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yandere-daydreams · 5 months ago

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Title: Cherry Red.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.

Word Count: 1.9k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.

Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.

Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.

It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”

‘Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.

Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”

“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”

Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”

It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”

And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”

If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”

It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—

Oh, god.

As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.

He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”

For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.

There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”

Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”

A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.

You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.

You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.

Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”

Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”

“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.

You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.

At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere x you #yandere jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru x reader

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vifilms · 17 days ago

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nsfw themes, eighteen+

gymrat!vi who frequents the gym every day except for sundays. giving into his wishes to be present for their weekly dinner. any other day? she’s getting her pump in. an absolute given in her world. pink-hued strands stick to her scalp as she pushes for a new personal record on the bench, especially when vi’s bulking. whenever she’s training, she’s so zoned in, nothing can distract — well — it used to be nothing.

gymrat!vi who secretly enjoys nothing more than working out with jayce. accountability between two best friends turns into a friendly competition. nothing at stake except their egos. seeing who can outdo the other set after set. something to keep them both in line, fit, and violet enjoys the hit to jayce’s ego whenever she can push weight heavier than jayce.

gymrat!vi who isn’t oblivious to the attention thrown her way. with the heatwave of summertime, her muscles are on full display, defined biceps, toned thighs, and god her tattoos are basically a honey-trap. she would be a fucking liar if she acted disgusted by it, part of her likes it a little too much. but hey, everyone likes to be appreciated from time to time and vi is no exception. and she never really saw a problem with it until a one night stand who then not not so subtly stalked her every time she was in the gym, learning her schedule until she had no choice but to leave her favorite gym. silently, she made a vow to not fuck with girls she met at the gym.

….well, until you.

gymrat!vi who is a known regular. she knows all the girls at the front desk, flirts with many of them, but to her it’s as platonic as chatting up the barista who brews her dose of caffeine in the morning. it’s ingrained into her morning routine, simply just a part of who she is. so, when she sees you at the front desk she nearly has to do a double take. there’s not a hot chance in hell she’s seen you before — vi would have definitely remembered you.

gymrat!vi who becomes shy for the first time in her life, bringing her membership card up to the scanner and offering a small smile but when looks back you seem to take a second look, eyes locked into her powder-blue eyes. even if just for a moment, you’re veering into her thumping soul. vi can’t help but smile. she reminds herself, you’re just another pretty girl. you’re new, probably won’t even last long. yeah, that’s what vi’s going to let herself believe. it’s not like she’s thinking about your gorgeous lips when she bench presses, or thinking about your gorgeous eyes taking her breath away — or when vi’s powerlifting she’s so not thinking about lifting you on top of her.

“if you talk to her, she might actually know your name.”

“w-what, i-i’m not, sh—”

jayce raises his eyebrows at vi, shaking his head as his very questionable friend spots her as she moves the weight the fluidity, her movements only struggling to push through when she reaches the final set.

“she’s the gym owner’s daughter, he’s wanting her to take over the reins, old age and all.” jayce responds as violet places the bar on the rack, her set complete until she moves onto the next one. “your little theory of her not being around for long is kinda crushed. unless you want to find another gym….”

“that’s the whole point of me not talking to her, m’not finding a new gym again. that’s a promise. i can control myself.”

jayce just laughs. fucking laughs.

“what’s so funny, bro?” vi pouts.

“that you genuinely believe you’re gonna be able to stop yourself and that you think you have a type….and she fits the bill.”

“oh, fuck off.” vi grunts.

dropping the fifty pound dumbbells by the bench, lifting up her shirt to wipe some of the sweat off her face only to find you on the other side of the gym, staring directly at her abs like her glistening sweaty skin like it’s a golden ticket to heaven.

“well…fuck.”

gymrat!vi who notices your presence more and more in the coming weeks. this time not just behind the front counter. you’re with the personal trainers, helping new customers fill out paperwork, and this morning you go wherever vi goes, her eyes can’t seem to stop searching for your figure. especially with those tight leggings you always seem to wear, vi couldn’t stop looking at the fat of your ass if her life depended on it. she managed to squeak out more than a hi to you yesterday, but it’s as far as her pleasantries extend.

gymrat!vi who has her headphones placed on her head, her all black workout set; this time something more modest at her disposable. the black and cotton hoodie covers her head, flares of bright pink wisps shadow from the hood but her shorts reach mid thigh, the overworked muscles in her legs flexing as she lifts the weight. jayce isn’t with her today, which means she basically had to physically restrain herself from talking to you today. even if she can see you sneaking glances at her through her workout, eyeing her legs each time she’s on the leg press. greedy, hot, goddess — vi is so fucked.

when she walked the following day, you said her name, violet.

you know her name.

it’s just the database, it’s the only reason.

pull yourself together, idiot.

gymrat!viwho is at the end of her workout, taking her final rest before she does her last set, but here you go again, gawking as you pretend to be readjusting the weight on the racks but you finally stop looking at her, trying to put the last weight, the one-hundred pound bell but you just can’t. even then, vi is trying not to smile with how adorable you look as you struggle.

before making her way over to you, she slides the black pair of headphones on her tattooed neck, popping the hoodie, seeing if anyone else was going to help you — just her luck — there wasn’t a soul in her at midnight besides her….shocker.

“stupid, piece of shit, would you just—”

“need some help there, princess?” vi looks over at you from the workout beach she’s perched on, legs spread wide as her jaw juts out, eyes naturally gleaming with curiosity.

“i should be able to. i can do this, right? yeah? i definitely can do this.”

but it only sounds as if you’re trying to convince yourself. the weight of responsibility crushing your spirit by a singular dumbbell. you’re huffing and puffing. life and death here, and all because of a stupid, petty, weight.

vi stands up, her height towering over your hunched finger. “pick it up with your legs. next time, make it’ll easier.”

violet doesn’t really use her legs though. the beautifully strong woman kneels on the ground with you, her gloved hand picks the weight up with ease and places it back on the rack.

“obviously, i know that.”

violet hums before she offers a hand, helping you stand tall. “of course you do.”

the sensation bubbling on her fingertips from touching your skin almost seems downright electric — and now vi feels like running ten miles in the other direction for the sole purpose of settling her heartbeat for just a moment.

“anyways, yeah, sorry to disturb you.”

“not a problem, princess. never going to say no to a pretty girl in distress.”

the smile violet offers is adorable, the one she flashes the girls when she comes in for her late work out, from wherever she comes from. but the way she scratches the nape of her neck? that’s just for you.

gymrat!vi who can’t stop thinking of you, despite her best efforts. constantly, she wonders if you’re seeing someone, but the way you watch her, vi suspects your single as can be. it isn’t until one friday night, just as she’s trying to leave, one of the front girls, rich and pompous, is trying to coax her into meeting her and some friends at the bar tonight. when she’s about to say no for a finale time, growing more uncomfortable by the second, you’ve come up to where she is and, well fuck, violet’s even more embarrassed that one of your employees is hitting on her right in front of you.

“c’mon! jayce says you haven’t been out in ages. you deserve it, you’re always working out so much. if anyone deserves a treat, it’s you.”

cursing out the little shit in her mind, she rolls her eyes, trying to contain herself from having an aneurysm. “little shit, divulging all my secrets.”

sabrina laughs more than she should, tossing her purple hair over her shoulder. carefully, you hover, absentmindedly scrolling on your phone and violet wonders if you stay there for a reason.

if she’s the reason you’re eavesdropping.

“so….is that a yes?”

violet sighs, she hates this. “maybe another time.”

gymrat!vi who wonders what you thought of the entire time. quiet as a mouse, you hadn’t said a single word to her since you were there to witness the rejection of her employee they still couldn’t seem to just stop. this is what she wants. silence…..right? it’s what she keeps telling herself but now vi can’t stop trying to catch your attention, just an ounce of it is all she craves. today, you only spared her a glance before you talked to jayce. pathetically, she decides to do something to catch your attention, hip thrusts.

gymrat!vi who looks up as you watch her pelvis lift the weight placed on her abdomen, pushing sturdy hips through the set as you keep sparing glances gawking at her porcelain skin exposed. she can tell you’re at least trying to pay attention to whatever jayce is saying but you’re interest loses focus when she grunts with one final thrust, the bar rolling away from her legs.

“did you hear that?” vi rolls her eyes at the sound of his chipper voice.

“what?” violet slips her headphones off, trying to even her labored breaths. not just jayce, but the both of you stand above vi as she tries to catch her breath.

“i invited her to our brunch with mel on saturday.”

“oh, is that this saturday?”

oh, he really is playing fucking dirty.

“is there a problem, vi?”

little chicken shit is grinning, goddamn it. she takes another swing from her water bottle, hoping to god you’ll think it’s too forward, too weird, and you’ll just instantly decline.

“not a problem.” vi grits her teeth as she speaks, jaw clenching as she knows this is surely to be a hole there will be no digging out from.

or one she so desperately wants to fill.

rayray rants — UM IDK HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS???? it's kinda different than what i normally post but i might turn it into a little hc series. anyways! hope you like and i have a very special vi post coming soon that i'm really excited about. but yeah! hopefully, i can continue this because vi working out is literally all i can think about. alright, um, see you next time ♡

#❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 ❞#IM KINDA SORRY ABOUT THE LAST LINE?????#but i’m also trying to make an effort not to take my writing so seriously #and this post is entirely devoted that so i hope you enjoy!#vi arcane #vi x reader #violet x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi x you #violet fanfiction #league of legends #arcane #arcane x reader #violet arcane x reader

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smutoperator · 6 months ago

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Schoolgirl Fantasies

Jang Kyujin x Male Reader

Tags: age gap, anal fingering, ass-to-pussy, (lots of) blowjob, BWC, creampie, daddy kink, deepthroating, facefucking, first anal, full nelson, lube, maknae, rimjob, schoolgirl, upskirt, teen, tight holes

Word Count: 4518

For more than a decade, you've been JYP's idols main outlet to satisfy the dirtiest fantasies. From Sunmi to Suzy, Sana to Sullyoon, Nayeon to Yeji, Momo to Yuna, every one of JYP's current and former top female idols has got a chance to enjoy some naughty times with you.

