#but he just screams disco | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drgnflyteabox · 18 days ago

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daddy cool ⋆˙⟡

john price x fem!reader summary: “I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.” ↪or the one in which hairy muscle daddy john price asks you to show him your skills disco style tags/warnings: 70s clubbing, body hair is a central theme, scent kink, daddy kink, deepthroating, rough oral (m), cigars, some alcohol, manipulation if you squint,vaginal fingering + sex, a bit of exhibition kink but not really at all (one line), 'little' not used as a size indicator, dom/sub, oral (f), tiny gape mention

“I think he’s interested in you,” Debbie whisper-screams in your ear. It’s hard to hear her over the boom of the drums, over the four on the floor beat and soaring voices.

“Really?”

“Girl,” she laughs, incredulous. You look over your shoulder and sure enough he’s fixing you with a stare hot enough to burn through steel.

He’s flanked by two others, but you hardly notice them. You’re staring right into the deep V of his open shirt, at the fur peeking out of it, at the pink of his tongue as it swipes his bottom lip under his mustache. Sinful.

The booth he’s sitting in is draped with orange translucent curtains, creating some illusion of privacy. No overhead lights, either, just a soft cave and dark burgundy leather. Perfect for a bear like him.

“Should I go over there?” you whisper-scream back, curling closer to Debbie, “he’s a bonafide stud.”

She laughs, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, “yeah he is, and he’s looking at you, girl.”

You peek again. He’s smiling this time, like someone who knew you’d look twice. Beyond his shirt, his pants are so goddamn tight you can see almost everything. Christ, who let him out of the house looking like that?

“I’m gonna go over,” you say before you can stop yourself.

A saxophone disco beat booms through the club, thrumming right through you down to your toes, which you move to dance your way to him. Debbie laughs behind you, disappearing into the crowd.

Your hips go side to side, your teeth bite your bottom lip, and you fix him with what you hope is a clear message; you’re hot.

He stays exactly where he is. There’s a smugness about him now, the same smugness you saw when you looked twice.

You can’t really blame him for it. Someone that looks like that is bound to expect attention, desire.

God, he’s just your type. A quiet kind of arrogance, one arm slung over the back of the booth as he lifts a cigar up to his mouth and puffs. Lazily, like a big lion that knows he doesn’t have to hunt to get his food.

“Hello, love,” he says slowly when you get close enough. You’re still bouncing to the music, but you lean forward to hear him better.

“Interested in me, are you?” you’re going for a coy, simpering kind of approach. Something about him makes you want to lay it on thick, want to seduce. To preen a little.

His knuckles are dark in the lighting, hairy and tough like he works with his hands, which you catch as he pats the booth beside him.

You hadn’t even noticed his companions leaving.

“Saw you dancing,” he lifts a glass from the table, dark liquid, his mustache getting wet, “thought you might be interested, too.”

“You thought right,” you slide in beside him, the leather seat cool even through your tight bootcut pants. You tilt your knees towards him, lifting an elbow to match his on the back of the booth.

Reds, yellows, oranges dance on his skin. The occasional sparkle of the disco ball peeks through, but mostly it filters through the orange booth curtains and spreads into an archipelago of little bright spots. This lighting agrees with him, accentuates the best parts, makes them look darker and more defined. You’d feel like a pervert looking down his shirt if he wasn’t also doing the same to you.

“Name’s John, love,” and when you tell him yours he says, “that’s fitting.”

“So, what do you do?” boring, typical– but it’s all you’ve got. You’re surprised you can get words out at all with the drool pooling in your mouth. This close, you can see how his shirt strains where his shoulders move. A little too small, but it’s probably on purpose.

Should be illegal, honestly.

His eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s the kind of guy whose entire face changes when he smiles, who looks disarmingly more approachable that way.

“I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.”

“Talent?” you cross one leg over the other, trilling internally with satisfaction when you see his eyes fall to your thighs.

You know you aren’t being subtle in the least– and you aren’t trying to be. But you won’t say anything outright, not yet, not while the anticipation feels this tasty.

The booth isn’t private, but it is insulated. The music is loud, but not too loud, just enough that it thrums through you, that you can hear him. Anita Ward croons in your ear, encouraging you. He can ring your bell, that’s for sure.

“That’s right,” he puffs again. The smell makes you lightheaded.

“Moviestars, you mean?” you roll your ankle around, watching him watch you, wondering if he likes the polish colour you picked.

You like that he’s visibly affected; licking his lips, that meaty hand climbing higher up his thigh.

“Something like that, love,” he smiles again, leans back in the booth and launches a counter attack to your leggy flirtations – he spreads those legs, feet pointed out, hunched just so that his belly starts poking out of those sinfully tight pants.

Motherfucker.

Looking back up at him, his eyes are crinkled at you, head tilted forward. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Which movies have you produced?” you lean your head on your hand, looking at him through your lashes, “anything I’ve seen?”

“I hope so,” he hums. His eyes flit down to your feet again, up to your midriff, then back to your eyes– it’s hot, but it’s also not just a flirtation. He’s assessing, “have you seen Swan Lady? The Nun and the Two Vikings?”

You frown, “no, I haven’t heard of either.”

“How about Call of Duty: Servicing the Captain?”

Ah, it clicks. Your eyebrows go up, into your hairline, “you make pornos?”

“Aye, smart girl,” he gruffs.

Pornos, huh. You could laugh– he looks the part. A little sleazy, unabashed. Masculine not to the point of parody but it’s close. The ‘stache is in style, but in combination with everything else is just the cherry on top.

You only have one question, “you don’t star in any?”

“I prefer working behind the scenes,” something about the way he says behind feels filthy.

John tells all. He does scout, finds girls who want to have a good time (like you), and gently (or so he says) nudges them in front of the camera. I can always sniff ‘em out, he says. The ones that’ll do well on film, that have star quality.

“How can you tell?” you ask, lips pulling on your straw. John has ordered you a tequila sunrise.

You can’t help but trace the skin of his neck with your eyes, roving at the bob of his Adam's apple as he explains. Girls who can take the gloves off, so to speak. Says he can tell by the way they move, how free they are with their bodies.

A little dubious, but it’s honestly doing it for you. You wonder what he saw when you danced up to him, if the sway of your body was free, liberated.

Doesn’t take long at all for him to invite you out either way. John puts his hand on your knee and squeezes, gets real close, gruffs that his place is nearby.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” and of course the only answer is yes, please.

Boney M. soars around you as you follow him out, your hand holding his, your fingers stroking the hairs on his knuckles.

She’s crazy for her daddy!

On the drive over, he keeps that big paw on your thigh, squeezing almost subconsciously. Just the flex of his fingers.

