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soaps-mohawk · 23 days ago

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The Angel and The Devil

Kyletober Day 17: Double Penetration

Summary: In the back of the bar in a booth just barely visible, they are seated. You’ve been eyeing them since you first caught a glimpse, almost drawn to them in a magnetic haze. You can’t help but look, even if you run the risk of being caught staring. You have yet to be so unlucky, as their attention seems to be on each other the most.

Pairing: Incubus!Kyle x reader x Incubus!Johnny

Word Count: 6,688 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, explicit smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, anal sex, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), munch!Kyle, costumes, demons, symbolism, slight coercion, alcohol, language

A/N: And here we are! We've arrived at the end of Kyletober for what I think is my favorite fic of the month. It's been a fun month and I've had a good time with these fics and seeing everyone's reactions. I hope you've enjoyed the last month as well and Happy Halloween everyone!

MASTERLIST

The bar is full of all sorts of characters and creatures tonight.

It’s Halloween which means the bar is fuller than usual, even on a weekend. It had been a last minute decision which led you to the bar. After a rough day at work you needed a pick-me-up and so you had gone to the nearest store, grabbed one of the few remaining costumes off the shelf in favor of not sticking out, and then headed to your favorite bar.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

You’re beginning to regret not looking closer at the costume you grabbed. The cheap angel wings are too tight, the elastic straps digging into your underarms. The halo bobs precariously on your head with every movement, and you’re half tempted to just take them off and shove them in a bin.

“Yes, actually.” You say, turning to the Frankenstein that has saddled up to you at the crowded bar. “It means I have to listen to cheesy pickup lines all night.”

You ignore the jeers of Frankenstein’s friends as you turn back to your drink, casting your gaze around the bar again. You’re just here to numb the sting of a particularly awful day at work, and nothing more.

At least, until your gaze lands on them again.

In the back of the bar in a booth just barely visible, they are seated. You’ve been eyeing them since you first caught a glimpse, almost drawn to them in a magnetic haze. You can’t help but look, even if you run the risk of being caught staring. You have yet to be so unlucky, as their attention seems to be on each other the most.

It’s not fair how beautiful some people are. How blessed others can be with good genetics and decent bone structure. The two at the back of the bar may as well be models.

They’re...beautiful.

The one with the mohawk is all playful grins and boisterous laughter. There’s a roughness to him, more handsy than the other one, even as his bright blue eyes scan the bar occasionally. The other is softer with near perfect skin, short cropped curls, and the most dazzling smile you think you’ve ever seen. That smile still holds a teasing tilt to it though, but he’s not as blatant with it as mohawk.

The devil horns on his head don’t fit him. He should be the one dressed as the angel.

They’re both wearing cheesy devil horns and you suppose the matching tails. There’s a cheap plastic pitchfork leaned against the booth next to mohawk. The look fits him perfectly with his devilish grin, though you suppose the devil is supposed to be beautiful, so perhaps it does fit his partner as well.

You knew they were together as soon as you laid eyes on them. It’s not hard to tell. How close they sit, the way lips brush ears when they lean in to whisper. Smirks cocking lips in upwards turns as hands move under the table. They’re a beautiful couple. Far out of your league.

Yet you can’t help but imagine it. Screw the angel and devil on your shoulders, you want two devils. One in front, one in back. You can almost imagine the heat their bodies give off, the push of solid muscle on each side, sandwiching you between them.

Your teeth sink into your lip at the idea.

You turn your gaze back to them, nearly jumping as you meet a pair of bright blue eyes. You’re shocked for a moment, not expecting him to be looking right at you. His eyes have passed over you a number of times as he’s looked around the bar, but this is the first time he’s ever looked at you. There’s no mistake. He’s not looking at anyone else. His eyes are locked on yours, almost as if he had read your mind, seen your inner thoughts about the two of them.

Something holds you there, the magnetic energy that had drawn you to them strengthening. Heat pulses between your thighs as mohawk’s tongue darts out wetting his bottom lip. Those lips lift in a smirk and suddenly the spell is broken.

You whip back around to face the bar, cheeks blazing. The halo on top of your head bobs at the sudden movement, nearly pulling the headband from your head. You steady it with a hand, taking a deep breath. Shaky fingers curl around your drink and you down the rest of it, ignoring the burning in your throat from the strong liquor.

Of course eventually you’d get caught staring. It’s not like you were being very inconspicuous, out here eyeballing them blatantly.

“Can I get you another?”

The voice makes you jump, the empty glass in your hand nearly clattering onto the bar. Your head whips around, eyes widening as you stare at the angel before you. Well...devil before you.