However, there is one idol still missing from your collection, but you're about to correct this mistake.

"Hi, daddy," Kyujin appears in your room, wearing a schoolgirl outfit. It's fairly simple but rather effective. One of those easiest fantasies that always work no matter which moment.

The age gap between you and Kyujin is quite astonishing. You're now 48 years old, no longer that vigorous stud that once took the virginity away from legends like Suzy. 30 years separate you from Kyujin. You could literally be her father, so her calling you Daddy actually makes some sense.

Kyujin is very cute but also exudes a nice sexiness. After all, she comes from a stacked lineage of JYP maknaes. Sohye, Suzy, Tzuyu, and Yuna all went through your hands before her, so you're already very curious to see how she looks. She teases you, lifting her skirt and rubbing her hands over her teen pussy, biting her lips as she's anxious for the experience her unnies already had.

"I heard rave reviews about you, Daddy, especially from Haewon, Sullyoon, and Bae unnies," Kyujin says. "You've been working for JYP since when I was just a kid, and now I finally got a chance to spend a day with you; what an honor," she continues.

"It's an honor meeting you too," you say to Kyujin. You let her tease you at first, as she takes her pink top off and shows you her perfect tits while touching her pussy. She makes some moves on the floor of your room, showing her dancing abilities, including a little bouncing to tease you about what she wants to do later. She stays on her knees on the floor, smiling at you and making moves with her tongue, before finally sitting on the legendary couch where some of the biggest JYP idols have enjoyed lots of sex and orgasms.

"How are you doing?" you ask Kyujin. "I'm doing great," she replies. Your moves are the same as to every first-timer; you just want to make them relaxed. "You're so beautiful; what's your name?" you ask her. "Kyujin," she says. You already knew the answer, but the first thing you need to do is make her comfortable.

"Are you gonna be my naughty schoolgirl today?" you ask another question. "I'll try," a shy Kyujin answers. You laugh. "Look at those nice boobs," you tell her. "You like them, Daddy?" she asks. "Of course," you say. "But they aren't as big as Jihyo unnie," she says. "They don't need to be," you tell her.

"Wanna play with them?" Kyujin asks. Of course you do, but you want to rather take it slow. "Stand up for me for a second," you say to her. "Let me look under your skirt," you tell her, staring at Kyujin's very short panties and sexy thighs.

"What's your main schoolgirl fantasy?" you ask Kyujin. "I want to fuck my professor or one of my classmates, but I'm scared of getting caught," she answers, laughing. "Then I'll make your wish come true; today I'm your sex professor, and you won't get caught," you tell her.

"Let me see those perky tits," you tell Kyujin, who pulls her bra to the side. "Now, I'm gonna make them a little shiny," you say, pouring a cold dose of lube on them. "Rub them for me," you ask her, who obliges.

Kyujin takes her bra completely off. "You know, most guys really have a bias between asses or tits. But I like them both equally. So turn around and show me that ass," you ask her, who shakes her sexy teen butt. "You know, usually I don't fuck a girl in the ass in the first time I meet her, but I think I'll make an exception for you," you say. "Oh, yes, please, I want you to fuck my virgin ass, just like you did to Yoona and Bae unnies before," she says.

Indeed, as Kyujin mentioned, she would be just one of many idols who got their first anal try with you. But unlike them, she wanted to have it in the first attempt. Damn, and you thought those JYP idols couldn't get sluttier, but they keep proving you wrong.

You also lube Kyujin's ass and let her spread it around her sexy young butt. "Take your panties off; let me see that young pussy and butthole," you order. "Are you ready for that, Daddy?" Kyujin asks. "I'm more than ready," you say, getting wowed at her young holes. "Look at my tight pink pussy, Daddy," she says to you.

Kyujin puts a pair of fingers up her tight asshole. She knows it won't be easy getting that cock in there. "I need to help myself and stretch my tiny virgin ass so you can pound it, Daddy," she laughs. "Keep stretching it; you're going to need it," you tell her, pouring some extra lube in her butt and letting Kyujin fist deep in that butthole.

"Oh, that ass is so fucking tight, daddy," Kyujin teases you. She's driving you insane, letting your perversions take over. You take your pants off and rub your cock against her pussy, making her moan. "Daddy is gonna fuck that teen pussy raw?" she asks.

You'd usually have some foreplay before shoving your cock inside an idol's fuckhole. But Kyujin's teen cunt is so enticing you are ready to throw that rule out of the window. "Oh yeah," she moans as you insert the tip of your massive shaft inside her pussy.

"Fuck," she says. "That pussy is so tight," you whisper to her, barely able to insert a third of your nine inches inside her. If your past experiences taught you something, it is that you have to go quite slow with maknaes. Their pussies are always tight and strong and won't cave out to a cock so easily.

"Oh, I love to feel both my holes getting filled," Kyujin says. You love hearing her say it. It tells you it won't be much of a steep climb when she decides to attempt a DP with a real cock, now just her fingers. "Oh yeah, oh fuck," she moans as you start moving, going very nice slow at first in her teen pussy.

"So you're no longer a virgin," you tell her, noticing you didn't need to break her hymen. "No, I lost it as soon as I turned 18," she says. That's a pity. Just like her groupmate Sullyoon, Kyujin had her first meeting with you only a couple months after turning 18, but she is such a slut she couldn't keep her virgin pussy for you to deflower.

Finding that out makes you increase the pace. After all, Kyujin already has some experience taking cocks in her pussy. Maybe not as big as yours, but you know she can learn. "So good," you groan, noticing the tightness of her hole. "OH MY GOD," she lets out the first scream, but truth be told, that massage she's giving her asshole is helping her quite a bit in enduring that huge cock fucking her pussy.

You start panting and groaning louder. Even for an experienced guy like you, her tight young pussy is quite a challenge not to bust a nut. "Is Daddy enjoying my pussy?" she asks you, but you don't answer, trying to stay concentrated and just keep fucking it.

"Fuck that pussy, daddy," Kyujin says in a very cute voice, almost catching you off guard. Her moans sound so good, and you can tell how much she's enjoying it as her walls clench even further around your cock. You duck your head down and wrap your hands around her waist, kissing her and breathing around her neck as she gives you a naughty smile.

"Daddy, you're making me so wet," Kyujin says, as you can feel her young juices coating all over your cock. It's getting harder and harder to resist, but you manage to find just the right rhythm to pound her tight hole. "That pussy is so nice," you tell her.

Kyujin bites her lips as you increase your pace. Oddly, even though you are the experienced guy in the relationship, you're the one already out of breath. Meanwhile, Kyujin, who's only in the 3rd cock of her life, is doing quite well. I think you should have known by now that dancers truly have walls of steel. You should have learned the lesson from the countless sessions where you pounded the likes of Momo, Yeji, and Chaeryeong to oblivion, yet they kept asking for more. Maybe you were just getting old after all.

You slowed the pace, but Kyujin showed no mercy, moving her hips against your crotch. Her unnies really taught her well, because she was already pulling off some veteran moves in her first session with you. For being such a naughty girl, you decide to punish her, pounding Kyujin's pink pussy harder than ever and trying to dig deeper and deeper, searching for her cervix.

But your plan backfires, as you're forced to pull out. "I'll be back soon, baby," you tell her. "I'll be waiting, Daddy," she says. You rush to the shower and relieve the pressure on your cock by painting the walls of it with your cum. This time you avoided the embarrassment you had the last time you fucked a maknae, where Yuna squeezed you so hard you nutted after 3 minutes fucking her pussy. You were this close to repeating it, but this time you saved yourself at the last second.

After watching some festival performances of Kyujin, your cock is back up at full strength. "Come suck that cock," you tell her. "Oh my God, that cock is so wet," she smiles at you, pleased at the work her pussy had done to it, licking your shaft perfectly. For such an inexperienced girl, Kyujin was quite skilled.

You just sat on the chair and let Kyujin showcase her blowjob skills. She gripped your cock firmly, squeezing it with her soft young hands, then licked it a few times from the balls to the tip, giving special attention to your sperm sack, before going up and getting sloppy with the shaft.

"Oh my God," you groaned as Kyujin deepthroated your nine inches with ease. "You're so good," you say to her as she kisses your shaft. "No, you're so good; you've got such a nice cock; I'm in love with it," she tells you.

"I love licking that cock up and down," Kyujin smiles as she plays with your shaft; your tip grows even bigger as your cock is throbbing harder than ever as she kisses that very sensitive spot. After just surving her tight pussy, you have to endure another one of her tight teen holes trying to milk you dry as she bobs her head all over your shaft. That young slut is truly pushing you to the limit.

Kyujin doesn't spare an inch of your cock. Matter of fact, she wants more, diving down to eat your asshole. What are they putting in those 18-year-olds food? How are they already getting so slutty they are licking your old ass in the first encounter? You're really starting to embrace the suspicion that JYP idols are made in a lab and the new iterations of their software are sluttier than the previous ones.

But you can't complain. Her young tongue massaging your asshole truly feels like heaven, especially when she moves up to lick your balls as well. "You like that, Daddy?" she asks. But you can't answer, trying to cope with Kyujin's tongue in your anus and her hands caressing your shaft, pushing your foreskin up and down and making your tip pop up while rubbing against it, giving you a tingling feeling at each time. How did she learn how to edge a cock this fast?

Kyujin's magical tongue works all over your asshole, spitting on it and licking it. "I love putting that tongue in your ass, daddy," she tells you, diving deeper and deeper almost as if she were thursting inside it. Kyujin gets very sloppy, making the bottom of your crotch very wet. "So nasty and sloppy, Daddy," she tells you, slurping all over your balls and playing with your foreskin, pushing it as hard as she can using just her mouth.

