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johnwickb1tsch · 2 days ago

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The Girl Next Door - XVI

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Chapter warnings: A bit more graphic violence. Character death. If you made it this far, you'll be fine...⚠

16. epilogue

John Constantine stands on the rooftop, looking out over the glittering lights of the city.

He wants a cigarette so fucking bad, but like he can hear you grousing about how he was given a second chance and he shouldn’t waste it, he pops a stick of gum instead.

It’s not the same thing.

He misses you.

He can’t stop himself from thinking about that night, not so long ago, when the two of you headed off an early Apocalypse by the skin of your teeth. He remembers how in the end, somehow he found the strength to stumble to your side, and how whatever small grain of hope he’d allowed himself vanished at the sight of you, the Spear piercing your heart to the hilt, your body deathly still. He’d collapsed to his knees beside you, clutching your cold little hand in his. The knowledge that your eternal soul was saved was hardly a consolation at the moment–he was the one who was supposed to die, not you.

He’d tried to budge the spear–but couldn't.

And so he’d clutched at your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles as silent tears slid down his cheeks.

“She saved me,” Angela had said, making her way on shaky legs over to press his shoulder.

You saved him too, he realized. If not with anything but the determination of your love, you’d saved him, and he was finally able to save you in turn. That should count for something, but at the moment it was all so raw that he still wanted to curse God for taking you from him in the mortal realm, if not the next.

If he ever wanted to see you again, he was really going to have to walk the line.

He and Angela had both jumped as a bedraggled Gabriel surfaced from the bottom of the pool–their wings naught but bloody stubbs protruding from their shoulders. They had looked upon your lifeless body with zero remorse. They dared to say with their usual blind righteousness, “You should rejoice, John. She’s gone home.”

John had narrowed his eyes, but his scathing tirade died on his tongue as a hulking figure had emerged from the water behind the ex-angel, his eyes glowing that deadly blue. Constantine had felt nothing but the most un-Christian gratification, as Wick seized Gabriel’s head in his massive hands and twisted.

The angel sank back to the bottom of the pool, and Wick stepped over their body to pull himself out of the water, a horrific wound barely knit together over his abdomen. Paying it no heed, he’d collapsed to his knees beside your body, tearing out the Spear and throwing it to clang against the far wall before sinking down to weep upon your shoulder. It had been unsettling for Constantine, not to see a man cry, but the utter despair with which Wick expressed himself. In a way, he found that he envied him.

“My little bird,” Wick whispered desperately against your lifeless flesh. “I will find you again. I swear, I will find you again.”

In a strange twist…Constantine found that he actually felt sorry for the dhampir.

Whatever his sins…his love for you had certainly been real, and true.

But then…you had that effect on people.

♰♰♰

Constantine continues to stand vigil on the roof, and there is something about the warm desert breeze that night, like a breath of heaven on his skin, that reminds him of you.

Then something silken soft brushes against his face–and in his mouth. He spits, making a show of expelling something from between his lips.

“Really? I gotta use the tattoos on you?”

Laughing, you assume your most corporeal form, appearing in front of him. Your raven-black wings enclose the two of you like a privacy curtain, a cozy little space just for the two of you. Steadying yourself with hands on his chest, you incline your head for a kiss.

He grants it, his soft lips lingering on yours, his big hands on your waist pulling you closer. “You’re back early.”

“Hmm.”

“I was afraid he might not let you go.”

You reach up to brush dark hair out of his eyes; he softens for your touch, a small sigh betraying his enjoyment. “He’s happy with our deal.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

He has trouble hiding how relieved he is to hear this. Fighting John Wick wasn’t something high on his list of suicidal things he wanted to try out, but he might have had to, had the vampire hunter not been in such a seemingly generous mood.

He had to admit, he’d never envisioned himself in a polyamorous relationship with a dhampir and an angel.

At least, that's what they think you are, or some derivative anyway. The black wings are a little wildcard–but then, you had been carrying around a baggie of blood taken from the other Antichrist, which was pierced perfectly by the Spear. Beeman theorizes that it counteracted the blood of Christ in a way that somehow saved your life. And after Constantine’s little deal with Satan…supposedly, you were home free.

Or at least…no longer damned by default.

You liked being an angel, so far. You still had the immense power to help people, but didn't have to get your hands quite so dirty to do it.

And, he won't admit it, but you're pretty sure John Constantine has a wing fetish.

You think about the first time you'd appeared to him, about a week after your supposed death. He'd broken into your apartment, and was just sitting amongst your things. You'd been trailing him invisibly, not having quite gotten the hang of your corporeal form yet. You didn't even really know what you were, yet. You kind of fancied yourself a sort of guardian ghost for John, your heart breaking all over again as you watched him mourn you.

You didn't think that he could sense you–but when you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out to touch his face he’d straightened like you'd slapped him. You'd watched as he’d rolled up his sleeves, admiring those corded forearms even as he chanted the words and joined those archaic tattoos. The magic in them felt like being tugged hard by a rope, and suddenly–he could see you.

You're not sure who was more shocked: him, or you.

“Y/n?”

You swear his hands shook as he reached for you. And then his eyes went wide, as his gaze fixed behind you, on what you would soon find were oil-black wings, your feathers shimmering with green and violet highlights in the low light.

With no concept yet of what you'd become, you’d flung yourself into his arms, and he'd welcomed you gladly. Finally, when you could come up for air again between heated kisses, he demanded, “Have you been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Mostly.” You'd gone to check on Wick for a little while, trying to comfort him in the manic depths of his grief, but he’d been untouchable.

Then, he’d disappeared.

You will admit, that you’d been more worried about Constantine, if for anything because you knew Wick was a survivor to the bone.

“I thought…I was a ghost,” you'd admitted.

Constantine actually laughed, a short, disbelieving burst of mirth. “Oh, honey.” He’d cupped your face in his large hands and kissed you deeply, filling your heart with something like sunshine. Then, his attention had turned to your wings again. He ran an experimental hand down your silky flight feathers, and a delicious shudder ripped down your spine. “They’re sensitive,” you admitted, and the look John Constantine paid you could have melted granite, one angular black brow lifted high.

“Are they now?”

Suddenly you could barely speak past your libido lodged in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, and his fingers found their way into your hair, drawing you to him again. The new addition of the wings made things interesting between you, but somehow you managed to come together with only one casualty of a lamp you never really liked much anyway.

It reminded you of the first night you made love in this bed, riding his beautiful cock while he teased your needy little clit with his thumb. Desperate for each other, hardly able to believe that this was real, that you were even allowed to have this blessing after everything you went through…you came together as you held on for dear life, your eyes locked with his as you found bliss with his body joined with yours.

“There's a Touched By An Angel joke here somewhere,” he’d teased in the aftermath, as you curled up in his arms.

“I always thought that show sounded like something you'd have to report door to door,” you mused, winning the coveted prize of his mirth, and his lips on your forehead.

Much later, while you were cooking for him [and you, because God you missed solid food] he told you, “I never thought I’d say this…but we better go find Wick. He's gone on a rampage killing vampires, but I don't know what he'll do when he runs out of fangfaces to mangle.”

You looked back over your shoulder from the stove, your eyebrows raised high. “Where?”

“Last I heard, he was tearing Portland apart.”

“Fuck.”

Constantine offered you a commiserating ghost of a smile.

“The High Table…are not going to be amused by that?”

“Ah…probably not.”

Your heart fell like a stone. “Will they go after him for it?”

“I would feel sorry for anyone they sent his way, but…”

You sigh. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“I suppose.” He looked down at the table. “Well. I had you to myself for all of 24 hours.”

“John…do you want me to yourself?”

He’d looked up at you through his dark hair, those eyes filled with a mix of heart-crushing sorrow and longing, his long fingers clenching then unclenching upon the table. The bond between you was different, after your transformation, but you still could tell in a rare instance this man was nervous.

“I’m not saying I think I’m…husband material or that I’d even make a good boyfriend, and I know you deserve better…but…I love you, y/n.”

How far you'd come, that he could say that last part aloud.

All you had to do was die.

You’d nodded in earnest, your knees weak. “We can work with that.”

Suddenly he was on his feet, and you gravitated towards him until you were in his arms again. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, for so long that you almost burned the chicken, and you found out that when you're that happy your wings flutter, the same way your toes curl.

♰♰♰

In the end you’d convinced Constantine that you should probably go on your own, not knowing Wick’s state of mind, and you caught up with your dhampir at a cabin deep in the Snoqualmie Forest. It seemed he’d retreated there to heal after tearing through the vampire population of Seattle, almost like he was daring the High Table to come after him.

It was a beautiful setting, the fir trees towering all around. The cabin was small, rustic, and you wondered if Wick did not build it with his bare hands. The air smelled fresh, and clean, and reminded you of a different time, long ago. Something that came to you as fact, in the fever dream of your resurrection, and somehow you were allowed to retain the long buried memory.

When you were a young woman, in another life, 300 years ago, vampires ravaged your village, killing and pillaging as they pleased, the dead including your own parents and young sister. A dhampir named Jardani Jovanovich came to hunt them. Tall and true, dark as the devil himself, and from the moment you laid eyes on his tall, terrible form, you’d felt as though you had a fever burning inside you. He’d looked your way from astride his beautiful black horse, as though you’d said his name, and when your eyes met you knew he’d stolen your soul. After he delivered the heads of the strigoi to your village starosta he took you as his wife, and the two of you never looked back, and never separated, until the day you died.

Despite the fearsome man he’d been, Jardani Jovanovich had always been good to you.

Perhaps it was this memory that gave you the courage to let yourself into the cabin, as though you had every right to be there. It was deathly quiet, and an empty bottle of vodka on the table, along with a pile of bloody gauze, perhaps explained why. You found him in the back bedroom, half-clothed, passed out on his side.

You weren’t sure there was any good way to go about this that wouldn’t startle him, so you shed your shoes and lay down beside him, taking his hand in your smaller one between you on the counterpane. Now that you’d found him, you wanted to sleep. You’d flown (on the wing!) all the way from L.A., after all. Being an angel–or angel-ish–was strange. You got the sense that you didn’t need food, or drink, or sleep–but you liked to have it. The cold damp wouldn’t kill you, but you certainly felt it. Perhaps this is why you snuggled into Wick’s furnace of a body, as you dozed.

You half-woke to the sound of him mumbling in his sleep–or rather, the vibration of it from within his broad chest. “Yelena Ivanova, gde ty byl…”

Where have you been?

“I’m here,” you answered softly, not really awake yourself.

“Hmmff,” he’d answered, holding you closer with a grip that would have crushed a human woman. You managed to worm loose a little, perching on his chest.

“Jardani,” you’d said softly, brushing back his unkempt dark hair.

That was when his eyes finally slitted open, slowly focusing on you. Then they drifted up, taking in your wings. Maybe he thought he was dreaming, for he questioned nothing at first, simply taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “Milaya…my pretty little bird, what wings you have grown.”

“You like them?”

You sit up, straddling his torso, and as his hands gravitate to your jean-clad thighs he seems to begin to realize this is not a dream or a drunken vision–you are here.

Bolting upright, he seizes you in his arms, holding you hard against him. “Y/N?” His face is buried in the bend of your neck; your name is lost in the distortion of a sob.

“I’m here,” you told him again, running your fingers through his tangled dark hair.

“...How?” he asks as he pulls back to look you over again, seemingly in awe of the feathered appendages protruding from your shoulders, but most amazed by the smoothe, unbroken skin over your breastbone.

You have a scar there, where the Spear pierced your heart. You wondered if you would have managed to heal, had Wick not wrested the blade from your body so quickly.

You shrugged, because you really didn’t know the answers, and his calloused fingers caressing your chest so gently crossed the wires in your brain. You couldn’t help but lean into him, winning something like a growl from deep in his throat.

“Do you remember what I told you would happen, when we finally found ourselves a bed?” He'd almost posed it like a threat, his hands ghosting over your breasts, running down the ladder of your ribs. It felt marvelous, and you giggled nervously as you undulated against him.

“I might recall something of that nature…”

The sound he made was nothing less than animal, as he fell on your lips and devoured you whole. You let him gladly, giddy with bliss as he seemed bent on tasting every inch of your bare skin with his seeking lips and tongue. “You are so beautiful, my love, my darling little angel, my own heaven on earth.” He whispered this like a prayer upon your skin, consecrated each word with a kiss, and you utterly melted beneath what was nothing less than an onslaught.

You lost track of how many times you came, in that man’s mouth, on his thick fingers, and with his insatiable cock buried inside you. By the time he was done with you, for the moment, at least, your body was covered in lovebites, full of his cum, and your usually supernaturally sturdy limbs were rendered into utter jelly. You could do nothing but curl up with him under a blanket beside the fire he’d built for you, joyfully stupefied by his relentless affection.

Later, you ate soup together made from a freeze-dried packet, and it tasted like a gourmet meal when eaten in the warm glow of his tender gaze upon you, your legs tangled under the table. You talked of what happened after you died, and what you can’t remember but you theorize happened in the interim. You wonder if the High Table witch’s spell was another factor in your taking on a new earthbound form, rather than going on to Heaven like Constantine had bargained for. Wick found it amusing that you thought you were a ghost. “I felt you,” he tells you regretfully. “But I was mad with grief–I thought I was hallucinating it. I am sorry…I let you down.”

Perhaps he is thinking back on how he wept on your corpse and vowed to find you again–but you were there all along.

However, you shook your head, reaching out for his big hand on the rough-hewn table. “You didn't let me down. We’re both still new to this, aren’t we? And John figured it out.”

Wick narrowed his eyes a little at the mention of your other beau. It’s funny– you really could not have picked two more opposite sorts of men. “Yes. He is very clever, your John.”

You smiled a little, perhaps masking the bloom of warmth in your heart that flowers any time you are speaking of John Constantine. “He is.”

“He loves you?”

You can't stop your lips from curling a little more. You'd in fact heard it from that stubborn horse’s own mouth.

“Yes.”

“But he was not good to you?”

You sighed. “Things were…complicated.”

“They are not now?”

“Less so, maybe.” Somehow, you thought you were actually telling the truth. Something about the lifted weight of certain damnation brought a lightness to John that was never there before. He is more open, with you, at least. He is, in fact, damn near affectionate, when you're alone together in your own little world. Maybe the truth of this showed on your face; Wick seemed attuned to your every tell. The look he paid you next was nothing less than wolfish, long in fang and a sharp hunger in his gaze.

“This does not mean I am letting you out of your promise to me. You will like New York.”

“For a visit,” you answered sweetly, ready to do battle. “But I'm not uprooting from L.A.”

He smirked at this, as though he did not think the matter closed by half. “Hmm. You think I will share you, little bird?”