He’s even more beautiful up close. His skin is perfect aside from the scar on his cheek. His eyes are deep brown, and the longer you stare at them, the more you feel like you’re sinking into their depths. You get a firsthand look at that dazzling smile as he flashes one at you, showing off perfect white teeth.

There’s an edge to that smile, though, something in the back of your mind starting to itch.

“Can I buy you another round?” He asks again in that smooth, honeyed tone. It’s captivating, almost floating straight into your ears like a song.

He’s staring at you, waiting patiently for your response. You clear your throat, nodding before you can even think about it. “Y-Yeah. I could go for another.” Your hand reaches up, steadying the halo again as it bobs back and forth.

His eyes watch your hand for a moment before he grins, dropping his gaze back to yours. He flags the bartender, giving him your order. You’re too busy staring at him, enraptured by his beauty to wonder how he knew what you were drinking.

“Would it be too cliche to ask what a pretty angel like you is doing here alone?” He asks, leaning against the side of the bar, blocking you from the werewolf next to you that had been eyeing you as you stared across the bar.

Your face warms, a laugh leaving your lips. “A little maybe.” You should stop there. “Getting some stress relief from that 9 to 5 grind.” The words leave your lips before you can stop them. You’ve lost complete control of your body and your mind in his presence.

Something is wrong.

Alarm bells go off in the back of your mind as he turns to the bartender. He slips a note across the bar, telling the bartender to keep the change. You had glimpsed it before it disappeared in the bartender’s hand. It was far more than two drinks would cost.

The bad feeling disappears from your mind as he turns back to face you, both of your drinks in hand. “Why don’t you come join us?”

Say no!

You nod, almost feeling like you’re in a trance. “Yeah, okay.”

He grins, his eyes flashing with something too fast for you to tell what it is. “Come on.” He motions with his head.

You slide off the bar stool, the two words almost feeling like a final signature on a contract, sealing your fate for the evening.

You won’t be leaving alone.

Your feet move automatically as you follow him across the bar to the booth where the other is still sitting. A tingle runs down your spine as he continues to stare at you. You feel almost like prey being stared down by a hungry predator.

Perhaps you are the prey. The angel caught between the claws of a devil.

You slide into the booth without even having to be told to, your body still moving automatically as you wind up between the two. Your drink is set down in front of you, and you don’t bother to notice how the one in front of mohawk hasn’t been touched.

“Aren’t ye a bonnie little thing.” Mohawk says, draping his arm across the back of the booth. “Call me Johnny. That’s Kyle.” He says, nodding to the one on the other side of you.

You tell him your name, still feeling like you’re in a daze, trapped under his sharp blue gaze. Your wings move slightly, his fingers playing with the feathers strapped to your back. It feels almost ironic being trapped between them.

You certainly won’t be feeling much like an angel by the time the night is over.

“Saw ye lookin’ from the bar.” He continues, a smirk playing on his lips. It sends a shiver down your spine, but you can’t tell why. There’s something dangerous in there, some sort of threat raising alarm bells in the back of your mind. “Pretty little angel hoping to catch the attention of a couple of devils, huh?” He adjusts the twisted elastic strap of your wings. It makes your stomach clench, having his hand so close to you, his knuckles brushing against the side of your breast.

Something feels off, some primal part of your brain screaming, but you can’t quite hear what it’s saying. You’re too caught up in his magnetic presence to care about much else.

“Like what ye see, angel?” He asks.

You nod, still caught under his gaze. Your brain feels foggy, like you’re slipping into a daze. For a moment you panic that someone might have drugged your drink, that Kyle might have slipped something in while you weren’t looking. It’s easily done. All it takes is a second and you let him carry the drink all the way from the bar to the table.

Hands turn you around, the hazy fog disappearing as you meet Kyle’s brown eyes. Sudden clarity washes over you as you’re turned away from Johnny, almost as if he had been holding you under a spell. There’s still a faint buzzing in the back of your mind as you stare at Kyle and his soft grin. It’s so soft and comforting compared to Johnny’s intensity.

“Such a pretty thing.” Kyle says, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is electric as his fingers brush against you, your skin tingling all the way down to your toes and he’s barely touched you. He adjusts your halo as it wobbles, still holding your gaze.

“Been watching ye since you walked in.” Johnny says, suddenly closer behind you, his breath warm on the back of your neck.

You know that’s not true.

You don’t care.

“Knew ye were watchin’ us.” Johnny continues, his lips brushing the back of your ear. “Knew ye were interested.” He chuckles. “A little angel interested in a couple devils.”

A shudder runs through you as he presses a kiss to the skin behind your ear. His lips are warm, almost hot against your skin.