You widen your knees, hoping for that rough palm to slide upwards, glancing at John as he drives one-handed. Not your first rodeo going home with a man from the disco, but it sure is the first time you’ve felt so keyed up about it.

He’s huge, takes up an absurd amount of room in the car, knee knocking into yours. He even drives sexy, so sure and in control.

“You think I could be in one of your movies?” you say, impish, looking to provoke.

John glances at you for just a second too long, too intense. You can tell he’s picturing you in front of the cameras.

“That what you want?”

“Just picturing it,” you simper, shifting your knee to deliberately touch him again. His fingers flex against your thigh again, jaw moving.

The air is warm, breezy, lights passing by like twinkling firebugs. You roll your window down, smiling at the feeling.

“Oh you're picturing it, are you? Is that making you wet, sweetheart?”

Fuck. It certainly is now.

“Only if you can be my co-star.”

“Is that right?” he laughs, low and deep. His hand climbs higher, “‘fraid I’m just the recruiter, but I’ll have to do a quality test.”

“Quality test?”

“Mm,” he hums, “need to make sure you’re ready for the camera, don’t I? You think you’ve got star quality, then prove it.”

Your panties are sticky.

“I can do that,” you breathe.

“Yeah? Can you prove you can show off your star quality for me, sweetheart?” his fingers slide, achingly slow, to the gusset of your pants, “that you can look into that camera and show the world you’re a good girl?”

They press against you, right up against your clit through the fabric. You fight to stay still, to not come across like you’re desperate, but god it’s hard. You ache.

“Mhm,” you breathe, subtly tilting your hips forward as he idly pets your pussy.

“Not an answer,” he says firmly. Butterflies dance in your stomach, the air slowly being siphoned out, leaving you hot and bothered. John is barely affected, it seems, driving still, gliding through the night.

“Sorry,” you swallow, “I can do that, daddy.”

“Much better.”

“Still want to prove it to me, love?” he moves to a glass cabinet, pulling out a little box. It opens with a click, revealing a neat row of thick cigars.

“Yes,” you stand in the middle of his living room, appreciating the atmosphere he’s made; low lighting, oranges, reds everywhere. Brown leather and the heady smell of cigar smoke, of leather polish and an incense-y kind of musk.

He walks back towards you, brand new cigar between his fingers, steps heavy on the carpet. You’re made aware of the height difference when he stands right in front of you, looking down not unkindly.

Your skin prickles at his gaze, the same one from the club; that assessment. Like he’s measuring you, testing you, scanning you.

John leans forward, breath puffing lightly across your face. He smells like his house does, only there’s a bit of whiskey mixed in.

You can’t help but squirm just a little, thighs rubbing together, both to relieve the pulsing ache of your pussy and that it’s impossible to stay composed under that gaze.

“Drop down,” he says finally, “to your knees, sweetheart.”

From your knees, you get a good fucking look at those tight pants– at the bulge in them. The hair on his chest sticks out a little, too, peeking at you from above. Hot. So hot.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, daddy,” you bite your lip again.

“Keep those hands down, alright?” he leans to the side and picks up a cigar lighter, watching you as he lights up.

John stands over you, new cigar lit, plumes of smoke drifting from his fingers. His expression is neutral, though he hums in a pleased way as he strokes the softness of your cheek.

“Take me out,” he commands.

You lean forward with your mouth, unable to resist giving him a good long sniff before you pull at his zipper with your teeth. He smells good, musky and strong, a little cologne there but mostly it’s natural.

When your teeth gently take his briefs, pulling, he cups the back of your head with a big hand and strokes your hair.

“Are you going to take it all, sweetheart? Right down your throat?”

You let his cock flop out of his underwear, heavy. The bush surrounding it makes your mouth water. It looks so good, long and a little curved, bouncing as if it’s teasing you.

You nod finally, hands squeezed into fists in your lap just the way he asked, “yes, daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Are you going to give daddy’s cock a little kiss first?”

You lean forward, lips pursed, planting a little kiss on the mushroom head of his cock. Though you ache to lick your lips, to taste him, you wait.

“That’s a good little girl,” he murmurs, “open your mouth.”

You do, holding your tongue out.

He grips the base, holding his cock up, tapping your tongue with the head. You almost whine, before he grips your head firmer and holds you still so he can slide the entire length of that monster right to the back of your throat.

Your nose hits his pubic bone, buried in the coarse hairs there, overwhelmed, hands balling into fists.

“That’s right,” he grunts, “hold it right there, sweetheart, show me you’ve got what it takes.”

God, he’s all the way in, a perfect fit. You try to stay still, anchoring yourself to him, to his palm, to the possibility of hearing good girl.

You gag a little, coughing around him, tears burning at your eyes as drool plip plops onto your chest.

Finally, he pulls out, stroking your hair, “good girl, such a good girl. Ready?”

“Yes,” you garble around the heady of his cock, clit swollen and needy, hands pressing hard into your thighs, “please fuck my face, daddy.”

He does, his pistoning, fucking your mouth like it’s a cunt. His hand cradles the back of your head, pushing you, hips moving, grunting when he’s not taking the occasional puff of his cigar.

You throb in your panties, body scorching hot, gagging every so often around the thick meat of John’s cock. Drool falls in viscous strings, tears following, the world dropping away.

Nothing else but the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth exists, matters.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he pants raggedly.

You have no idea how long he lasts, only that when he’s finished you're an absolute mess. Wet faced and panting.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his rough thumbs. You look up at him through your clumped lashes, mouth open, “did so well for me, hm?”

“Thank you, daddy,” your voice is a little gravelly, but not painful.

John pulls you up with a hand at your bicep, walking you down a hallway off his living room and towards an open door.

It’s his bedroom– and it’s decorated exactly as you’d imagined it.

The bed is huge, kingsized with a radio inlay and a thick, padded headboard that extends all around the mattress in a kind of cradle. His sheets are silk, dark, and dark orange.

“Nice digs,” you laugh, “you sure you aren’t a pornstar?”

He laughs behind you, setting his lit cigar into the ashtray on the bedside table. He slowly strips out of his clothes, getting totally naked. Then he slides in, and leans back.

“Give me a show, sweetheart.”

You hum, swaying again. You aren’t a pro at this kind of stuff, but it’s fun regardless to pull your shirt up and over your head like you’re a dirty dancer.

“Like this, daddy?”

John hums.

You slowly slide your pants down, turning so he can watch your ass move, kicking them away. You hear the slick sounds of him jerking his cock as you do.

“Should I take my panties off?” you ask, thumbs slipping into the elastic.