“I think…it’s the only way this will work,” you answered him honestly.

“You won't give him up?”

“I can’t,” you admitted.

“Mmm,” he grumbled, that deep sound from his chest that did not fail to make your pulse quicken. “Stubborn woman. You always were a disobedient wife.”

There was a sparkle of mirth in his dark eyes that signaled to you that this was an inside joke between you that you just didn’t remember.

Or so you hoped.

“Honey, we are not married,” you dared to remind him.

He smirked at you like you said something very funny. “Maybe not yet…but I know how to make you pliant and sweet…”

The rabbit impulse to run came too late. You barely had time to even squeal before he caught you up in his strong arms and had you on the table, his narrow hips wedged between your thighs, your hands pinned over your head. All you were wearing was your panties and his oversized flannel shirt. You felt utterly vulnerable to him, and it was so terrifyingly wonderful you feared you might burst. “Give me…an hour…between these luscious thighs,” he’d purred, kissing down your neck as you tried to struggle, giggling all the while. “And you'll see things my way.”

He bites off one of the buttons of his own shirt, clearly not caring in the least.

“That is so not fair!”

“I am not interested in fair,” he chuckled against your skin. “Only in making you mine.”

It occurred to you that not once had that intoxicating power of his surfaced between you. Were you immune, now that you're no longer a vampire? No bewitching scents, no tantalizing magic–the desire between you is fire, but it’s just pure, good ol’ fashioned, human lust, woven through with love, and it was its own potent magic indeed.

“Jardani…”

He sat up on elbows above you, looking down at you with a warmth that rivaled the red hot coals in the stove as you stroked the hair out of his face, tracing the ridge of his brow. His eyes closed under the lull of your touch, leaning into your hand.

“You need him, little bird? To be happy?”

“Yes,” you'd answered in a whisper, aware that something binding was happening between you.

“Do you need me too?” There was a vulnerability in this simple question from this fearsome man that melted you to your toes.

“Yes,” you confirmed, going for broke.

His answering smile was like a baring of teeth. “My little angel is greedy.” He kissed you hard, your head pressing down into the table. “Fine,” he grumbled as you gasped for air, and maybe your sanity too. “I will grant you this. I am a generous man, ptichka. You will see.”

You were so delighted that you pulled him down into another tonsil-teasing kiss, holding him closer with your bare legs around his waist. “Thank you.”

He sat up to sweep you with a considering look, your body laid out like a feast for him on the table, and he made a sound that reminded you more of a bear, than a man. “But when you’re with me, malyshka,” he warned you darkly, “you are all mine.” Suddenly too impatient to even bother with removing your panties again, he moved them to the side so that he could sink into the wet heat of your needy cunt, stretching you deliciously while he played with your clit, his voracious tongue mercilessly toying with your peaked nipples. You came on his cock with a ragged scream, the searing pleasure of another release tearing through you like a punishment as much as a blessing. You were impressed that the table held, after the way he pounded into you, finishing with a roar like a battle cry as he filled you again with his seed.

You held him, as he collapsed on you, and you knew you were going to have your hands full.

Deep down, a part of you knew that he only agreed to this arrangement out of pure practicality.

You don't know if he's immortal, per se, but he certainly isn't aging fast. You suspect your own situation might be the same. But John…is mortal, and even if you hate the thought, the fact is that you and Wick have time that Constantine doesn't.

All the dhampir has to do is be patient.

And, not piss you off, of course.

You keep telling yourself that just because you were his wife in a past life doesn't mean things are a done deal between you. You have to keep reminding yourself that you barely know him, because when you're together?

Everything else melts away.

♰♰♰

Perhaps Wick is patient, but he does not waste time. A month after Snoqualmie he’s already bought a house in Los Angeles, and a cabin in Big Sur.

Oddly enough, the arrangement suits Constantine just as well. He’d meant what he said, that he wasn't relationship oriented, and you knew it. You had zero interest in molding him into something he didn't want to be.

Besides.

You have your own thing going.

You don't move into Wick’s posh manse in the Hills, despite his invitation.

You keep your humble apartment next to Constantine’s. You like your little space, and frankly…you need something of your own. Splitting your time between the two of them…can be intense, truth be told. Blissfully, maddeningly so, but sometimes, you need a break.

You are having one of those, when you hear a knock on your door. John had been away on an exorcism, clearing out an infestation of aswangs in the Bay Area, and you were afraid you might not get to see him before your upcoming trip to Paris with Wick, to officially receive his release from Service to the High Table.

You missed him.

Eagerly you open the door.

“Hello, handsome.”

John Constantine looks down at you with that half smile that still quickens your heart, leaning on the door jamb. He could push you over with a feather when you see he is not only holding a bottle of delicious red wine, but a bouquet of flowers.

Who is this man, and where is your surly demon hunter?

You can tell that they came from the gas station around the corner, but they are pretty, and that he even thought to bring them to you fills you with a fluttery glee.

Amused by your stupefied expression, he lifts one angular eyebrow at you. “Hello, angel.”

You feel the warmth in his eyes to the marrow of your bones–and if you’re being honest, right between your thighs.

You've really missed him.

You express your enthusiasm by tugging him inside by his tie, pressing your lips to his. John puts down the wine and the flowers as you breeze by the table–en route to the couch, where you direct him to sit in no uncertain terms.

The wings complicate things–you've discovered you can glamor them away to mingle with the public at large, but it doesn't actually make their volume disappear. It’s just easier to be on top–good thing you both like it.

But you notice he flinches a little, and immediately you hold your weight off of him. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a scratch.”

“Let me see.” Frowning, you undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. He lets you do what you want, having long learned it's no good to fight you.

And, you suspect, he secretly likes being coddled a little.

What he calls just a scratch is in fact angry claw marks that rake across his entire abdomen. “Oh, John. Why didn't you call me?”

“I just…wanted to come home to you,” he admits, looking up at you with those soulful dark eyes in a way that makes your wings quiver, your most visible of tells these days.

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

You hold up your hands, and they begin to glow.

Something else you've discovered?

You can heal with your touch.

You found this out when visiting Chas in the hospital, when he was trussed in traction, and the doctors weren't sure he'd ever walk again. Heartbroken, filled with guilt and the wish that it could have been different for him, you'd taken his hand and something poured out of you.

His recovery within weeks was considered nothing less than a miracle, utterly boggling the medical community. Bless his heart, but Chas kept your secret. It was an ability certain clandestine government agencies, not to mention unscrupulous billionaires, would certainly have snatched you for.

It also comes in pretty handy with a boyfriend like John Constantine. And others, too. You spend a lot of time in the children’s wards of various hospitals (in invisible form). You've discovered the ability is not infinite, nor without its price. You can run out of juice, and you have to take time to recharge. You will feel like shit tomorrow, but it's a price you'll gladly pay. You've downplayed that particular effect–John doesn't quite know the toll it takes on you, but you prefer to keep it that way.

It still does not cease to impress you, watching John's skin knit back to its previous milky pale perfection, only the faintest hint of pink scars left behind in your wake. He sighs, his eyes closed, head tilted back in bliss.

“I warned it that my liver wasn’t exactly grade A, but it was determined.”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. You know he drinks a lot less now, but the bottles still appear with regularity. You lean down, catching his lips with yours. “You taste pretty good to me.”

He chuckles, holding your face in his hands. “Mmm, so do you, Girl Next Door. My favorite vintage.”

“Am I?”

You can't hide your surprise. You'd kind of assumed that he might start seeing Angela on the side eventually. They liked each other, and you weren't exactly in an exclusive arrangement, considering. But he looks at you the way he does when he's afraid he's said something that only belatedly he realizes is hurtful.

“Yeah.” He cups your face in his big hands, and you feel your wings quivering again. “I know I don't tell you enough, y/n, but I love you. So much.”

You know you were always ridiculous, and becoming an angelic being of some sort has not changed that. Your eyes brim with tears, and your lip quivers. “Oh John. I love you too.”

He sits up to pull you into an embrace, holding you close against his heart. “Jesus Christ. I still don't know what I did to deserve you.”

You think about the journey that brought the two of you to this moment, and the transformations you’ve both undergone. It’s nothing less than incredible, really, and yet that is the miracle of the human spirit. The ability to endure, and to change. The power of love truly is an awesome thing.

“Hmm. I think…you were just yourself.” He huffs at that, holding you harder. He’s getting better, at not hating himself all the time, but for a man like him it’s still a daily battle. So you tell him, and you will keep telling him, until someday maybe he sees the light that you saw in him all along.

You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other.

It's moments like these that you savor to the last second, knowing how very precious they are. Maybe you've never exactly received any direct marching orders from the Big Guy Above, but you can't really refute the existence of some sort of Divine entity after what you’ve been through, and you can’t help but feel like your time with either of your Johns is something sacred. You've learned, if anything, that He or She or The Universe, whatever you choose, works in mysterious ways, and maybe, just maybe, things have worked out exactly the way they should.

the end. for now. until, it all begins again. but that’s another story…

__________________

*starosta - the village elder/mayor figure *strigoi - evil spirits risen from the dead, vampires *aswang - evil, bloodthirsty, sometimes organ-eating spirit from Filipino folklore

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You guys!!!!!! 😭😭😭 Finishing a story is always bittersweet, but I’m so happy to have gone on this journey with all of you! You kept me going with your love and your encouragement, and the way this story evolved thanks to your feedback is pretty cool, I have to say. It NEVER would have turned out like this without you! A huge thanks to @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @discoscoob @donaka-screaming @reallongwire @scarlettspectra @lilithlinen @lilspookymeh @xxjaejaexx-blog1 @casuallyobssessed @girl-at-the-verge @babsharrison @luminousmoon21 @luluvstars @lonelyspadez @desolatewrath @fernpetals @axshadows @junojunimo @nightmare-bean @ghcstpyre and so many others for your kindness and your readership, I really can’t tell you how much it’s meant to be over the course of this story! And a special thanks to @lilspookymeh , I know you haven’t been on in a while but in case you ever read this, your comments and analysis back when I first started this story were just utterly crucial in molding it into what it became, you’re so insightful and I can’t thank you enough! I love you guys! ❤❤❤❤❤

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em-ontv · 3 days ago

Note

Hi I’m the anon who sent you the idea for “sing a song for me” and it’s literally so perfect I can’t wait to read the second part. I might cry a little I’m not even lying this was a dream I had and I was like huh wow that would make a cool fanfic but I can’t write at all. And you made it even better than I could’ve imagined thank you so much 🥰

Sing a song for me. (2/2)

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!fem!reader

Warnings: injuries/scars, comfort/intimacy (non-explicit), language, no use of y/n, Butcher being Butcher, probably ooc Ben (I made him a bit too gentle, we don't need more trauma), not proof-read

A/n: hello, anon! I'm so glad you liked part 1, this is the long due part 2 I promised. Hope you like it <3 sorry for taking so long to write this :'(

Read part 1 here

Word count: 2.4k

The inside of the van was cramped and smelled faintly of oil and sweat. The seats were worn, the leather cracked from use. The night outside was dense, you saw just enough stars to remind yourself that while you were locked away, there was a whole other world out there beyond your cell.

You sat beside Ben, who kept casting glances your way as if he was afraid you'd shatter. But you couldn't blame him... you must have looked terrible. The bruises, the exhaustion, the haunted look in your eyes. You didn't even bother to look at yourself in the reflection of the window on your way into the van. It felt like too much—like you couldn't handle what Vought had done to you. Not yet.

The ride was mostly silent until Butcher finally spoke.

"Alright, love, here's the deal." he said, breaking the silence. His eyes looked over you, his expression calculating. "We need to know now. Are you in, or do we drop you somewhere nice and safe to rot? We're taking down Homelander. It's not a bloody game."

Hughie shifted uncomfortably, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent. You stared back at Butcher, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to form words, but your head was spinning.

You knew what he was asking, but it felt too much to make that decision right now. You just wanted to rest—a bed, a moment to breathe without fear clawing at your throat.

"Alright, back the fuck off." Ben's voice snapped, breaking through the haze of your thoughts. The tension in the van spiked, and for a second, it looked like he was ready to lunge across the seat at Butcher and knock all of his teeth out. "Can't you see she's been through enough? She doesn't need your bullshit right now."

Butcher's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he met Ben's glare. "We don't have time for second-guessing, mate. It's a very simple question."

Butcher turned his gaze back to you. "You can help us take down Homelander, the bastard who’s got half the world wrapped around his fuckin' finger, or we can take you back home. But no guarantees, yeah? Vought knows about you. They’ll come for you. Eventually."

You swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over your throat, your mind spinning. Home? That word didn't even feel real. Could that place—that cell—even be worthy of being called something like home?

But then again, if you didn't help, could you ever be safe again? For once in a very long time, the choice was yours, but both paths seemed like a death end.

"She needs time." Ben said, his jaw tensing, quietly observing you as if he knew what you were thinking. The hand that he rested on your back made you flinch slightly, causing him to retract it, his fingers curling into a fist.

Your gaze faltered, your eyes dropping to the ground before you managed to look back at Butcher.

A sharp huff escaped Butcher, his patience worn out. “Time's not a luxury we've got. This ain't a charity." He turned toward you, his tone biting. "Again, you can go back to your cozy little cell, I suppose. Vought’ll just find a new use for you.”

"For fuck's sake, she just got out of an shithole." Ben snapped, his voice simmering with anger. "Give her some fuckin' time."

For a moment, Butcher looked like he might argue with some witty comeback, but after a beat, he exhaled sharply, turning his attention back to the road. "Fine. But time's ticking."

The rest of the drive was quiet. You leaned back in your seat, your eyelids heavy, letting your eyes close for just a moment, the noise faded into the background as you let exhaustion win over.

––––

When you reached the destination, Ben helped you out of the van, his movements cautious, his hand warm and solid on your lower back as he guided you inside. The "safe house" was as secure as it was miserable, but right now, that didn't matter. It was shelter, and it was enough.

The others dispersed, Butcher grumbling quietly under his breath as he stalked off to another room, Frenchie and Kimiko greeted you with a wave before leaving too.

Ben, though, lingered by your side, his hand hovering near yours, gently brushing against it for a second, but he didn't dare to reach for you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice rough but oddly gentle, his gaze never leaving your face. It wasn't something you expected to hear from him—after seeing his quite violent display in the lab, but here he was, looking at you with more concern than anyone else ever had.

You nodded, a small smile curling on your lips, swallowing thickly. "I'm... yeah. Just... tired," you were almost embarrassed by how weak you sounded, but he didn't judge, a faint understanding in his expression.

Hours passed in a tired blur. You had settled into a room, a worn-out bed, but it was better than nothing. Everyone retreated to their own corners of the place for what little rest they could find. You sank into the mattress, your eyes drifting shut almost instantly.