You feel warm again, your mind starting to go hazy as Johnny’s lips press soft kisses against your skin. Kyle’s hand drops to your thigh, fingers trailing up your jeans. You almost wish he’d slip that hand between your thighs, but instead he skirts it around to the outside, trailing those fingers up to your hip.

A couple devils indeed.

“Well?” Kyle asks, snapping you back into awareness. Johnny is pressed fully against your back, now his lips almost lazily brushing your skin. “Are you interested?”

Say no.

Some deep part of your brain is screaming, sounding off all the alarms and raising all the flags, yet you can’t bring yourself to listen to it, much less care. You’re in too deep and the only way out is to go deeper.

You’re not sure you want to stop.

You nod, your lips parting as Johnny presses a searing kiss to your skin.

“Need ye to say it, hen.” Johnny says, his hand closing around your side.

“Yes.” You breathe. The words feel like the fall of a gavel, the stamp of approval on that contract you signed by agreeing to join them in the booth. You’ve sealed your fate for the night.

There’s no going back now.

“Good.” Kyle says, leaning forward to kiss you.

His lips are soft, incredibly soft as they press against yours. He tastes like liquor, whatever sweet cocktail he had been sipping on. A quiet sound leaves your lips as his tongue presses into your mouth, his hand reaching up to grip your chin. You’re lost in the kiss, mind going blank as your body begins to tingle. Your panties are quickly dampening, the fabric sticking to your skin. Another hand drags up your leg, and you begin to curse your decision to wear pants. Who wears pants to a bar?

Someone who didn’t expect to pick up anyone tonight.

Or, well...get picked up.

Johnny’s hand squeezes your thigh, his chuckle vibrating against your back. “Gettin’ her all worked up.” He presses his face against your neck, Kyle tilting your head so he has more room. “Can almost taste it.”

His lips brush the side of your neck, his hand trailing higher on your leg. For a moment you hope he’ll take pity on you and slip it between your thighs, but instead he slides it higher, slipping it under your shirt.

You pull away from Kyle’s lips as Johnny’s warm hand meets your skin. It’s electric, his touch like fire against your body. Your head tilts back against his shoulder, a moan slipping from your lips as your pussy begins to throb. Johnny chuckles again, Kyle’s mouth moving to your neck. One of your hands grips the edge of the table as Johnny’s fingers brush the skin of your stomach, holding on for dear life.

All he’s doing is touching your skin. What is it going to feel like when he finally sinks his fingers between your legs?

You let out another moan as his hand slips higher, skirting dangerously close to your breasts. Reality slams back into you for a moment. Sure, you might be tucked in a back corner of the bar, but there’s still people around you. You’re still in a public place. You cast a nervous glance around the bar as Johnny’s hand cups your breast under your shirt.

No one is looking at you.

It’s almost like they can’t see the three of you at all.

“I think she’s ready.” Johnny says, pulling his face from your neck as his hand squeezes your breast through your bra.

Kyle hums, pressing one last searing kiss to your throat before he pulls his head away. “I think you’re right.”

“C’mon kitten. Let’s go somewhere more private.” Johnny all but growls in your ear.

You don’t remember the taxi ride home. You don’t remember getting up the stairs to your apartment or opening the door. You don’t remember telling them where you live at all.

They’re on you as soon as you reach your bedroom, sandwiching you between them again. Johnny in the back, Kyle in front.

You don’t remember telling them where your bedroom is.

“Look at her.” Kyle coos, holding your jaw in his hand. His thigh is pressed between your legs, the seam of your jeans pushing deliciously against your throbbing slit as you grind against his leg.

“Needy little thing.” Johnny groans, his hips grinding against your ass.

“Could say the same about you.” Kyle smirks, his hand sliding down to your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds it there, solidifying the silent agreement.

They’re in charge.

You’re just along for the ride.

“Want to taste her.” Kyle groans against your lips, his thigh pushing harder against your clothed pussy.

“Always so impatient.” Johnny says, undoing the button and zipper on your pants. “Yer in for a treat, hen.”

Your feet leave the floor as Johnny picks you up far too easily. You drop on your bed, the mattress creaking as you bounce on it. His hands curl around the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down your legs in one pull. He spreads your legs apart, staring down at your panties. They’re nothing special, certainly nothing you’d wear if you had been expecting something like this.

You just went in for a quick drink.

Now look at you.

“Would ye fuckin’ look at that.” Johnny says, whistling quietly as he stares at the damp spot on your panties.

“I think you were right.” Kyle says, resting his chin on Johnny’s shoulder, staring down at you as well. “She is ready.”