Kyujin gives another crazy head-bobbing blowjob to your cock, finishing with a deepthroat and letting out a big smile. "I love your fat cock, daddy," she says, caressing your shaft and jerking it off, before more head-bobbing follows.

"You like how I stroke it with both my hands like this?" Kyujin asks you, and you just let your groans do the talking as she spits on your cock and keeps playing with your foreskin. Sucking, twisting, licking—everything that is possible she does with your shaft. She really wants that cock wet and ready for her tight fuckholes.

You finally interrupt Kyujin's fun, getting on your knees as you pin her body against the couch and kiss her, your cock rubbing against her navel as she keeps jerking it off. You reach under her skirt to play with her pussy, while diving your head to suck her perky young tits. "AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH," her moans grow louder. You kiss her neck and whisper dirty words to your ear. "I'm gonna fill your slutty body full of cum," you tell her.

Kyujin keeps moaning as her juices coat the carpet in your living room. "Oh fuck," she says as she lies her head on the couch and you keep sucking her tits, searching for her tight entrance. You finally put her on top of the couch and spread her legs, diving into her teen cunt.

"Oh yeah, taste that pussy, daddy," Kyujin demands as she closes her eyes and more moans come out of her mouth. "OH MY GOD," she screams as her legs close and you lick her folds like crazy, the hot air blowing from your nostrills and sniffing her core adding to the pleasure she's feeling in her clit. Her nipples get erect and her veins pop out as she slowly starts losing her breath, trying to resist your tongue doing to her pussy what hers just did to your cock.

"AH YEAHHHHHH, AHHHHHHHH," Kyujin's moans groan louder as she grabs your head and presses it further against her clit. "OH FUCK, OH YEAH," Kyujin keeps moaning as her thighs crush your head and press it further against her young pussy.

You can't resist anymore, surprising Kyujin by shoving your cock back in her tight pussy just as you kiss her. More moans come out of her mouth. "OH YEAH, OHHHHHHHHH," she says as you fuck her at a steady pace, kissing her beautiful face and wrapping your hands around her neck.

"Yesss, dadddy, that feels so good," Kyujin moans as she lifts her skirt further up and gives you a sexy smile. You fuck her even harder, massaging her bouncy tits as your thrusts go deeper and deeper. Kyujin's vocabulary now is reduced to just moaning and screaming and telling you how good you fuck her as your cock rests buried deep in her pussy.

"Pump that little tight teen pussy, daddy," Kyujin begs, spreading her legs completely in the couch now, giving you very easy access to her pink hole. You seize the opportunity and take repeated, hard thrusts deep inside it that hit her cervix. "OHHHHHH YESSSSSSS, OHHHHHHHH FUCKKKKKKK," she screams as your balls smack her clit and you make her cum.

To avoid cumming now, you pull out of Kyujin's tight pussy, eating it out and enjoying the juices that are all over her folds, kissing and worshipping it before you surprise her by shoving your middle finger up her asshole, leading to a huge smile from her. "Am I a good girl, Daddy?" she asks you.

"You're such a naughty girl," you finally answer her, sticking your finger up her asshole. "OH FUCK, OH MY GOD," Kyujin screams as you finally show who the real experienced guy is, making her orgasm just with your hands.

You pull your finger out of Kyujin's butthole. "Dirty teen slut," you call her. "Yes, daddy, that's exactly what I am," she says as you pour more lube at her body. "My ass is so tight, Daddy," Kyujin then says.

"Then let's test how tight it is," you reply, lining up your tip against her virgin butthole. You make a hard effort to put it in but can barely push the tip inside, given how tight it is. Kyujin smiles, as she's about to get an unforgettable first anal experience.

"Oh my God, it's so fucking tight," Kyujin says. "My first time couldn't have been better," she continues. Your anaconda slowly disappears inside her anus; make her contort as she isn't adjusted to it. Even her finger-fisting couldn't help her. Your cock is just too large for her virgin orifice.

After reaching the maximum depth of her asshole, you go slow with Kyujin, giving her nice thrusts that only take half of your cock inside it. "Oh yeah," she moans. You play with her pussy, knowing that the first time can be really difficult, trying to ease her up and loosen up her tight teen hole.

Kyujin tries to moan, but you don't let her. "Shhhhhh," you say as you shove three of your fingers in her pussy. But she can't hold that for long. "AHHHHHHH," she explodes in more screams as you also use her pussy as a way to cope with the tightness of her asshole, trying as hard as possible not to fill it with cum.

You thurst your cock at Kyujin's asshole at the same pace you thursts your fingers in her cunt. "OH MY GODDDDDDD," she screams, grabbing her tits. You go faster, Kyujin just attempting to resist your stimulation. She obviously can't. "AHHHHHHHH," she screams again, dropping her head into one of the pillows on the couch.

"Do you like to fuck that tight ass, Daddy?" Kyujin asks as you commit all of your efforts to pound it, taking your fingers off her pussy. You groan and pant as her anal walls smash your big cock. "Finger that pussy for me," you demand of her. "Yes, daddy, OH FUCK," she screams just as she finishes the sentence and places her fingers in her clit.

Kyujin spreads her cheeks as she lets her asshole take the full shape of your cock. "Keep fucking me, just like that," she says, sticking her tongue out. Her ass is so tight you're forced to pull out after so many thursts, allowing yourself some time to breathe before you put it back in and teasing her little gapes of her formely virgin anus.

You take Kyujin by surprise, switching back to her pussy. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, fuck both of my holes," she begs as you pound her already stretched out cunt like crazy before moving back in her ass and doing the same with it. "I love the way you switch back and forth, Daddy; you can't get enough of my tiny teen holes, can you?" she says.

"No, I can't," you say, going back in Kyujin's pink pussy and pounding it hard. "OH MY GOD, OH FUCK, YES, YES, YES," she screams, grabbing her tits to not let them bounce even further. Back in her ass you go, bringing her legs closer and stretching her hole out as Kyujin feels the heat of her guts being rearranged. "FUCK THAT ASS DADDY," she screams hard.

You finally pull out of Kyujin's holes and kiss her forehead. "Good girl," you compliment her. "Are you gonna let me taste my own ass, Daddy?" she asks. "Fuck yeah," you say. "Then please, fuck my face, Daddy," she replies.

You grab Kyujin's head, using her long hair as handlebars while you pound her pretty face. She rolls her eyes and gags all over your thorbbing shaft, as it proves to be too large for her throat when it fucks it at full speed. You enjoy Kyujin choking on your dick like a good whore, getting your cock perfectly wet for your next move.

"Stand up," you tell her, lying on the carpet. You fully push her skirt up and spank Kyujin's shiny ass, making her moan as she shakes it. You pour more lube on it. "Such nice fuckholes," you say, poking your thumb back inside her pussy to warm her up for more action.

"Do you like Daddy's cock back in your ass?" you ask her. "Oh yes," Kyujin says with a soft moan. "Then show me what you learned from your unnies and squat on that cock," you say.

Kyuhin adjusts your shaft as it slides back in her ass. She moves very slowly, trying to adjust to getting impaled by that massive pole. "Oh my God," she moans, still impressed with how big it is. "Keep going, baby, ride this cock like your life depends on it," you give her the incentive.

"There you go," you say as Kyujin increases her speed, her ass hitting your thighs as you start groaning. If the likes of Momo and Chaeryeong usually kill you by how fast they can bounce their big asses on your cock, Kyujin is slightly different, using the tightness of her butthole to her advantage to achieve similar results under a slower ride.

"Oh fuck, does daddy want to cum deep in that ass?" Kyujin slows down as she senses you're losing it. "That's amazing," you whisper. Kyujin just enjoys your cock going in and out of her, resuming her bounce by going faster than ever, trying to go for the kill.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah," you're now the one moaning as Kyujin quickly learns how to ride a big cock. "You like watching that tight ass going up and down that cock, daddy?" Kyujin asks as she pushes you to the edge. "So good, so good," you whisper, holding your breath not to cum.

"Bend over, you teen slut," you tell Kyujin, regaining control of the situation and shoving your cock back in her ass. This time you didn't hold back. Now you knew Kyujin could take it like a champion in the ass; it didn't matter if it was just her first time.

Kyujin struggled as your cock hit her fast and deep, fingering her pussy and resting her head on the couch to resist your increasingly harder thrusts in her asshole. "Keep fucking my ass, daddy, AHHHHHH," she moaned. These words only made you go faster, grabbing her waist and getting your cock deeper and deeper in her ass.

"YES, YES, YES, YES," Kyujin rapdly screamed. You groped her tits and pounded her like an animal. "Face down ass up," you ordered to her, stretching her butthole to the fullest and pumping it nonstop. "You stretch my ass so fucking good, Daddy," she says.

"Turn around and suck my cock again," you tell Kyujin as you pop out of her asshole and lie on the floor. She eagerly takes your cock in her mouth, tasting her ass to the fullest and enjoying spitting on your tip. You kiss her, ready to test her in one final challenge as she keeps her hands jerking your cock off.

"Sit on my cock, slut," you tell her, wrapping your arms around her waist as you lie on the couch, pulling Kyujin's body on top of yours. If there is one sex position every dancer needs to master, it's the one you're about to teach her: the full nelson.

Kyujin mounts on your cock, but she doesn't even have time to react; you just spread her legs as hard as you can up in the air and take control of thrusting in her asshole from the start, turning her into an anal fleshlight. Kyujin is now just a passenger of your ride to pleasure as you destroy her once virgin ass to the fullest.

"OH MY GODDDDDDDD," Kyujin screams as your balls pound hard against her cheeks. She fingers herself, trying to deal with such a barage of thursts. You're only a couple years from turning 50, but this is your best form yet. "OH YEAH, AHHHHH," she keeps screaming as you show no signs of slowing down.