––––

It was sometime past midnight when Ben jolted awake, a cold sweat clinging to his skin, running a shaky hand over his face. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight outside filtering through the window. He sat up, his heart pounding, the remnants of the dream clinging to him.

Images flashed through his mind—memories of Vought, of his own time in their hands, of the time when he was betrayed, taken away, being tested on, and then frozen for decades. His breathing was ragged, the familiar surge of anger clawing its way to the surface, but something else broke through.

His thoughts drifted to you.

Without really thinking, he got up, slipping out of his room and down the hallway, to the room where you slept. His steps were slow, cautious, not wanting to disturb you.

He hesitated at the doorway to your room, his breath catching when he saw you lying there, on the narrow, uncomfortable bed.

In the dim light, your features were softened, the lines of worry and pain absent. You looked peaceful, your breathing slow and steady, and it eased something in him, his shoulders sagging as the tension slipped away.

Ben took a step into the room, but the floor creaked under his weight, and your eyes snapped open, sitting up on the bed, startled.

"...m'sorry," he whispered, his voice soft but hoarse, like something was bothering him. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

"It’s okay," you murmured, your breathing becoming steady. Your eyes flickered over his face, the lingering pain in his expression catching you off-guard.

You knew that something was wrong, you'd seen that look before, in patients who had been through a lot, in people who had lost themselves along the way.

He hesitated, glancing away, as if embarrassed by his own vulnerability. He looked like he might turn and go back to his own room—but his uneven breathing made him pause. The sight of you was comforting, and that kind look in your eyes made him move closer instead of backing away.

He took a few careful steps closer, almost unsure. "Just wanted to… make sure you were alright," he said, his voice low.

You nodded, your heart still pounding, but not from fear this time, it was something warm. "I’m okay. Just… hard to sleep sometimes."

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. He sank down to one knee, then both, kneeling beside your bed, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him and his slow breaths. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy but comforting.

Without thinking, you lifted your hand, resting it gently against the side of his head, your thumb brushing over his temple. His eyes widened, a brief moment of shock crossing his face.

"What are you—?" his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the touch almost made him wince in pain from how gentle it was. It was like your fingers brushed against some soft spot inside of him, he almost melted.

"It's okay... trust me," you started, trying to reassure him. His eyes met yours, the initial tension easing. He didn't pull away, but instead leaned into your touch in a quiet surrender. "My powers, they'll help," you added softly.

At your voice, his eyes fluttered shut, his expression softening as he exhaled a long, shaky breath. The walls he had built around himself crumbled bit by bit the more he felt your touch.

You hesitated, then began to hum—a soft, gentle melody, barely audible but enough to fill the silence. It felt strange, using your powers willingly again, but different this time... it brought you back to the bittersweet memories of your time before Vought. The tune was simple, soothing, a song you’d sung so many times before. Not destructive, but safe, warm.

As the notes drifted through the air, you felt Ben’s body relax under your touch. His breathing slowed, each exhale deeper, more even, and his hand reached up, covering yours as he pressed your palm closer to his face, silently grounding himself in the warmth of it.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a gentle touch, and he felt something he thought he lost... peace. A kind of comfort that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Or something that he thought he'd given up for good, back in the old days, or maybe he'd never had it to begin with.

When your humming finally faded, he stayed there, his hand still covering yours, his eyes still closed. For a second, you thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don’t deserve this," he murmured, his tone laced with a sadness that made your heart ache. "You don't understand what I've... the things that I did."

You shook your head, your hand instinctively wanting to fall from the side of his face but he only held you closer with a conflict—whether he wanted to push you away or pull you into his arms and not let go.

"All I know is that I would've been stuck in that lab if it weren't for you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "A favor for a favor. I think that's fair."

"Well, it wasn't entirely my choice to break you out," he muttered, that blunt tone of his slipping through, as if it was his last attempt to pull away before sinking too deep.

A soft scoff escaped your lips. "Whatever it was, at least I'm not stuck there anymore."

Slowly, you pulled him up onto the bed beside you, and he let you, his movements careful like he was afraid he might shatter the moment. You shifted, settling so that you were facing him, the blanket fell from your shoulders to pool around your waist, leaving the bruises and scars on your arms exposed under the dim light.

Ben’s gaze traveled over each mark, each scar, but there was no horror in his expression, no pity—only reverence. He reached out, his fingers brushing over a bruise on your shoulder, gentle and careful, as if touching something precious.

"They did this to you," he murmured, a hardness in his voice. It wasn't a question, but a statement. He knew too well.

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "They're fading." you said, looking away for a moment, as if you didn't want to acknowledge the scars.

Without a word, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the bruise on your shoulder, a feather-light kiss that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Ben...?" you asked hesitantly. The small tremble in your voice made him stop, a flash of worry crossed his face, his teeth biting at his lower lip. He thought he might have overstepped.

"I'm... sorry," he whispered, pulling back. He feared that he had ruined whatever small trust that had begun to form between you.

But your fingers threaded through his hair, hand pressing to the back of his head to bring him closer again. "Stop apologizing," you breathed softly.

His eyes met yours and a small smile threatened to curl up on his lips, a mutual understanding settled between the two of you before his head dipped down to the crook of your neck. His lips brushed against your skin, kissing an old scar, then he kissed another, and another, his mouth trailing over each scar, each bruise, as if he was trying to erase the pain they held. It felt like an apology, like he was mending you.

His touch was careful, almost reverent, and you felt the warmth of each kiss seep into your skin, soothing the ache that lay beneath. You closed your eyes, letting the gentleness of his touch wash over you.

You felt your chest restricting, your breath becoming shallow, you couldn't remember the last time you'd been so taken care of. It was overwhelming, but you didn't want him to stop.

Ben’s hands were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but the way he touched you was anything but. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away the tears that had slipped down your cheek without you even noticing. Then he closed the distance, pressing his lips to your forehead, a kiss so soft, so full of warmth that it made your chest warm and ache at the same time.

"You're safe," he whispered. "You're still here, and I'm with you." It wasn't much, but it was the most reassurance anyone could get out of him.

You leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he sighed, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, his gaze soft and unguarded in a way you hadn't seen before.

Slowly, he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you as you settled your forehead against his chest, his heartbeat steady against your ear. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe.

After a long silence, you spoke, your quiet voice breaking the quiet. "Hey... Ben?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his voice a murmur against your hair.

"I'll help you take down Homelander."

#soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy fic #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys fanfic #the boys tv #the boys amazon #jensen ackles

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prof-peach · 11 months ago

Note

So if Grey is Peach's support and Plum is Peach's logic what is she to them?

Strength, Heart. something like that. The sheer support and determination that woman carries for everyone besides herself is inhuman, she's a well of motivation if you can appeal to her softer nature.

#its more complicated than one singular thing of course #but you can narrow it down a bit i suppose #prof.peach #ooc

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tonycries · 3 months ago

Text

SOOO ANXIOUS

Synopsis. When he’s a 10 but the pulI-out game is non-existent.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, breéding, breaking the condóm, overstím, Gojo’s powers going haywire, spítting, cúmplay, NÉEDY BOYS, marathon séx, chokíng, SLIGHT dàddy kínk (Nanami’s), jealousy (Sukuna), first times (Choso), limitless, exhíbitionísm (Sukuna), true form! Sukuna, dp, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k (wild omg)

A/N. Ty to that one anon for reminding me of Gojo and his limitless, I just had to. Hope y’all have a lovely day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - When life gives you…

Dammit, Toji knew he should’ve looked over your shopping list closer. He knew he should’ve spent just a little longer at the convenience store searching for that special brand the two of you always used - the only one that could fit his massive size - instead of rushing home like a madman to fuck you sloppily into your silken sheets.

He knew.

But, well, feeling that thin excuse of rubber that was once coating his achy cock snap open - crashing his raw, leaky tip right against the bottom of your syrupy pussy, bruising - he certainly didn’t have any regrets either.

“Whoops.” you hear Toji’s ragged, unapologetic huff against your ear. Lips quirking up into a smirk when you’re looking up at him in question with those cockdrunk eyes of yours. “Broke the condom again.” he explains.

And as if to confirm, he’s sliding a calloused palm right down to the bulging area of your slit, sliding his eager fingers along the edge of that glossy piece of tattered rubber, “Now what do you suppose we do about that, ma?”

What?

And it’s all you can do to whirl your glassy gaze down at where he was already admiring. The sinful sight of your ravaged pussy winking lewdly up at you - puffy lips spread to bulge about his angry, red cock. Beading a sheen of your sweet sweet juices down his length, being swallowed up greedily. His raw length.

“Toji–” you hiss, digging the balls of your heels at those dimples down the bottom of his spine, making him hiss in delight. “You bought the wrong ngh- brand of condoms? Again? This is the fifth time this week.”

And oh he found it so cute when you’re mad at him like this, pretending like your absolute slut of a cunt didn’t just get wetter at the feeling of his cock throbbing against your walls. Milking him so good that he can’t help but let his addicted hips move in lingering thrusts, jamming into your g-spot over and over like a little apology.

He’s humming, “Accident- ouch!”

The thick head of his cock pulses even deeper inside you when you give his muscled pecs a bratty smack. “Fine fine- I may have uh- rushed jus’ a bit.” As if to wipe away that tiny bit of guilt in his words, Toji’s hips are thrashing harder into you, merciless. “But heyyyy—” he leans down to drag his lips against your own in a messy kiss. “Y’know what they say, when ngh- l-life gives you the wrong pack of condoms, give her a creampie.”

You narrow your eyes, “Y-you’re such a-”

But within a millisecond, he’s dragging his swollen cock out of your snug cunt - barely, just enough to pull off those flimsy dredges of whatever was left of his condom after those bullying thrusts he’d been planting on your poor pussy.

“I’m jus’ being resourceful, woman” Toji chokes out when you bite down on his collarbone at the audacity. Before plowing on, words dripping with faux-apology, “Ahhh what to do, such a shame I forgot to get the r-right condoms. Whatever shall we do, ma?”

Before diving straight back into your heavenly entrance, purposefully taking his time to rub against every hidden nook and cranny of your walls. Toji throws his head back, defined abs bowing into you, “I know. How about this time insteada pulling out, you finally let me cum inside?”

And you knew Toji had such a mean cock, and fucked you even meaner. But fuck this was ridiculous.

“Ngh- T-Toji!” you’re keening with every heavy smack of his balls against your stinging ass, being rocked further and further up the drenched mattress with the force of his sharp jabs. “You’re lucky you feel too ngh- good this way.”

“Heh, see? What did I tell ya? Now fuckin’ come-” Thick fingers wrap around your hips, pulling your back down, down, down - deep to spearhead his cock into your sweet spots. “-here-” Rendering you unable to escape, unable to do anything but be splayed out like such a slut while he’s molding your cunt to the shape of his length. Frenzied. Crazed. The complete opposite of the smugly gentle kisses he presses to your teary cheeks, “-and take my actual cock like a good girl, doll. Lemme make you a mama.”

The thought has you letting out such pitiful whimpers, thighs quivering. “Hah- m’gonna cum. M’so close, Toji-”

Gripping him so tight you could feel the outline of his prominent veins, the sensitive spots along his shaft. Toji’s brows furrow in concentration, letting out a sultry drawl of words, “Yeah? Is this pretty pussy gonna cum?” He reaches down to toy a long index around your neglected clit, sending your eyes rolling back with a moan. “Gonna be stuffed full of my seed like she’s supposed to?”

You can only get out a few bleary nods, and usually Toji would tease you a little more - have you begging and crying. But right now he’s so fucked.

The feeling of your squeezing walls too tight, the crashing of his sensitive tip against your spongy g-spot too much that the only thing he can grit out is a low, “Then cum- cum f’me, doll.”

He feels it before you realize you’re cumming, just running on wave upon wave of pure electricity running down your spine while Toji ruts into you so animalistically. Reeling back only for a few sloppy, solid half-thrusts - because you couldn’t bear to separate too much from your cunt - before spilling into you.

And - oh, he was only mad he didn’t do this sooner.

“Oh this is the stuff- fuuuuck this- is- what I needed- take it.” Thick rope upon rope of his hot cum, decorating your saturated walls. So much that it was gushing out of you with each pump of Toji’s hips fucking it deeper inside you - the thought of pulling out not even daring to cross his mind. Oozing. Messy. “Take it all. Make me a daddy again, why don’t ya.”

After all, he did pick the wrong brand for a reason, right?

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Family matters!

The office can be loud - given, it’s hours past everyone’s shift and you and Nanami were the only ones cooped up in his office working overtime right now.

But still, the office can be loud - which is why Nanami Kento isn’t exactly sure he hears you correctly the first time. Not until you keep looking at him with that sultry, determined graze, spit-glossed lips moving to repeat, “I want a baby, Ken.”

It only takes three seconds for him to lock the door and shove you against the cool mahogany of his desk, bunching up that cute pencil skirt of yours at the waist. Which, Nanami thinks, unbuckling his expensive pants to swipe his angry tip between your slobbering slit, is three seconds too late in his opinion.

“You really wan’ me to disrespect your cute cunt this way, my pretty lil’ wife?” he’s purring into your ear, just a soft reassurance before he absolutely fucking ruins you. “Because m’not going hah- easy on you this time.”

And maybe you’re a genius, maybe you’re an idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for her - because you flash him a grin, “So are ya gonna fuck me or not?”

Soon enough, that grin was turning into your jaw sagging open lewdly, drool trickling down the corner of your lips with every bullying squeeze of Nanami’s massive cock inside you. Stretching out every inch of your gummy walls around his swollen girth.

“Oh God—” you’re moaning, eyes rolling to the back of your head with each harsh ram. Wiggling hips mindlessly torn between running away and fucking yourself back onto your husband’s bludgeoning cock for more.

He’s shutting you up with a gentle suck on your candied lips, humming into the kiss, “Jus’ ‘Ken’ works fine, my love.”

And it takes you a few seconds to register his remark - a few, dizzying seconds of being spearheaded by Nanami’s fat tip. Roaming, heavy balls smacking the fat of your ass when he angles his hips just right to ruthlessly kiss against that one sweet spot he knows you love so much. Swirling his furious tip around to find-

“Oh fuck!”

There.

Merciless. Nanami Kento is absolutely merciless.

And all you can do is scramble your jittery fingers towards his desk, his forgotten work documents, him - your body is moving before your heated mind when you reach behind to drag Nanami in closer by his yellow, speckled tie.

All the way until his plump lips were mere millimeters away from yours, “I actually think ‘daddy’ would work better, no?”

Oh. Oh, fuck.

He was completely and utterly fucked.