“Fuck.” Johnny curses, reaching down to tug your panties off too. You suddenly feel exposed, spread open before them. It’s been a long time since you’ve brought a stranger home from the bar, much less two.

“She’s thinking too much.” Kyle says, pushing Johnny to the side so he can kneel down in front of you. He tugs your hips until they rest right on the edge of the bed, tossing your legs over his shoulders. The halo on your head shifts at the movement, nearly coming off. You’re still wearing your costume.

So are they.

“Then ye best fix that.” Johnny says, pulling his shirt over his head.

You want to stare at his exposed skin, but you’re distracted as Kyle’s tongue drags through your folds. He knows what he’s doing, applying just enough pressure to make your pussy clench. No time is wasted as he dives right in, his mouth closing over your clit as he slurps at your drenched pussy. He’s like a starving man, pushing his tongue into your hole before licking his way back up to your clit, tasting every inch of you that he can. It’s like only you can satiate him and his need, his hands curling around your thighs to keep you pressed up against his face with no fear of suffocation or drowning. That’s a good thing, because with the way you’re gushing on his face, that may be an actual fear.

The bed dips as Johnny kneels behind you, crawling up so his knees are beside your head. You tilt your head back, expecting a cock in your face but instead you’re surprised to find him still in his briefs. He’s hard and bulging through the fabric, but still covered nonetheless. His hands land on your chest, slowly dragging down to your breasts. He palms them over your shirt, his thumbs circling over your nipples through the fabric.

“Johnny loves a good pair of tits.” Kyle says, pulling away for just a moment before his lips wrap around your clit again.

Your hips jerk, another moan leaving your lips as Kyle gets back to work. Johnny finally relieves you of the angel wings, pulling the elastic down your arms before tossing the cheap cardboard and feathers to the side. His hands slide over your breasts again before trailing downward to the bottom of your shirt. His fingers curl around the fabric, yanking it up, somehow managing to pull your bra with it. Your halo comes off with your shirt and you half expect it to hit the floor with the wings, but instead Johnny pushes it back onto your head. Your shirt and bra get tossed to the floor with the rest of your clothes.

You’re the only one fully naked, and for some reason that leaves you feeling very exposed.

You don’t get much of a chance to dwell on that tickling still itching in the back of your mind as Johnny’s hands brush your skin again, his palms cupping your breasts. He leans over you, a set of dog tags hanging in your face. You stare up at them as they dangle over you, swinging back and forth as Johnny massages your breasts.

“Prettiest fuckin’ tits I’ve ever seen.” He groans, squeezing them gently.

You glance down, just catching the look Kyle gives him as he licks another line up your slit.

A yelp leaves your lips as Johnny’s fingers tug on your nipple, a yelp of surprise more than pain. It feels good, something you’ve never been able to feel there before. Then again, everything feels good right now.

They play your body like an instrument, Johnny teasing your breasts while Kyle licks and sucks on your pussy. They’re so intune with each other, Johnny’s fingers almost a mirror of Kyle’s mouth. It’s almost eerie how they intuitively seem to know what the other is doing, and how to make you feel the most pleasure.

They’ve done this before.

Your slick is soaking your comforter but you don’t care, too busy being caught up in the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You’re just getting started and already your toes are curling, heels digging into Kyle’s back as you get closer and closer to the edge. You’ve never felt this way with anyone else, an energy thrumming beneath your skin. You feel electric, you feel alive.

“Gonna cum!” You gasp, heels digging harder into Kyle’s back. He offers no complaint, sucking harder on your clit.

Johnny tugs on your nipples at the same time, intensifying the sensation as your back arches, cumming all over Kyle’s face. He licks up every last drop, pushing you almost to the point of overstimulation. It’s burning deep within you, your fingers curling around the comforter as you pant, sweat starting to bead on your skin. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

He finally gives you some relief, pulling away from your pussy before you can reach that point of the uncomfortable sensation becoming pleasurable again. It was right there, right on the edge but you’re denied that feeling as he sits back on his heels. His face is shiny with your slick as he lets your trembling legs drop so they’re hanging over the side of the bed. You can’t move, far too dizzy with pleasure still from your first orgasm.

It’s only the first and you’re already feeling almost drunk on the sensation.

“Good?” Kyle asks, pushing himself up to stand.

You nod, still breathless. “Yeah. Yeah it was.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips for a moment. “Taste good.” He licks his lips. “Sweet like sugar.”

“I want a taste.” Johnny says, approaching Kyle.

For a moment you think he’s going to dip down between your legs next, but instead his hand closes around the back of Kyle’s neck, pulling his face close. Johnny’s tongue licks at Kyle’s skin, lapping at your shiny juices still coating his face. Kyle offers no complaint, his lips parted as Johnny licks him. It ends in a kiss, all tongues and teeth as their bodies press tightly together. Your toes curl again, pussy throbbing at the sight of them together.