“Yes, take them off,” he grunts, “turn around.”

You do, then slowly slip your panties off. He licks his bottom lip again, quick.

“Come here.”

You slide onto the bed, on your knees, then crawl forward until you’re beside him, where he pushes you to lay on your side.

His heavy palm finds the naked skin of your hip, squeezing, “still want to show me your star power, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you’re back in it, eyes half lidded. Your pussy is making a wet spot on your thighs, “I wanna show you.”

He pushes you to your back, slaps your thighs until you open your legs and hold them out. Then he pauses, hand at the junction of your thigh and hip, thumb inching towards your pussy.

“Look how wet you are, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You clench, tilting your hips up. Your clit throbs.

“Ah ah, get back down,” he tuts.

Your ass touches the bed again, hips forced down by sheer willpower. His thumb finally reaches you, pulling aside your pussylip to gaze at your wetness.

It gushes out of you, and you’re sure he can see the way your hole clenches.

“Desperate little cunt, isn't she?” he uses his other hand, two two fingers coming to pull the hood of your clit up and just watch as it jumps needily, “awe, poor thing.”

“Please, daddy,” you could cry, “please, touch me.”

“Touch where, love? Touch this needy little clit?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he abandons holding you open to bring his thumb to your exposed clit, rubbing in circles. You shout, a tremor immediately beginning. It’s too much and not enough at once, electric and icy-hot.

Then he slips those fingers inside you, slow and testing at first, but when he realizes just how wet and soft you are he curls them inside you deeply and oh, fuck, your eyes roll back into your head.

“That’s the spot, that’s it,” he grunts, shaking you, taking you apart.

John only fingers you long enough to let your wetness spill out of you, wetting your thighs, soaking his fingers– until you’re ready for his cock.

“You’re ready,” he lays the length of it against your pussy for a moment, letting your swollen lips hug his length, before he shifts back and nudges the head at your hole, “yeah, you’re ready for it.”

He stuffs you fucking full. You’ve never been so stuffed in your life, thankful for his diligent attention earlier or you might be really feeling the weight of him.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nipples rubbing against his chest hair. It sparks pleasure from your tits right down your cunt, body aflame, hands scratching through the hair at his back.

It’s like fucking a bear, or a werewolf. He’s relentless, too, without mercy. Plows into you hard and long, thrusts measured, never faltering.

John fucks like a pornstar, there’s no doubt about it. He takes up so much space on top of you that without his arms holding him up you worry about being crushed– you crave it, too.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, lip curling, mustache going with it, “want to be on camera, do ya? Let me hear you.”

You let loose, mouth open in one long drawn out sound, interposed only by the gasps you let out each time he hits you deep.

You tilt your head back, bearing your throat, taking each heavy thrust and crying out with them, squeezing around him.

“I’m gonna give it all to you, sweetheart, fuck,” he snaps his hips faster now, “and you’re gonna take it all like a star.”

You nod desperately, feeling his pubes each time he thrusts to the hilt, wet with your juices. You’re so fucking close, one breath to your clit and you’d lose your mind.

He straightens, hands going to your hips, tightening, as he snaps one, two, three times and tenses–

His head snaps back, neck bulging with veins as he comes, teeth bared in a growl as he curses, “fuck, good girl, that’s right– good fucking pussy–”

Hot come shoots inside, heating you up further, making you whine with frustration and satisfaction both.

When the taut line of his body relaxes and he pulls out, a flood of come following him, he slides to his stomach and spreads you open with his thumbs.

“Let daddy make it up to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs to your pussy, “he’s not usually so selfish.”

John looks down first. Your pussy is swollen, well-fucked, and you can feel a slight gape.

“Poor little pussy,” he murmurs, then seals his mouth over your clit until you fall apart.

“You sure you aren’t a pornstar?” your cheek is pressed to his chest, basking in the furriness, arm and leg thrown over his body.

He laughs, “I’m sure, sweetheart. But I will say–” he pauses to lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth, mustache still damp, “you’ve definitely got star quality.”

#happy valentines day!#thank you syoddeye for the cig picture its soooooo ruff ruff #theres a little easter egg in there for u #john price x reader #john price #john price/reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price smut #jeopardized my midterm to get this out on valentines day #drgnfly writes

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muwapsturniolo · 7 months ago

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♱ 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐆𝐨𝐝, 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 ♱

Pt.01 Pt.02

IN WHICH…A virgin meets the new priest of her church, Father Matt, and her world of all things holy begins to crumble.

WARNINGS… NSFW AHEAD! Religious figures, god is mentioned, Demons, religious abuse, mentions of exorcisms, paranormal activity, making out, fingering, blow jobs, pillow humping, breath play, cum eating, rough sex, virginity mentioned, voyeurism, masturbation, blood, orgasms, death, innocent/nieve!reader, asshole!matt. IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!!

APOLOGIZING NOW TO ANYONE WHO IS SUPER RELIGIOUS! THIS IS NOT MEANT TO DISRESPECT ANYONE, I JUST GOT THE IDEA FROM OTHER SMUTS I'VE READ, THE SONG BY PATD!, AND THE MOVIE MOTHER!

This is a long one, like I'm talking 5k sum words. I hope y'all enjoy.

The dark.

It was something many people, both children and adults alike feared

Nyctophobia.

They hated not being able to see their surroundings correctly, to see the color in their life. They hated being alone in what seemed to be an endless descent into a void.

Y/n was the same..

She hated the dark, always has.

However it wasn't the dark that necessarily scared her, it was the fact she knew she wasn't alone in the dark.

When she was younger, she had imaginary friends, they were her only friends. During the day they were nice to her, playing tag with her outside, and holding fun conversations about rainbows and unicorns, but as it got closer to dusk,

They began to change.

Their faces would sink in, and they'd start making clicking noises and whispering. They would creep around her home and tell her to do bad things. She'd beg them to stop, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she did so.

They wouldn't listen, instead they'd get violent.

When nighttime fell, they would grab her feet in bed, attempting to drag her off the safety of her mattress. They would scratch at the walls, screaming as their talons left marks along the pink wallpaper.

She'd curl into a ball, tears rolling down her face as she prayed for god to stop them, but god didn't listen. Her prayers only seemed to enrage her imaginary friends, their screams getting louder as their actions became more violent.

But the only time they'd stop was at 3 AM.

Their screams would suddenly stop, their violent actions coming to an end.

And it was always because of Matt.

He was a ghastly pale boy, his skin being a stark contrast to her warm soft brown skin. He had a round face and sandy brown hair, his blue eyes were piercing.

And he always had a smile on his face.