It takes the both of you by surprise when a large hand comes up to your neck, thick fingers squeezing hard around your pretty throat. The cold metal of Nanami’s wedding ring burning into your skin when he shuts up those filthy words of yours.

“Ken-”

“Shut up. Sh-shut up, darling I’m- fuck I’m-” is all Nanami’s able to stutter out before his hips grow sloppy. And you could feel the way his twitching cock massaged at your plushy walls, the wet sounds of skin-and-skin becoming more and more languid before-

Nanami doesn’t think he’s ever cum this embarrassingly fast in his life. Never did it only take him a few more mean, calculated thrusts into your heavenly cunt until he’s spurting thick wisps of his seed. Coating your poor pussy in a sheen of his cum - of him.

He whimpers, bending his long legs at the knees to grind up deeper into your, feeling the warm slosh of his own seed inside.

“Fuck Ken–” you wheeze, throat raw from the unforgiving hand still around it. Vision spotty and you feel like floating - or maybe that’s just the way Nanami had you lifting off the ground with each relentless ram. “Gonna be the ngh- fuckin’ death of me.”

“Hah, you’re gonna be the hngh- death of me.” he groans, free hand coming up to slide his glasses further up his nose. Shit, if Nanami angled his head just right he could see that sinful, sinful trail of cum down your legs. Glistening under the dim office lighting, forming a little pool right at that crevice between your thigh. “Yeah oh fuck- m’not getting out of this alive. Not with you, darling.”

And oh you should’ve known. Should’ve had an inkling at the way Nanami was still achingly rock-hard between your legs. At the way he innocently grazes a thumb across your sloppy hole, pooling the heady mix of cum and slick on the pads of his fingers - before shoving them right back in. Skirting around that depraved shaft of his to squeeze whatever dredges of seed he could get his hands on back inside you.

It was making such a mess - with each bullying pump of Nanami’s fingers at your dripping cunt, cum was gushing out of your wrecked hole. Slow, and torturous.

Exactly the way he was moving back inside of you now, reeling his toned hips back to smash right into your sweet spots. Dragging that orgasm out of you - out of him, “Gotta make sure it takes, right?”

Suddenly, you have the feeling that it’s going to be a long, long night working overtime.

♡ GETO SUGURU - The egoist

“C’mon, gorgeous.” that low, satiny purr has your cunt quivering traitorously. “You’re really gonna hold out on me like this?”

It takes every bit of willpower in you to tear your eyes from the absolutely sinful sight below you - because Geto Suguru was so unfairly pretty - even with his wrists tied helplessly below you to the bedposts. So delicately flushed a cute pink from his high cheekbones, right down to his thick, sobbing tip. Looking up at you through half-lidded, glassy eyes, peeking from under his long hair.

Hair you thread through to gather in a harsh grip, “Mhm, Sugu, if you’re gonna be so cocky when m’letting you cum inside me then I jus’ hafta- ngh!”

Your foolish little threat is dying in your chest when your beloved boyfriend is wrenching his hips up. Having you teetering precariously, clinging onto his sculpted abs when he uses them to fuck his cock up into you slobbering cunt.

“Hah!” his dark eyes widen in delight at the sight of how readily your slutty cunt was making way for him. Puffy folds being split apart to swallow every fucking inch he gives. “Just look at what a filthy lil’ cunt you have, my girl. So needy despite all your talk.”

“Th-that’s cheating.” you tug on his soft silky restraints. Eyeing the way they were firmly digging into his milky skin. “Maybe I ah- won’t- let you-”

Another ragged jut of his hips, the thick curve of Geto’s swollen cock spearing into you, pulsing against your sensitive spots until you couldn’t think. He’s gasping, “No!” Letting out such a pained grunt when your spongy walls cling onto him like a second skin. “No no no no- jus’ fuck m’gonna have you begging for my cum.”

And if Geto had his hands untied you just knew he’d be gifting your sobbing cunt a punishing smack! So that’s exactly what you do - letting out such a teasing whine of his name when you slap the pads of your fingers down across your sopping slit. Stopping right below your clit - exactly the way he does.

“Still real cocky, aren’t you?” you purr, so sultry and low, sending a fresh wave of precum painting at your bruised cervix.

“Fuuuck- you little minx. This won’t- ngh-” he hisses. “You’re gonna fuckin’ regret holdin’ out on me.”

There it was again - that little accusation. The same little mantra that’d been falling from Geto’s glossed-over lips ever since you tied his wrists together and straddled him after a few too many goading comments on how you won’t be able to “handle him” if he came inside.

Scoffing, “Yeah yeah that’s what a sore loser-”

Fuck, it seems he’s well and fully intent to not have you run your pretty mouth.

Pushing past your feeble little ring of resistance to draw at your honeyed walls. Running his angry tip along each and every sweet spot he’d so meticulously mapped out before.

“I warned you, gorgeous.” His breaths are wrenching out so strained, low groans leaving him with how your plushy walls were trying to suck out something delicious. “Warned you it was- ngh was gonna be too much. And now look at you.” He’s chuckling, so utterly unapologetic. “Fucked dumb and taking my cock like the slut you are. How’d you feel about that, huh?”

It’s so embarrassing.

Embarrassing how good you were feeling, stars behind your eyes every time Geto is smashing deep into your core. Embarrassing how you can barely even hold yourself up at this point, instead collapsing right into the valley between Geto’s pecs, lips drooling with need.

Embarrassing how you can’t even answer his question.

And this is what makes him smile - full and content. Craning his head down to kiss softly at your slack lips, “That’s what I thought. Now beg for it, beg for my cum.”

“Wh-what?” you snap your eyes open. Moaning lowly at the drag and pull of his fat shaft, stretching out your narrow channel with each ram of his hips. Angling your boneless body just right for those tufts of black at his toned base to rub against your clit so obscenely.

“You hear me. Or you can’t hear as well as- ngh- speak now, huh? Beg for it.”

“No.”

Geto falters his hips slowly at this, “Beg for it.”

“No.”

Of course, this only makes him stop completely. Rolling his eyes in such a languid way at your clear disappointment, “Then fuck me yourself if you wanna be so mouthy.”

The result is - for Geto - the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen. With you whining, tears springing to your eyes as you try to ride him as best you could. Yearning, craving for those bullying thrusts he’d been planting on your sweet spots. Ass jiggling when it smacks against his pelvis lazily, hips stuttering up and down his veiny cock, weeping your needy juices as you sob, “No- please I take t- ngh- back. I want your cum, Sugu. Please?”

“That’s more like it.”

And no sooner are the words out of your lips before Geto’s thrusting up into you haphazardly. Brows furrowed, abs screaming with the strain of just how hard he was pounding you. Again. And again - more to teach you a lesson, more to drive the two of you insane. Again and again and-

It only takes a few more of those lingering, ruthless kisses of Geto’s leaky tip against your g-spot for the two of you to be cumming.

Your gummy walls convulsing, sucking up every wet glob of cum shot against them, against your womb. Geto’s full, heavy balls filling you up in mere seconds with how much he was painting your poor cunt white. Dripping down the side of your pussy lips, creating such a mess all over his base that he just can’t help but-

RIP!

Your back is hitting the mattress before you know it, Geto’s large figure looming over you- how? When did he-

“Ya really thought those would stop me from-” he takes the time to spread open your trembling legs, spying down at the mess of cum leaking out of your gaping hole now. Thick, gushing dredges of him - all him. He’s shuffling down, hot breath hitting your abused cunt, “-having my favorite meal?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Made for this.

Slam!

You’re both jolting - you at the deafening sound of your best friend’s hand slamming down on the headboard, making it creak at the sheer power. Him at those sultry little words that had just left your glossy lips, sending all the blood in his body right down to where he was buried between your shaky legs.

Before you can react, Choso’s looming his face closer - eyes wide, jaw sagging open, voice just a whisper when he asks, “What did you say?”

And through it all, it’s a wonder you’re managing to catch your breath. Because Choso’s unforgiving cadence was barely letting up, pushing in long, solid strides of his hips to drag his fat cock against the plush of your gummy walls. “I-I said since it’s your first time n’ I wanna make this special, you should-” Looking him right in his pussydrunk eyes when you say, “-cum in me, Cho.”

Just like before, that honeyed request pulls out such a visceral reaction from him. His dewy eyes scrunch shut, thick tip kissing so deep inside your womb when he twitches animalistically. Sliding across to mark you from the inside out.

And somewhere in your fucked-out mind, you register the snap! of wood breaking above you, Choso’s biceps flexing with movement. “Fuuuck, baby, you can’t hah- s-spring that on me like that.”

It was true - a few too many bad sex scenes on movie night, and a few too little lingering touches left you wanting more. Wanting to steal away your cute best friend’s virginity once and for all, and then some.

“Why not?” you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently up at him. Making his poor jaw drop even further, hips stuttering forwards sloppily. “No no no no, Cho. You’re my best friend and you deserve the best.” you’re tutting, tightening your legs around his sculpted waist. Preventing any escape - as if he could ever want to run away from this heaven. “I need you to cum in me.”

It happens too fast for you to even register - before you know it, two large hands of Choso’s are hoisting your limp legs up onto his toned shoulder. Upper half bending down, down, down until he had you folded in half in such a mean mating press.

“F-fuck don’t-” he gasps out, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the lewd change in angle. The curving divot of his head brushing up against that hot g-spot of yours, raw with so many hits. Greedy eyes locked on the way your puffy cunt was swallowing him whole. “-don’t say that! Was enough havin’ you offer your pretty lil’ cunt f’me to fuck.”

Smirking, “Cum in me, Cho. Please?”

And fuck Choso was sure he was going to pass out this very second. Collapse on top of you like an utterly fucked ragdoll. But, no - and he doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing - instead, his heavy balls are squeezing sloppily, making such a mess of you inside when he streams out thick spurts of cum.

Eyes ringing, vision spotty when he’s pouring such heavy amounts to paint your cunt white. It’s all he can do to breathe, “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck m’cumming m’sorry m’cumming m’cumming- ah- ngh-”

“F-fuck yeah give it t’me.” you murmur heatedly, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth with each pump inside reaching your lungs. Sending dredges of seed slobbering down Choso’s throbbing length, forming a pool at your inner thighs. “Give it all to me, you’re doing so good for your first time, baby.”

Your honeyed praises stick to him like a veil of sin, having him shudder out little whines of your name. “No m’not!”

“Hm? What’re you fuuuck right there- what are you talking about? Yes, you are.” you thread your fingers through his long, damp locks. Pushing away the dark strands sticking to his forehead to connect it with yours, “Doing so good f’me.”

Choso’s breaths come out in feverish puffs, and despite having velvety strings of his cum sloshing inside your walls right now, he was still hard. Still painfully hard with each overstimulated shove into your dripping cunt.

“Dreamt of this for so long.” he drawls, ragged. A soft thumb coming down to draw on your clit, “Been wanting you for so long n’ you have no idea. M’ jus- fuck your pussy is just too perfect, my girl.” That little confession has you clenching around him so tight. Forcing Choso to hike up a knee to stretch your thighs so far apart it burned, letting him accelerate his hips. “Too much that I can’t keep it- hah- together. S’like she’s made f’me. Jus’ wanna fill you up until you can’t take it- ngh-”

A particularly harsh kiss to your sweet spot has Choso’s seed oozing out of your puckered hole even more. So slutty in the way that you were still clamping down to milk the soul out of him all through it.

His pretty pink lips fall into a soft oh! at the sight. Movements languid, hypnotized when the erratic, slender fingers on your clit move down. Swirling at the treacled ring of cum around his hilt, where your pussy lips were mashing against his toned pelvis.

You have half the mind to wonder if Choso even realized what he was doing - whether he was even breathing - as he raises those fingers to your mouth. Immediately parting your kiss-bitten lips to suck his glossy fingers clean.

The eager, lewd squelches from above and below have him pushing your body up to thrust even harder - hissing, “Oh you really ngh- made f’me.”

“Well then…” you start, muffled. And your tone already has Choso gulping. Waiting on your every word. “Why don’t you cum inside me again to make up for it and the broken headboard?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - HEIR

Now, it’s not often that Ryomen Sukuna feels threatened. Him? The infamous king of curses? Don’t make him laugh, everyone knows that you’re his pretty lil’ slut, his favorite human.

But it’s times like this, with your pretty self sat where you belong - right on his fat, achy cocks, your limp legs dangling off his luxurious throne, crying and begging for him to just move - he’s reminded that maybe not everyone knows.

“Pleeease, Kuna.” you’re dragging out of your throat, voice wrecked with need. “Jus’ need to- to cum!” And he thinks it’s so adorable how you’re trying to fuck your hips up and down on his lengths, matching tips so thick that they rut against your sweet spots without even trying.

It’s useless, with the tight, black-nailed grip he has on your stuttering hips. Making such a mess slobbering down his cocks.

“Hmmm, I dunno if you deserve it, brat.” his smug facade is laced with something else - something dangerous now. “After all…” he’s nosing down your racing pulse, breathing in as if he could smell the lust in your blood. “-you looked real cozy with that minister from earlier.”

You’re gasping - whether from his words, or from the way his curved shafts twitch so furiously inside you, you’re not sure.

“Wh-what?”

He scoffs, “You know what m’talkin’ about.”

And you did - unfortunately. Hazy mind showing off shreds of memories from that meeting you accompanied Sukuna to earlier today. The one where, despite being dangling off his arms the entire time, one unsavory new minister managed to throw a few crass remarks your way. Something about how good you must be and how he’d give you an-

“Heir.” It’s all that Sukuna is spitting out before thrusting up into you. Deep, slow. Like he knew you were thinking about that little altercation today and wanted to fuck out every thought of it out of your pretty lil’ mind. “That little scum had the audacity to talk to my woman about how he’d have an heir by now. As if I’m not fucking you right.”

Two thick fingers come up to smush your cheeks together into a pathetic pout, spitting into your open mouth, “I’d have killed him if you didn’t fuckin’ stop me, human.”

“B-because-” you’re crying out, eyes rolling to the back of your head with each smash of his fat tip against the bullseye of your g-spot, the other marking up your cervix. “I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of-”

“So what if I caused a scene?” Sukuna’s sharp canines are nipping down on your wobbly lower lip. The curve of his dicks stretching you so thin. Taut. Until your clingy walls molded to his shape. “Do you deny me the right to defend my woman? My future heir?”

The sopping wet sounds of your poor hole being ravaged are almost too loud for you to hear his last words. Almost.

You gasp, face lolling up from where they were pressed up against his sculpted pecs. “Wait- future heir?”

And oh how Sukuna loved the sound of that on your lips. A raw groan curling up from his throat, biting his lip while he fucks you so thorough. So purposeful.