You could probably get off just watching them together.

Kyle’s hands slide down Johnny’s sides to his ass, pulling their bodies closer. They grind against each other, Johnny almost whining into Kyle’s mouth. You’re more than happy to watch them together, leaning up on your elbows so you can see them better.

“We’re neglecting our date.” Kyle says against Johnny’s lips.

“That’s not very kind of us.” Johnny responds, pressing another searing kiss to Kyle’s lips before they turn to look at you.

You gulp, suddenly feeling very small under their gaze as they stare at you like two hungry predators. Excitement thrums under your skin at the promises their eyes hold. The foreplay was exactly that, a warm up for what is to come.

You’ll certainly be doing a lot of that tonight.

They break apart, the bulges between their legs prominent as they stand before you.

“Tell us where ye want us, hen.” Johnny says, stepping up closer so he can drag his fingers over your thigh. Goosebumps form on your skin from the soft drag of his calloused fingers against the sensitive skin.

Your eyes dart between them a couple times, your pussy fluttering at the ideas flashing through your head.

One on each shoulder.

“One in front, one in back.” You stutter out, another rush of arousal coursing through you.

“Fuck yes!” Johnny cheers, pulling away from you to drop his briefs instantly.

“You just made his night, love.” Kyle grins, face still shiny from a mix of your cum and Johnny’s saliva.

Johnny’s briefs land somewhere as Kyle begins to undress, pulling his shirt over his head. You take the opportunity to truly look at them. They’re both fit and muscular, Johnny thicker and broader than Kyle’s lean figure. Kyle’s muscles flex as he reaches down, undoing his belt and jeans, giving you a good look at his abs. You lick your lips, watching his pants fall and then his briefs.

Both of them are still wearing their devil horns, but neither of them make a move to take them off.

“Lube?” Johnny asks.

“Drawer.” You say, pointing with your toes towards the dresser.

Johnny opens the top drawer, letting out a groan when he sees your panties.

“You’re going to lose a pair.” Kyle says, maneuvering you on the bed. He’s finally naked, cock hanging heavy between his legs. He’s almost perfectly built, thicker than he is long with a little curve.

Your pussy gushes at the sight of him.

He’s perfect.

He gives you a grin, something shivering down your spine as you stare at him. Warning bells are going off in your head, but they’re too drowned out by the need pulsing in your brain. Kyle lays himself out on the bed, fisting his cock in his hand. He relaxes back against the pillows, slowly pumping his cock as he stares at you with lidded eyes. You kneel between his legs, batting his hand away so you can wrap yours around his length. You lean down, dropping a glob of spit onto the tip of his cock before spreading it on his skin with your hand to lessen the friction.

You meet his gaze again, a shiver running down your spine as you find yourself captivated in those deep brown eyes. They look almost black in the light of the lamp on your desk behind you. They opted for that light instead of the overhead one. You don’t think too much about it. You always hate the bright fluorescent overhead light anyway.

The bed dips behind you as Johnny kneels on the mattress, his hands maneuvering you so you’re on your knees, your ass in the air. His hands smooth over your ass as you continue lazily pumping Kyle’s cock. The cool drip of lube on your ass makes you jump, your hand squeezing around Kyle for a moment. He lets out a groan, his head thumping back against the headboard. You keep that pressure as Johnny’s finger circles your hole, spreading the lube around the tight ring of muscle.

“Fuck,” you breathe, trying not to squeeze your hand any tighter around Kyle’s cock as Johnny pushes the tip of his finger past that ring of muscle. More lube hits your ass as his finger sinks deeper and deeper in.

You’re going to need more than one finger, from the glimpse you caught of his cock.

You close your lips around Kyle’s tip as Johnny continues to work you open on his fingers, pushing a second one in with more lube. He’s cautious and gentle, something you wouldn’t have expected from such an eager man.

Just the fact he’s even prepping you is shocking enough. Then again, they seem more than eager to be the ones giving you pleasure over themselves.

“Ye like that?” He groans, pushing his fingers into your hole. “Feel good?”

“Mhm.” You moan around Kyle’s cock, pushing back against his hand as he pushes in a third finger.

Your pussy continues to drip, your entire body clenching around his fingers as he sinks them in as deep as he can. You take Kyle as deep as you can into your mouth, his back arching up off your pillows as he moans. It’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, like angels singing.

“Screamin’ Jesus.” Johnny groans. He pulls his free before slapping a hand down on your ass. “Go sit on Kyle’s cock for me.”

