy, “Speak more clearly, little sis.”

The hand holding onto your hip slides down, palm bracing against your mound as his thumb rubs tight circles on your swollen clit. Squealing at the too much feeling, you writhe in his hold.

“I’m all yours, Leon,” you hiccup a cry, eyes watering from the arousal flowing like molten lava through your veins, “this pussy’s all yours, big brother.”

“Good girl,” his thumb presses more firmly on your pudgy bud, “that’s right, and I’m gonna stuff my girlfriend’s pretty pussy til she can’t take anymore.”

“Please, wanna cum, Leon,” your head hangs down, chin dipping towards your chest as your eyes take in his thumb teasing your clit.

He kisses the side of your face and you turn to press your lips together. With a growl, he licks into your mouth, tongue messily tasting you. Whining, you suck on the slick muscle, hands coming up to tangle in his hair, opening your body up more.

“You feel close,” he whispers against your lips, “gonna squeeze my cock with that tight pussy?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” your tongue darts out to lick Leon’s bottom lip, “gonna cum for you.”

“So perfect,” he groans, moving his thumb away to drum his fingers across your clit, “cum for me, baby, work that thick load outta my cock.”

Your voice cracks when you cry out, thighs twitching violently when your orgasm finally hits. Leon’s murmuring into your ear but it’s completely lost to the rush of blood pounding through your head. He eases your leg down, cock still buried inside your cunt as you pulse and flutter around his thick length.

“Can you stand, Princess?” He asks gently, running his hands across your shaking form.

“Mmhmm,” you dazedly hum out, aftershocks still making your blood fizz.

“Can you bend forward for me? Brace your arms against the wall so I can finish inside you?”

His questions make your pussy clench around him tightly; you bend forward, palms splayed out on the shower wall. Groaning, he pulls out and bullies his cock back inside your sensitive hole.

“Fuck, so pretty,” he mumbles to himself, “perfect pussy, baby, got me addicted. Gonna fill you up and finger it back out so you’ll be empty for next time.”

“Leon,” you mewl, clit thrumming as he picks up the pace, fucking into your cunt rougher and rougher.

“Such a good girl for me, perfect little sis,” he grabs your hips so tight it hurts, “take it, take it. Fuck, gonna bust a nut deep in this fat wet pussy.”

He curses under his breath and thrusts a few more times before pressing his hips against your ass as he spills hot, thick ropes of cum inside your sore pussy. You whimper softly as Leon kisses across your shoulders, cock kicking and throbbing while he coats your pussy walls with his sticky jizz.

“So good, god I love you so much.”

You freeze in place, heart hammering double time as he continues to nuzzle and kiss your neck.

“Y-yeah?”

Your small voice has him slipping out of you, hands easing you back around to face him. His hair, long since saturated with water, is as dark as his eyes. Using the knuckle of his forefinger, he lifts your chin up so there’s nothing in the way of your gaze.

“I love you, princess. Not exactly how I planned on letting you know, but it doesn’t make it any less true,” he brushes the water from your cheeks, stare never leaving yours.

Tears bead at the corner of your eyes, a smile breaking out a cross you face.

“I love you too,” you sniffle, trying not to cry, “so so much.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him to you. He closes the distance and kisses you hotly, mouth parted to bite down on your bottom before soothing the sting away with his tongue. He tapers the rough kisses down into something softer until you both pull away breathing hard.

“We should probably clean up and get out,” he flicks water from his fringe, “think it’s starting to get cold.”

“Okay,” you smile, letting your hands fall away from his shoulders.

Leon quickly and efficiently washes and rinses you both off before bundling you up in a towel and sending you back off to his room as he cleans up the bathroom. You slip into your own room to grab some underwear, but decide to steal one of Leon’s old shirts to sleep in for the night. Crawling into his bed, you tuck yourself under his blankets and snuggle into his extra pillow.

A few minutes pass and as your eyes start to drift closed while sleep calls your name, Leon finally comes into his room. Pulling on briefs, he tugs back the covers to lay down next to you.

“Hi,” he grins at you, turning on his side to pillow his head onto his arm.

“Hi,” you feel full of warmth from your head to your toes, “‘m pretty tired.”

He laughs, “Then go to sleep.”

Humming, he pulls you into his chest, free arm wrapping around your upper back.

“Since tomorrow’s the weekend, no rush in waking up, right?” You mumble into his pecs.

“Right,” he agrees, rubbing his hand up and down your back, lulling you even closer to sleep.

Body sagging as you relax against him, you hear him press a kiss to the top of your head before being pulled under by the complete need to rest.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

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donatellawritings · 3 months

Note

would u ever write stepbro! rafe?? love u

i love you too!

it was safe to say that your relationship with your stepbrother had way exceeded the confines of being appropriate. sure, you guys didn’t adhere to the cliche norm of being mortal enemies, or purposely being disrespectful for the sake of being rebellious — you two loved each other, perhaps a little too much. rafe knew how sick it would be to the naked eye — the older stepbrother preying on his pretty little stepbrother, but it was far more than that, much to his own disdain. you were sixteen when you were first introduced, doe eyed and welcoming to him and his family, but now you were nineteen — a bit older, and far too wise for his liking, you knew what you wanted and that’s what made things even more complicated for the two of you and you precarious little situation.

the routine cheek kisses that you’d give to your blended family when you’d come down for breakfast, dressed in one of his old college t-shirts, and skimpy panties that were hopelessly swallowed by the plush of your ass, they lingered just a little bit longer when you reached rafe. your plump lips were warm and pillowy against his cheek, and he’d simply smile at you, “mornin’ sweetheart,” he’d mumble, not missing the way you’d pathetically blush as you pulled away from him, before swiping a ripe piece of cubed melon from his plate.

and both of your parents would simply sit and watch, completely oblivious, as they were just relieved that rafe had finally gotten along with someone.

however, others on the divided island were much more privy to just how close rafe cameron and his doting stepsister were. when it came to outings and drug-ridden parties, rafe was far from inconspicuous with the fact that you were his. if his bloodshot bright blues weren’t honed in on your every move, he’d have you perched on his lap, a dopey grin on his face as you smiled lazily at him, your gums numb from the fine white powder he’d smeared on them a few minutes prior, “how y’feelin’ baby, y’okay?” he’d ask, pressing his chapped lips to your temple as you let out a content sigh, laying back to rest your head against his firm chest.

“m’okay, rafey,” you’d hum, your delicate acrylic-nailed fingers coyly fiddling with his longer and ringed digits.

to make the waters just a bit murkier, rafe had been the man to rid you of your purity — and you wouldn’t have it any other way. i mean, he knew you, he knew what made you tick, he knew just the right spots to get you to come undone.

“fuck, keep your eyes on me, mama — know it hurts baby, just look at me,” he cooed, his sweat-slicked forehead resting atop of yours as you nodded, your pouty lips parted slightly as the entirety of his hard cock filled you to the hilt, a pained whimper leaving your throat as rafe’s fingers laced through yours, his heavy hand pressing yours into the lush mattress.

a soft cry left your lips as rafe kissed you, the kiss hungry, yet gentle as he swallowed your sweet sounds. with his free hand, rafe lifted your leg to hook around his waist, “s’too much — hurts,” you moaned, your dolly eyes welled with threatening tears as rafe lifted his head, validating your concerns with a slight nod.

maintaining his slow and deep rolls of his flexed hips, rafe licks over his dry lips — it took everything in him not to fuck you deep and hard into the mattress, he couldn’t hurt you, “i know baby, shit — y’feel so fuckin’ good, fuck!” he grits out, his stringy curtain bangs falling over his eyes as he greedily watches your sopping wet pussy swallow him in, his spit-coated lips parted with a drunken gaze.

once ward was out of the picture, and rafe had taken it upon himself to take over the duties that came with being the main man of the cameron household, he became a bit more forward with your relationship. your mother had become far removed, due to her ongoing affair with her tennis coach — which made things just a bit sweeter for rafe. he decided to buy you a diamond-encrusted ring with his birthstone on full display, a symbol of his undying affection for you. and you wore it with pride, the two of you parading around a vacant tannyhill, engrossed in smiley and sloppy kisses, kisses that turned into feverish fucking against any nearby wall or solid surface.