"I love that big fat white cock in my tiny little Asian asshole; you fuck me so deep and hard, Daddy," Kyujin says. "Fuck me like a whore; keep fucking me; make me a dirty little teen whore," she continues.

Her words drive you mad. At first, you wanted to leave your mark in her formerly virgin asshole, but seeing her say those dirty words changed your plans as you switched your cock back into her cunt. "Oh, put it back in my pussy; I want you to fill me up real good, Daddy," Kyujin says as she watches you move your shaft inside her babyhole.

"Fill that tight little Asian pussy with your big white cock cum, fucking give to me, empty your balls for, YES, PLEASE, CUM INSIDE ME, DADDY," Kyujin begs. You pump her pussy hard until your cock can't resist anymore, pulsating multiple times inside her teen pussy. "You filled up that tight little pussy so good, Daddy," Kyujin says with a big smile in her face as your cum oozes out of her vagina, Kyujin quickly scooping it up to taste it.

"Now I'm a real, real, naughty girl, full of daddy's cum," Kyujin says. "It's so sticky," she says, putting her tongue out and showing off your semen in her mouth.

Kyujin kisses your big white cock for one last time, licking the remnants of cum that stood in there and putting her schoolgirl outfit back on. "That was so good, Daddy; I can't wait for the next time. I'll tell my unnies to come join me, and we're gonna compete to see who can milk this big fat white cock the hardest," she says, going back to her dorms to share the experience with her groupmates.

Haewon is the first to ask her about it once she is back at the dorm.

"So how was it?" she says.

"You weren't lying, unnie; he's amazing, no wonder all the girls at the company are so whipped for his cock," Kyujin says.

"We want to be there next time; he fucked our asses so good," Sullyoon and Bae come off and say it to her.

"You're all welcome; I promised him next time it's going to be all of us," Kyujin says.

"Game on, let's see who's gonna make his cock cum the hardest," Lily and Jiwoo say. "Absolutely," Kyujin finishes, already thinking about the next round.

#kyujin smut #nmixx smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

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celestie0 · 4 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

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“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue.

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders.

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them.

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied.

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you.

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come.

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed.

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too.

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that.

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes.

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict.

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day.

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly.

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.”

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them.

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute.

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together.

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path.

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy.

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side.

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds.

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place.

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add.

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one.

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight.

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You��re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too.

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his.

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too.

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it.

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around.

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight.

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason.

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now.

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt.

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm.

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face.

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.”

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat.

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you.

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days.

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world.

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore.

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet.

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry.

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

➸ take me to chapter five!

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mggslover · 14 days ago

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Addicted

In which Spencer meets a beautiful stranger at his local dealer, his addiction to weed rapidly turning into an addiction to her.

Pairing: stoner!spencer x stoner!fem!reader Genre: slight angst x smut (18+) Content warnings: weed usage (not promoting it! pls zont zo it), short mentions of tobias hankel and maeve, finger sucking, mutual masturbation, lazy high sex Word count: 3,6k A/n: my first fic inspired on a song! when i listened to 'denial is a river' by doechii, this fic immediately started to form in my mind

Spencer oftentimes wondered when he started becoming afraid of his own mind. Maybe there was never a starting point — maybe it was rooted in his bones, something he never had the chance to escape. An inherited terror, passed down like a family heirloom.

He knew the descent into insanity was inevitable. That there would come a time when his mind, the thing he’s relied on all his life, would betray him. That he’d watch the pieces of himself scatter until his identity was nothing but a cruel mockery of who he once was.

What Spencer didn’t expect was for that moment to arrive so soon. He never imagined his first meeting with madness to be in a dark cabin as the sting of Dilaudid coursed through his veins. And what Spencer least expected was how he’d feel afterward — how, no matter the trauma, he would find himself aching for that sensation, longing for it to return.

With his reason still intact, he managed to sign himself up for a support group destined for addicts in law enforcement. Rehab might’ve been the hardest battle he’d had to face, and being clean is a title he still doesn't deserve. Because even though it’s been years since his arms last looked blue, he’s been smoking weed habitually.

It started when a police officer in the program spoke up about his struggle with weed addiction, going into detail about the tranquilizing effects and how it left him unable to focus on the job. Whereas his story would sound appalling to most, Spencer found appeal in its descriptions. Cannabis offered the same calming qualities as Dilaudid, but with a lower overdose risk, and on top of that, it was far easier to obtain.

So when the officer casually slipped his dealer’s address in the middle of immersively sharing his story, Spencer made a mental note and found himself on the location later that day. The transaction was easier than he’d expected; showing the cash in his pocket was enough for the gruff man to hand him a small, opaque bag, its contents concealed.

That same night, Spencer found himself sitting on his couch, supplies spread out on the coffee table before him. He remembered a guy from his PhD mathematics program, rolling a blunt in Yale’s community garden under the same big tree where Spencer would read his literature for the day. It gave him some of an idea on how to proceed. Once he had the wrap filled, he methodically pinched and smoothed the paper as he rolled it with his fingers, careful to avoid tearing.

He didn’t feel much with the first drag, but as he inhaled deeper, a tingling sensation spread to his head and chest, almost coaxing him into a dosed state. The world around him instantly softened, and he sank further into the couch, as if a fuzzy, warm blanket had draped over him.

That moment marked the first of many, as Spencer would often return to the plant when experiencing withdrawal or when he started developing headaches later in his life. He frequently recalled how the officer mentioned performing less at his job while under the influence, but for Spencer, it had the opposite effect. He tended to approach cases too objectively and analytically. When he would go home at the end of the day and smoke before bed, his mind would suddenly make creative, out-of-the-box connections — connections he had never considered before.

Spencer wasn’t ready to give up weed just yet.

———

You were lying down, your head resting on the armrest of the pink velvet couch that stood in the corner of your therapist’s office. For the past fifteen minutes, you’d been staring at a small star painted on the ceiling, which was part of a mural of the universe. It was supposed to help people ground themselves — to remind them that their existence was nothing more than a tiny spark in the entire cosmos.

“I don’t know,” you eventually responded in a sigh as your therapist questioned you once again. “This is a really dark time for me, I’m going through a lot.”

“By ‘a lot’, you mean drugs?”

You were thrown off guard by the inquiry, brows furrowing. “Um, I wouldn’t-”

“Drugs?” She repeated, her pen ready in hand, as her notebook rested open on her lap.

Your head shot up from its position on the armrest of the couch. “No, it’s a-”

“No?” She probed, her eyes raised up, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a natural plant,” you stated, sitting up straighter.

“No, I’m not judging.”

You rolled your eyes at her attempt to reassure you. “I’m not an addict.”

“I’m just saying-”

“I don’t think-”

“You wanna talk about it?”

———

The door slamming behind you was as much of a response as you would offer her. With hurried steps you walked out of the building, hand reaching into your pocket as you searched for your car keys. With a small click of the door, you entered your beat-up old car, shivering as you still haven’t been able to fix the radiator.

You didn’t need to pull up the GPS — not that you even owned one — to know where you were headed. You speed-dialed your dealer as you rounded a corner, and maybe that was enough to confirm that you did have a bit of a problem with drugs. At least you were seeing a therapist; not many can say the same.

The sun was disappearing behind the clouds as you pulled into the familiar motell parking lot. There was a chill in the air, making you pull your jacket tighter around you as you walked toward room number 13.

Your attention was drawn to a tall, lanky man with messy curls, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands tucked in his pockets as he stood in front of the door. It was a rare sight to see someone ahead of you in line — usually people would arrive one by one to not bring any attention to the scene, but then again, you made an appointment at the very last minute.

You walked up to him, standing beside him in an attempt to make the scene look like a casual visit. You offered a polite smile, which he returned with a brief wave of his hand. Awkwardly, you turned your gaze to the door in front of you, waiting. You could feel his eyes scanning over you, making you reach up to fix your hair, just in case something was out of place. He seemed to notice your action and turned his head.

After a minute, you cleared your throat. “Did you knock?”

He looked at you, and you weren’t expecting the flutter in your stomach as you met his deep, brown eyes.

“I did,” he answered. “It’s been four minutes and twenty eight seconds, which, based on my previous encounters, gives him approximately three more seconds to open the door.”

You fell silent as the door opened, just like the handsome stranger had predicted. You reached into your jacket pocket, pausing when you found it empty. Your heart began racing as you checked the other pocket, then anxiously patted down your jeans.

“Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” The brown-haired man asked in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just- I forgot my wallet.”

“I could pay for you.”

The casualty of his offer took you by surprise. “Really?”

It was embarrassing that you didn’t turn him down, but you didn’t have the energy to be polite — today had been rough, and all you wanted to do was go home and relax. You felt a little less guilty when the stranger’s lips curled into a smile, as if he was happy to do this for you.

“Well, I don’t give a shit who pays. Just give the damn money — it’s cold.”

The stranger’s lips tightened in response as he handed the man twice the usual amount of bills. The dealer handed over two small bags in return, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

“Here you go.”

You breathed out a soft ‘thank you’ as you accepted the bag from him. “I’ll pay you back next time.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind,” he replied with a casual wave of his hand.

You exchanged names, which led him to compliment yours and give you a brief history lesson on its origins.

“I never expected to learn more about myself from a total stranger,” you chuckled.

You didn’t notice he had walked you to your car until you stopped in front of it. “This is me. Where are you parked, or are you staying here?”

“I got here by subway, actually.”

You raised your brows, surprised. This wasn’t the safest neighborhood, especially at night, and Spencer didn’t strike you as the type to wander around here.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you asked, just to be certain.

“Absolutely!” he answered, lifting up his shirt, revealing a gun holstered at his waist. “I can handle myself.”

Alarm bells blared in your mind at the sight, and you instinctively stepped back.

“Wait! No, no, no,” Spencer put his hands up, showing you that he meant no harm. “I work at the FBI.”