You release Kyle’s cock, licking your lips before doing what you’re told. You scramble up over Kyle’s hips eagerly, taking his cock in your hand again.

“Hi, love.” He grins up at you.

You can only let out a groan in response as you line his cock up, slowly lowering yourself onto him. He’s perfect, stretching you open deliciously. It burns a bit, but you don’t care as you continue to work him into your dripping pussy. Your legs are shaking already by the time you’re seated completely on him, your hands pressing against his lower stomach to keep yourself upright. He’s solid under your hands, but his skin is warm, almost hot under your touch.

He’s still staring up at you with those lidded eyes, his hands sliding to your thighs. “Good girl.” He grunts as you squeeze around him, his fingers digging into your thighs like he’s trying to hold himself back.

Maybe he is.

Johnny’s hand pushes between your shoulder blades, bending you down so you’re resting against Kyle’s chest. It moves his cock inside of you, a breathy moan leaving your lips at the change in position. Kyle releases his grip on your thighs, instead lifting his arms to wrap around your back. It feels intimate, the way he holds you. Far too intimate for just a one night stand.

Your fingers lift to brush the dog tags around Kyle’s neck. He’s wearing them too, the metal shockingly cold despite the furnace-like warmth of his body. You can’t read what’s on them in the dim light, but you don’t really care to know at the moment.

Johnny’s hand slides down your spine, smearing lube across your skin but you don’t care. It’s the cool drip of more lube on your ass that pulls you from your daze, the bottle snapping shut before hitting the bed somewhere beside you. Something thicker than fingers presses against your hole, your body clenching in anticipation. Kyle lets out a groan, his hips pushing up against yours as you squeeze around him again.

“Relax for me.” Johnny groans, pushing the tip of his cock against your hole.

You let out a long breath, willing your body to relax as much as you can. Johnny’s hand presses against the base of your spine, Kyle’s arms still holding you against his chest. His lips press against your forehead, something tingling against Johnny’s hand as you find yourself relaxing more and more.

A breathy moan leaves your lips as the head of his cock presses into your ass, stretching you despite the prep he’d given you. He’s so thick, almost spearing you open as he rocks his hips, pushing more and more of his cock into your tight ass. Kyle stays still, holding your body as Johnny continues to work his way in. He’s so thick you can feel every inch of Kyle’s cock inside of your pussy. You can’t do anything but lay there and moan in pleasure from the mix of sensations.

There’s a moment of silence, a deep breath as Johnny’s hips meet your ass. You’ve never been quite so full before, not like this, not so perfectly. They’re perfect, fitting into you like a glove, hitting every spot you could ever want them to.

It’s almost too perfect.

The thought is erased from your mind as Johnny begins to rock his hips, Kyle’s arms tightening around you as you begin to move against his chest.

“Fucking christ.” Johnny breathes as you squeeze around him, pussy clenching as Kyle begins to move under you.

“Bloody hell, love.” Kyle groans, pushing his hips up into yours, finding the rhythm of pushing in as Johnny pulls out.

Your nails bite into the skin of his chest as the pleasure continues to build. You were worked up before they stuck their cocks in you, and now having them both inside of you is almost too much.

Johnny bends over your back, changing the position of his thrusts. It pushes his cock against Kyle’s inside of you, pushing Kyle against that spot, his cock dragging against it with every movement of his hips. Johnny’s dog tags drag across your skin as he thrusts into you, the metal cool despite the moist heat of your bodies beginning to warm the room. Goosebumps erupt on your skin from the dual sensations, the warmth of their bodies, the cold of the metal against your back, the push and pull of their hips. It’s all so perfect.

They do the work for you, playing your body like an instrument again with that uncanny understanding of each other. Kyle’s cock pushes in as Johnny’s pulls out, keeping you on the precipice of pleasure as they fill you completely. You’re rendered helpless as you lay there, unable to do anything but moan as your second orgasm of the night continues to build. Your entire body is trembling and twitching, all of your weight resting entirely on Kyle, but he offers no complaint.

It doesn’t seem to bother him at all.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You squeal as Johnny picks up the pace, thrusting into you so hard your headboard begins to knock against the wall. Kyle’s arms tighten around you, holding you still and using you for leverage as he thrusts up into you. “Please, please, please...” You repeat it like a mantra, your entire body on fire with pleasure.

Something tickles in the back of your mind, getting stronger and stronger the more you get closer to your orgasm. You can’t place it, you don’t care to, as your body writhes with pleasure.

“That’s it.” Johnny groans, “Fucking take it!”

“Gonna cum for us?” Kyle grunts, still thrusting up into you. “Gonna give it to us?”