“m’gonna marry you, princess,” rafe exhaled sharply, pressing his lips to your forehead, before returning his lips to yours, a wet smack coming from your conjoined lips, “ward’s not comin’ back — y’mom is busy with her new boyfriend — y’mine for the taking, baby,” rafe spoke between wet kisses, his voice low and breathy as you gazed up at him with hopeful eyes, batting your curled lashes at his every word. god, you were a hopeless romantic, it was easy for you to get caught up in your romance-ridden dreams.

“i’m yours, rafe,” you decided, and you didn’t care who knew it.

#divider: im4yeons #asks #anon #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #stepsister!reader

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justauthoring · 4 months

Text

your reassurance

matches could get a little tense, but never this bad.

a/n: i go back to school in two days and im not ready to deal with the stress of everything once again so i wrote this to comfort me :) i promise i'll write for anime soon lol.

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader

warnings: you literally get a water bottle thrown at you :)

Basically, it had all gone to hell in a matter of seconds.

What had been nothing more than any regular game you’ve gone to hundreds of times, turned into a full out brawl that left your heart racing in fear. You’d been up in the box with Rebecca, Keeley and Higgins as you always were, happily watching Richmond play while your eyes specifically gravitated towards a certain player with the number nine on his back.

Richmond was winning and you’d been very vocal and very loud about your excitement and support (like you always were) the entire game. Jamie seemed to be especially on fire that day after securing one goal himself and assisting with two other ones, which happily placed Richmond in the lead of three to one.

But it wasn’t an at home match, and it seemed like some of the fans who cheered for their home team didn’t appreciate just how loudly you and your friends were cheering.

After Jamie manages to score another goal himself, you’re jumping up to your feet, decked out in red and blue with Jamie’s number happily adorning your back. You scream so loud even though your throat already feels raw from how loud you’d been cheering the entire match, Keeley’s hands tightly clutching your arms as the both of you jump up and down. Jamie is being tackled by his teammates and you watch the celebration with a fond smile, cheeks flushed, skin slightly warm with sweat as the whole match catches up to you.

Then, suddenly, there’s something smacking you right in the forehead.

It’s a surprise enough, not having expected the hit, but it hurts enough to knock you off balance. You stumble backwards on your feet and feel Keeley’s grip tighten on you as she tries to catch you. Your hand falls to your forehead where you’d been heard, winching when it throbs in response, lowering your gaze only to see a water bottle on the ground next to your feet and when your eyes glance ahead of you, you see a pair of blazing eyes staring back at you.

“Babes,” Keeley calls out in shock, pulling your eyes on her as she glances at your forehead. “Are you–”

“Shut your damn whore mouth!”

You’ve hardly processed what’s happening before you realize that the man is trying to climb his way up to your seats, and Keeley is harshly pulling you back to safety. You distantly hear Rebecca calling out for security as Higgins tries to guide everyone else to safety as well. You know you should snap out of it and help Keeley but your vision is blurring and your heart is racing and everything is suddenly too much that you’re stuck staring at the pair of eyes that seem to wish the absolute worst for you.

The man manages to grab your arm before you can fully pull away, digging his nails into your arm as you let out a small cry before Keeley rips his grasp off of you and fully tugging you away. She pulls you to face her, shoving her in front of you when it was clear that you were the man’s target and you see security rushing past you as second later as you’re pulled away from the stadium and down the hall.

Rebecca is rushing to get medics and Keeley is trying to ask you if you’re okay but you can’t think straight. You keep glancing over your shoulder in fear that somehow the man will be there, but of course he isn’t and before you know it you’re being tucked away into a room and sat on a bench where Rebecca returns with some of Richmond’s medics.

Keeley stays there, holding your hand tightly as the medic checks you over. You squeeze her hand without even realizing it, your heart still pounding madly against your chest as the medic cleans the scratches the man had managed to dig into your arm and place a bandage over them. She confirms that you have a very mild concussion from the plastic water bottle hitting your head and she wants you to rest in the room for a bit before heading home, and only if you have someone to drive you home.

Luckily, Keeley is able to assure that you do when you find yourself unable to speak, and then the medic is leaving with one final goodbye and a nod Rebecca’s way.

“Babe,” Keeley calls softly, “are you–”

“Where is she?” A sudden voice booms and you react to something for the first time since everything had happened, back straightening as your eyes fall towards the door in alert. “Oi, where is Y/N? Y/N–”

Whatever Jamie had been about to say promptly falls shut the second he reaches the door and his eyes catch yours. His face falls when he sees you, the wild panic in his eyes morphing to concern when he takes you in and before you realize it you’re jumping off the bench and he’s wrapping his arms around you before you can even take one step.

You wrap your arms around him tightly, burying your head into the crook of his neck as a small sob leaves your lips. Jamie presses a hand to the back of your head in response, worried eyes flickering over to Keeley who’s offering him a small smile and a hand to your back before she steps out with Rebecca, the two of them giving you some privacy.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to get ‘ere,” Jamie rambles the second he’s sure you’re alone. He pulls back, moving to cup your cheeks as his eyes traces your injuries, frowning deeply when he sees the bruise that’s welling on your forehead. “We were already leaving the pitch when it happened and when I tried to turn around, I couldn’t get through. I tried to get to you as soon as possible, love. Are… what happened?”

It’s like everything finally catches up to you. The tears welling in your eyes finally fall as you clutch onto him tightly, relying on his presence heavily, shaking your head. “I dunno,” you mumble. “One second I’m cheering for your win and then a water bottle is being thrown at my head. Jamie, he was so angry… the man who hit me and then he was trying to get to me and I froze… I… I was so scared.”

Using his thumb to brush away your tears, Jamie shakes his head, shushing you gently. “I’m so sorry, love. I should’ve been there.”

You just shake your head; “you couldn’t have known. Keeley helped get me away and Rebecca got security as soon as possible.”

“Then I owe them the whole world for keeping you safe for me,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, careful not to put pressure on your injury. “And I’ll personally make sure that that man is never allowed to a single match ever again. And worse.”

Nodding, you reach up and grab his hands in your hand, leaning against him. “I couldn’t think properly until I saw you,” you explain, registering that you hadn’t really listened to the medic when she was trying to help you. And you hadn’t thanked Rebecca or Keeley yet, which you would need to. “I think I was in shock.”

“Of course ya were,” Jamie agrees. “What ya went through… ya never should have had to. I’m so sorry that it even happened in the first place.”

You just shake your head, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I think the medic said I only had a mild concussion. And that you need to drive me home.”

“Done,” Jamie agrees with ease, “you practically already live with me. Will ya be okay takin’ the bus back home with the boys? I don’t really want ya to be alone.”

You nod with ease. “I want to be with you,” you assure, meeting his gaze. “Rebecca’s private jet is lovely but I need you.”

“Then you’ve got me,” Jamie promises, pulling you in for a hug once more, holding you tightly as if afraid you’d disappear from his fingers. “Always.”

#ted lasso #ted lasso x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #phil dunster

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plasticferal · 4 months

Text

chocolate part two | chris sturniolo.

authors note: part one here. 3k short and sweet. as requested. so sorry it's nothing crazy! not really proof read, i'm half asleep.

warnings: 18+ fem!reader, daddy!kink, unprotected sex (whoops), creampie, light choking, sexual scenes, explicit language, reader discretion is strongly advised.

“my turn.”

before you even have a chance to please him, your face is stopped by chris’s large hand grabbing your jaw, a signature move from him tonight. he forces you to look up at him again and you audibly groan, getting annoyed by being interrupted and losing momentum.

“think you can handle it?” he tests. you give him lustful, yet threatening eyes. you’re sure your pupils are as dilated as his, the black part of his bright blue eyes daring you with a long, intense stare.

“i think the question here is can you handle it?” your response is daring.