He could read the doubt in your expression, slowly moving one hand to his jacket while keeping the other raised in the air. Carefully, he retrieved his badge and held it out, revealing it to you. You leaned in, observing the golden emblem and the ID picture beside it.

“Now, that wasn’t what I was expecting,” you said with a relieved sigh. “I guess I can offer you a ride, then?”

Spencer looked at you, as if considering all the possible outcomes of his answer. He ended up nodding his head and giving you a soft grin.

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over both of you.

“You seem nervous,” he observed.

“How’d you know?”

“Your fingers are tapping against the steering wheel, and they’re out of rhythm with the radio, so it’s not like you’re tapping along with the song.”

“I guess I am.” You turned your head to him, then back to the road. “It has nothing to do with you, though. I feel oddly comfortable around you.”

When you glanced at him again, he was smiling, a glimmer in his eyes, shyly playing with his fingers. “Me too.”

———

You hadn’t expected Spencer to invite you in when you arrived at his house. He suggested you smoke together, saying you shouldn’t be driving while feeling anxious.

Honestly, you didn’t care about the reasoning. You just wanted to spend more time with him.

You were sitting beside him on the couch, legs pulled up and half draped over his as you took another drag from your joint. You didn’t know who started the conversation, but somehow you found yourself opening up about life and its struggles.

“I caught my ex cheating. He was supposed to pick up his stuff and leave the next day, but instead he crashed my place and just… destroyed everything I owned.”

His expression remained neutral, like he was trying not to judge, though his eyes said enough. After a beat, he spoke up again. “My girlfriend got shot in front of my face.”

Your eyes widened in shock, but the weed dulled your reaction. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah… shit,” he muttered in an exhale, picking up his joint again.

Your eyes were drawn to his fingers, noticing the long, slender shape of them, the small bones shifting under his skin as he gripped the joint. The image of a tree flashed through your mind, its branches moving in the wind — or maybe it was just the weed making your mind wander.

As he brought the joint to his lips, your gaze followed the movement, your breath catching when his pink lips parted just enough to reveal a hint of his tongue. A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes lingered there, entranced. He closed his lips around it, letting out a low hum that was almost a moan as he inhaled.

He exhaled, filling the air with smoke, the rich scent enveloping you.

“Can I take a hit?”

He didn’t question why you weren’t using your own. Instead he handed you the joint, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as you took it.

You kept eye contact with him as you placed it between your lips, softly moaning at the contact, knowing his mouth had been right where yours was.

Spencer took you in with dark, tired eyes. You threw your leg over his thigh, feeling the need to be closer to him as the air around you grew warmer.

He didn’t seem to mind your clinginess, which gave you the confidence to lean in closer. Carefully, you reached out, your nails lightly grazing his jaw, making him shiver as he let out a quiet purr at the touch.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a husky whisper, more intrigued than accusatory.

“I’m horny,” you whispered against his lips, fingers trailing down his jaw.

His breath heaved at the proximity. “Evidence shows that cannabis can enhance sexual pleasure.”

“Yeah?” you purred, lips brushing against his. “And what should I do about it?”

“You should touch yourself.”

“Should I now?” your voice teasingly sang as you leaned back, your hands sensually moving up the sides of your body before squeezing your breasts through your shirt.

“Like this?”

He blinked a couple of times, licking his lips. “A bit lower.”

You smirked, your hands trailing down your body, relishing how he was taking you in, unable to look away. Your hand stopped as you cupped your heat through your clothes, slowly rubbing your fingers in circles. “Here?”

He groaned at the sight, nodding his head in confirmation. “Right there.”

Spencer’s bulge pressed against your leg, which you had thrown over his lap. You couldn’t resist moving against it, making him gasp as he threw his head back.

“You should take care of that,” you suggested, nodding towards his pants. “Let me give you something to work with.”

Spencer’s gaze was expectant, as he watched you slowly peel your clothes off. Inch by inch, you revealed your skin, leaving him desperate for more.

Spencer mirrored your actions, undressing himself before he took a hold of your bare leg, placing it back on his lap, so that your legs were spread wide open. With one arm behind you, he pulled you in closer, his other hand reaching out to caress the skin in between your breasts, making you catch your breath.

His hand trailed further up your skin, until his fingers were lightly tapping against your lips. “Open up for me,” he murmured.

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips for him to slide two of his fingers inside of your mouth. You responded instinctively, wrapping your lips around them, your cheeks hollowing as you started moving your head back and forth. Your tongue swirled in lazy circles, humming at the taste of his skin.

“Good girl,” he cooed in approval. “Get them all nice and wet, so that I can touch you.”

Spencer watched your eyes sparkle at his words. When a moan escaped your lips, vibrating around his fingers, he was reminded once again why he loved being high — it soothed his anxiety in a way that made his thoughts spill out without overthinking. And it thrilled him to see the effect his words had on you, words that would usually stay locked in his mind.

The hand that had been resting around your shoulder wandered down to your breast, giving it an experimental squeeze. You moaned around his fingers, meeting his gaze, his nose nearly brushing yours as he watched you with intent focus.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop, before he reached down to press them against your pussy. You closed your eyes in bliss as he rubbed his fingers up and down your slit, the combined juices of your slickness and your mouth made his fingers easily slip between your folds with every move.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered in awe as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your mouth.

“That’s your fault,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He chuckled, his breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll take the blame,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to yours.

You hungrily accepted his kiss. Your hand slid between his thighs, finding his hard length pressed against his stomach. His cock felt warm against your palm as you wrapped your fingers around him, the movement causing a string of precum to form, connecting from his tip to his happy trail.

Spencer groaned into your mouth, his tongue swirling against yours, deepening the kiss even further. You traced your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, causing him to buck his hips and pressing his fingers harder against your clit in response.

You squirmed at the intensity of his touch. His slender fingers continued to trail over your pussy, teasing with delicate strokes before slipping a finger into your dripping heat.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you moaned.

You began stroking his length, squeezing him gently as you flicked your wrist. Every movement was a lazy, unhurried exploration of each other’s bodies. Savoring the haze of the high as it sharpened your every sensation.

You broke the kiss, as you reached for the joint on the coffee table, turning toward Spencer with a playful glint in your eye. He gratefully parted his lips, as you placed the roll between them. He took a deep drag, the smoke curling into his lungs. You leaned closer, opening your mouth in anticipation to receive the smoky breath he exhaled, as you shared the pleasure.

Spencer took in the sight of you. Your swollen lips were slightly parted as you breathed in. Your nipples were hard with excitement, and your pussy glistened around his fingers as he slowly pumped them in and out of you. You were a sight to behold, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten tonight.

He could look at you all day. He’s never felt so drawn to someone before, and he could easily finish just by watching your body as you sat bare in front of him. His cock fitted perfectly in your delicate hands. You were gripping him just right, bringing him closer to the release he’s been longing for.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the words slipping out naturally.

“So are you,” you replied just as sensually, your eyes tracing the way your hand palmed him, feeling his heavy weight in your grip. “I wanna know how you’d feel inside of me.”

A flush crept across his cheeks at your bluntness. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly, humming in response. “Bet you’d fill me up so good.”

“Jesus,” he groaned, swallowing hard as he could feel the way you clenched around his fingers.

“Are you clean?” you asked him, and he quickly nodded.

He eagerly grabbed your hips as you crawled on top of him, moaning softly as he felt the weight of you. His hand slid to your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, sucking your bottom lip.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers curling around his thick length as you guided him to your entrance. You let out a shaky whisper as he filled you up more than you expected. Spencer noted the furrow in your brow, but before he could remind you to take your time, you were already rocking your hips against him.

“Oh, baby,” he cried out, his hands sliding to your back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your thighs rolled over his, and he met your pace, thrusting up into you.

“You feel so good,” he continued moaning as his fingers dug into your skin.

You could only whimper in response and you fastened your movements, your breasts brushing against him with each slide of your hips.

He could feel you tightening around him, your legs trembling against his. “Spencer, I-”

You didn’t need to finish your sentence for him to understand. “Me too, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Please, don’t stop.”

You kept moving, the urgency in his voice spurring you on. You leaned in to capture his lips one more time, and Spencer accepted with a desperate whine.

The pressure in your core finally broke, and you cried out his name as an overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Spencer’s grip on your hips tightened, and he pushed up into you one last time, his body shuddering as the warmth of his release filled you.

“You’re so amazing,” he sleepily groaned, nuzzling his head into your chest as you came down from the high. You chuckled at the scene, unsure if he even noticed how clingy he was being. It had to be the weed that made him hold onto you like that, but the action still made your heart flutter, imagining how you could be the reason why he’s acting this way.

“Can you pick up the joint for me?” he softly asked, his lips brushing against your stomach.

You giggled. “You’re really an addict.”

“I’m just addicted to you.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader

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ahqkas · 1 month ago

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♯ I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO MY DAD . . . for teaching me everything he knows ( dick grayson & jason todd as dads ! )

— fem!reader as mom, fluff, not edited, based on this req.!!