“Yes! Yes!” You cry, your back arching as you push yourself up against Kyle’s chest.

The light behind you on your desk casts your shadows along the wall behind the bed. Your eyes watch the way they move and dance as you push yourself up so your back is against Johnny’s chest. Kyle’s arms drop from around you as you push yourself back, the new angle nearly blinding you with pleasure.

The halo still on your head rocks forward and backward almost violently as Johnny continues to drive his hips against your ass. His arms wrap around you, holding you up against his chest.

Perhaps it’s the pleasure numbing your mind, but you swear the room starts to get darker, the shadows lengthening as you stare at the dancing shadows on the wall. Johnny’s hand reaches up, tugging the halo from your head, letting it fall to the floor.

You’re frozen there, captivated as his shadow almost seems to get bigger, the fake horns still on his head starting to lengthen and twist. Something unfurls from his back, spreading across the wall as the shadows continue to press inward around you.

Wings. They look like wings.

White hot pleasure blinds you as Johnny pushes your face down into Kyle’s shoulder, his own body folding over your back. You’re sandwiched between them, unable to do anything but take the pleasure they’re bringing you. Your clit drags against Kyle’s stomach as he gives over control to Johnny, letting Johnny’s thrusts rock you on his cock. Your hand curls around Kyle’s dog tags, the metal still somehow cold against your fingers. They feel bigger now, thicker and wider than what they had looked like.

No, there’s not two of them anymore.

It’s one pendant on the chain, some kind of pattern imprinted on the smooth metal. Your fingers trail over the smooth surface, tracing the raised lines. You can’t tell what it is, far too lost in pleasure to rationalize what is happening. Kyle’s hand wraps around your wrist, pulling it from his dog tags. He uses it to pull you up, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. Warmth floods your body at the press of his lips, your mind starting to go fuzzy.

“That’s it.” Johnny groans, grinding against your ass. “Give it to us.”

Your ears begin to ring as more and more pleasure builds, drool slipping out from your lips as you pull away from Kyle, your entire body tingling. There’s something coming, something building within you so strong you almost can’t take it. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s not coming fast enough.

“Come on.” Johnny says, pushing himself up just slightly to drive his hips downward against your ass.

You nearly let out a scream as the pleasure hits you all at once, fluid gushing out of you and soaking Kyle’s lower body. Your entire body writhes and shudders between them, the pleasure never seeming to end as Johnny continues thrusting almost violently against you. Kyle’s hands reach up, gripping your hips as he moans, his head falling back. You’re squeezing around them so tightly you’re shocked at how Johnny is still moving.

“That’s it.” Johnny groans. “That’s it.”

You feel like you’re floating, barely registering the way Johnny and Kyle kiss over your shoulder, groaning against each other’s lips. Your body twitches as you get further and further away, almost floating right out of your body. You’re exhausted, the energy and life draining right out of you as you milk their cocks of their own cum. It’s hot as it spurts inside of you, filling you up almost impossibly full.

Kyle’s hand presses against the back of your head, his voice low in your ear. “Sleep.”

You’re hungover.

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes as you lay there on your stomach. Your head is throbbing, body weak as you groan in annoyance. You forgot to close the curtain last night.

The sun is streaming in, warming your room. It smells like sex, your skin still sticky with sweat. Memories from the previous night begin to fill your mind as you come more and more into awareness. It barely feels real, almost like last night was a dream. Did you really catch the attention of those two beautiful men at the bar? Did you really bring them home and fuck them both?

It feels like a dream, it might have been a dream.

You crack your eyes open, letting out a groan. You are alone, the only remnant of the night before the scent of them still lingering in the air. They smelled good, sweet and musky, so strong you could almost taste it. They smelled good, even sweaty from the heat and exertion.

You can still feel their touch like a phantom left behind in your memory. The brush of their lips and fingers, Kyle’s head between your legs, the fullness of your body as they fucked you into one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. It was addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to feel as satisfied as you did last night, even with the way your head is throbbing and your body feels drained of all energy.

It was all so perfect.

It must have been a dream. You had too much to drink and fell asleep dreaming about two perfect men fucking you to the point you couldn’t remember your own name. There’s no way two men were such perfect matches for you and for each other. Perfection doesn’t exist.

You roll over onto your back, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. How long had the three of you gone last night? You can’t remember much past your first orgasm. You’re not even sure you remember your first orgasm.

It must have been a dream.

Something catches your eye as you roll over, tugging the blanket up around your chin. You squint through the blurriness and the haze of exhaustion, staring at your nightstand. peripheral vision

No, it wasn't a dream.

It was very real.

There's a set of dog tags sitting on your nightstand.