“i know i can, sweetheart.” chris adjusts his hips with a rolling motion, getting more comfortable in the lounge.

in any other situation, his words would make you grimace. laugh even, or want to hit him. when he’s locking his eyes with you, so intensely.

the way his thumbs are pressing into your dimples, it makes you want to put on a show for him. he’s already looking at you like he wants to devour you again and it makes you see him in a different light.

chris snaps you out of your thoughts when he guides your face back down, and you give a greedy smile when you finally get to show him that you can give as well as you take.

you hook your fingers over the waistband of his sweats, grabbing his boxers as well, that are damp and stained from the mess you’ve already made, as well as a small patch of his precum leaking through.

you’re eager to see his cock.

you’re shocked he’s been so tame thus far, with the amount of blood he has rushing to his throbbing member, and the drawn out torture he’s had to endure while not being touched. it makes you feel like he’s prioritized your pleasure, and he has.

the moment you pull his clothes down in one foul swoop, chris sucks air through his teeth, finally letting his dick spring free. he naturally takes the base in his grip, giving himself a slow, much needed stroke.

you suck your cheeks a few times to accumulate enough saliva in your mouth before tightening your lips to spit onto his tip. you let the strand of salvia drop slowly, controlling the fall.

he’s watching through hooded eyes, and you just know they’re burning him with the way he’s refusing to blink, as to not miss a single move you make. you look up through your eyelashes as the wetness finally falls onto his head, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

he’s perfect. there’s no curve in his dick, he’s just thick and wide. he’s long too, and freshly shaven. which shouldn’t shock you, but does. the smell of his sweat is sickeningly mouth-watering.

you readily sink your mouth onto him, your lips caressing his delicate skin as you feel his base glide down your throat, his own fingers still wrapped around himself to keep his cock steady for you.

he releases his hands when your mouth engulfs him fully, and even you’re taken aback. you gag slightly, making your eyes water, and chris groans with rapture. you lift your head to suck upwards before messily pushing your head back down onto him, repeating the movement with small moans and digging into his thighs with your nails.

"make daddy cum with just your mouth" his voice is low, and quiet. direct enough, but slightly under his breath.

you’re trying to do exactly as he says. a switch in watching to prove yourself to him, but you’re sure again it’s just the chocolate, even if you are just using that as an excuse, along with the aftermath of your still throbbing clit.

he’s high on adrenaline. that kind of ego boost that hits differently now. he's just so full of himself. he is toward you on a regular basis, but now it’s to your benefit. you are listening to his demands though.

he knows he's hot. you hate him for it. you moan again, gagging as he bucks his hips upwards. you raise your hand to stroke him, even if just to stimulate him more, to support your mouth movements. he swats your hand away.

"no. no hands. only that pretty mouth of yours."

you hate yourself even more for obeying.

his hips rhythmically grind upward in the most minuscule rolling motion, and it’s your sign that he’s enjoying it. his mouth hangs open slightly, showing a glimpse of his perfect top row of teeth. chris lifts both his hands and tucks them behind his head, interlocking his fingers and resting the back of his head on his open palms.

you kiss his tip, sticking your tongue out to tease him. you’re laying kitten-like licks on his weeping head before taking him again. he fucks your throat now that you know the rules, and you’re a mess. you’re sure you’re leaving nail marks in his skin, and he’s leaving a bruise in the back of your throat. his hips are thrusting into your mouth harder and harder.

“ngh, ugh, fuck, fuuuuuck” he moans his words, a husk in his tone as he throws his head back and shuts his eyes.

you’re sloppily trying to keep his cock in your mouth as you rise and fall onto him, and it slaps your face occasionally as you have no grip. you’re certain he’s enjoying the struggle. you suck his tip harshly, and it makes him wince. humming a light laugh, you keep sucking and choking on his cock.

you feel chris grab your head and pull you up impatiently, making you pant heavily and wipe your mouth.

“now i’m gonna fuck you, yeah?” chris says, but it’s not a question, it’s a statement. you want to utter the words “finally” but bite your tongue.

you’re eye to eye, and chris lazily presses a kiss to your lips in a daze. you give an intemperate smile against his mouth, and he mirrors the look on your face, like this is the peak of your thrill for the night. what you both want, what that cursed chocolate has made you need.

chris manhandles you by grabbing your ribcage on either side, lifting you onto him then flipping you over so you’re face down. it’s a hot, sweaty, desperate mess of intertwined limbs.

he has you bent over the couch cushion like a rag doll. thighs jerked around his waist, your tits pressing against the plush chenille while his dick slides between your walls. your nails scratch into the upholstery.

”all ready for me” chris hisses in your ear, fat tip pressing against your sopping pussy, and it’s making you weaker by the second.

it hasn’t even crossed your mind that you’re not using protection, at this point you’re so sore and deprived that you don’t care. not in the slightest. you just know you need him to fuck you until you both snap back to reality.

“chri- fuck, daddy. please, i need it.” you whine, feeling him slap his cock up through your folds.

chris’s chest presses to your back as he grabs at your hip, squeezing hard, aligning himself properly. you exhale as chris’s face presses to yours from over your shoulder, his beard stubble tickling your neck and ears. he bites at your earlobe, making you squirm. his hand slaps your ass hard as he asks the question you wish he’d just act on.

“you are ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, a rasp in his tone.

“yes. yes i’m ready,” you plea.

“just don’t be an idiot and make sure you pull out.” your tone is snarky as you say it in a breathless way.

“yeah, ‘cause that’ll be the biggest mistake tonight” he’s sarcastic, but his implementation makes you seethe.

he’s slowly stretching your hole out to be obnoxious and distract you from his bitter words before you can respond, and you both gasp as his girth rubs through you, sending a jolt of pleasure through your entire core and body.

“so fuckin’ tight.” chris’s words are so filthy, making you uncontrollably clench around his cock. your cunt sucks him in even deeper and yet pushes him out at the same time. he grunts in response.

“fucking do that again and ‘m cumming inside you.” his hand pulls your forehead so you’re looking at him, the mere size of his cock making water pool in your lash line.

his slow, taunting thrusts leave your mind blank. your eyes shut as you feel every pure, fiery sense run through you.

being with chris skin to skin like this as he fucks you from behind is undeniably euphoric. it’s like hearing your favorite song for the first time, blasting it through your car speakers while driving over the limit down a highway with the windows down, taking every twist and turn with no fear but ultimately knowing if you don’t slow down, you’ll crash. chris is the dangerous road and you’re the sucker taking a ride on it.

“c-chris, auh fuck,- can’t” the fact you’re even able to spit out any words at all surprises you both, yet only makes the bastard smirk.

how you haven’t woken anyone else up is also a threat waiting around the corner. or they are awake, are hearing what's happening, and refuse to check.

so, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip to resist the urge to speak, despite a moan slipping from your lips as his hips begin to slap into your ass. many moans erupt as he pushes down on your back, thrusting your hips up even higher he hits your sweet spot perfectly.

“such a fucking shame you hate me, huh? i could make you feel this good every night” he grazes his teeth over the curve of your shoulder, making you throw your head back.

you know he’s enjoying the taunts far too much, but his heavy balls slapping against your clit truly blur out any scoffs you almost reside to. instead, replaced by dirty gasps and whimpers as you force your breath to stop, stifling moans that almost slip from your drool kissed lips.

your struggling reaction is an answer enough for chris.

the words disappear in your mind anyway before they even set in, the feeling of his tip thrusting right into your g-spot triggers your electric laced climax. cunt walls quivering around his dick, balls deep in your squelching pussy. the sounds are so satisfying, an homage to the tests you’ve put each other through.

“p-pull out” you try to manage with a dizzy and corrupted head barely doing anything to genuinely protest. it just feels so good, and your stomach cramps with a twang of pain and pleasure.

in an instant, he pries your legs from his waist and pushes your hips down onto the couch, prone boning you from the back as you feel him grab your neck in a wrap around motion, squeezing your jaw and speaking against the arch of your ear.

“don’t tell me what to do.” his words almost register right before he slams to the hilt once more, his tip twitching against your cervix, a deep groan leaving his throat as his cum leaked down your clenching cunt.

“f-fuck you, chris.” you pant. feeling him collapse gently on top of you, peeling your sweat brimmed hair from your neck he lays kisses on your back, down your spine, and little dip of your hip where his finger prints burn into your skin.

“you are hot when you're mad, y/n.” you gasp as he kneels behind you, swiping two fingers through your gaping entrance to clean you up.

chris grabs a blanket that you’re certain he’ll discard later to wipe everything clean, it being the closest thing in a desperate time calls for desperate measures situation. you roll over from your position, but simply turning over in one spot feels more laborious than it should.

“so you purposely piss me off?” you wipe your forehead, staring at the ceiling and he chuckles, scooting up next to you.