At this point the only thing you’re managing to get out are pitchy whines, being bounced up and down like some sextoy on the king’s cocks. His massive girths tattooing your walls with each and every twin vein and ridge.

“Mhm, ya like that?” Sukuna grins, slacking down the throne to jut his muscled abdomen upwards. “Wan’ me to breed this cute cunt with my heir?”

The only response he’s getting are your nails raking red, angry marks down his tan skin, which clearly wasn’t enough for him.

“I asked you a question, brat.” This earns you a sharp smack! to the fat of your ass, his nasty cadence only speeding up. You’re barely even lucid anymore, just being slid along his towering lengths. “Use your words n’ fuckin’ tell- me-”

“Hngh!” you’re screaming out at a particularly harsh jab against your g-spot. Big fat tears rolling down your cheeks when you mewl, “Yes! Yes I wan’ it so bad, ngh- for you to fill me up. Breed me until- ngh until everyone knows.”

The honeyed grin you’re given is something you know doesn’t bode well, Suknua’s eyes darting somewhere behind you. But that’s the last thing on your mind while he spits a thick glob of saliva on your cunt. Goading, “Well if you’re that desperate, woman.”

And it’s dizzying - if you thought Sukuna was fucking you thoughtless before then you weren’t ready for right now.

“Fuck.” he grits out. “Yes that bastard got one thing right- I just wanna- oh-” And then he’s spitting, another steady stream of saliva right on your struggling cunt. “Wanna breed this pussy- until they know m’the one that fucks you right.” He’s rubbing a palm along your stomach, drawing a line where he could feel the bulge of his swollen cocks. “Have you round and glowing with my heir.” Moving up, up, up to cradle your bouncing tits into his greedy mouth. “Have these hah- filled with milk. And have you filled with me. They’ll all see you and see me. I did this.”

Sukuna’s red, glowing eyes are the last thing you see before everything flashes white. And then you’re cumming - barely having the capacity to give a fair warning other than, “Oh- f-fuck Kuna m’gonna.”

It takes you a moment to realize that he is as well. The squelches from your delicious cunt only increasing twofold when he’s gifting you with thick spurts of his seed. Too much. Both fat heads throbbing in staccato with your high, so furiously before they’re erupting in a gush of pure white. Too much.

“Ahhh yes, s’where you belong.” Sukuna breathes, voice a few octaves higher with how much he was still cumming. Hips thrusting to force such filthy movements to pump his potent seed deeper and deeper - sure enough to mark you from the inside out. “Fucked dumb on m’cocks and hah- ready to make me an heir. One to kill off all the trash I can’t.” Letting it slobber down onto his abs, pooling at the muscles. Hot loads overspilling from your tight pussy now. Shit, it’s a sight so sinful that Sukuna has to tear his eyes away to look at that slightly ajar door, brows quirking at the aghast face outside he meets. “Won’t you agree, minister?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “Do you hate me?”

“Huh- what?” you’re blinking, unsure if you even heard that correctly. Eyes darting from Gojo’s pouty pink lips to the way he was still bludgeoning his aching cock inside you, “Of course I don’t, Toru? What’s with the- hah-”

Apparently, your answer wasn’t good enough for the great Gojo Satoru, and it’s not long into your bumbling, half-drunk sentence before he’s smashing his fat tip purposefully against that honeyed g-spot he loved so much. Dragging out such cute moans from your throat while he babbles, “Then why are you- hah telling me to pull out?”

It takes everything in you to wrench your eyes open to meet his dead-serious expression, “What?”

Gojo scoffs at how fucking long it was taking your cockdrunk mind to comprehend him. Pushing your knee back further to spread your sopping cunt, squeezing his thick girth inside like some cocksleeve. “Why-” he cuts himself off with a bullying little thrust. “-are you telling- me to fuckin’ pull out.” And he sounds so genuinely devastated, voice a pitch higher than normal, breaking ever-so-slightly at the end. “Do you hate me now, sweetheart?”

“You fuckin’-” you’re spitting. Nails digging into the sides of Gojo’s pale neck when you’re pulling him closer, hissing into his panting mouth, “-idiot. I told you to- ngh- to pull out because I don’t trust that limitless of yours to work.”

“But, my girl—” he whines, burying his face to lick up the crook of your neck. “Don’ wanna leave to ah- get condoms right now. M’the strongest, when has it not worked?”

And it’s like the sole reminder of this fact is enough to spur your boyfriend on even more, because with a ragged growl he’s falling back onto his thighs - taking your boneless body right along with him. Greedy pussy sat so pretty and needy around his cock, sinking deeper and deeper down every long inch.

You could barely even feel it - limitless. Just a slight, steady pulse of jujutsu, atoms standing at attention all around your tangled bodies.

“Oh!” you keen at the feeling of Gojo’s heft veins making their mark all along your gummy walls. Gravity sliding you down his swollen cock until your puffy folds were meeting his sharp pelvis in a messy kiss. “Y-you’re really not fuuuck- backing down, huh?”

As if to prove your point, a large palm comes up around your back, wrenching your two hands behind to pin them behind your back. Leaving you completely bare and helpless under his obscene will.

“Nope.” Gojo hums, popping the “p”. Flashing you a fucked-out grin - and oh he looks so pretty, so wrecked with his snowy locks disheveled, cheeks a blushing pink, lips spit-glossed and worried. “How could I be when my girl- hngh feels like this?”

“S’not gonna-”

“It is-” he’s interrupting in a syrupy tone, so drunk off the way you were complaining about his limitless but taking every thrust he gives so well. “S’gonna work- it will work hngh- trust me, sweetheart.” Thumbing apart your bulging swollen folds even further to toy over your pulsing clit, “Shit- love it when you squeeze me like that. Hah- and you expected me to leave this n�� go get condoms fuckin’ right.” With every hungry thrust he’s gifting your poor pussy, Gojo’s mouth is running a mile a minute against your racing pulse. Heavy tongue lolling, eyes rolling to the back of his head with every passing millisecond you’re sucking the ever-loving soul out of him. “As if I’d wanna hah- leave this. It’ll work-”

Somewhere in-between the lingering ruts, a hand of yours runs through Gojo’s damp tresses, tugging on it to make him look. Difficult, somehow.

“Toru…” you grip harder on his soft strands, dragging him away from his little hiding spot. Relenting, he’s slowly raising his eyes to look at you and- “Why are you-”

Oh. Shit.

If you thought Gojo was ruined before then you weren’t ready for this - his half-lidded eyes glowing, crackling with power, babbling lips sagging open in ecstacy. And if you didn’t know any better you’d have thought that the lights in your bedroom flickered dangerously just a bit. He gasps, eyes boring into yours, “What- what was I sayin’ again?”

Oh he was so fucked - and you were, too.

Because your mouth is moving before your mind, feeling so dirty when you muse, “Told me how you were gonna- ngh- drop limitless n’ fill me up, Toru–”

Your jaw is prying open with his mean little tempo. Fat, greedy cock messing up your insides with how haphazardly he was spearing inside in weighty, animalistic thrusts. Leaving just enough time for that divot on his angry tip to peck at your sweet spots, before shoving his entire length back in and out again. Over and over and-

It only takes a mere split-second of Gojo’s limitless faltering, of him being enveloped in all your dripping heaven, before he’s cumming. And cumming so hard, gushing out so much in thick, hot streams of his heady seed.

It’s filling you up from the inside, stretching your walls taut. Sloppy. Sinful. And you can do nothing but reach your high as well, flashes of white-hot pleasure behind your eyes. Or maybe that was Gojo.

His creamy white cum kissing you inside, drooling out of your ravaged hole with every mindless push of his hips. Forcing it deeper and deeper and oh fuck, he could do this forever. Fuck condoms. Fuck limitless. He tells you that - rattles it off into your open mouth a little over fifteen times watching the coating of his cum pool a glossy sheen down your legs. Sloshing down in thick, lewd globs.

“Told you so.” you scoff.

“That- that was just the practice round! Best out of three?”

“...”

A/N. Picked the title out for no purpose other than self-indulgence I’m ngl.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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sttoru · 5 months ago

Note

ahh i just cant stop thinking of sukuna's fav concubine getting injured from the other concubines but she hides it because shes scared of being weak (in sukuna's eyes) and/or a burden ☹️☹️

𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. fluff, sprinkle of angst n comfort. size difference. reader gets called ‘brat, woman, little one’ — ig this is a bit early in their relationship

“i’ve arrived, my lord,” you announce your presence once you step into sukuna’s quarters. the dimly lit room removed all the stress you currently had in your system—the knowledge that you’re safe in his space causes your shoulders to drop.

sukuna turns his head to look at you while he’s laid back on his bed, topless. all four of his eyes roam over your body, which isn’t anything unusual for you. he always does that.

“tch. took ya long enough,” the king of curses scoffs before gesturing for you to come closer, making that familiar motion with his fingers, “when i order y’ to come, you’re supposed to drop everything and rush to be at my service, woman.”

you hurry over to his side of the bed with a nod. “my apologies,” you mutter. you can’t tell him why you’re late, because hell would break loose within these walls. and also because you’re scared of what his reaction would be.

before being called over, you were in the kitchen, peacefully trying to get a snack, when two other concubines entered the room. you tried ignoring them, but that didn’t seem to be the smartest move. it wasn’t long before they threw derogatory remarks at you.

of course, you stood up for yourself and yelled some back. that’s when one of them pushed you backwards, causing the skin near your hand to get slightly burned by the fire on the stove.

if it weren’t for the maids around that went to report the ruckus to uraume, god knows what more would have went down in that kitchen.

“oi,” sukuna grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. he can immediately notice the vacant look in your eyes, which is unusual for you. you snap out of your trance and set the nasty memories aside—ignoring the impulse to scratch the injury on your wrist.

“i’m sorry, my lord,” you say again before slowly undoing your obi. you figure that is why sukuna had called you over, to do your job as his concubine. you halt your movements when you realise that undressing meant that he’s going to see the wound on your skin.

you hesitate. that same instant of hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by the king of curses. a large hand of his moves to stop both of your wrists from pulling off your robes.

“. . .i’m giving y’ three seconds of my time,” sukuna narrows his eyes after allowing you to speak up and tell him what’s on your mind. he hears you whimper in pain when he holds onto your wrist, your facial expression clearly uncomfortable. “spit it out,” he impatiently huffs. he wants to hear you say what’s wrong.

you desperately shake your head, biting your bottom lip. you don’t want to tell him—even though you know you’re obligated to.

denying an answer to sukuna was your next big mistake.

“fuckin’ brat,” the pink-haired man grunts. he yanks your arms up to his face, harshly pulling down the sleeves of your kimono. all four of his red eyes immediately fall onto the wound on your wrist. you obviously hadn’t treat it yet, even though you should have done so long ago.

there’s tension hanging in the air almost instantly after your little secret gets revealed. sukuna’s grip on your hands tightens which causes you to flinch. you close your eyes and expect the worst. you can already hear the insults he’ll throw at you—how he’ll call you useless, weak, stupid and all that.

“look up at me,” his voice rings out in a firm tone. you don’t want to anger him more than he already is, so you obey. you open your eyes and glance upwards, your worried gaze meeting his.

sukuna takes a deep breath to contain the bubbling rage inside of him; a rare sight indeed. he doesn’t want to unnecessarily lash out at you when it isn’t needed. however, he can’t deny that itching urge in his chest, to get mad at whoever caused your skin to get tainted like that.

sukuna stares at you with an intimidating glare. when you expect him to yell profanities at you, the unexpected happens.

“who did this to you?” he asks, voice strained like he’s trying to hold himself back.

you blink a few times. the king of curses sounds pissed off, and when he’s in that kind of mood, you know he’s not to be played with. you look the other way and try to think of a proper answer.

will you snitch and cause unnecessary bloodbath, or will you spare the lives of the concubines who hurt you and lie?

you’re scared of being seen as useless by sukuna if you tell him the truth. if you lie, he’ll probably call you weak and stupid as well. it’s a lose-lose situation, you conclude.

you swallow the spit that has gathered in your mouth before parting your lips.

“m-miko,” her name echoes in his ears. you decide to be honest, because you know that there’s no fooling the ryomen sukuna. a second of silence follows and when you look up at him, he stares back at you with furrowed brows.

“ah,” you then realise that he doesn’t know his concubines by name. he has way too many women at his disposal and doesn’t find them worthy enough to remember.

however you have heard from uraume and the others that he does know your name—only yours. it makes you feel special.

you try to describe the concubine you’ve tussled with, “s-short blonde hair, uhm, mole under her right eye.. brown colored eyes—“

sukuna thinks for a moment before clicking his tongue once he faintly remembers who that’s supposed to be. without a word, he stands up and wraps one muscular arm around your waist, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you under his armpit like some package.

“uraume!”

his voice is loud enough to make the walls shake and it carries a clear hint of pure rage. everyone in the estate should have heard him by now, which means that they know what is going down in a couple seconds.

sukuna sounding this angry only means one thing; someone is going to die today.

the servants hurriedly scurry around, deeply bowing as he walks past them in the hallway with you still tucked underneath his arms. you let yourself be carried while your heart beats uncontrollably fast in your chest.

you feel your hands shake a bit. seeing someone like sukuna be this mad for your sake—to the point that he’s ready to turn the entire area upside down—is somehow thrilling. though, you can’t help but feel sick because of your own thoughts.

someone is going to die and there you are, cheesing about the king of curses.

you see the white-haired chef appear from a corner, their steps hurried. they glance at you and then back at their master. it’s like they immediately connect the dots.

“treat her in my quarters. don’t let her leave until i come back,” sukuna commands without even looking at uraume. he’s staring ahead, with an ominous aura emitting from his body, one that somebody can sense from miles away.

he puts you down next to uraume before glancing your way one last time. he lets out a deep sigh as he sees the worried expression you’re making. he lowers his head to your level so you’d be face to face.