He'd crawl into bed with the young girl, wrapping his small arms around her and whispering in her ear.

"It's ok Y/n, you'll understand eventually."

She was confused by his words, not understanding what he was talking about. But she never had time to dwell upon it, her eyes falling shut as sleep overtook her.

She was always able to fall asleep quickly when Matt was there,

He was comforting...He was her savior.

But that was yanked away when her parents held her first communion, crowning the girl a child of god and letting her consume the blood and body of Christ.

Her imaginary friends no longer appeared, Matt was gone.

Oddly, she missed it, the nights in which she used to fear and learned to love were taken away in the blink of an eye and she hated it. She would tell her parents how she missed Matt, how she missed the conversations they held at night.

To say her parents were frightened would be an understatement. They accused her of being promiscuous when she didn't even know what promiscuous meant.

They accused her of being friends with the devil.

Instead of just understanding she was a child with an active imagination,

They locked her in the hallway closet.

They wouldn't let her out for a week, ignoring her screams and pleas to be let out.

She was scared, hurt, confused...She didn't understand why she was being punished this way.

So when she was dragged inside her home, soaking wet from the storm outside, and her mother opened the closet,

She lost it.

She screamed as loud as she could, kicking, screaming, and fighting for them not to lock her in that closet again.

"Please! I'm sorry, it won't happen again!" She pleads helplessly to her father. Her glossy eyes stared into her fathers deep and stern ones, hoping he would have a change of heart.

He didn't.

Her body fell backward as he shoved her into the small space, her head hitting a shelf. Ignoring the pain in the back of her head, she scrambled forward, attempting to stop them from closing the door...But it was no use.

The door slammed shut, trapping her in the dark.

Her fists banged against the door, her screams raw and ear-piercing as she begged them to be let out.

but they don't listen.

Her screams eventually come to a stop, turning into soft and raspy whimpers, still pleading for forgiveness under her breath.

They ignored her, giving each other a look before heading to their bedroom to hopefully get some sleep.

A few hours had gone by, and Y/n managed to curl into a ball on the floor, her fingers dancing in the sliver of light casting from the hallway underneath the door.

Her eyes were dead, her throat sore from all the screaming and shouting she was doing earlier.

Suddenly, she feels a presence.

She tense, her fingers stopping all movement.

She thought that it was one of her parents coming to let her out of the closet, but that thought was thrown out when she heard a clicking noise.

The same clicking noise from her childhood.

She scrambles to sit up, her back touching the door as the hairs on her neck stand up.

Her eyes dart around in the darkness, her pupils straining, trying to find what she was looking for.

But she couldn’t see, it was dark.

Her breathing is harsh, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to figure out if her mind is playing tricks on her. She comes to the conclusion that she was in fact hallucinating, and tries to calm down, but that changes in a split second.

The clicking noise happens a centimeter away from her ear.

She lets out an ear-piercing scream, throwing herself further away from whatever was trapped in the closet with her.

It happens so quickly, the clicking noises and screaming multiplying.

She's instantly brought back to all the times she would lay in bed at a young age, screaming for her imaginary friends to stop torturing her.

"Stop it! Please stop! Let me out!" She sobs.

She curled into a ball, her hands over her ears as her eyes clenched shut.

She looked like a child, a scared child.

The screaming and clicking goes on forever, day and night, not that she could tell the time.

All sense of time had been thrown out the window.

She doesn't know how long she was in the closet, the door never opening until eventually,

It did.

The screams stop immediately, the quietness seeming so loud.

Y/n opens her eyes, blinking profusely as she adjusts to the light she hasn’t seen in days.

Once they do finally adjust, she sees a hand outstretched toward her. She follows the limb upward and her eyes land on Matt.

Her savior.

He has a warm and welcoming look on his face, contradictory to the shadows standing behind him.

“It’s ok Angel-” He voices softly as he sees her frightened eyes and splotchy cheeks.

“Take my hand,” He urges.

Hesitantly, the girl takes his hand, no longer wanting to be in the closet. As she rises to her feet her legs begin to shake, weak from being trapped in the closet with nothing to eat or drink besides a single water bottle and a loaf of bread.

Matt wraps an arm around her waist, a neutral expression on his face as he supports her shaking frame.

“Look at you, so weak and scared. They had you in there for six days.” He coos.

Suddenly her parents appear, making her flinch back in fright. She was scared they were going to put her in the closet again, trapping her with the demons.

“Did you do what I asked?” Matt questions with a straight voice. Both adults nod, their eyes casted on traumatized Y/n.

“Yes, Father…They are in your car.”

Matt hums in thanks and looks down at Y/n, “let’s go Angel.”

Her parents watch as she’s pulled out of the home, mumbling a prayer to themselves that their daughter be saved, and whatever demon inside her banished so she can live a full life.

Matt opens the passenger side door, helping her get situated in the car before walking over to the driver's side.

His eyes land on her parents standing by the door.

As they hold eye contact, they can’t help but feel a chill run down their spine. They watch as an eerie smirk makes its way onto the Father’s face.

Matt watches as her parents are yanked backward, the front door slamming shut.

He chuckles and settles into the car, starting the engine and pulling off down the street.

Y/n sits quietly in the car, her eyes dull and face grim.

Matt side-eyes her but says nothing, continuing the drive to their destination. Midway through the drive, he reaches into the backseat and places a brown paper bag in her lap.

“Eat. You need the energy.”

Y/n stares down at the paper bag full of food, her stomach grumbling at the sight. However, she doesn’t dive in.

“F-for what?”

Her voice is raspy, her throat dry from all the screaming and crying she has done. She lifts her head and looks at Matt who’s already looking at her with a devious smile.

“Your exorcism.”

Her heart dropped along with her head, more tears falling from her eyes. She had completely forgotten that she was supposed to have an exorcism…She didn’t need one. There was no use in trying to beg him to listen, she figured his and everyone else’s mind was made up. Her hands shake as she begins to eat the food, the sandwich tasting rotten as she tries to wrap her head around what her life has come to.

Eventually, they pull into the lot of a rundown motel. The dim and half-lit sign read “ Cameron Motel”.

Weeds were growing all over the parking lot that had a few dirty cars parked. The building itself was baby pink with baby blue trimming that had graffiti all over it. Some of the windows were boarded up and others were broken.

She was so busy staring at the beat up building, she didn’t realize Matt had gotten out the car. She jumps when her door opens, her head turning and looking up at a stoic Matt.

“Get out of the car Angel.”

Her breath hitches but she does as told, hugging herself as she stands in front of him. He grabs her arm, and quickly drags her towards the entrance.

Despite the eerie and dark aura of the motel, she can’t help but find an appeal to it. She knew that if the building was taken care of, it would look beautiful.