“i just like how you react to me.”

if it wasn’t yourself experiencing it, you’d never believe it. you stare at the white plaster above you and become overly aware that the effects of the stimulant are dwindling. from the moment he rolled off your body and you let his cum seep out of your throbbing, heavy feeling pussy.

in the blink of an eye you’re overwhelmed by a mix of feeling guilty and fulfilled.

“it’s worn off, hasn’t it?” you see chris turn to look at you from your peripheral vision.

there’s a part of you that is almost certain it wore off about ten minutes ago, and that it was the darkest part of your hidden desires begging for him instead. not the stupid stimulate you both accidentally consumed. you can never admit that. you can never admit to how you feel in this moment ever.

“i think so.” your chest is still rising and falling manically, and you’re trying not to embarrass yourself with the short restricted breaths you’re taking to not appear disheveled.

“y/n, look at me.” he says. you turn to look back at him. his big blue dopey eyes are slightly red now, and evidently tired.

“are you okay? i didn’t over-do it, did i?” he draws his eyebrows together with concern, and you sit up slightly to see him better, looking down at him and swing a leg over his torso to bring him closer.

“you didn’t. honestly,” you reassure with the start of your sentence.

“i’m just wondering how long it’ll take for us to go back to hating each other” you brush a hair from chris’s face, and his hand rests over your knee, pulling you onto him more with a sleepy smile.

“oh i never stopped, sweetheart” his croaky voice jokes, and you slap his chest.

his smile fades slowly, and you raise an eyebrow, worried about his next words.

“what’s wrong, chris?” you ask. he pauses for a moment, pulling his bottom lip under this teeth momentarily.

“i’m actually scared that i won’t be able to go back to that.” he’s speaking from the heart.

“back to?” you lure more from him. it’ll drive you insane if he doesn’t explicitly express himself, and you don’t like it, how serious he is as you lay half naked, smelling of sex.

“the hatred. the bickering and the snarky comments. before i saw you naked. kissed your lips. tasted you on my tongue” he trails off, getting lost in his own thoughts.

“i mean if you want to be one hundred percent sure, we could dig some of that chocolate out from the trash. go for round two?” you shrug lightheartedly, too scared to be serious with him.

he exhales a laugh through his nostrils, against his own will.

“i’m usually the one making jokes like that” he observes, giving you a slightly proud look. acknowledging that you’re beating him at his own game.

“and i’m usually the one with some self-control” your tone is slightly aligned more with his switch of mood.

“yeah well you didn’t really have a choice, love” chris is calm, stretching his neck by rolling it side to side, and you have the temptation to just attack his neck in kisses. even with no aphrodisiac.

you’re focused on the little veins pressing up into his smooth, pale skin. the light curls in the back of his hair closer to his neck that’s still laced with sweat.

“i did have a choice.” you sound annoyed initially, moreso at his statement that you don’t deem to be true at all. you watch as chris’s face drop, like he’s just fucked up.

frankly, he did. he fucked up from he second he said he’s hungry.

you can almost hear him swallow.

“i chose you.” you say.

“as convenient as you were in the moment, i still made a choice, chrissy.” the name just slips out at this point, your emotions getting the best of you in a vulnerable state.

“can we also choose to drop the name chrissy?” he twists his face in a silly way, one that doesn’t match the severity of what you just shared with him.

“you asked for it!” you whisper yell, grabbing his upper arm and squeezing it with annoyance.

“not true. i got what i asked for, and more” he’s smug at the thought.

“you are so annoying.” you drop onto his chest, and he wraps an arm around you securely. He’s silent again.

“i know.” he says in a monotone under his breath.

maybe he’s not ready to hear it, he wants to ignore it, probably. you’re okay with that. or at least have to be. you have to be okay with the fact he’ll possibly resent you in the morning. never speak to you again, not even to mess with you.

your train of thought is slowly rocking your mind to rest, eyes and body feeling so heavy. you begin to flutter them open and shut until you eventually give in and keep them closed. you feel chris’s body shift beneath you but you can’t move from exhaustion.

he swoops his arms behind your knees, lifting you with him as he stands. he cradles you bridal style, and your head is peaceful against his shoulder. your arms tuck into your chest and you feel so small in his embrace. you imagine the walk he’s talking in your mind as he carries you through the house.

it’s weird, and kind of funny to know how shameless he is about doing it with no pants on. but it’s chris. he’s shameless about most things.

you finally feel your body rest on what you can only guess is his bed. it smells like his body wash. probably something stupid like a three in one. your thoughts about him sour your brain and contrast his next, kind, action.

chris covers you with a blanket. to him, you appear asleep. physically you are. mentally you're wide awake. awake and aware enough to hear his next words.

“i chose you, too. i always will, even if you hate me again in the morning.” he presses a kiss to your temple, and drops onto the mattress beside you. your faint smile is hidden in the pillow.

maybe he’s not as bitter as you paint him out to be. he’s got a sweet side, it just took an accident to realize it.

tag list: @luverboychris @floofparker @fake-sturniolos @teampurpleforlife @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @sturns333 @tillies33ssss @albgv @sturniolowhore

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo x you

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keegansshark · 5 months

Text

Pockets of Domesticity

Johnny who’s happiest when he gets back from an assignment and is finally able to see his love again.

No matter how many times he tries to convince you otherwise, you feel guilty when ‘all’ he comes home from a deployment to is you. You think he deserves more, a special night in or a nice dinner, perhaps something extravagant after everything he’s been through.

In reality, this is complete bliss. The only thing he’s thought about the whole time he was in the field is you and the pockets of domesticity you provide.

When Johnny walks through the door, he's aching and stiff and beat up and exhausted, yes, but he hears the patter of your socks against the hardwood and you show up in front of him wearing his hoodie and looking up at him with the brightest smile he’s ever seen. His calloused hands cup your face gently as he peppers kisses all over, baby blue hues welling up with tears because he’s home, he’s safe, and he has his sweetheart in his arms again.

Johnny smiles warmly as you sit in his lap on the couch, studying your features intently as you talk about everything you’ve done while he’s been away. The way your eyes light up when you tell him you finally finished the puzzle you two were working on and how you built a shelf to keep his sketchbooks organized. He lets out a laugh, deep and genuine, when you feel your face get warm and sheepishly tell him sorry for getting so excited over something so ‘mundane’.

Johnny who is adamant to tell you how you being happy is what makes him happy, so please don’t ever apologize for something like that again. He can’t keep his hands off of you as the two of you make your way upstairs, thick biceps holding you against him and nearly making you fall over from how clingy he is.

Johnny keeps his arms around your waist as the two of you shower together, the warm water gladly welcomed against his aching muscles. He reluctantly loosens his hold after you tilt your head at him and remind him there’s a point to being in the shower. He sighs contentedly as you pay extra attention to his hair, massaging the shampoo through the roots and tracing your nails over his scalp. He makes sure to remind you how much he loves you as he presses his forehead against yours, taking turns with the soap to help wash each other.

Johnny adores it when you towel him off, wrapping it around his waist as he sits on the edge of the bathtub. He looks up at you with genuine devotion as you dry his hair, finally using this opportunity to shave the mohawk that became overgrown during his deployment. He pretends to fight back when you tell him you want to keep the beard this scruffy, mostly because he thinks you look cute when you pout. He gives in once he remembers your smile is even cuter.

Johnny who dresses you in his clothes to sleep in because he thinks they look better on you than they do on him. He swears his heart beats faster the second you’re in front of him wearing his shirt and a pair of old sweats. He holds you against him while you lay in bed together, his legs entangled with yours and using his bicep as a makeshift pillow for you. Johnny looks down at you as you peacefully sleep in his arms and he remembers that this is what he fights for.

Johnny who loves the love you’ve given him. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

#he's so boyfriend... dare i say husband #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #soap cod #soap call of duty #johnny soap mactavish fluff #soap mactavish fluff #john soap mactavish fluff #shark writes #soap mactavish <3

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tonixe · 1 year

Text

♱♱♱ "Beginning and the end" ♱♱♱

n.o.t.e.s - MUZAN LOOKS SO GOOD WHEN HE'S DERANGED, LIKE SLUT ME OUT!??!

w.a.r.n - smut, p in the v, creampie, raw dogging, unprotected intercourse.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - Muzan x fem!reader

w.c. - 1.18k

The rain droplets over the roof. A storm was occurring; you sat beside Muzan in his sickly form. Dipping down a small towel in cold water and putting it on his forehead as you sat near him.