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

dick was always great with kids; his natural warmth, patience, and humor made him a magnet for them, even before he became a father. he often thought back to his days as robin, remembering how bruce wayne took him in and gave him stability, and he wanted to offer that same feeling ( and definitely more ) to his children.

when you two first talked about having kids, he was equal parts excited and nervous about it. dick worried about balancing family life with his vigilante responsibilities, but he couldn’t wait to start a family with you. he knew that no matter what, you’d face it together

your first child, a boy, inherits your husband’s bright energy and natural charisma. from the moment your son was born, dick was a hands-on dad. midnight feedings? no problem. diaper changes? a breeze ( well, almost ). he approached fatherhood the same way he approached everything else—with passion and a healthy dose of humor

he’s not just the dad who builds the coolest blanket forts or makes pancakes shaped like bats; he’s the dad who listens, encourages, and shows up, no matter how tired he might be after a long night of patrol. even when exhaustion clings to him like a second skin, his kids come first. if his son wants to show him the new drawing he made, dick will sit down and marvel at it as if it belongs in a gallery. if his daughter has a nightmare, he’s at her bedside in seconds, stroking her hair and whispering how she’s okay and nothing’s gonna hurt her while he’s here until she drifts back to sleep

he’s the dad who remembers every detail about his kids’ lives—their favorite bedtime stories, their least favorite vegetables, the songs that make them smile—and makes sure they feel seen and heard every single day. when he’s with them, he’s fully present, setting aside his worries about blüdhaven or the weight of his world. to them, he’s not nightwing; he’s just dad, their safe place, the person they know will always be there no matter what

he teaches your son how to ride a bike, holding the seat steady as those wobbly first attempts make an appearance. “you’ve got this!” dick encourages his son, jogging beside him. when the first scrape happens—knees meeting pavement in a blur of surprise and pain—he’s there in an instant, crouching down with the kind of gentle urgency only a dad can master

his strong arms wrap around his son in a hug that says, i’ve got you, even as tears well up in the young eyes. he’s quick with jokes to soothe the sting, brushing dirt and pebbles off tiny palms. “hey, you know what? you’re officially a biker now. all the pros have scars to prove it.”

it doesn’t matter if he’s running on just a few hours of sleep or if his legs are sore from the night before. he’ll stay on that sidewalk all afternoon if it means helping his son find the courage to get back on the bike

when your daughter is born, it’s as if a new light ignites in dick’s heart, one that’s softer and warmer than anything he’s ever felt before. from the moment he holds her—tiny, delicate, and swaddled in pastel pink—he’s utterly smitten by the baby. his breath catches in his throat as her little fingers curl instinctively around one of his. it’s the smallest thing, but to him, it’s everything. he gazes at her with an awe that rivals the first time he stood under a gotham sunrise after a long patrol as robin

every little thing she does—every yawn, every sleepy coo, even the way she scrunches her nose—melts him completely. he’s the first to volunteer for late-night feedings, cradling her against his chest while whispering soft lullabies. “it’s okay, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, as if the sound of it alone could shield her from the world

she’s the spitting image of you, but she’s got dick’s sense of curiosity and mischief. as she grows, it’s clear she’s a daddy’s girl through and through. dick spoils her with affection, often carrying her on his shoulders or letting her “style” his hair, even if it means showing up to patrol with hair ties

she’s the one who always convinces him to stay for “just one more bedtime story,” and dick can never say no to those puppy eyes. he does all the voices, acting out scenes with a dramatic flair that leaves her giggling uncontrollably

family movie nights are a regular occurrence. dick lets the kids pick the movie, even if it means sitting through the same animated film for the fifth time. he doesn’t mind—he’s just happy to have everyone snuggled up together

. . . JASON TODD !

jason never thought he’d be a dad. gotham wasn’t kind to kids, and in his darker moments, he felt like it had swallowed the boy he used to be whole. he worried his own traumas—nights spent cold and hungry on the streets, the ache of betrayal, the sting of abandonment—might cast shadows over the kind of father he’d want to be. how could he teach love and trust when his world had been built on survival and second chances?

the thought of holding a child, so small and fragile, scared him more than any villain ever could. what if he didn’t have it in him to be the kind of dad they deserved? what if his sharp edges cut too deep, or worse, he failed to protect them from the city that had failed him? jason had spent so long fighting his way through life that the idea of creating a safe, warm space for someone else felt like trying to plant flowers in a wasteland. and yet, the thought of building something good—something untouchable by gotham’s darkness—stirred a longing in him he couldn’t ignore.

when you told him you were pregnant with your first child, he was stunned silent for a solid minute. then came the slight tremble in his hands as he cradled your face and whispered, “we’re really doing this?” you swore you saw tears in his eyes, though he’d deny it later

he threw himself into preparing for fatherhood. between patrols, you’d catch him reading baby books, jotting down notes in that same serious way he planned missions. ( “what the hell is a diaper genie, baby? is it a genie for diapers, or does it genie them away?” )

when your first daughter was born, jason held her for the first time with an awe. he whispered promises to her, things like, “you’ll never go through what i did,” and “i’m gonna give you the world, princess.”

jason’s daughters own him. his rough, serious ide of personality melts into a puddle of mush when they so much as giggle at him. one pouty face, and he’s done for

when they’re little, he becomes a human jungle gym. they’ll climb all over him, pull on his hair, and stick stickers all over his face while he sits patiently, letting them “decorate” him. ( “you’re turning me into a unicorn, huh? cool. just don’t let your mom take pictures—too late? figures.” )

as they grow, he keeps a close eye on everything, from their friends to the neighborhoods they walk through. he’s not overbearing but has serious dad-radar. if they so much as mention a creepy guy or a mean teacher, he’s all, “do i need to handle this? no? you sure? okay, but say the word.”

by age eight, they’ve both mastered basic self-defense, thanks to “daddy’s fun time karate sessions.” he makes it a game—lots of laughter and encouragement—but underneath it, he’s deadly serious

when they’re older, he teaches them how to change a tire, handle their own money, and, much to your exasperation, how to throw a punch. ( “jason, they don’t need to know how to disarm a grown man at ten years old!” “baby, it’s gotham. yes, they do.” )

he’s the kind of dad who makes pancake breakfasts on weekends, complete with smiley faces and way too much syrup

on father’s day, his daughters surprise him with handmade cards every year. jason’s tough demeanor cracks every time he reads their scrawled messages: “daddy, you’re my hero.”

and jason as a father to teenage girls? lord, help us all.

when his eldest goes on her first date, he plays it cool—for all of two seconds. he grills the poor kid with subtle threats hidden behind a charming smile. ( “so, you like my daughter? good. treat her right, or you’ll have a real bad night. understand?” )

you have to remind him not to tail them when they go out. “jason, they’ll know you’re following them.” “i’ll stay a block behind. they’ll never see me.”

but despite his overprotectiveness, he’s their anchor during tough times. when they experience their first heartbreaks, he is there with hugs, ice cream, and the kind of pep talks that make them laugh through their tears. “anyone who doesn’t see how amazing you are isn’t worth crying over. you’re the todd girl. we don’t settle for less.”

deep down, jason worries about failing them. he knows what it’s like to lose everything, and the thought of his girls experiencing even a fraction of that makes his stomach churn

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amourquinn · 1 month ago

Text

( short fic ) 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 1k

genre : fluff warnings : nudity(?) it’s not explicitly mentioned

summary : you’re horribly sick and quinn takes care of you

the hum of the apartment heater filled the air, the vancouver rain tapping softly against the windows. the dimly lit living room was cocooned in warmth, but you could barely feel it. wrapped in a blanket, you sat on the couch, your legs curled up beneath you, a faint shiver running through your fevered body.

quinn walked into the room, his brow furrowed with concern. he had just come back from practice, his hair still damp from the post-skate shower, but his focus was entirely on you.

“have you eaten anything today?” he asked, placing a hand gently on your forehead to check your temperature. his touch was cool, a welcome relief from the heat radiating off your skin.

you shook your head weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t think i can keep anything down.”

quinn frowned but didn’t press further. instead, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a glass of cold water with three ice cubes in it. “try to sip on this, at least. you need to stay hydrated.”

you took the glass with trembling hands, but quinn quickly noticed your struggle and held it steady for you. “you’re burning up,” he murmured. “i think it’s time for another dose of medicine.”

you groaned, leaning back against the cushions. “i hate taking that stuff. it tastes awful.”

quinn chuckled softly, kneeling beside the couch so you were eye level. “i know, but it’s either that or i drag you to the doctor—and we both know how much you hate that.”

reluctantly, you nodded, letting him measure out the syrupy liquid into the small cap. he coaxed you into taking it, his gentle encouragement making the unpleasant experience bearable.

“you’re really good at this,” you said, your voice raspier than usual.

“at what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he set the empty medicine cup aside.

“taking care of me. you’re sweet.”

quinn’s cheeks flushed a light pink, but he shrugged it off. “someone’s gotta do it, and I’m not going to let you suffer alone.”

⋆˙⟡

later that evening, as your fever continued to climb, quinn refused to leave your side. he sat next to you on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder as he scrolled absentmindedly through netflix, trying to find something to distract you from your misery.

you felt gross—your skin was sticky with sweat, your hair matted to your forehead. despite quinn’s reassuring presence, you couldn’t shake the discomfort.

“quinny,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

he looked down at you instantly, his brows knitting together. “what’s wrong, angel? are you feeling worse?”

“no, i just… i think i need a bath. i feel disgusting.”

quinn hesitated for a moment before nodding. “alright. let me help you.”

you blinked up at him. “help me?”

“you can barely stand on your own right now,” he said matter-of-factly. “i’m not letting you fall over and hit your head or something.”

you wanted to protest, but the truth was, he was right. you didn’t have the energy to argue, so you nodded reluctantly.

quinn ran the bath for you, adjusting the water temperature until it was just right. he grabbed a fluffy towel and set it on the counter, then turned to you, still wrapped in your blanket on the edge of the bathroom counter.

“okay,” he said softly, his voice steady and calm. “let me know if you need anything while you’re in there.”

but as you struggled to stand and remove the blanket, your legs wobbled beneath you. quinn’s hands were on you in an instant, steadying you.

“alright,” he said firmly. “i’m staying.”

you stared at him, heat flooding your cheeks—not from the fever this time. “quinn, i—”

“i don’t care,” he cut you off gently but with a hint of finality. “you’re sick. i’m not leaving you to handle this on your own.”

the vulnerability of the moment made you hesitate, but quinn’s unwavering gaze reassured you. he helped you undress with a tenderness that made your chest ache. there was nothing awkward or uncomfortable about it—just care and concern as he helped you step into the warm water.

you let out a small sigh of relief as the heat enveloped you, soothing your aching muscles and fevered body. quinn kneeled next to the edge of the tub, his sleeves rolled up as he held a washcloth.