“and you,” his warm breath hits your cheeks and sends a shiver down your spine. you gulp as sukuna’s hand reaches up to firmly tug at your earlobe, “i’ll deal with your ass later, yeah? i’ll make you feel what it means to hide stuff from me, little one.”

that sentence makes you even more nervous. you know you won’t be able to avoid the punishment sukuna has in mind, so you simply nod. “understood,” you reply in a squeaky voice. you don’t have the guts to disobey him—he’s already out to kill someone and you don’t want to be the next victim.

sukuna straightens his back again and continues his journey towards the concubines’ quarters. every heavy step makes the floors and walls shake, a sign of his unstoppable rage that’s about to be unleashed.

you feel slightly puzzled. you didn’t expect this outcome when you revealed your injury to the ruthless man. you expected to be belittled and mocked for not being able to prevent a wound from being inflicted on your body.

instead, there he goes, off to get revenge in your stead. you feel a twisted sense of satisfaction after seeing sukuna be this protective over you. actions like these demonstrate more than his dull words can do, even if it may seem like he doesn’t care about what could happen to a human like you.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n

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starry-bi-sky · 6 months ago

Text

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

#I AM LOUDLY PUSHING THE BATDAD AGENDA #anyways— add ons are encouraged i wanna talk more dpxdc with folks i just cant find any aus i really like enough to engage with #which is nobody's fault and its why im making my own content in order to reach more people #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dc x dp #dpxdc prompts #i took a ‘which batfam member are you (except its personal)’ quiz a few days ago #and got bruce wayne. and then was promptly read to filth why im most like him and it rudely but accurately explained why im the most like #him. it also consequently explained to me why i like him so much. whenever i see him in his kindest form i see a mirror looking back #anyways lots of ‘danny rejecting bruce as a parent’ aus. may i present: bruce and danny finding family in each other aus. batdad aus pls.#dpxdc prompt #dcxdp #this prompt can take place at any point of Batkid accumulation but personally i was imagining this as before Bruce has any of his kids yet #eldest brother danny supremacy and also just that one on one bonding #danny being someone who was never afraid of the dark as a kid and even less so as he got older. taking solace in it as a ghost because you #cant hide in the dark when you glow. his enemies can't jump out at him. but he can jump out at them. how can he be afraid of the dark when #the dark is where the stars like to live? there's a comfort in the shadows. there might be something hiding in it. but he's hiding in it to #blood blossoms eat ghosts headcanon #wasn't sure where i was gonna go with this at the beginning and then i caught steam.#batman casually kidnaps an orphan upon kid's request. also the kid was Actively Dying Of Poison. What was he gonna do?? NOT help him?#mister 'keeps candy in his utility belt specifically for scared children'??? no way.

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osaemu · 11 months ago

Text

GOJO SATORU: HUNGRY FOR MORE

✩ ‧ ˚. serial killer!gojo x detective!reader: fucking the serial killer you're supposed to be arresting might be the best (or worst) decision you've ever made. PART 2 | NSFW

contents: fem!reader. porn with plot, dubcon, public sex (in an alley), p –> v, orgasm denial, fingering, he cums inside, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, lil' bit of dumbification, hair pulling, squirting, dirty talk, manipulation/coercion, mentions of murder (he's a serial killer what did u expect), non-sexual mentions/usage of guns, probably more. 3K words.

author's note: wrote this instead of writing my research paper and studying for my math final. if this flops i will actually become the serial killer /j. anywaysss tagging @satoruhour @screampied @satorena.. and yes, the "season 2 coming soon" in the banner means something ;)

“looks like your little killing spree’s gonna have to come to an end,” you muse, crossing your arms and cocking an eyebrow at the man across from you. he grins back at you, and it’s almost unsettling—he looks a little too smug for a killer who’s just been caught.

“i don’t think so, sweetheart,” the man responds dryly, leaning back against the alley wall, features relaxed and at ease. he—satoru gojo—has been your target for a couple weeks, and now that you’ve finally cornered him, you find yourself feeling a little… unfulfilled. usually, when you caught criminals, they begged for mercy and showed a little more emotion than what satoru’s shown so far.

also, the criminals usually weren’t this good-looking.

you maintain eye contact with satoru while you carefully reach into your coat’s pocket, withdrawing your phone and unlocking it. unexpectedly, satoru doesn’t make any move to stop you from dialing the number to your boss, instead smiling coyly as you do so.

“so, you’re one of those guys who don’t care what happens to them?” you ask, tilting your head as you hold the phone to your ear. satoru shrugs and his grin only widens the longer your phone rings. ten seconds pass before your phone tells you that the number you dialed is currently busy, and satoru’s muffled laughter becomes unbearably suspicious. you narrow your eyes and involuntarily take a step back. “what’s with the smile?”

satoru scoffs and dips his head, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step towards you. “y’know, you’re rather brave, comin’ out to catch a serial killer all by yourself. and in the middle of the night, too.” he stops advancing when he sees you pull a gun out of your pocket and hold it up threateningly, a look of warning in your eyes. “okay, okay, relax. i’m not gonna do anything to your pretty face.”

“what did you do?” you ask suspiciously. satoru widens his eyes in mock disbelief, as if he’s completely and utterly shocked that you’d ever accuse him of anything.

“besides the fifteen separate counts of murder? not much, really.”

“i’m not an idiot,” you snap, cocking the gun and aiming it at his head. “you’re not the one in control here, satoru gojo. spit it out before i put a bullet through your skull.”

satoru laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. “fiesty, aren’t we? it’s alright, i like my girls with a little fire in them.” he tilts his head to the side and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on parts of you that suddenly make you feel naked, despite the coat covering most of your figure. “put down the gun, sweetheart, then we can talk.”

you wait a second, scanning satoru’s overly relaxed face before cautiously lowering the gun. “what are you hiding?” you ask again, eyes hardening.

“a lot of things. but i think you’re talking about what i did to your boss, right?”

“you have five seconds before i shoot you.”

satoru makes a face and then rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, since you’re bein’ so pushy about it. i killed him, obviously. you’re a smart girl, shouldn’t you have figured that out by now?” when you don’t immediately answer, satoru sighs and shakes his head. “and here i thought that the girl who’d been tailing me for the past week would have a little sense in that pretty head of hers. looks like i was wrong.”

“shut it,” you snap again, re-dialing the number and letting your phone ring for fifteen seconds. when nobody picks up, you internally curse and think about what to do next. dialing 911 would be worth a try, but the look in satoru’s ice-blue eyes makes you think otherwise. despite the gun in your hand, something about him makes you entirely certain that he could overpower you, even if you landed a shot on him. and even if you just shot him right now, he’s been shown in the past to be able to function fine with a bullet through his chest. that’s how two of your subordinates lost their lives to him—by underestimating your city’s notorious killer.

so you decide to bide your time.

“ran out of options?” satoru asks smugly. he raises an eyebrow when you slide your phone back into your pocket and exhales a laugh. “you gonna wait for a big, strong man to rescue you? ‘cause i’m right here, honey, and i could be your savior.”

“that was actually the shittiest line i’ve ever heard,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at the self-satisfied look on his face. “are you seriously proud of that one?”

“well, it worked.”

he pushes himself off the alley wall and towards you so fast that you hardly even have time to process it, and before you know it, you’re the one pressed to a wall with a gun to the side of your head. satoru’s other hand grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head, and his face is close enough to the point where you can feel his breath—which is unexpectedly minty—on your cheeks as he grins down at you. “you really think i’d use a line as shitty as that if i didn’t know it’d make you lower your guard? tch, you really shoulda known better.”

you use every curse word you’ve ever heard in that moment and grit your teeth, rapidly thinking through all the possible ways you could get out of this situation, but nothing comes to mind. you’re quite literally stuck in between a rock and a hard place, with a gun pressed to your head and with your limbs out of commission.

satoru clicks his tongue and widens his eyes at you, leaning in closer. his lips are uncomfortably close to your own as he traces the gun down the side of your face, cold metal brushing against your heated skin. “not gonna fight back? that’s no fun.”

“the fuck you want me to do?” you snap irritably, glaring up at him and curling your hands into fists. satoru tightens his grip on your wrists and cooes a sarcastic apology to you, taking his time looking you up and down again. if you didn’t value your life, you probably would’ve said worse, but seeing as you were the only person in this ridiculously isolated alley, it wouldn’t be worth much.

“i dunno. didn’t that detective academy or whatever teach you anything?”

you roll your eyes again, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you consider the possibility of your eyes getting permanently stuck in the back of your head just because of him. “y’know, you’re not giving me a whole lot of options.”

satoru laughs. “if i did, that’d defeat the whole purpose, wouldn’t it?”

at this point, death would be preferable to hearing his idiot talk any longer.

“so, i’m gonna be the one asking the questions from now on,” satoru continues, clicking his tongue disapprovingly when you scowl. “if you behave, i won’t hurt you that badly, ‘kay? keep that in mind.”

“thought you liked your girls feisty.”

“oh, that’s true,” satoru muses thoughtfully. “yeah, never mind, you can be a little bratty. i need a reason to fuck you stupid anyways,” he grins after a moment of consideration.

“what the fuck?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” satoru cooes, feeling his pants tighten as he watches your eyes widen. your “tough” demeanor drops for a split second, and satoru can’t help but want to fuck it off again when it returns. your scowl deepens and you frantically think through all your options again, but there isn’t a whole lot you can do at this point.

“if you wanna stay alive, you’ll be a good girl and you won’t scream,” satoru murmurs, leaning in closer and pressing his lips to yours. you grit your teeth and try to shove him away with your shoulder, but it doesn’t do much. satoru smiles against your lips and hums softly, pulling away with an almost affectionate look on his face. it’s so at odds with who he is and what he’s done that you drop your guard again, wanting to believe that he really will keep his promise not to hurt you.

satoru sees the shift in your features and smiles tenderly, all traces of his borderline-sadistic look gone. he studies your face for a moment and kisses the corner of your mouth, letting his lips linger for a second before he pulls away again. “i’m gonna let your hands go now, m’kay?” when he drops your wrists, they fall limply on his shoulders as you warily study him, eyes wide with confusion. it’s jarring, the way he just… changed personalities within the span of a couple seconds. “i’m not gonna hurt you, pretty,” he breathes, dropping the gun and letting it fall to the floor with a loud thwak. “this’ll be a lot more fun for me if you don’t resist, yeah?”

oh, fuck it.

“okay,” you murmur, ignoring every siren going off in your head. you don’t really have any other options, and honestly, nobody was going to walk by and get you out of this sticky situation anytime soon. and satoru was pretty attractive… and you could just arrest him afterwards, right?

as if he read your mind, satoru smiles and promises, “you can handcuff me after i’m done with you. just let me have a little fun one last time, baby.”

yeah, it’d be a stupid decision to believe the sweet-talker towering over you. there’s no way he’s just going to let you drag him off to jail, but there’s a reason he’s stayed out of the grasp of the law for so long. it’s hard to live a life as on-the-edge as being a serial killer, but the reason satoru’s survived for this long is because he knows how to use his words. he knows how to make a person go against every warning in their head, and he knows how to get what he wants.

which, for tonight, includes you.

“you have thirty—no, twenty minutes,” you mumble, knowing damn well that this would be the end of your career as a detective. whether or not you dragged satoru in after all this, you could never continue your work knowing you had sex with the biggest serial killer in the city.

satoru laughs and kisses you again, lips trailing down your face and settling on your neck. “haven’t i already made it clear that i’m the one in control here?” he muses as he slips his hands under your coat and tugs it off. it falls to the cold ground and bunches up around your feet, leaving you in a button-up shirt and flowy, dark pants. “c’mon, let’s get these clothes off you.”

within a minute, the rest of your clothes save for a black lacy pair of undergarments join your coat on the floor, and the chilly nighttime air nips at your skin. “i’m cold,” you mumble, feeling yourself involuntarily tense up everywhere but where satoru’s hands cloak your skin. satoru laughs in response and presses his knee to the spot in between your thighs, and something in you snaps at the point of contact.

“you really are an idiot, aren’t ya,” satoru scoffs, hand sliding down to your waist. his fingers latch on the waistband of your panties and he tugs them down, exposing your already-wet pussy to the cold evening air and his eyes. “lettin’ a serial killer fuck you in a dark alley… what kind of detective does that?” satoru spits on two of his fingers and slips them inside you, instantly groaning when he feels you clench around him. “fuck, you gotta be the tightest pussy i’ve felt in a while,” he mutters, white hair falling into his eyes as he looks down shamelessly. “do you not have sex with other guys?”

“don’t have time,” you swallow what would’ve been an embarrassingly loud moan as his fingers go deeper and deeper. how long are this man’s fucking fingers?

“aw, look at you, you’re so cute,” satoru cooes, smiling down at your scrunched up face. you look back at him through squinted eyes, hips starting to roll against his fingers. it’s true—you really haven’t had time to have sex given your already-insane schedule. it’s almost like you spent more time tracking the man who’s now knuckle-deep inside you than sleeping, but the slutty part of your head tells you that it paid off.

“‘m gonna cum,” you whine pitifully, squirming around satoru’s fingers as he curls them inwards, making you clench around him even tighter. a shiver runs over your body, starting from in between your thighs and spreading all over you as satoru’s fingers move back and forth inside your soaking wet cunt. “g-gojo—”

“call me satoru, baby, and you’re not cumming until i say you can.” with that, satoru withdraws his fingers from your pussy with a pop! and grins at the way you glare at him sullenly. he mockingly pouts and licks his drenched fingers clean, tongue lapping up your essence. “heh, don’t worry, i’ll make you cum more than you knew you could once you’re stuffed with my cock.”

although you’ve determined satoru’s “promises” to be dubious at best, he fufills this one after he’s spread your legs wide open and positioned his cock at your entrance. “this might hurt, baby, but remember, no screaming.” after you nod in acknowledgement, satoru slips his tip in and watches, amused, as you try to close your legs on reflex. “uh uh, keep ‘em nice and wide f’me,” satoru tuts disapprovingly.

and true to his word, it hurts—a dull ache spreads throughout your legs as his dick goes farther and farther inside you, reaching places you hadn’t felt in a long time. satoru’s hands settle somewhere on your waist as he pushes himself deeper, ignoring your gasps and pleas for him to slow down a little. your shaky hands move to his hair and you unwittingly pull on it, somehow eliciting a soft groan from satoru’s lips, and somewhere in the back of your mind you think that of course a serial killer has a hair pulling kink—it just makes sense.

“s-satoru, it won’t fit,” you whisper, feeling satoru hit an especially tight spot in your cunt. even with how wet you are, it just feels like you can’t possibly take any more of him—he might as well be ten feet inside you, given the pain in your hips. but, as expected, satoru only smiles tauntingly down at you and murmurs words of encouragement as he somehow pushes past the barrier and gets all the way in amid your pained whimpers.

“yeah, that’s it, knew you could do it,” satoru says sweetly, voice coated with poisonous honey. now that he’s all the way in, the ache from your waist down starts to fade into pleasure, especially as satoru starts moving himself in and out to get you used to the feeling of his dick. “just like that, pretty girl. jus’ like that.”

soon enough, he sets an unexpectedly harsh pace that makes your back arch off the cold, brick wall behind you, and even as satoru tries to keep up his “cool serial killer” act, you can hear his quivering breaths as he gets close to cumming. “shit, i forgot how fuckin’ good it felt to fuck a cunt this tight—” he mutters through gritted teeth. “‘m gonna cum inside, ‘kay?”

you nod breathlessly, chasing your own pleasure and not actually listening to the words satoru murmurs in your ear. at this point, it didn’t matter—all your pathetic little head could think about was satoru’s dick, and somehow, you forget that he’s a killer when he cums inside you. it’s hot and thick and it almost knocks you over—when was the last time you felt this good, if ever?

the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum with him, nodding along to satoru’s praises on how well you’re taking him. you squirt all over his painfully hard dick and suck in a sharp breath as you do so, body trembling from the force of both of your orgasms.