You were his fiancé to be soon married by him, but it couldn't be due to the state of his body. Your eyes couldn't help but produce tears from your eye, dripping down to your lap, as you stared at his miserable form. Feeling a cold hand brushing your cheek, "I hate it when you cry" Muzan muttered, you held his hand to your cheek as you tried to smile, but your lips faltered.

"I-i know," you whispered, looking at him, tears threatening to fall out, as you breathed in. "Just why do they have to be so cruel" your lips trembled, "Just why" you cried.

You took Muzan's hand off your cheek and gently placed it near the sides of his body. You looked at his him again, he was soon passed out, before you looked at the door opening up to one of the doctors assigned to Muzan.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. L/N," he said to you slightly bowing down to you, as you got up dusting off your kimono, you tilted your head at him and walked out of the room. Stepping down on the tatami floor, going outside, as the feeling of the cold dropping rain on your skin, staining your kimono, as you stepped backward underneath the roof.

Sitting down on the leveled floor, you back leaned on the pillar as you stared at the abyss of the sky. Your eyes soon closed as you slipped into slumber.

Before heard a loud thud on the ground, fully waking you as you ran almost tripping on the wet floor, as you quickly opened the door to Muzan's room, looking at him covered in blood standing for what you thought was the first time, his hand holding a butcher knife to the doctor head, that laid there collecting a pool of blood.

"M-muzan, what did you do" you whispered, covering your mouth in horror.

His mouth was still stained with a bright blue pigment on his lips, as he stood his ground without any help or distance at all. His pupil was formed like a cat and the color of crimson.

You stood there in silence before he dashed straight out you covering your mouth, as your eyes only stare at him with fear. You didn't know who he was anymore.

He looked at you straight through the eyes, your heavy breathing, making your heart pump faster. You looked at his nail that grew sharper than any sword you have seen before.

He soon took his hands off your mouth, cupping your cheeks, while tears threatened to slip out of your eyes, as you stared at him. Someone that once your lover, turns into a deranged animal right in front of you. You opened your mouth to say his name but were soon entrapped into a kiss with him.

Your pupils shake, from the sudden intimacy. Before closing your eyes leaning into the kiss.

Before he withdrew from our lips, staring into your own, as you looked at him bewildered by his appearance, "My precious, Y/N" He brushes your cheek, and his fingers brushed your lips.

"I'm no longer someone weak, not anymore" he whispered to you.

"M-muzan....you just murdered someone" You took his hand away from your face, as you backed away from his figure.

"Y/N, he was just a lowly doctor, who could do nothing but to bickered and give me nonsense creations of his medicine" he exclaimed, extending his hand to you.

You backed away more when he took a step away, your body melting with fear. "You're not someone who I used to love, your monster" you screamed out before dashing towards the door, before you could, muzan was right there.

His body leaning towards you, "Y/N, don't be like that" he spat, as he soon got annoyed by how you were acting.

"Get away from me" you lashed out.

You were too slow for a man not to catch up with you with his newfound abilities. He grabbed you, hid nails digging into you, as you winced in pain. "There is nothing to be afraid of," he said, trying to comfort you but you flinched away from his touch.

His eyebrows twitched, as he soon threw you down to the floor, and you yelped in pain.

You crawled away from him before getting pulled, his shadow creeping into yours. He kneels towards you. Before he looked at your figure on the ground as pieces of your kimono were off of your body, exposing your undergarments, "Muzan, please" you cried.

"Be gentle" you said.

His nails cut the thin pieces of fabric off your body, leaving your body bare. His eyes are hungrily staring at your naked body.

"Muzan, please promise me...if we do this, you'll stay with me " you begged, your lips trembling, you clasped his hand with your yours.

"From the beginning and end, my dear" he answered you with a kiss. He gently pried your legs open, his body between yours.

You closed your eyes, feeling his member sinking into your wall. As you registered the pain. You winced. His pace picked up, as he trusted you.

Every time he dragged himself out of you, plunging himself into you, you moaned in pain. Covering your hands to your eyes. His tempo frantic plunging into you, your body jolting from the tempo.

The pain simmering into pleasure, as he slides into you. As he held it down to your waist gripping it, his nail digging into drawing out blood.

"Shit" he groaned, as his animalistic thrust goes into you, pounding right into you. Your arms holding onto him, as he bit your collarbone, littering your body with love bites, the taste of blood going into his senses.

As his animalistic urges grew.

He dragged himself in and out of you repeatedly his pelvis brushed onto your own, and you moaned out. You felt a warm feeling growing in you, as you felt the core snap. A blow of heat washing through your body.

Your juices coating his dick, his thrust going in faster into you. Your breast jolts in the temp, bouncing with him.

The simple pleasure of making you hooked, feeling himself plunging himself into you. The room makes your body feel hot. You cocked your head away, releasing your arm from the grip.

His pace soon slowed down, and as his thrusts gets sloppier. His nail in denying further into your skin. Soon pouring himself into you, coating your walls white.

He groaned, his body leaning forward. Bruising your hip even more. You looked at his form through the tears on your thick lashes.

You're heavily breathing being heard, as you covered your sweating face.

Before he pulled out of your tired figure, you stare at him with sleepy eyes, "You did well, Y/N" he said, brushing the excess hair off of your forehead.

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ahhhwomen · 3 months

Text

Eternal Slumber.

Vampire Empire

Part 5

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is kinda just a filler chapter while I work on requests (if anyone else have any feel free to drop by my inbox), so it may be a little while until part 6, that being said, enjoy lovelies!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), death, suicidal ideation Minors DNI 18+

Summary: They say a taste of death can change a person forever. However, they never take into consideration, that maybe, that’s the only thing coating your tongue on a regular basis.

Word Count: 2k

Taglist

There are tiny spikes of ice against the metal, almost like a layer of fuzz over the orange rust. It creeps into every crevice, the metal bars groan and creak, and the water, frozen inside some of the weaker spots, bursts and tears apart the material.

The cold was affecting everything.

You stare at the metal hook responsible for keeping you in place. The concrete around it is dented and smoldering. With a microscope, it would look like a mountain falling apart. Stone by stone.

It wouldn’t take much force; you ponder if you could release it with just a weak tug. You probably could, but you don’t bother.

Your body sinks lower, and the concrete scratches against your stomach. Red welts burn in displeasure as the friction reawakens the former punishment. It’s as if the weight of your body has doubled overnight, you can’t keep yourself up.

It’s hard to breathe.

It’s hard to stay awake…

The cold was affecting everything.

Including you.

You glance out the window with meager eyes. The trees pass by faster than you can keep track. Your head pounds, and you want to rest.

Just for a moment-

A gruff voice disturbs your peace for the hundredth time.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

You had been lying in your enclosure all day, preserving your movements for only necessary situations. You wanted to dream it all away, but you knew you shouldn’t.

With both your nose a fresh pink and fingertips a bleak blue there wasn’t much to do other than to study your surroundings.

Your eyes glide over the same small details you have stared at for years, though there was a beauty to your misery, every corner and prickle of this place glittered against the slim beam of light from the hallway. The golden gleam reflected like sunlight against the ice, however, where you lay chained and tense under your red lamp, it felt more like a mockery.

With a sigh, you looked over to the empty shackles, frozen to the ground opposite of you. Your muscles burn as you grip the ground firmly and attempt to lift yourself up. Your arms shake in effort, your nails grinding against the pavement, but you can only manage to push upward for less than an inch.

Then a light thud echoes as you fall back down.

You’re so tired…

Your eyes slip closed for a second, there are a select few in the hallway that whine and growl, and you try to shift your focus onto them. Their hoarse voices screech against your eardrums, and you can’t help the grim expression as you listen to their cries…

There were more yesterday…

Of course, it was a given that this place took away some hope, but you know that isn’t the reason the numbers of distain more than halved overnight.

The rag over your lower half shifts away from you with every minuscule movement, it slides against your bottom, and slowly, the grime and dirt settled within the flimsy material slather itself against you as it leaps the final length and falls off.

It’s almost as if it knows you are too tired to move it back.

You are so sick of this place.

The cries are silenced as you hear the familiar thunder of shaking keys.

With a bitter glance to the other side of the room, you pity yourself; if you had any strength left, you would wrap the chains around your neck and hang yourself.