“i can wash your back for you,” he offered, his voice soft.

you smiled weakly. “you don’t have to.”

“i want to,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours.

he worked carefully, his hands gentle as he ran the washcloth over your arms and shoulders, avoiding your gaze out of respect. when he moved to wash your back, you couldn’t help but close your eyes, savoring the sensation of his fingers massaging your trapezius.

“you’re spoiling me,” you murmured, your voice sleepy.

“good,” he said simply.

as he finished rinsing the last of the body wash from your body, you opened your eyes, looking up at him. his expression was soft, his eyes filled with an affection that made your heart flutter despite your fever.

“q?” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah?”

“you should join me.”

his eyes widened slightly, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. “i—uh…”

you laughed softly, the sound weak but genuine. “i’m joking. mostly.”

quinn let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re delirious from the fever. that’s the only explanation.”

but there was a warmth in his gaze that told you he wasn’t entirely dismissing the idea.

by the time he helped you out of the bath and wrapped you in the towel, you felt a little more like yourself—exhausted, yes, but comforted by quinn’s presence.

he guided you back to the couch, tucking the blanket around you before settling down beside you.

“thank you,” you said, your voice soft but sincere.

“for what?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“for taking care of me. for staying.”

quinn smiled, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment. “there’s nowhere else i’d rather be.”

as you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on his shoulder once again, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for him—for his patience, his kindness, and the quiet way he showed he cared.

and even through the haze of your fever, you knew one thing for certain: quinn was someone you could always count on.

#[ 📁 ] short fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff #nhl hockey #vancouver canucks

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nanaosaki3940 · 11 months ago

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My Fav Shoujo-Josei Manga Recommendation

Currently, I've indulged myself in Korean manhwa/webtoon, so I decided to go back and read some Japanese manga for a change. And I highly recommend checking them out since these are some of my favorites. Most of them are pretty new, and it wasn't that long before they started serializing in various shoujo/josei magazines.

(Some of them are ongoing, and some have come to completion)

Veil Museru Kurai no Ai o Ageru (Choking on Love)

Firefly Wedding (Hotaru no Yomeiri) Kimi no Yokogao wo Miteita (Looking at Your Profile)

Nijuu to Seijuu (20 and The Beast) Fundari, Kettari, Aishitari

Damenzukon Kono Kekkonha Out Desuka (Getting Married To a Good-For-Nothing -Would This Marriage Work?) Hananoi-kun to Koi no Yamai (A Condition Called Love)

Unmei no Hito ni Deau Hanashi (How I Met My Soulmate) Shujinkou Nikki (Heroine's Love Diary)

Tonari no Stella (Stella Next To Me) Hikaeme ni Itte mo, Kore wa Ai (Love, That's an Understatement)

Kawaii Nante Kiitenai!! (You're My Cutie) Futarijime Romantic

Kimi to Barairo no Hibi Uruwashi no Yoi no Tsuki (In the Clear Moonlit Dusk)

Higashi Sengoku-san no Make-up Doll (Make Up For You) Isso Anata ga Todome wo Sashite

Gomen ne, Hatsukoi (I'm sorry, First Love) Kekkon Yoteibi (Date of Marriage)

Chorokute Kawaii Kimi ga Suki (I love you, my naive sweetheart!) Narita-kun wo Semetai!!

Dose Koi Shite Shimaunda (Anyway, I'm Falling in Love With You) Studio Cabana

A Sign of Affection (Yubisaki to Renren) Yakuza Fiancé: Raise wa Tanin ga Ii (I'd Prefer It If We're Strangers in Our Next Life)

Anata ga shitekurenakute mo (Even if you don't do it) It Takes More than a Pretty Face to Fall in Love (Kao Dake ja Suki ni Narimasen)

Moekare wa Orenji-iro (My Boyfriend in Orange) Na no ni, Chigira-kun ga Amasugiru (And Yet, You Are So Sweet)

Hayaku Shitai Futari (Let's do it already) Daifuku-chan to Ouji-sama (Daifuku-chan and the Prince)

Koiseyo Mayakashi Tenshi-domo (Fall in Love False Angels) Killing Line

Rinko-chan to Himosugara Koi Wazurai no Ellie (Lovesick Ellie)

Pink to Habanero (Pink and Habanero) Honey Lemon Soda

Loving Yamada at Lv999 (Yamada-kun to Lv999 no Koi wo Suru) The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague

Kusuriya no Hitorigoto (The Apothecary Diaries) Skip and Loafer

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mossangelll · 1 month ago

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Im absolutely enchanted with your yandere jinx....This brings the question tho....how would Yandere Jinx handle her darling being on her period? (I mynself am on my period and I kid you not- I feel worse than when eating taco bell)

yandere!jinx x reader on their period

honestly not as much of an overt yandere as usual - if you squint, it’s pretty much a normal jinx hc!

hcs like this which are more ‘slice of life’ are super fun and i would be interested in doing them for more characters (e.g. what they’re like when you’re sick) if anyone’s interested!

tysm for requesting

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

cw: periods, mentions of blood, mentions of kidnapping, sexual mentions but not in too much detail, slight noncon, reader isn’t referred to by any gendered pronouns but female anatomy is mentioned

yandere!jinx who can’t sleep without holding onto you during the night

yandere!jinx who reaches over for your body just to feel the cool bedsheet under her

yandere!jinx who notices the bathroom light is on and without hesitation believes that your escape attempts have finally resulted in a success

yandere!jinx who crashes into the bathroom to find…you, crying on the toilet with your head in your hands

“toots, i hope you aren’t thinking of making any stupid decisions.” her voice is still grumbly from sleep but it doesn’t manage to hide the underlying annoyance simmering beneath

you look up at her with pained eyes and that’s when she notices your underwear, pooled at your ankles and stained with blood

her eyebrows shoot to the top of her head and her demeanour softens like she was never mad in the first place

“oh! i didn’t know it was that time of the month.”

she sees how you wilt away in shame, arms crossed over your midsection, at such a normal bodily function and rushes over to cuddle you, toilet be damned

yandere!jinx can be a lot of things - overbearing, compulsive and downright abusive, but she knows that what you need right now is someone to comfort you

yandere!jinx who understands what you’re going through painfully well

yandere!jinx who still acts awkward around you for the first few periods you have when you’re in her captivity - the cons of relying on her sole father figure growing up

yandere!jinx who doesn’t trust you to go outside without trying to cry for help so she ends up getting essentials for you

yandere!jinx who doesn’t need to ask what kind of products you usually buy; she already snooped around your house before she took you and knows whether you prefer pads, tampons or cups, the kind of snacks you crave, whether you’re the angry or teary type - she knows everything

yandere!jinx who gets you a ridiculous pile of desserts she stole from some fancy piltie bakery just to make sure your cravings are satiated

yandere!jinx who washes any bloody sheets, clothes or underwear for you with her own two hands - not only is she gratified at how flustered you get, she wants to feel closer to you in any way possible and getting to do such intimate chores is honestly euphoric for her, it emphasises how you belong to her and her alone

yandere!jinx who doesn’t let you use a hot water bottle; she wants you to come to her for comfort, wants to be the one to hold her hands over your stomach and ease the cramps

yandere!jinx who gives you tiny drops of shimmer, not enough to get seriously high but enough to take the pain away

yandere!jinx who loves how your pink eyes match hers after she’s dosed you

yandere!jinx who loves to see you cry at something that’s not her because it means you won’t reject her attempts to make you feel better

yandere!jinx who hopes and prays that your cycles sync up so that you two become even more attached

yandere!jinx who massages your lower back when you complain about it aching, maybe even using special shimmer-imbued lotion she got from singed to aid her efforts

yandere!jinx who would love if their darling gets tender breasts around their period since she can cop a feel while using “pain relief” as her get out of jail free card

yandere!jinx who doesn’t care about any of the symptoms that you think are ��gross” or “disgusting” - everything about you is perfect and she can’t find it in her to hate any of it

yandere!jinx who isn’t turned off by the sight of a little blood and tries to convince you to let her pleasure you, even if you are shaken up by the idea - after all, she heard that orgasms help alleviate cramps!

yandere!jinx who tells you all about her embarrassing period stories from when she was younger to make you feel better if you bleed through your clothing in front of her

yandere!jinx who becomes your personal jester if you’re bedridden; she tells you jokes and does a myriad of insane tricks that you can’t even fathom how she pulls off - it definitely gets your mind off of how terrible you feel

yandere!jinx who supports you every month and hopes that when you become accustomed to your new life, you’ll eventually do the same for her <3

masterlist

#jinx x reader #yandere jinx x reader #arcane jinx #yandere #toxic jinx #yandere!jinx #arcane headcanon #arcane #jinx league of legends #request #arcane request

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selenezq · 8 months ago

Text

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞MDNI🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

CW: dub con, loss of control, sex pollen trope

Pairing Alastor x Reader

Reader is AFAB

Edited by the lovely @the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes

But That's A Freaky Sex Flower

It is a beautiful day in Hell, about as pretty as it gets, really. You take in all the sights and smells as you walk along the sidewalk. You are heading to the store, on an errand for the hotel, when the most lovely flower catches your eye. Coming to a standstill, you bend down to get a closer look.

Pink petals with a beautiful, intricate, black design surrounded a lovely red center. You bring your nose down to get a whiff, inhaling its saccharine scent. Gently plucking it, you tuck it into your hair to wear as a beautiful accessory.

You’ve never seen anything like it before. Excited by your new discovery, you find some extra pep in your step as you walk the short distance to and inside the store. You pass the aisles filled with various foods, houseware goods, and personal items, reading the signs above each one until you see the one you need. You turn left to walk down the aisle, looking around until you see what you had come for: some pens and paper.