“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” satoru murmurs when you both come down from your highs, stroking your hair almost tenderly. you bob your head in response, face warm and eyes unable to properly focus. he stuffs his fingers back inside your puffy cunt and scoops the cum dripping down your thighs back inside, mumbling something about not letting a single drop go to waste. “who knew the pretty detective i’d had my eye on would be this good to me?” he cooes, grinning snarkily.

satoru’s earlier promise floats through your head and you force yourself to look him in the eye. “y-you said you’d let me arrest you after,” you breathe, back still pressed to the wall as satoru surveys you amusedly.

“oh, sweetheart, you’re in no condition to be giving orders,” satoru says condescendingly, pulling up his pants and grinning at you. his cheeks are still flushed red, but whether that’s from the cold nighttime air or from the heated sex, you don’t quite know. “we should do this again sometime,” he continues conversationally as he picks up your coat for you. despite the fact that you’re still naked and trembling, satoru drapes your coat around your shoulders and helps you button it up.

“but you said—” you protest, but satoru cuts you off with a raised eyebrow.

“you didn’t seriously believe me, did you?” satoru tuts, shaking his head. “i’m a serial killer. i’m not gonna turn myself in just ‘cause of a detective’s pretty pussy, baby. you should’ve known better, doll.” satoru wraps an arm around your limp shoulders and tugs you in for a kiss, lips pressing firmly against your own for a couple seconds before he pulls away with a satisfied smile.

he leaves you with a promise to see you soon.

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tender-rosiey · 4 months ago

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Your husband, sukuna AU, is driving me crazy. That's like my 1st time ever experiencing what a comfort fic was. I have been re-reading them like crazy 😭

If it's okay with you, can you do a husband sukuna AU but with whatever scene you want? I really love the way you write him,,, it's just so perfect 🥹

dry your tears — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: i am so glad you like them omg srsly you're too kind <33 i really hope you like this too 🥹🫶🫶

“my lord, her highness requests your presence in the garden.”

said man’s eyes open slowly, and he narrows them at the servant who instantly kneels to the ground. he scoffs, “requests? she sure has become impudent.”

the servant trembles, “that’s how she worded it, my lord. I swear I have no role in it.”

“I didn’t speak to you,” sukuna replies as he gets up as places his foot on the servant’s head, pressing into the ground a bit more.

the servant whimpers but tries to be as quiet as possible.

sukuna warns, “and you’re to address her as ‘her highness’ or ‘the queen’ only. do you understand?”

“but—but I did?” he splutters.

“ ’that’s how ‘she’ worded it?’ ” sukuna sneers.

“I didn’t mean it that way! I am sorry! I am sorry! my apologies, my lord!” the servants chokes out, and sukuna takes it as the cue to kick him out of his way.

he starts walking towards the garden, while stretching and examining his surroundings.

the palace hasn’t changed in the time he was gone which was good. at least the human servants are capable of doing one thing right.

the gates to the garden open, and they reveal you.

deep down, the sight brings a bit content to sukuna’s heart, seeing you alive and well. however, that is a vulnerability that he would never admit, so he gets closer to you.

you’re giving him your back despite, definitely, feeling his presence.

he groans, “what do you want?”

“where have you been?” you reply with the same tone.

he rolls his eyes, arms folded on his chest, “fighting, obviously. I was passing time.”

he hears you take a deep breath before you speak up, “and you couldn’t tell me in advance?”

he can tell that you’re trying to sound calm and collected. yet, he still can’t pinpoint whether you’re angry or sad. either way, he believes that your attitude is unacceptable.

he chides, “don’t blow it out of proportion, and you have the nerve to ‘request my—"

“you have been gone for a month.”

the edges of sukuna’s lips quirk up just a little as he starts to understand why you’re acting like this.

“not the first time,” he hums.

he sees your shoulders raise slightly, and they seem to get tenser by the second. you speak lowly, “but you usually tell me before you depart.”

he closes his eyes in annoyance.

this looks like it will drag out longer than he prefers. what he expected when he returned was him spending time with you, his wife, not you giving him your back and seemingly lecturing him.

“stop beating around the bush,” he commands, “what’s wrong with you?”

you grip your kimono tightly in your fist and squeeze your eyes shut as you exclaim, “you had me worried sick!” your voice is watery and is shaky, but you couldn’t help it.

you had spent the past month alone, nobody knew of sukuna’s whereabouts not even uraume. were you supposed to just calmly wait for his return?

he may be strong, but is it always guaranteed? especially considering how the sorcerers are always planning a way to lead him to his demise.

you bite your lip as you hold back a sob. meanwhile, your husband quirks a brow, “you crying?”

you open your eyes and stand up abruptly, “no, I am not!”

throwing the hood over your head, you turn towards the other entrance and announce, “I am going inside!”

you start your march with determination, but as you get close to the gate, you hear your husband sigh and stop you by the arm. he pulls you towards him, tearing off the hood to take a good look at you.

your tears are not plentiful, but he can see their traces.

you frown and try to pull back, “let go, sukuna!”

he raises a hand to cup your cheek and squishes your cheeks like a pufferfish. your eyes widen, and you furrow your eyebrows in frustration.

“stop this,” you shoot.

he looks silently at you for a few moments, and it starts making you nervous. you finally decide to ask, but then he starts wiping your tears.

you blink in confusion as he lightly scolds you, “foolish girl.”

you register the insult after a few seconds, and it makes you frown and look away while grumbling, “shut up.”

you sniffle lightly and pull away from him. he looks down at you, silently watching you. you try ignoring his gaze, but then you just snap your head at him and huff, “what are you staring for?”

you study his face for bit then falter, “if it’s about yelling at you then I am sorry, okay? I was frustrated and—”

he pinches your nose, making you yelp.

“your worrying is unnecessary,” he says slowly, “I will always come back.”

sukuna, you realize, is comforting you. he lays a hand on top of your head and commands you, albeit gently, “so stop crying.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1@sad-darksoul@ko-fi-heart@pumpkindudeishere@suyaaachin@babyqueen17@chaosguy352@murakami-kotone@sukun4ryomen@yumieis@hearts4itoshi@sleepyxxhead@dunixxd@sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08@spacebaby1@arabellatreaty@viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe @enidths @mwtsxri @peppersapro

do not copy or plagiarize or I will send my cat after you

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #ryomen x you #jjk sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #sukuna x female reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x reader

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k9wa · 7 months ago

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𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable.

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin.

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’”

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely– i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings.

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.”

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing.

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them.

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up— his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?”

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…”

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out. “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?”

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move.

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.”

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received.

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers.

his own dream, now his downfall.

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl.

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

#i have a few leaks and drip marketing and thats it #but idc thats enough hes everything #boothill #boothill x reader #honkai star rail #boothill hsr #boothill honkai star rail #boothill x you #boothill headcanons #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr boothill #also #i know his synaesthesia beacon replaces the phrase and not only the word #im just not writing all that #UNEARTHLY

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chuluoyi · 5 months ago

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࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 11:52 A.M 」

based on this and this video :)) this is fluff supply before remarried empress au part 2 is posted~

a part of gojo's love entries

satoru had always thought... you were the perfect mother to his child.

“ma...!”

your baby boy, with his white hair and blue eyes full of innocence, was crawling towards you with all his might, and you were on the other side of the bed with open arms, ready to accept him.

“yes, baby, you can do it!” you cheered, a permanent smile on your face, completely adoring satoru’s mini-him as he tried to reach you.

you really are. after all, you were the girl of his dreams first and foremost, who then became the woman he had sworn to protect forever.

“just a little bit more! aww, my baby is so cute!”

...but hey, since you were his wife above all, weren't you supposed to take care of him too? these days, you seemed to spend all your love on your son… and spared him unamused looks whenever he tried to bed you!

satoru observed as his little baby made his way towards you with visible excitement, totally capturing your attention fully. narrowing his eyes in analysis, he devised a plan.

and so, right before his kid could reach you, he immediately went over to your side, scooped up the baby and pecked you in the lips.

“oh—! satoru!”

“don’t i deserve mama’s attention too...?” he asked, eyes pleading sadly. “hmm?”

“—? waah!” but before you could react to his sneak attack, your baby son was so startled that his eyes filled up with tears. in that moment, he wrenched away from his father's grasp and hurriedly crawled towards you, seeking comfort in your arms, and you hugged him.

“there, there...” you almost laughed at this exchange as you patted his little back, sending a wink at satoru. “poor baby, what has papa done to you, huh?”

satoru pursed his lips in response, directing a slight glare on his baby, who was suddenly calm and smiley as he was smushed against your bosom, looking at him with those wide eyes—as if flaunting his victory.

the little fiend, he thought. i’ll show him!

“listen you...”

and half an hour later, he cornered the boy against the wall, trying to assert his position.

“we need to share mama. you're taking all. her. time.” satoru emphasized, eyeing his baby with narrowed eyes. the boy looked back at him with clear disinterest, merely blinking.

satoru huffed righteously. “you gave her severe tummy ache when you were still inside that i had to stay up to soothe you, and now when you're out... you monopolize her love! how is this fair? what am i left with?!”

baby blinked, leaning inquisitively towards him.

“do you understand me? i need my wife bac— gyaaah!”

you literally ran out of the kitchen when you heard satoru’s sudden yell, thinking something had happened. “satoru! what’s wrong—”

only to arrive at the scene of the most amusing sight imaginable. your husband was on the brink of panic as your baby, with a vengeful expression, chomping down on his nose.

“he ate my nose! help! HEEELP!”

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tetsvya · 5 months ago

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clueless, kuroo tetsuro

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ kuroo tetsuro has a thing for girls with long hair. so what if you're a girl with long hair? that doesn’t mean anything!

➼ pairing! kuroo tetsuro x fem!manager!reader

➼ warnings! none, just fluff and humor. maybe ooc because i haven't written in years??? unfortunately, because this is based on the scene of kuroo and yaku arguing about their preference, this is really for my long haired girlies 😣 i apologize to the short haired readers

➼ word count! about 1.4k

➼ author’s note! "haikyuu renassiance!" we all cheer in unison. anywho, this is my first time posting in two years. please be nice to me 🫡

"So, you prefer girls with short hair then, Yaku?" Kai asks, shedding off the white button-up of his school uniform and revealing his black practice t-shirt. The three third-year Nekoma players had found themselves in an empty classroom, deciding to use it as a makeshift changing room. Luckily for them, they had all worn their clean practice clothes under their school uniforms. Doing so allowed them to save time and cut back the number of minutes they were already going to be late to practice, thanks to Yaku getting distracted by a group of girls, which Kai noted all had short hair. Hence, his question.

Yaku paused his work of ridding himself of his tie to send Kai a proud grin, pointing towards him with both hands, “Yesss!

"And you, Kuroo?" Kai turns to him, now curious to know his captain's answer as well.

"Long." Kuroo's answer is firm, leaving no room for debate. Still, he glances at Yaku, as if daring him to try.

Yaku only snorts, shaking his head in amusement as he too turns to look at his captain, "Like that wasn't obvious."

"Ehh," Kuroo's eyes narrow, head craning down to peer at the libero, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Yaku starts, taking a step closer as he peers right back up at Kuroo, "Everyone knows you have a crush on our manager, who just so happens to have the longest hair I've ever seen!"

"Ehh?" Kuroo repeats, louder this time as he cranes his head down even more, "Who says I have a crush—"

"Hey!" The door to the classroom slides open with a shocking force, startling the boys and drawing the attention of all three of them to it. Kuroo and Yaku both grow rigid as they find you standing in its opening. Quiet pants slip past your lips, and you take a moment to catch your breath as you stare at the three of them before you begin speaking, "There you guys are! I've been looking for the three of you everywhere."

"Hello," Kai greets kindly, the only one not left in a stupor at your sudden appearance, smiling as you make your way into the classroom. "We apologize, we're running a bit late."

"Yeah," You huff, coming to a stop a few steps away from them as you cross your arms, "It was your guys' turn to set up the nets. So when you guys didn't show up in time to do so and none of you answered your phones, Coach sent me to find you guys. Didn't know I'd be going on a wild goose chase."

Your words leave you in a huff before your eyes land on Kuroo, raising an eyebrow at the captain. His shoulders tense even more at the sudden eye contact and he's quick to snap his head in the other direction. Kuroo suddenly feels warm, realizing how you could have easily heard the conversation transpiring between the three of them. Stupid Yaku, Kuroo curses the libero in his head, doesn't even know what he's talking about.

"Sorry, Y/N." And of course it’s Yaku who disrupts his thoughts, pulling Kuroo's eyes to him just as he sends you an innocent smile, "We got carried away, talking."

There's a teasing tone to Yaku's voice, and Kuroo knows it's directed at him. Why is he friends with him again?

"I don't even want to know," You speak, and Kuroo can envision you shaking your head at the three of them, "Just get dressed and get to the gym as quick as possible, please."

All three boys give some noise of recognition in response to your words, and Kuroo takes the chance to glance at you then. He's quick to regret it. Your hand rises just as he locks eyes with you, reaching up to tuck some of the more unruly pieces of your hair (which most likely came undone due to your seemingly frantic search of the three third years) behind your ear and out of your face. Kuroo's eyes follow the movement of your hand, trailing downwards and taking in the long strands of hair that fall well past your shoulders. Once again all too aware of the conversation he was just having with his teammates, the tips of his ears burn as he pulls his gaze away from you once more. He shakes his head, trying to get Yaku's words out of his mind. Just because he liked girls with long hair, and just because you so happened to be a girl with long hair, did not mean he liked you.

Right?

A snort of laughter suddenly leaves Yaku, having caught the interaction, and Kuroo turns to him with a heated glare. You don't miss the exchange between them either.

"Are you two having one of your petty arguments again?" You accuse, eyes glancing between Kuroo and Yaku who are suddenly staring back at you like two deers caught in headlights. "Seriously, you've been fighting like this since first year. What topic could you guys possibly still be discussing?"

Yaku's smirk returns as he glances at his captain with an all too knowing look before he turns back to you, "Well, if you really want to kn—"

"Nope!" Kuroo is quick to interject, speaking for the first time since you entered and drawing your attention away from Yaku and back to the captain himself. Your eyes widen as he begins to take long strides in your direction. "No arguing here!"