You huff in annoyance as the redhead shakes you vigorously yet again.

You can feel a swift, but gentle, slap on the back of your head. The redhead’s hand taps against you, her palm making quick contact with the greasy hair.

At your whining Wanda voices her opinion, “Don’t start with me, I told you not to fall asleep.” The powerful woman’s annoyed voice wraps around your lingering headache. Her calm tone was more like a booming against your forehead.

Shifting under the red leather, you whimper even more. The heating blasting towards you feels strange. Hot air sifts around you, almost like a tunnel of wind directed solely at your slumped frame. A noise, a mix of a hoarse cough and a weak cry, can be heard as Wanda shifts her own heat toward you too.

Realizing you won’t back down on your bitching, Wanda retrieves her hand with a roll of her eyes and refocuses on the road in front of her.

Trees and livestock pass by in a blur, there are tiny speckles of muck and dirt against the expensive windshield. Snow sits snug in the more stubborn corner of the window, small flacks forming a pile unmovable by the front wind.

Goosebumps prickle Wanda’s skin, the bite of winter making its entrance this early must really do a number on places like the shithole you´re from.

The car lifts for a moment as one of the bumps rustles the lambo, you shrink in on yourself, your pale skin retreating to hide under red leather. The redhead’s foot pushes downward harder, the exhilarator vrooming as she frowns.

Wanda doesn't even know what possessed her to take you, but if she left you there, you would surely be dead by the end of the day.

Natasha was always far better at understanding humans, however, given the little bond you two have, she is unsure how the other redhead will react to your current state. She glances at you in her peripheral, your lips are tinged blue, same with your fingertips and toes.

You don’t even shiver, and Wanda passes another stop sign with no regard. Shivering is a good thing; it means your body is aware you are cold. No shivering is bad, like really fucking bad.

Her hands tighten against the steering wheel, the skin between her rings and knuckles, clamp and squeeze in an irritating pinch.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that if you aren’t yet hypothermic, it won’t be long until you are.

With a sigh, Wanda reaches over to settle the jacket more tightly around your frame.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the house, Wanda makes it in seven.

Natasha frowns, and the smell of burned vegetables invades her senses. With an irritated scrunch of her nose, the redhead goes to trash yet another pot of attempted soup.

The goo of estranged ingredients jiggles unsettlingly at the top of the trashcan as Natasha pours the substance out. The ring on her left pointer clinks against the pot as she places it back on the stove.

She can never get it right.

With a huff, the redhead pulls out her cell phone, her hand wraps around the silver piece and she goes to find her messages. Her thumb makes quick work of checking on Wanda yet again, the pad of her finger taps the screen rapidly, the remains of her failure smudges against the glass, and Natasha cringes.

Her unread reply to Wanda’s previous questions remains the same, wiping her hands and phone off with the kitchen rag, the redhead walks over to her preferred room of leisure.

The clacking of her heels hitting the flooring is dampened as she steps onto the carpeted part of their little den.

A soft glow illuminates the living room, and the tenseness of her shoulders lessens as she lets the orange hue wash over her.

Plopping herself on the green couch she reaches over to her purse, the case reports she needed Wanda’s thoughts on lying on the very top. The paper brushes against her fingers, the white sheets threatening to tear as Natasha's nimble fingers search through the mess lower down.

She is just about to read them over again, when the familiar rumble of her wife’s car, pulls into their parking lot.

Shifting the gear stick, Wanda finally manages to park, your shuffling and whining had certainly not been helping. She can see her wife waiting for her by their door, but Wanda knows she is going to have to wait a moment longer.

You sit beside Wanda, your body wringing and shifting, you feel hot, and sweat rolls down your forehead.

The black belt meant to secure you through the drive feels more like a restraint as you push your shoulders against it. Bone threatens to pop out of the socket as the strong treads hold your weight back with ease, the pressure against your bruised body does little to deter you.

Wanda tusks, “Stop that.” Her hand reaches over to you and unfastens the belt, “Calm down baby, we are already here.”

Wanda pauses.

She scrunches her eyes, her left hand tightening the hold against the steering wheel.

Wanda doesn’t do nicknames, or sweet ones anyways, not unless it’s her wife.

Yet, the nickname had slipped without a second thought.

She has little time to think about it however, the sound of weak banging calls out to her, the redhead’s attention shifts and she groans in annoyance as you have now moved on to trying your luck against the metal door.

Your fingers run along the interior of the door, the pounding in your head makes it hard to see, and everything blends together in a mess of colors and sounds. You try to feel your way to the handle, but only expensive patterning can be felt as you try gripping the handle.

“You can never make it easy for me, can you kitten?” The redhead mumbles to herself.

The black tinted windows stop anyone from seeing what is happening inside Wanda’s car, but the taller woman can see Natasha shifting uneasily at how slow her usually effective wife is being.

With a sigh, Wanda rolls up the sleeves of her blouse, the silken material gliding and scrunching at the crease of her elbow.

In an attempt to settle you, if only for a moment, Wanda presses her right hand flatly against your chest. With a controlling movement, she pushes up and down to signify a breathing cycle more suitable than your erratic one.

She holds her unoccupied hand against your thigh, rubbing it up and down gently. The friction does nothing but alarm Wanda further.

Knowing she can’t turn around now, Wanda steps out of the car, your scent leaking out into the chilly wind outside their estate.

The shift in Natasha’s behavior is one not entirely surprising yet distinctively fascinating as the smell of your cold blood clings to the inside of her nose.

The taller woman moves to your side of the car; she secures you tightly in her arms. You try your best to squirm out of her hold, your hands clawing against Wanda’s covered biceps, but with how tired you are it’s little use.

You slump into the redhead’s body. Her leather jacket forces you even deeper into the scary woman’s embrace.

Realizing there is no winning this, you finally fall into the deep exhaustion that lies beneath your skin.

Natasha stands as still as a statue. Every muscle within her expands and contracts, but she can’t move.

Until she can.

At a young age she was taught that every choice one makes has consequences, every decision she has ever seen through in her life has been planned to the very tee before any move was made. She never “vamped out”, she never made a mistake, and every notion of her life was just how she planned for it to be.

Why, because Natasha knows restraint.

Your limp body lies seemingly lifelessly in Wanda’s hands.

Natasha doesn’t think.

The weight of your slim body is removed from Wanda faster than even she can comprehend, her leather jacket that was lying close to her chest, just as you were, is now gone, just like you. For a reason she cannot explain, anger bubbles beneath the exterior of the older woman as she watches Natasha carry you to the house.

With a speed unchallengeable Wanda stands just behind her wife. Her hands wringing the material in front of her in a firm grip, the black fabric is soft inside her clutch.

Holding her back by her jacket Wanda questions her wife, “What are you doing?” her anger lingers within her tone.

Enough so that any other day Natasha would stop dead in her tracks, today, however, was not one of those days.

The thick fabric of Natasha’s suit slips from nimble fingers as Natasha rips herself away from the redhead. With a blank face, she turns toward her wife, two prominent canines peeking out between soft lips.

“She is freezing to death.”

Taglist:

@thinking1bee

@tobiaslut

@esmeseasle

@skittlebum

@tia-thesimp

@maximilfsworld

@leenasayeed

@scarlethexelove

@itsalwaysskorpioszn

@observeowl

@tekanparadiae

@alexawynters

@adelareys

@anqyuicka

@ichala

@thalia-is-not-ok

@lovelyy-moonlight

@wandamaximoff-simp

@opossumking03

@confidant-thoughts

@delivery-bird

@esouliie

@geydumbbetch

@dorabledewdroop

@mousetheorist

@herwagonempathkid

@mommysfavouritegirl

@auroraromaximoff

@roman0ffsheart

@morganna-la-faye

#wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #dark!wandanat #Vampire Empire

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oepionie · 1 year

Text

— "MY JOLLY SAILOR BOLD." tweels

💭masterlist | 💬ao3 link

SYNOPSIS: You meet two mysterious yet beautiful mermen around your age and you ask them to sing for you. They agree—though there's one condition....they want a kiss in return. A fair deal and you decide that nothing could possibly go wrong....right?