Yet, she still finds herself crossing, her index and middle finger drawing a cross that catches her head and chest, to both her shoulders.

As they enter the dingy building, her nostrils immediately begin to burn with the smell of asbestos and formaldehyde.

She coughs a little as she takes in her surroundings. Just like the outside, the inside was decaying right before her eyes.

She’s taken out of her examination by a girl in her bra and underwear running past her, the girl laughing and squealing as a boy chases her in his boxers. She jumps in shock and presses herself closer to Matt, her cheeks warm from seeing the girl so exposed.

Matt ignores her obvious signs of being flustered and keeps walking.

As they walk down the dimly lit hallway, she hears all sorts of things behind closed doors.

Screaming, crying, moaning, and tv static.

The occupants of the motel seemed to have a very different outlook on life.

But who was she to judge? She was the one here for an exorcism, not them.

They approach a door at the end of the hallway, the room number reading 333. Matt pushes the door open and to Y/n's surprise, the room isn't as dirty like she thought it would be.

A king size bed sits in the middle of the room, adorned in clean white sheets. The floor is carpeted with no stains, and there is a tv sitting on a stand across the bed.

Matt gently pushes her inside the room and closes the door, throwing the bag on his arm on a nearby chair. She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room as Matt walks around. Her head is cast downward but she can see him removing his blazer.

He throws it down on the edge of the bed, soon sitting next to it and facing her. He examines her timid frame and hums to himself.

They sit in a pregnant silence before he finally speaks, "Take that bag with you into the bathroom. Get yourself ready."

She eyes the bag on the chair and finally looks back to Matt, "W-whats in there?"

"Just take the bag, and get ready," he demands. She nods and timidly grabs the bag, holding it to her chest as she makes her way into the bathroom. She sets the bag on the counter and unzips it, all her movements stopping when she sees what's inside.

She pulls out a razor and some type of women's shaving cream, shampoo and conditioner, and the final product,

A white dress with a thin pair of white satin underwear.

She takes out the white dress, holding it up by the shoulder straps, and examines it.

It looked like her usual nightgowns, except more provocative.

Her cheeks warm at the thought of seeing herself in the dress, Matt seeing her in the dress. She sets the dress down and looks back at the shaving products. She's a bit confused at the idea of shaving considering her mother and father never let her do so, telling her that children of the lord don't need to shave, and if she does shave she's a Jezebel.

But that's what she is right? That's what her father has deemed her as,

A Jezebel.

With that, she strips herself of her clothing, climbing into the shower, and cleanses herself. With never having shaved before, she takes quite a bit of time getting rid of the hair on her body, especially in other areas.

She climbs out of the shower and dries off, rubbing a vanilla-scented lotion into her skin and slipping on the dress, underwear, and knee highs.

She stares at herself in the mirror and examines herself.

Although she's exposed, looking whorish as her father would put it, she likes what she sees in the mirror. She loves the way her brown skin is a stark contrast to the white dress, and how soft and plump her skin is.

She has a glow...an Angelic glow.

She slowly turns towards the door and hesitates as she reaches for the handle. She's a nervous wreck at the idea of Matt seeing her so exposed, no one has ever seen her in such a state since she was a baby.

She debates on locking herself in the bathroom, but she knows that's not logical. With a fast-beating heart, she slowly opens the door, her left hand clutching the rosary that hangs in the valley of her breasts, tucked into her lingerie.

She steps out of the bathroom, her eyes landing on Matt who's still sitting on the edge of the bed, but now he's smoking a cigarette. He doesn't look at her, keeping his eyes on the TV that's playing nothing but static.

"F-Father?" She addresses shakily.

Matt says nothing as he stands up from the bed, walking over to the window and drawing the curtains shut.

"Sit in the middle of the bed, on your knees, palms turned upward," he demands, loosening his tie. She tenses but does as told, her heart beating wildly as she anticipates what's to come.

Matt ashes out the cigarette, throwing his tie somewhere in the room as he finally turns to her.

She watches as he looks her up and down, his eyes staying on her chest with an unrecognizable look in his eyes. She flinches when he finally makes eye contact with her, her head dropping downward almost instantly.

"What did you see?"

She looks up in confusion, not understanding the question. Matt moves to the foot of the bed, standing tall above her.

"In the closet, what did you see?"

Her breath hitches at the question, scared to tell him the truth.

As if he's reading her mind, he tells her to tell him the truth.

"I-I...S-shadows...."

Matt hums, taking a step closer to the bed. "Shadows...and what were the shadows doing?"

"Sometimes they would j-just stand quietly...staring at me. O-other times they are whispering, screaming...clicking."

Matt says nothing for a moment, staring at her with such an intense gaze she feels something in her lower abdomen. "And how long has this been going on?"

"S-since I was five... but it stopped when I was 7, when I first had the body and blood of Christ." Matt's eyes turn into slits, his posture becoming tense.

"Your parents told me about your imaginary friends, how you explained they would go bump in the night but would stop. Why and how would they stop?"

Matt's words become quick, almost as if he's excited, anticipating her answer.

"T-they would stop at 3 AM- The devil's hour." Her heart drops as he cuts her off, her eyes wide in fear.

"W-what?"

"The devil's hour, anytime between 3 and 4 AM when demons, ghosts, anything considered hellish are their most powerful. They can cross borders between realms, speak to the living, touch the living." His words hint at something, something Y/n isn't picking up.

"T-they were demons?" She whispers softly, her hands that were still facing upward shaking and beginning to sweat. Matt smiles at her, that devilish smile that she finds herself often thinking and dreaming about.

"I believe so...So tell me, why and how they would stop." He urges once more. "I um...They-they would stop when he appeared..."

"Who's he?"

"Ma-" She stops herself as her mind begins to connect the dots. The boy who she deemed her savior, the one who showed up at 3 AM and made the things that go bump in the night disappear. The boy who would cuddle her at night and hold small conversations with her.

She wasn't sure at first, but as she started to analyze his features, everything from the head down, it was the same person.

He was standing in front of her...In all his glory.

Matt's grin grows tenfold as he sees she's connecting the dots.

"Did you miss me, angel?"

She thought if she ever saw the boy she considered a friend again, she would be jumping for joy, but instead, she crawled backward towards the head of the bed.

She was scared.

Her hands shake as she covers her mouth, the reality setting in.

"Y-you're the Devil!" she accuses softly.

Matt chuckles and turns toward the mirror behind him, still holding eye contact with the frightened girl.

"Devil? No. A product of hell itself? Yes."