Reaching your hands out you gingerly grab them. As you leave the area and make your way through the store to checkout, you suddenly begin to feel warm. Placing your items on the counter, you give a kind smile to the store clerk. "It's a scorcher out there today, isn't it?" You ask congenially.

"Nah, it's not that hot," the cashier responds curtly followed by rather rude eye roll as they ring your items up, then tell you with a monotone voice, "Your total will be $7.93.”

Quickly pulling the money out, you pay for the items. With a smile and a wave despite their rudeness, you head out of the store and are on your way back to the hotel. Walking back, you feel like it's getting hotter out by the second. In an attempt to cool off, you undo the top button of your blouse. As you continue walking home, a drop of sweat trickles its way down your neck.

After what seems to take an eternity, your journey back to the hotel comes to a close. You feel a sense of profound relief at finally being able to get inside out of the heat of the Hellish sun. Opening the door, you step into the hotel, dropping the shopping bag on the nearest surface before throwing yourself onto the couch in the lobby.

"Heya Toots, how’ya doin’?" Angel Dust asks you as you attempt to regulate your breathing. Has it always been this scorching in the hotel? You wonder to yourself.

"I'd be better if the weather cooled off a little." You mutter, a little irritated, the poor attitude unusual for you. You bring your hand up to wipe at the sweat now threatening to drip down your chest. "I did find this pretty flower though." You say, a smile returning to your face as you turn your head to show Angel the beautiful bloom that is adorning your hair.

"Oh toots, that's not a regular flower, it's a freaky sex flower. It's used as an ingredient in the love potion Val makes," Angel says somberly, leaning forward to get a better look. "How long ‘ave ya had it on ya?" He asks with genuine concern. "It can be pretty potent when undiluted." He finishes with a worried frown.

"Probably a little over an hour," you say, beginning to freak out. "How long does it take before it starts to affect someone?" You ask, your tone rising with your temperature.

"Well, love potions usually act pretty quick; I'd guess such a concentrated dose of the aphrodisiac, directly from the pollen’s faster ya know?" Angel theorizes aloud.

"Fuck,” you mumble as you pulled the flower from your hair quickly before tossing it into the trash, as if to pretend it never happened. "Is there an antidote I could possibly take?" You enquire, your tone laced with apprehension.

"Nope, ya gotta fuck someone to get it out of ya system," Angel replied, trying his best not to laugh. "Ya know, I've actually got someone I could ca-"

"NO." You blurt out instantly to shut his idea down. "I mean," you clear your throat uncomfortably, then finish hurriedly, "that's not necessary, but thank you for offering."

"Okay but, you're in for more than mild discomfort if ya don't find someone to help ya." Angel warns you, still trying to get you to see the situation clearly.

"I can handle myself; just please don't tell anyone." You ask the spider demon, deciding to keep this development a secret. You fail to notice the shadow in the corner that had been listening the entire time. You stand up, a wave of arousal shooting straight to your core making you feel almost dizzy.

Composing yourself as much as you can, you bid farewell to Angel Dust and head towards the staircase. As your footsteps lead you closer to the next floor, you grip the railing for support as a particularly painful bolt of arousal sweeps through you, causing an intense ache in between your thighs. When the pain level rises from mild discomfort to something more, you begin to move as quickly as you can down the hallway to your room.

Reaching your room at long last, you hastily grab the doorknob only for your sweaty, clammy hands to slide right off if it. Struggling with the knob for what feels like an eternity, you finally manage to get it open and gain access to your room. Slamming it shut behind you with a bang, you throw yourself onto your bed as another sharp ache wracks your body.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you open the drawer to your nightstand, reaching around until you feel the cool silicon material of your most trusted toy. With a sound of triumph, you pull the vibrator out and set it onto the bed. Turning it on with a click, you pull your panties to the side and bring the pulsating object to rest on your throbbing clit as a loud moan of relief rips itself from your mouth.

Your pussy already soaked from the effects of the pollen, the toy slides right into you with ease and you cry out in relief. You can't remember a time this ever felt so good. The toy vibrates right where you need it and the feeling of an orgasm creeps up quickly. Your back arches off the bed as you finish loudly. The toy continues buzzing as you lay there in the aftershock of it.

Pressing the button to turn the device off, a contented sigh leaves your lips as you remove the vibrator from your cunt with a wet noise. The relief your orgasm brought is short-lived, however. because the painful aching feeling quickly returns. Your walls clench and spasm needily around nothing but air. A feeling of desperation quickly rises inside you.

Just as the tears of frustration are about to fall from your wide, blown-out eyes, you hear a knock at the door. Hastily, you shove the sex toy away in its drawer and you pull your panties and skirt back into their proper place. Lurching towards the door as hastily as you can, you try your best to avoid falling amid the dizzy feeling that overtakes you.

Another knock sounds, followed by Alastor's voice calling out, "Everything alright, my dear?" Just the very sound of his voice has your cunt gushing, the aching sensation heightening to a new degree.

Trying to appear as composed as you can, you open the door and greet him, "Hey Alastor, I'm feeling just fine."

"Are you quite sure about that? You look rather flushed," He says, his gaze on your red, damp, complexion. Alastor places his hand on your face and your pulse quickens, you feel as if your blood is boiling you alive. You’d do anything to have his hands lower, where you ache the most.

Letting out an audible gasp, you cut it off before it fades into a moan, the sensation of his skin on yours sending a pleasurable tingling down to your very core.

"I just don't think that's true." Alastor states, pushing his way past you into your room. You stumble, and he reaches a hand out to steady you, gripping your arm firmly.

When Alastor touches you this time, an embarrassing, obscene, moan leaves your lips. The warmness of his skin makes the point of contact feel as if it is on fire. You wonder briefly, Would he touch me there, if I asked him to?

"Whatever is the matter, darling? Could it be that you need something? You'll have to use your words if there’s something you desire." He finishes, smirking down at you.

"I want you to touch me, please." You whine needily as you look up at him. Your eyes shine with desperation.

"Ah, I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific, dear, as I am already touching you." He says, voice full of his usual snark. His signature smile widens, gaze falling to where his hand is still on your forearm, steadying you. You look away bashfully before his other clawed hand comes up to cradle your chin, tilting it up so your gaze meets his crimson one.

"Alastor, please, be kind to me just this once." You plead, voice soft.

"I'm being plenty kind, checking up on you, asking how you're faring, and what you might need." Alastor says, his tone warning. "Now tell me what you need, in better detail." His commanding tone leaves no room for disobedience.

Giving him one last pleading look, you let out a breathy sigh before letting the words fall from your lips, "I need you to touch my cunt, please, Alastor."

"There; that wasn't so hard now was it, my dear?" He says with a winning smile. Alastor pushes you back up against the door, caging you in with his much larger body. He lets his hand trail agonizingly slowly down the curve of your breasts, before playing with the hemline of your skirt. "I could do anything to you right now and you would thank me for it wouldn't you, darling?" Alastor remarks, his grin widening almost sinisterly.

"Yes, please, please help me relieve this burning and aching. I can't take much more." You almost sob out.

"Well, now, we shan’t keep a lady waiting then. I do have manners after all." He declares before hooking his hand in the waistband of your skirt. With a firm yank, he has the garment falling down to your feet. Alastor quickly rips your panties to shreds with a flick of his sharp claws. His fingers find your throbbing clit and begin tracing circles.

"Ah, ah, yes please." You moan in relief, his fingers already providing so much more comfort than your own did. It feels so divine. Bringing his other hand down, he slips one finger into your soaking cavern. Alastor starts pumping it in and out of you as you lean against the door for support. Adding a second digit, and then a third, your lips form an ‘o’ of pleasure. The nosies his fingers make as they push in and out of you are almost pornographic.

It feels pleasurable, but you find yourself craving more, the throbbing you feel in your cunt needing something much bigger. "Please sir, I need more. I want your cock." You beg prettily.

"I'm inclined to reward you for asking so politely." Alastor remarks. Pulling his hand out of you, he brings your juices to his mouth, licking his fingers clean. The movement almost distracts you from the empty feeling between your legs. Before the aching sensation has a chance to return he's spinning you around, face pressed against the wall, bent at the waist. The motion forces your cunt up so he has a better view of it.

Licking his lips hungrily, Alastor takes one hand off your lovely form to undo his trousers. You hear the sound of the zipper moving down before his massive cock springs free. Without warning, he is shoving all of those so many inches inside of you, burying himself to the hilt. He lets out a shuddering groan feeling your tight warmth around him.

You wail as you feel the tip of him press into your cervix. This is the feeling of fullness you’ve been dying for.

"That's it, isn't it, my doe. You just needed to be filled by my cock, didn't you?" He coos softly into your ear, each word punctuated by a hard thrust. His hips snap into yours, each upward movement sending the most delicious sparks through your body.

"Yes Alastor; I needed you," You moan out as his movements become faster and harder. The sound of slapping skin fills the room as his slams his hard member into your dripping cunt. His hand finds its way to your clit again, moving in time with his quickened thrusts. The feeling of your orgasm barreling towards you reaches its peak and you cum on his cock with a shout. Alastor feels your soft pussy walls clenching tighyly around him and he continues to fuck you through your climax, chasing his own release.

With a growl, he finishes inside of you, his cock throbbing as he paints your walls with his cum in powerful spurts. He tightens his claws around your waist, leaving marks on your skin where his sharp tips press into you. Bringing the hand from your oversensitive clit up and away, Alastor strokes your hair gently while you are lost in the haze of fucked-out bliss.

"Tell me; did you really think you could satisfy yourself, my dear? You should have come right to me. Hopefully you are feeling more like yourself now." He hums, pulling out of you gently. Taking you into his arms with ease, he carries you to your bed before tucking you in tenderly. "Rest now darling; your body needs it." He tells you, planting a gentle kiss on your temple. You slip easily into slumber, lulled by the effects of your post-orgasm elation.

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