⊹ [ cw ] — suggestive, making out, lovesick/slightly yan-coded behavior, both of them pin for you, drowning, the tweels deserve a warning themselves, fighting, mild blood and injuries, mentions of murder, everyone here is morally grey◞

⊹ [ tags ] — gn! reader, on my siren eel agenda, flirty pirate mc, siren-eels are not to be messed with but mc is reckless, jade and floyd having an ariel moment but they're…a fucked up version of ariel, typical siren-behavior, floyd calls you pretty◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 3.3k+◞

WHAT AN ODD LITTLE pirate you were.

Raised by your mother, horrific twisted tales of the deep were practically bedtime stories for you. She was a former ship's captain and a seasoned sailor who had spent more than half of her life at sea.

Mother weaved tales of glorious bloody battles, of thrashing waves, and, most importantly, of dangerous creatures in the sea. Hatred and fear for these grotesque marine creatures have been indoctrinated in you since you were young. It was imbued to the very core of your being, hammered and nailed into your head.

Alas, it appears that you have entirely disregarded the cautions that were issued to you. Any capable pirate knew better than to invite merfolk around.

Especially if you were all alone on a ship.

This year, spring had arrived a little earlier than usual, but you didn't mind at all.

It was at an obscene hour of the night when you were aimlessly paddling your little rowboat over the waves.

Floating a few feet away from your ship, you were gazing out over the sea where the waters were flat and serene, blue as far as your vision would allow. It was a sight you've grown all too accustomed to seeing.

You've sailed a hundred expeditions down this route and you were well aware of the carnage and bloodshed that’s been wrought here in the name of piracy.

A majority of which you've taken part in as—Captain (Y/N).

Young as you were, despite your youth, you had ambition. Already having established yourself as a living legend—or, as some have dubbed you, a living nightmare.

Sailors—young and old—have perished in your name, ships have sunk at your command, and your sword has spilt the blood of hundreds. You had amassed a great fortune from wandering merchants, and fellow pirates alike, all of which were misfortunate enough to fall upon your path.

These were tales and legends from bygone eras; the golden age of piracy had long since passed. Nowadays, you just cruise the sea anyway you pleased.

Adventure seldom found you.

In the middle of reminiscing, you abruptly became aware of a shimmering brilliance beneath the murky sea.

Oh?

'Maybe it was a trick of the waves? Or was it the moonlight's illusion?' You ponder to yourself as you stand at the stern of the boat and look out into the dreary waters.

The entire ocean sleeps when the moon is full. In the middle of the night, no fish or creature would dare remain thus near a boat...so what could possibly be out there?

Peering down, you make eye contact with a pair of glowing yellow eyes, slitted into diamonds.

Startled, the unknown creature slips back into the darkness with scarcely a ripple to disrupt the waves enveloping all about them. You're hypnotized by their shimmering skin as they moved smoothly and elegantly past the icy surfs.

In those short seconds while staring into the pitch-black sea, your mind conjures only one word.

Mermaid.

STRANGE AND STRANGELY FASCINATING, it was. "It" being the obsessive infatuation the Leech twins had for you.

Since they were little, the two brothers have been watching you grow up on that ship, peeping at you behind rocks and tall clusters of brilliant coral.

Curiosity and an interest for humans drew them to you at first, so they thought nothing of it. However, later, as they grew older, that interest developed into something more.

One that made their hearts feel like it was going to burst, a blood-curdling carnage of red and pink spills gushing out in a splatter. With the mere mention of your name, their stomachs sink and turn. The hems of love along their hearts diving into obsession—both feelings closely akin.

Jade and Floyd haven't run upon anyone who was courageous enough to meet creatures like them. Though, they shouldn’t have expected anything less from a pirate like you with an astronomical desire for adventure.

As you waved down at them from the ocean's depths, both of them swiftly swam up to the surface, eager to meet you. Their hands were clamoring and their hearts were racing to a tune that sang praises for you.

"There you are." You grinned handsomely, cocking your head to the side. The flowing fabric of your blouse blew wildly in the fresh salty wind, exposing bits and pieces of your chest and neck for them to see. "Hello~"

Big love-tinted eyes peeked up at you, drinking in every feature, blemish, and scar on your flesh. Occasionally, your gazes would meet and they would quickly avert their stare—a deep blue hue creeping up their cheeks, almost as if they felt bashful around you.

Even then, you thought it would be more appropriate if you were the one who was acting timid.

Because, by the gods, their beauty was such a sight to behold above the waters. In all your years out at sea and land, you've seen no maiden nor man with such features.

Such captivating features.

Teal-haired, with keen, slitted eyes that were veiled with thick, drooping lashes. Cheeks colored with a pale touch of death.

They were breathtakingly beautiful.

There was an urge, a pull at your heart to dive down and join them—drowning yourself in their embrace. Though, you resisted, almost immediately recognizing the sorcery that pulled on your carnal desires.

Mother and weather-beaten sailors had warned you of this. This overwhelming want. This spellbinding stare. Yet as they both drift closer, the forewarned dangers vanishes from your thoughts like mist. You're now left with little more than a hazy consciousness as you see them approach your boat.

You are in grave danger yet you are not afraid. Fear does not grip you as you raise a leg over the side of the boat, swing it over the top of the wood, and then sit over the edge, never taking your eyes off the mermen in front of you.

Their entire body, apart from their eyes, were submerged in the water which made it hard to determine what their species were. Though you could occasionally catch the flicker of their tail slapping against the surface.

Speaking of their tail, it was an utterly resplendent sight! Even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to explain its magnificience as it gleamed brighter than any of the gold or jewels your sullied hands have ever taken hold of.

Its lack of a single color and its vivid, luminous nature fascinated you. Depending on how the moonlight hit it, it radiated a wide range of shades, from the deep tint of blueish teal to a rich shade of bluish jade.

"First time away from your home?" You rasp, waving a hand in the ocean, watching as small ripples curved against the water's surface, tides of the blue abyss travelling outwards.

Minutes pass, and yet you get no response.

"Hmm…you two don't talk much, do you?"

Jade and Floyd knew all about pirates, heard every story, whisper, and tale of the bloodthirsty monsters fueled by lust for gold and glory. And yet, they somehow struggle to picture you as the avaricious captain you were labelled as.

Still, while you appeared free and jovial, both of them could sense that you yearned for the thrill of danger, for life-threatening adventure, and for the many fantastic yet perilous things the ocean has to offer.

They exchanged glances, and at that instant, their plan was set in place.

Appearing docile, Floyd shook his head no, hovering near you and spinning around playfully.

"Awe, aren't you a cute little guy?" You cooed, running a rough hand along his back. The mer shivered, preening at your compliment.

"I really shouldn't be so close to you, though. Us pirates usually avoid approaching any merfolk since…they feel your methods, your ways of living are…" You trailed off, waving a hand in the air as you searched for the right words.

"Spooky?" Jade spoke out, swimming closer to you with a sinister glitter in his eyes. Breath hitching in your throat, you leaned towards him, an amused smirk slowly stretching across your cheeks. "Oh ho? You do talk."

"I can do much more than that." Jade purred, the tone of his voice sinking into a sonorous lull.

Well, you certainly can’t deny that something draws you to these two.

The predictability of your life on these seas has gotten boring to you. Gone were the days of bloodthirsty glory instead, it was always the same routine. Poring over the same ancient yellowed maps, loitering about the deck, and secluding yourself away in the vast sea.

You know your mother would be horrified by your actions, disgusted to see you mingling and, Poseidon forbid—flirting with these…mer.

Though you couldn't bring yourself to care. Speaking with these two was the closest thing to excitement you've felt in a long time.

"That's a pretty voice, love." The grin on your face lacks any of the warmth it had in the past few moments.

You tip your head back and giggle, raspy and brittle, "I heard a mer's song was, um, what did those bards call it? Ah, yes—A voice that is so alluring that men and women jump overboard in squadrons."

"Hauntingly beautiful, that's what the poets call you mermaids…" You hum, watching them slyly from your row boat while reclining back against the wood.

Gaze drifting down their body, your arms folded around your chest and your gaze turned half-lidded, lips curled up in a sensual, cat-like smirk. "…and I can see why. Haunted, I am."

Both of them go abruptly silent and you chuckle, staring at them through the wreaths of grey smoke that curled into fanciful hazy whirls from the foggy environment.

Floyd and Jade squirmed as they both felt the strong pull of their instincts, screaming at them to just drag you into the waters already.