Y/n feels her whole world crumbling. She couldn't wrap her head around how her life had come to this, why she was the one picked for this?

What could she have done from the time she was born, to be deemed of this fate? Was this her punishment for what she had done in a past life? Was this punishment for using God's name in vain when she was younger?

"I told you when we were younger that one day you'll understand, that time is now." He grabs a bottle of wine and pours himself a glass, taking a long sip before turning around and leaning against the dresser.

"You see, your mother wanted a baby, and with your father shooting blanks, she was never able to have one. Despite calling herself a woman of god, she made a deal at the crossroads with my father, the devil himself. She was dumb, crying and begging for a child so bad, she didn't care about the repercussions that came with it."

Y/n feels as if she's going to pass out, all this information too much for her to handle.

"So she made the deal, the deal to give her little baby girl to one of the devil's sons. Me."

y/n quickly shakes her head, refusing to believe the truth. "Y-you're lying! You're a liar! She would have never done that!" She shouts, tears running down her face. she begins to pray, hoping that god will listen and make all of this stop, hoping that he will save her. Matt grows angry, throwing the glass of red wine on the floor as he crawls onto the bed. He grips her jaw tightly, getting in her face.

"Stop praying! God can't help you, he was never able to help you!" He bellows, the whole room seeming to shake. She opens her watering eyes and Matt relaxes just the smallest bit. He removes his harsh grip on her jaw and wipes her tears away.

"You're pretty when you cry Angel, so pretty."

He inches closer to her face, his breath fanning softly. " You're mine Angel, you always were-" His hand drops from her face and down to her shoulder, his fingers fiddling with the straps of her dress.

"-You know it's true, I know you feel the connection. I kept you safe when we were younger, making all the bad stop."

Her thighs tense as his other hand grazed the freshly shaved skin, his fingers dancing along the hem of the dress.

"I've only made you feel good, I showed you how good life could be in both your daydreams and at night. I broadened your mind, I gave you pleasure."

She gasps softly at his last words.

"T-that was you....My thoughts a-and the moment in the confessional?"

He nods, a soft smile on his face, "that it was. I knew you'd appreciate it, you never felt a sense of belonging following that path. You knew they were lying, sex isn't bad, touching yourself isn't bad, and reading whatever you want isn't bad. You enjoy those things, I want you to enjoy those things. I want you to be free, I can give it to you. you just have to trust me...Do you trust me?"

She comes to the conclusion that he's right, he never lied to her. he's only ever broadened her mind, gave her what she craved, lusted after.

He was her savior.

He was her god.

"Tell me you trust me Angel, grant me the access to give you freedom." she looks to her right, watching his hand toy with the thin string on her shoulder.

She doesn't know what he means by freedom, but she wants to be free. She knows there's more to life than her small town and the path of God. She wants to experience things, she wants to create memories,

She wants to live.

With dried tears on her cheeks, she looks back up at him.

"I trust you."

That's all Matt needed to hear before his lips crashed against hers, hungry and ready to devour her. Y/n is caught off guard, never having kissed anyone before. She doesn't exactly know what to do so she lets Matt take the lead.

Matt doesn't care, he knows of her innocence, and he loves it. In fact, it's a turn-on for him, knowing that he is the once who's going to ruin her.

He pulls away from the feverish kiss, trailing his lips down her jaw and to her neck. His hands rest on her waist, his knee in between her thighs and lightly rubbing against her core. He grabs her hand and places it on the tent in his pants.

He can feel her tense, he can hear her heart thumping wildly.

It drives him wild.

"You have me so worked up Angel, this is all for you. You did this." He holds her hand as he guides it in an up-and-down motion, moaning softly in her ear, expressing the effect she has on him.

It gets her hot and bothered, that tingly feeling she usually feels in between her legs when she usually thinks of Matt expanding. Matt chuckles, his lips brushing against her ear as he gently ruts into her palm.

"I can smell you Angel...you smell so sweet, delectable, divine even."

Y/n pants heavily, her body feeling electric. It felt just like her dreams, so real, intimate, right.

It felt right.

Every inch of her body that he touches feels hot, her muscles flexing at the soft yet heavy touch.

He leaves multiple hickeys along her neck and collarbone, sucking and biting at the skin in a way to claim her.

He pulls back and and yanks her towards him by her thighs, he stares down at her, appreciating how her curls fan out across the white pillows, adoring the marks he created on her body.

She was Angelic.

He pushes her legs apart and looks down, grinning wildly as he sees the wet patch in the underwear. His finger tickles her inner thighs as he takes his time getting to her core, her chest rising and falling harshly.

"When you touched yourself, did you think of me?"

He chuckles as she turns her head away from him. "I know you did, I know of everything you dreamt of. How you imagined my fingers plunging into your mess of a cunt, how you imagined my tongue lapping at your folds."

He rips the underwear off with ease, her eyes widening in shock from the action and now being exposed. She tries to close her legs but he shoves them apart.

"And my personal favorite, was me fucking you so hard, you kept begging me to keep going. Is that what you want Angel? You want me to be your God and fuck you?"

She nods sluggishly, drunk off of his erotic and intoxicating words.

She gasps softly at the foreign feeling of his fingers trailing through her folds. It was nothing like how her fingers felt, it felt better. Her eyes flutter shut as she relishes in the newfound pleasure, only for them to fly open when two fingers are slipped inside of her.

Matt instantly begins to thrust, curling the slim digits in efforts to break the girl. Her jaw drops as her eyes roll back, the lewd squelching noises make her back arch.

"You're so tight-shit- can barely move my fingers Angel. I can't wait to have you wrapped around me." He grunts out as he watches her walls clamp down on his fingers. She's already making a mess and he has barely done anything.

He takes his fingers out and smears her mess over her lips before slowly pushing them side her mouth.

“Suck.”

She does as told and sucks on his fingers, finding herself addicted to her own taste. Matt smirks and slips them out of her mouth, trailing the saliva down her chin to her chest. He wraps his fingers around the rosary and yanks it off, the beads flying all over the bed.

A metaphor for her being stripped of her innocence.

Before she can fix her lips to say something, Matt’s lips crash against hers once more. Her arms wrap around him, her eyes closed as she kisses him back as if her life depended on it.

Matt rips his button-up off, throwing it somewhere in the room before he starts to unbuckle his belt. Once he manages to take his pants off, he pulls away from the kiss and forces her on her knees, a pillow being pushed in between her legs.

He pulls his boxers down making her eyes widen in shock. She's never seen male body parts before, ever. She looks up at Matt, an unsure look in her eyes.

"Go on, put it in your mouth," he persuades, eager to finally feel her mouth on him.