Your lips part, confusion taking over your features at the odd behavior your captain is displaying. You don't get the chance to say anything, however, as Kuroo makes a show of glancing at the clock on the wall before turning back to you with a dramatic gasp, "Oh, would you look at the time! We should really be heading to practice."

"You still have your school shirt on, Kuroo.” You point out when he stops in front of you, pointedly glancing down at Kuroo's attire, which consisted of his practice shorts and white button-up, with his red school tie hung loosely around his neck.

"I'll just change it once we're in the gym," Kuroo responds, waving away your interjections before he drops his hands onto your shoulders and forces you to turn around and back toward the door. You attempt to dig your heels down when he begins to push you in the direction of the door, but you're truly no match for his strength. Stupid volleyball training.

"Kuroo," You voice your protests, attempting to swat at his hands in order to get him to release you. Once again, your attempts remain futile, "Let go of me!"

"No can do! As captain and manager, it's our job to be on time to every practice. What would our team do without us?" Kuroo shakes his head, clicking his tongue as if he's scolding you. He turns back to Kai and Yaku, flashing them a warning smile, daring them to say another word. Yaku merely watches on with an unamused look, while Kai holds a placid smile. There's extra sweetness in his voice as he practically chirps out, "Bring my stuff to the club room, will you?"

"I was on time!" You retort, not giving Kai nor Yaku a chance to respond to their exasperating captain as you send them a pointed look, all the while succumbing to your fate and allowing Kuroo to push you out of the classroom. After all, he did have a point. It probably wouldn't be long before Lev managed to push somebody's buttons (most likely Yamamoto’s) one too many times and ended up in hot water. "The only reason I'm not there right now is because I came looking for you guys!"

"Ah, now is not the time to deal blame, Y/N. Our juniors are waiting on us." Kuroo argues back, shaking his head as he removes one hand from your shoulder to slide the door shut behind the two of you. Still, Yaku and Kai face the door as the sound of your guys' bickering persists. It grows quieter and quieter with each passing moment, and it isn’t until they can no longer hear your guys' voices does Yaku glance away with a shake of his head.

"He's clueless." Yaku deadpans, glancing back down at his tie as he continues to work on untying it.

Kai nods, neatly folding his button-up before placing it in his bag. "Completely."

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #kuroo fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader

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seraphdreams · 1 year ago

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JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡

TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.

there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.

and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.

his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.

“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.

it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.

“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.

“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.

pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.

maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”

with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.

it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.

your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.

“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”

GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.

when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.

gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.

“you ready to get started?”

your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.

of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.

after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.

“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”

his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.

“thank you,”

he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?

“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”

“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”

gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.

“i think .. i think i need you.”

with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.

it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.

his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.

yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,

“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”

CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.

a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.

he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.

“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.

there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.

the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.

yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.

“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”

oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.

he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.

violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.

“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.

choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.

you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.

it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.

though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.

staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.

from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.

“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”

it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.

GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.

you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.

geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.

“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.

you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.

“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?

or so you thought.

“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”

you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.

he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”

you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“

“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”

from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.

with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.

you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.

“if you do t-that, i might—“

and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.

“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”

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piper-2244 · 5 days ago

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the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest.

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet.

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him.

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.”

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him.

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.”

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

…

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam.

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.”

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready.

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday.

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes.

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly.

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it.

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?”

You blush, unable to respond.

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate.

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans.

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth.

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis.

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you.

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.”

Another one falls.

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

#spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfic #piper’s works

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satoruxx · 4 months ago

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pairing: wolf!toji fushiguro x reader summary: wolfhybrid!toji, grumpy x sunshine again, animalistic behavior, bickering rheya’s note: man i couldn’t stop thinking about guard dog toji so it turned into a hybrid au! i can’t see him as anything but a wolf/dog tbh. anyways i will def be writing more for this au hehe <33

you’ve been hearing noises.

it sounds strange, but you’re sure that there is something lurking in the normally deserted alleyway next to your apartment. at first you brushed it off as people traveling through, but now you've noticed the sounds are constant—every night.

you’re eating dinner when you hear the sounds of scuffling, followed by the yowl of a cat and realize you’re probably dealing with a stray looking for food.

so after you finish your meal, you put a bit of leftover fish in an old plate you seldom use, and take it outside. when you peer into the dark alley you don’t see any cat—it’s empty and quiet. you do notice a few scrapes on the walls and a couple of trash bins overturned, which means there definitely was some animal here.

maybe it’ll come back, you think as you bend down and place the plate on the pavement. with one last backward glance at the deserted alleyway, you head inside and go to bed.

a fond smile stretches across your face when you notice the empty plate as you’re leaving for work the next morning.

it becomes a daily routine after that. every night before you go to bed you go out and leave a little plate of fish for the poor cat. and every morning you’re met with a licked clean plate.

even though you never do see the cat, you do feel a strange combination of accomplishment and affection for the poor thing. and your little routine runs smoothly for a couple weeks—you have no complaints.

and then one night, when you’re going to drop off your little ration of the day, you see him. despite being hunched in a corner, he looms infinitely large—heavy shoulders and muscles straining as they fill with tension at your presence. his eyes are strangely bright, crystalline jade narrowed into slits as they appraise you, teeth bared in feral anger. they snap and snarl at you in warning, and you freeze almost immediately.

he’s terrifying—in a strangely gorgeous way.

dark furry ears are pointed up straight, twitching with the sound of your movements, and a warning growl bounces over the walls.

you raise your hands, ignoring the tremble, the instinct to run. “i just…” you keep your voice low, choosing to lightly shake the little plate you have in your hand. green eyes dart over—another snarl, a flick of a tail.

you slowly crouch and place the plate onto the ground, before backing away—you’re not trying to get attacked by a clearly feral hybrid.

he snarls and growls until you are well out of sight.

when you’re back in the safety of your apartment you almost laugh, heart pounding with disbelief. you thought you’d been feeding a stray cat—but no, it’s a hybrid. a big one, predatory in all aspects. you couldn’t see much in the dark lighting of the alley but the ears looked distinctly canine—with the addition of the teeth, claws, and tail, you’re almost sure he is some kind of dog or wolf or whatever.

dangerous for sure.

sensibly, you should probably stop feeding him so he doesn’t stick around. but stupidly, you can’t help it.

the next night you leave another plate. he’s not there this time, but you leave it just in case he’s lurking.

the following night his green eyes remain narrowed on your figure as you return—still snarling as he watches you.

you’re not fazed.

(tell that to your racing heart.)

over the course of the next few weeks, you repeat this process, not really sure what you’re expecting. you suppose you should be grateful that he doesn’t growl as much anymore, seemingly becoming accustomed to your routine presence. it becomes clockwork, so much so that you can always expect him to be sitting in the alley, ears flicking at the sounds of your footsteps.

the plate has now been saved for his little nightly meals, something you don’t necessarily mind. you notice that he is always clad in the same tattered clothing, a dark shirt that is far too loose even on his large body—it is littered with dirt and holes and you wish it was easier to offer some more comfortable items to him.

but you’ve only just gotten him to stop viewing you as a threat; you’ll take it slow.

you don’t notice that he gradually waits closer and closer to where he knows you leave the plate, the distance diminishing in a display of semi trust.

you think that this is all you’ll really get from him. which is fine—you’d rather he remain silent and alive than dead from starvation in your alleyway.

he surprises you one night.

“no more fish.”

you pause in your tracks, a few measly centimeters away from putting the plate on the ground. your eyes dart upward to see him already staring at you, jade slits narrowed. his tail flicks lazily in the shadows. your voice is breathless when you ask, “w-what?”

“fish,” he repeats. “no more of it.”

his voice is a low rumble, deep in richness and timbre despite its evidence of not being used in a while. you glance down at the plate in confusion—he had eaten it all for these few weeks?

he reaches for the plate, digging into the fish with practiced ease. you watch his canines dig into the flesh and tear away like it’s mere paper.

(should you be scared that the fish could also be your throat?)

“you uh—” you clear you throat, staring at him. “you don’t like fish?”

“i can survive off it,” he spits out in between bites—his pupils find yours. “but it’s not great.”

you don’t know why you’re so eager to make him happy. “then what would you like to eat?”

he quirks a brow at the enthusiasm, but answers gruffly. “meat. real meat.” he pauses to run his tongue over his lips, satiated—you can see a scar cutting over them. “like lamb. or beef. i don’t care really.”

“i can do that!” you’re seriously embarrassed at how keen you are, but the progress you’re making excites you. “i should’ve considered what you’d naturally like to eat. you’re a…?”

“wolf,” he grunts, still focused on his meal.

“right.” you nod, grateful to have confirmed the species. “makes sense you’d prefer real meat.”

he doesn’t answer. you don’t mind.

“then i’ll get you something different tomorrow.” you turn to leave. once again he doesn’t answer, but you can feel his eyes boring holes into your back.

you don’t tell the wolf hybrid that you stayed up researching his species just to figure out what he’d like. you just place the plate down the next night, hoping that it is enough to make him feel a little more comfortable with you.

(you’re sure he could kill you with just one bite, but you try not to think about that.)

the wolf watches you present the plate of lamb meat, some pieces cooked and some raw—his tail slowly thumps against the ground.

“i um…know that wolves like deer and stuff, but getting deer meat nearby is a little difficult. i can probably go find some places over the weekend,” you say hesitantly, watching his expression. he reaches a large palm out, claws tugging the plate closer, and digs in. you’re not sure about the taste, but you can see the rise in enthusiasm as he gobbles the meat down—a smile twitches at your lips.

“it’s fine,” he mumbles in return. “deer’s expensive. i like lamb and chicken. beef too.”

you nod, surprised at the consideration for the money you’re spending.

“do…do you prefer it raw or cooked?” you wait for him to click his tongue or indicate he’s getting annoyed by your presence, but he’s feeling forthcoming tonight.

“either’s fine.” he licks up the pinkish liquid that has dripped down his chin while biting into the raw pieces. “i’m used to raw meat.”

you nod, slowly taking a seat on the pavement. his eyes flicker up to watch what you’re doing, but he doesn’t protest. he just picks up another piece of lamb and takes a bite.

“you cook this?” he grunts, waving one of the cooked pieces. you grimace, nodding sheepishly.

“yeah. i wasn't sure if you'd like raw meat or cooked so i brought both. i can just bring raw pieces from now on.”

he peers at the cooked meat in between his claws, before shaking his head gruffly. “it’s pretty good.”

“the cooked meat?” you ask in surprise. he nods.

“yeah. tastes good.”

you can’t help the grin that stretches across your face.

“the fuck are you smilin’ about?” he narrows his eyes at you, ears pointing upright. you drop the smile hastily, shaking your head with a start.

“nothing!”

he snorts, continuing to eat. you watch him do so, strangely content. he doesn’t comment on how you’re seemingly inspecting him, eyes unblinking. he keeps his mouth shut because the taste of meat is heavy on his tongue, and at this point you’re a godsend to an animal like him.

so if you want to observe him like he’s in a fucking zoo, he’s fine with that.

you do have horrible survival instincts though. he wonders why on earth you seem so comfortable around a predator like him, especially a species that is so known to be violent. you’re just sitting there, a mere five feet away, watching him tear into raw meat with stars in your eyes.

(he could tear you apart in a second if he wanted to.)

he doesn’t leave a morsel on the plate, and you give him that same silly smile again.

“i have a little bit more cooked lamb leftover if you want?” you question him, and his eyes lazily roam over you. he thinks about telling you that he could devour meat for much longer if the supply was endless, but instead he huffs.

“did you eat?”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah you,” he replies harshly, rolling his eyes. “did you eat?”

you awkwardly scratch at your arm. “not yet. i was gonna eat some instant noodles later.”

“why the fuck are you worried about a stray like me then?” he snarls, crossing his arms—you’re so fucking naive. “go eat the cooked lamb and worry about yourself, for fuck’s sake.”

while his harsh tone would’ve definitely scared you on day one, this time, you feel more ticked off than afraid.

“i’m a grown ass adult. don’t tell me what to do. if i wanna worry about the noisy stray in my alleyway, i’ll do that,” you shoot back indignantly, mirroring his crossed arms.

the wolf’s demeanor changes, hackles rising. his ears go erect, straight and tense with frustration. he bares his teeth at you, a warning growl coming through them. “lot of talk for someone so damn tiny,” he barks. “don’t you have any self preservation instincts? i could just fucking eat you instead.”

you go a little slack jawed at that, a flicker of hesitation, but then you retort. “maybe, but i bet humans don’t taste as good as lamb or deer!”

“i’ll make do,” he growls back, canines pulling into an evil smirk.

your bravado dies down, and then he has to deal with the disturbingly wounded pout on your face. you don’t say anything more and he sighs heavily.

“i’ll eat more if you eat,” he grunts, glaring at the pavement. even then, he can feel the way you perk up.

“i’ll be right back!” you grab his plate and hurry into your apartment, eager, and all he can do is sigh, wondering what on earth he’s doing interacting with a fragile little human like you.

you come back with more cooked lamb in his designated plate, placing it in front of him before taking a seat on the floor again. he watches you stab at the pieces with a fork and chew on them, so dainty compared to the way his canines dig into his own share.

he can feel the curiosity thrumming through your veins, no doubt burning with questions—the need to talk to him. but you stay quiet as you eat, the sounds of chewing echoing through the alley. he concedes.

“you make it a habit to feed strays?” he mutters. you look up, once again sporting that silly look of surprise at his attention, but you recover quickly.

“no not really. you were just…really loud.” you sheepishly grin when he pins you with a glare, raising your hands innocently. “i just heard a lot of rattling around out here. i thought you were a stray cat.”

he takes offense to that.

“i ain’t no damn cat,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he bites into the flesh of another piece. your grin widens.

“clearly.”

the rest of the short meal passes in silence. he finishes up before you do, and for the first time you see him stand to his full height—he’s tall and hulking.

“well,” he grunts, shoving his clawed hands into his dirty pockets. “y’should go inside and finish that.”

he nods at your bowl before turning away. you briefly wonder where he sleeps; perhaps the park nearby so that he can rest on soft grass rather than cold stone. the thought makes you pity him more than you did.

his retreating form suddenly pauses, and he turns to stare over his shoulder—his jade eyes glow in the darkness. “see y’tomorrow.”

a wide smile stretches across your face, and you wave back, giddy. “sure! see you tomorrow…” your voice trails off at the end. the wolf rolls his eyes heavily, before turning around and continuing his walk.

“toji.” he finishes for you, voice low and yet still clear.

you bite back a laugh of disbelief. “toji,” you repeat, and it rolls off your tongue like butter. his ears twitch at the sound, surprisingly pleasant, and he grumbles in return, vanishing into the night.

he ends up keeping his promise.

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