Your conniving praises and silver tongue was starting to get to them. One more push and—

"Say…I've been meaning to ask," You murmur, and seem to take a moment to stare into their innermost souls.

"Can you sing for me…?"

Something snaps.

Floyd makes a low sound, somewhere between a trill and a growl, while Jade's eyes darken considerably. Beneath your piercing, ice-cold gaze, the twins felt their nerves prickle up like the flickering electric stings of a jellyfish.

This is a dangerous game you're playing.

"…You're quite the flatterer," Jade—ever so composed—is quick to snap out of it and smiles simply, tapping his talons along the wooden deck. "…I suppose I could grant you your wish. Though, there is to be an exchange for it."

"Hm? What's that, mate?" You looked up at your ship from your little boat, eyes darting to the windows of your chambers. "That ol' girl isn't new to the seas so there's quite a lot of stuff there. Maybe some of my treasures will catch your fancy—"

"No." Jade interrupts you, the shadow over his eyes returns. "…I do not wish for any treasure or gold. All I want is a kiss."

"A kiss?" You parroted, an eyebrow elevated and amused laughter peaking from your lips. "I have chests of golds and heaps of ruby-eyed jewelry; yet, all you want is a kiss, is that truly what you desire?"

"Yes."

"Nothin' more?"

Jade ponders and pauses for a while, before turning to face his brother. "Floyd, perhaps you want something as well?"

"I wanna kiss from pretty shrimpy too!" Floyd cooed, pursing his lips at you and imitating kissing sounds by hollowing his cheeks. His strong arms, taut with ripping muscle, are crossed over one other as it rests upon the rims of your boat.

"So, what do you say, Captain? Is it a deal~?" Floyd stretches out a hand expectantly.

And you take it.

"Deal." You smirk. "One kiss for each of you, in exchange for a song. Pirate's honor."

Not like the honor of a pirate was worth much anyways.

The melody lifting from Jade's lips was somewhat familiar to you, yet it was of a faraway nostalgia. You couldn’t remember where you'd last heard it, but it felt…right. He had a voice that was velvety smooth; thick, and deep like a dream.

"Upon one summer's morning / I carefully did stray," Jade sang, deep voice flowing off his lips in a sweet honeyed song—its melody lathering itself on your tongue. The saccharine taste of its imbricating rhythm obliterating every bit of skepticism you held towards them. "Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay."

"My heart is pierced by Cupid / I disdain all glittering gold." Jade continued, tucking the long dark strand of his hair behind his ear—leaning his head atop the rickety rims of the boat's mossy wood. "There is nothing can console me / but my jolly sailor bold."

"Come all you pretty fair mers, whoever you may be / Who love a jolly sailor that ploughs the raging sea." Floyd hums along, lovingly tracing a hand up your arm. His voice was a lovely little thing; echoing deep throughout the air.

As expected, they sang beautifully, hauntingly; with an accent in a tongue native only to the sea. There was a mystical lull weaved into their voices—fitting to their titles as bewitching creatures of the sea.

"My heart is pierced by Cupid /I disdain all glittering gold." Jade stares straight ahead, his sapphire gaze alluringly fixed on you seated in front of him.

"There is nothing can console me…" Pushing himself up the wooden edge of your boat, the eel lures you over and you followed. "…but my jolly sailor bold."

As Jade's song came to its finality, he leaned in close and pressed a swift warm kiss atop your agape mouth, such tenderness in his affections—and that of heavily masked lust. The eel parted from you, nipping at your bottom lip and watching with unbridled delight as a flicker of pink hue glazed over your diluted eyes.

"Come in the water, shrimpy~" Floyd cooed at you, claws reaching out to trace against the curve of the ships side. "We don't bite~"

Songbound, you leaned in towards the two and plunged in.

You don’t think about holding your breath.

The water was ice-cold and it strikes at you like a venomous bite. Yet before you could sink, two strong hands grasp at your waist, keeping you afloat in spite of the rough rocks of the sea. Jade was cradling you close to his chest, his hold firm and uncompromising while his tail encircled and bound your legs together.

"Hello, shrimpy~" Crooning, Floyd moved to rest his wet cheek against your tangled hair, talons pushing past the fringes of your damp torn-up shawl to rest against your thighs.

The slippery pads of his fingers trailed up to your torso; Travelling from your hips, past your corset, all the way up to your chest. The eel toyed with the drawstrings of your poet shirt before grasping it tight and yanking you forward.

"You're so pretty~" Floyd trailed his other hand up your neck, sharp talons feathering over your pulse dangerously. The eel craned his head down to meet you eye to eye.

"I could just eat you up." The silky strands of his lashes fluttered against his lidded gaze as he leaned in close, breath fanning across your burning cheeks. Floyd pulled you into a deep kiss, loving the way you groaned against his mouth.

Chuckling against your lips, Floyd tightened his hold on your neck—his claws almost breaking skin, "You like that, shrimpy?"

You return the kiss, dazedly smiling against his lips before pulling away, lungs in desperate need of oxygen.

Floyd could see drops of water resting atop your swollen lips, and as your tongue darts out to wipe them, a fiery desire ignites in the deep curves and crooks of his heart. It didn't take long before he was diving in once more, lips pressing against the side of your neck.

While his brother was fixated on marking your skin, Jade hugged you from behind—affectionately cuddling into your hair.

The eel ran his hand up your throat and grasps your jaw with webbed hands to tilt your head backwards. He presses his lips against yours, the thick muscle of his tongue prying your mouth open before it darted in.

Floyd glides away from your form after a few minutes, leaving your neck sufficiently bitten and marked. He grinned excitedly and took your hands in his webbed ones, whisking you away from Jade.

You couldn't help but notice how he was gently dragging you away from the rowboat. "Say, shrimpy~ You ever wondered what it's like to swim under the sea?"

A flash of clarity hits you, shattering the enchanting spell that both mermen had cast upon your heart. You sensed danger as both eels started to close in, grinning ominously which revealed their fangs—long and dripping with thirst.

It seems that your fun little swim was over.

"I can't say I've ever experienced the pleasures of drowning—" you muttered. "And I don't intend to do so very soon."

The texture of their tails may appear solid and rough, but when you kick your legs at Floyd's, you immediately discover how the skin is supple when touched.

The sharp end of your worn boots cut at his silky luminescent skin, dragging along the scales of his flesh and leaving a deep cut in its wake. A small trickle of blue blood spreads into the waters and the eel hisses, darting away from you.

You try to swim away, but something—or rather, someone—gets in your way.

"My my, leaving so soon, pearl?" Jade quips, grin all-to-sharp.

In hindsight, it was foolish to interact with two mermen you hardly knew, especially ones who were taut with sharp teeth and firm muscles. Any pirate with half a mind would know to turn the other way and flee if these two approached them.

The mer both advanced to surround you, a mysterious glimmer swimming behind the haze of their duo-colored eyes.

A startling epiphany rushes over you.

As slippery as they might be, there’s no hiding the lethal sheen of pink in their eyes—especially not from you, a pirate who’s spent a fair number of their days hauling the cold dead bodies of lovesick sailors away from their watery graves.

These two weren't your run-of-the-mill mermen, no. You have heard about them before—in tales and legends.

Mermaids. Vampires of the sea. Water nymphs. Naiads. Sirens.

Many names, yet they are all the same.

A sighting like this is not unusual. This species of mer is mostly found in the deepest, darkest sections of the ocean, and they only come up to hunt at night.

It seems that you've walked right into their trap. Sailors were their easiest prey.

"Ah." You grit your teeth, a low, breathy snarl slipping past your swollen lips. "I should've known."

There’s a warm yet strong pressure against your shoulders and arms; followed by an odd feeling of heaviness as you were suddenly propelled down the water's surface. Webbed hands keep you pinned beneath the waves and you're suddenly all-too-aware of your body's exhaustion; of the salty liquid flowing past your tongue and the scorching gurgle that ignites your lungs as water fills it.

There's a ruckus around you, and you can barely hear Jade's voice, who was eerily calm in the midst of your murder. A bottle is then abruptly forced into your mouth, the potion within it spilling down your throat and leaving you disoriented.

It appears that today is the day that the monotony in your life finally ends. The pull of unconsciousness becomes too strong to resist, and the world darkens.

TO BE CONTINUED...?

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