"I-I- don't k-know ho- Yes you do." He cuts her off, his hand wrapped around his own member and jerking himself off. She watches with wide eyes, unintentionally grinding against the pillow in between her legs.

"Put it in your mouth, lick on it like you do your ice cream cones." Matt's mind flashes back to the park, watching her walk away from the ice cream stand licking and sucking on her vanilla cone.

He wanted to claim her that day in the park, taking her under the tree for all to see, but he couldn't, he had to wait.

Y/n hesitantly moves her head forward, giving a small kitten lick to his tip. Matt's whole body shudders, the urge to fuck her mouth too strong.

He snaps.

He fists a handful of her hair and pushes himself in her mouth, groaning loudly as she gags and chokes around him. Her eyes clenched shut as the salty tears streamed down her face. "Fuck-look at me Angel," he grunts as her throat contricts around him.

She manages to open her eyes, her tears flowing even faster.

"Keep em' open," he says beginning to bob her head up and down. She does her best to follow his orders, her mouth opened as wide as it could go. She figures out that she should breathe through her nose instead of her mouth, the air flowing into her lungs easier. However, that was short-lived when Matt pinches her nose, preventing her from breathing. Instead of bobbing her head up and down, he thrusts his hips harshly, enjoying the choking and gargling noises coming from the girl on her knees.

She tries to breathe through her mouth, but it's proven difficult with the speed at which his genitalia is abusing her throat, and yet

She loves it.

She shamelessly ruts against the pillow between her legs, chasing that euphoric feeling she felt not too long ago in the confessional. She knows if her parents saw the ludicrous acts she was performing on a male, they would have a heart attack. But she didn't care, she loved how warm she felt, how safe she felt.

She loved being used.

She looks up at Matt, watching how beautiful he looks with his head thrown back and jaw slacked. It's an image that will forever be burned inside her brain.

Suddenly his thrusts stop, a warm and salty liquid filling up her mouth. He pulls himself out of her mouth, watching as his semen leaks past her lips. Instead of telling her to swallow, he wraps a hand around her throat and kisses her.

He moans into the kiss, lapping his own fluids out of her mouth.

He lifts her back onto the bed with ease, crawling over her panting and dazed form. He settles in between her legs, already lining himself up with her clenching hole.

Y/n doesn't know what's next, she's still trying to catch her breath, but she doesn't have much time to dwell on it once Matt shoves himself inside her. A strangled yelp leaves her throat and her hand flies to his abdomen, attempting to stop him or at least slow him down.

But Matt does neither, instead, he begins to pound into her relentlessly.

"I-It b-burns!" She yelps, trying to stop his brutal pace. He ignores her cries of pain, his eyes trained on the blood seeping out of her cunt, coating his cock and painting the hem of the white lingerie adorning her body. He lets out a deep and animalistic growl, his grip on her thighs tightening at the sight.

"You love it-fuck- you love the burn. It feels so good doesn't it Angel? You love the way my cock stretches you out, the way it fills you up so good you can feel it in your lungs,"

It's as if he's warping her mind, forcing her to believe his words,

and that's because he is.

With each word he speaks, the burning pain becomes pleasurable, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Her arms drop to the sides of her head, her body too weak to move on its own.

Small noises and nonsensical babbles exit her throat, her mind dizzy and fogged by the pleasure she's receiving. She couldn't believe that this is what sex feels like. She couldn't understand how something so heavenly could be considered a sin when it's so euphoric.

She begs and pleads for him to give her more, to make her feel alive.

"P-please! Please please ple-Oh God!" She arches her back when a certain spot inside of her is stimulated. Matt lets out an airy laugh, his hips still driving into her at an inhuman pace,

"That's right Angel, beg for me, beg for your God."

In the height of her pleasure, she begins to feel..odd. Almost as if there are people in the room with them. She manages to focus her eyes behind Matt, and what she sees shakes her to her core.

The shadows, the shadows she has become all too familiar with are watching, watching Matt ravage her. There's a bunch of them crowding the room, their bodies blending into each other as their groans of excitement fill the room. Matt can sense her panic, watching her eyes dart around erratically.

"It's ok Angel, they have to watch," he rasps out, his movements never ending.

"Don't look at them, look at me." He demands. However, she doesn't listen. She can't pull her eyes away from the faceless shadows, captured in a trance by their dark aura.

And that's when she starts to notice other things.

The paint on the walls is peeling, deteriorating right before her eyes. The room begins to reek of death, the smell so pungent she finds it harder to breathe. Particles of dust float in the air, a hazy film coating her eyes.

The room becomes scorching hot, suffocating the girl as a thin layer of sweat covers her body.

Y/n heaves as Matt continuously ruts into her, her chest burning as it screams for oxygen. Too much is going on for her to comprehend, the world moving slowly yet spinning so fast.

Her eyes finally avert back to Matt, her mouth open as no sounds leave her mouth. She sees the eerie smile that plants itself on his face, the dark look in his eyes. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even see the small horns coming out of his head and the pointy tail swaying behind him.

She sees the truth, she sees him for what he is.

The spawn of the Devil himself.

She feels as if her soul is leaving her body, every limb and muscle vibrating. Her jaw goes slack as she feels a sharp pain in her chest, as well as a pleasurable feeling in her lower region. Her eyes roll back as her whole body shakes violently, a metallic taste coats her tastebuds as she begins to cough and sputter out blood. The red liquid stains matts face as well as the white lingerie, before eventually coming to a halt.

Matt finds himself experiencing his own release, throwing his head back as he paints her gummy walls a pearlescent white. He groans as he pulls out of her, his dick falling limp as he crawls backward off the bed. His chest rises and falls quickly as he pulls his pants up, buckling his belt.

He pants as he stares down at her lifeless body, analyzing everything about her deadly appearance. He walks over to the side of the bed, brushing one of her curls out of her face, trailing his fingers through the blood splatter on her face.

"So pretty even in death, an angel plucked of it's wings."

he scoops her up bridal style and holds her close to his chest, her arm dangling as her head is draped back. The door to the room opens, revealing a dark abyss that still holds a blinding light.

He walks over to the door looking down at the dead girl in his arms, the shadows in the room whispering amongst themselves eagerly.

"you'll rise like a phoenix from the ashes, in all its beauty. You'll gain new wings that will set you free. You'll finally be mine...My wife."

He kisses her forehead softly and walks through the threshold of the door, into the darkness.

The door slams behind him, leaving the room empty.

The dingy structure of the motel begins to shake in the wake of the door slamming. The lights begin to flicker, cracks appearing in the ceiling. it's not long before the old and moldy building crumbles in on itself, leaving no trace of Matt and Y/n, or the other tenants and their caricatures of intimacy.

AHHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE! IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT WITH WHAT I LIKE TO CALL WW1 OF TUMBLR TRULY DRAINED ME AND I NEEDED A BREAK. PLZ LET ME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK AND IF YALL WOULD LIKE TO SEE MORE FICS LIKE THIS ( OBVI WITH A DIFFERENT PLOT).

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🍑: @mattslolita @thenickgirl @guccifrog @luverboychris @zayyluvz @mrsmiagreer @chrisssluttywaist @78yaz @freshloveforthefit @3lizaluvs @mattsturniolosgirlfriend @jetaimevous @luxy-nyx @ts-is-my-spirt-animal @iihrtsturniol0 @idontexistman @katw4shereee @madisturn @starlace111 @zivall @adoreindie @imwetforyourmom @sturnsxplr-25 @sturncakez @theyluvme-2315 @moonk1ss3d @@babyalliah-777 @sturniololol @oliviasturniolo21 @ariithereyet @blahbel668

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webism · 3 months ago

Text

satoru gojo + ns//fw alphabet

17 days of disco prompt list

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

›› regardless of who took control for the night, i think satoru is very proactive with aftercare. he dotes on you but he's nasty about it—cleans you up with his tongue. his after-sex praise sounds more like dirty talk than anything else but it's hot so there's little reason to complain.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

›› he likes his hands, specifically how they look splayed over your body. he likes what he can do with them, how he can turn you into a mess with them, how he doesn't need his cock to make you cum.

›› he likes your chest. your tits or your pecs, he doesn't care—if he can bite them, he's obsessed. loves sucking on your nipples, paying extra close attention to them when he's inside of you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

›› although he does like cumming inside of you best, he loves cumming all over your face. watching you hold your tongue out to catch what you can whilst he paints the rest of your face with his release. it's hot, and he definitely licks it from your cheek afterwards.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

›› he's a panty stealer through and through. it's honestly not even a secret, he'll take them without shame and if you call him out on it he'll just buy you two pairs to compensate. keeps them in a drawer of his, jerks off into them when you're not together.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

›› ill scream and shout fuckboy!gojo until the sun sets but in my heart i feel like he needs that extra level of connection with someone before he really gets intimate. his body count isnt as high as people assume it is. that's not to say he's not skilled, if you catch my drift. even when he lost his virginity he refused to be the first to cum. he knows what he's doing.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

›› 69, specifically with you on top. he loves having. his cock sucked and he loves having his face sat on. best of both worlds.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

›› he's silly—cracks jokes and makes fun of himself when the vibes call for it. he can get pretty serious in the moment, especially if he's stressed or going particularly rough on you, but there's always that aspect of love beneath his demeanour.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

›› honestly im an advocate for the gojo shaves agenda. he keeps the happy trail though, and he doesn't shave so often that he's always bare, but he stays trimmed in between full shaves.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

›› he's so big on kisses. making out with you while hes pumping his cock deep inside... kissing all over your face as he cums. sometimes it's sweet soft kisses full of love and other times its spit-dripping sloppy makeout sessions where he's sucking on your tongue until he can't breathe.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

›› no one will agree with me on this but i feel like once gojo gets a taste of you he VERY RARELY ever jerks off again. he only allows himself that pleasure when he's on the phone with you or jerking off into your panties. you have to be involved somehow, even if its im jerking off to photos or vids he's taken of you in the bedroom.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

›› he has a degradation kink as the recipient. he's spent his whole life being told he's the strongest, the best, the honoured one. so when you're cooing at him all pitiful and shaming him for being such a desperate fucking mess for you? it does something to him. something nasty.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

›› if he gets to be balls deep inside of you he could not care less where you are. he will fuck you anywhere, and i mean that so very literally. in the bed, the shower, the kitchen counter, in his car, an empty classroom, an empty alley behind a bar, the bar bathroom. anywhere.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

›› being in your general vicinity. you make him horny, end of sentence. even thinking about you gets him hard.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

›› he wouldnt ruin your orgasm. sure, he'll edge you and deny you until the sun sets but if and when he lets you cum, he's making you cum hard. so hard you forget your own name.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

›› the biggest munch. likes waking you up by eating you out, putting you to sleep by eating you out. ignoring the movie you watch together to eat you out. he's good at it when he wants to be, but tends to drag it out and keep you on edge just to taste you for longer. he prefers giving to receiving, he just really loves how you taste, but when you do go down on him he is an absolute head pusher.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

›› moreso fast, but not necessarily rough. he can be rough, sure, but fucking you fast and into the mattress can be done surprisingly lovingly. also loves slow sleepy morning sex with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

›› fuck yes to quickies. he's always eager to have you and will try to squeeze sex into every free moment you have together, but he has a hait of dragging them out too, who cares if youre late when he's cleaning his cum off of you by eating you out for ten extra minutes?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

›› he'll try anything. he's too cocky to care about risky sex. obviously as long as its safe and consensual, he's game.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

›› gojo is the king of marathon sex. in fact, he loves sending himself delirious with just how fucked out he can get. he gets into that almost manic state where even though he's borderline exhausted, he just keeps fucking you harder and faster. it's like runners high for him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

›› he has a box of oys. for you, for the both of you, and for him. he loves remote control vibrators, also buttplugs are a turn on for him, either of you wearing them is a good time.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

›› he teases like a motherfucker. he's just straight up mean half the time, but he always gives in to you. there's no denying you anything for too long: he loves spoiling you too much.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

›› he's pretty loud. there are louder jjk men *cough cough choso* but gojo babbles when he gets super pussydrunk and he just will not shut up for the life of him. half-lucid rambles about how good you feel, how fucking hot you are, how he wants to fill you up and never let a drop of his cum spill out of that pretty cunt of yours. something like that.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

›› he likes thigh fucking. there's some sort of interest he has in the unconventional sex, but he doesnt just want to fuck your thighs without any stimulation for you so he'll often have you wear a vibrator as he does so. sometimes the vibrations travel to his cock and make it feel extra good :)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

›› im not giving you fucking hex colour codes LMAO use your imagination baby. he's big, longer rather than girthier but he knows what he's doing. big balls too.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

›› borderline sex addict. i think he's the horniest jjk man, in first place with toji. he will fuck all day if you let him. you think one of his most used phrases is 'i know you're sore, but i need to be inside of you baby. i'll be gentle,, promise' (huge lie)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

›› i don't think he does. he likes holding you as you fall asleep, but he's got the stamina to stay awake and get some food ready for when you're up. he can't let sex make him sleepy if he's fucking you first thing in the morning.

#satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you

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