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#kyletober #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #Kyle Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #gazsoap #Johnny x reader x Kyle #soap x reader x gaz #call of duty #call of duty fic

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miguelhugger2099 · 8 months ago

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Hands

Summary: His hands are...big. A/N: I saw someone say this mans hands are 11 inches and i genuinely started tweaking. bro. his hands are larger than my head......

Miguel x Reader, Fluff?, Little suggestive, Drabble,

Spider-Man 2099 was probably one of the biggest Spider-Man ever. Well, if you're not counting the robots and dinosaurs–Miguel O'Hara is abnormally large for a human. Half-Human.

Standing at a whopping six foot and nine inches, his bulky build didn't help with his intimidating aura and height. So yes, he was tall but also wide.

Which also meant that everyone, at least, most people were shorter than him.

You could tell that it even became a problem. While talking to him, he'd have to bend his neck to talk to you. His posture would slouch just so he could hear you speak. When he'd look away, Miguel would rub the back of his neck, massaging out the knots that were forming from craning his head down so much to talk to the other Spiders.

You've seen tall people and you've seen others with muscles–however you were more focused on something smaller. As Miguel would type away on his monitor, viewing and discarding dim yellow screens in the air, you'd not so subtly stare at his hands. A part of you was amazed and a part of you had some sort of sick guilty pleasure watching his fingers move around. You coughed into your fist and looked away when Miguel snapped his head down at you, the familiar heat crawling up your neck.

“What?” He grumbles, his eyes squinting down at you.

“Huh? Wuh?” You turn your head around, pretending to think he's talking to someone else.

Miguel rolls his eyes, a soft scoff escaping his lips before he grabs your chin. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel’s fingers squishing your cheeks and pulling you forward to him. His fingers stop near your temple and you can barely hear his voice through the haze of your mind.

“Wait–wait, say that again?” You whisper while Miguel just stares at you.

He lets go of you and you miss the heat from his palm. “You obviously aren’t focused. Either get it out of your head or leave. I don’t need someone distracted right now.” He tsks and focuses back on the monitors, hands waving in the air. You shuffle from side to side, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists. You fought with yourself wondering if you should let the impulse get to you. “Can I see your hands?” You blurt out. Miguel freezes but his eyes are in a confused wide stare at his screen. “What?” “For like a second!” You defended yourself, holding out your palms and raising your eyebrows in a pleading way. Miguel looks between your hands and face, an uncomfortable and confused glint in his eyes. Pouting, you take it as rejection, sniffling dramatically to yourself. But Miguel looks away as he places his hand in yours gently. You gasp in happiness and bring it up to your eyes. You press your thumbs to his palm, both of them looking tiny. Pressing harder, you notice little slits of his talons coming out and you giggle. Pressing over and over again, you watch as the little claws extract and retract repeatedly. Miguel’s eyebrow twitches. Then using one of your hands, you place yours and his hand together, wrist to wrist as close as possible. You blink and take a closer look at the size difference. Your entire hand barely reached past his palm, his fingers even longer.

While you marveled at how giant Miguel was, Miguel looked down at you with a flushed expression. Blush scattered across his cheeks as he noticed how small you were compared to him. He knew he was a big guy–he knew that compared to him, everyone was pocket sized. But particularly about you, it was more in his face. He had an urge to wrap his fingers over yours, wanting to see how it would engulf yours. You move his hand to the front of your face, your nose bumping into his middle finger. Even then, his hand was still very much larger than your head. “Holy shit. Do they even make things in your size here?” You laugh, your breath hitting his suit and he feels the warmth of your laugh through the fabric. Miguel squirms slightly, watching how his hand is covering your entire face. If he wanted, he could grab you right now. He could grab you, pick you up, cover your blabbering mouth easily, and maybe he can easily push your head into the mattress with a single hand– Miguel burns, looking away and pushing your face away from him. You yelp and stumble back from the force, catching yourself before you hurt yourself on the floor. “OW?” You glare at him. He’s turned away from you, back to bringing up video files and camera recordings of different universes. “Get back to work now.” He growls and you dust yourself off with a huff. You take another glance at him before sighing and facing the other way–failing to notice the tips of his ears a dark red shade.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv x y/n #atsv x reader

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 2 months ago

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Runes

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Word count: 697

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, possessiveness, supernatural elements, sensuality, intimacy, power dynamics (Agatha leans towards a dom role, R to a sub roll)

Authors notes: I loved this idea also Happy Birthday @iwantscarlettandlizzie

Agatha’s touch was always intoxicating, but tonight there was an extra charge in the air, something that made your skin prickle with anticipation. She had always been possessive, marking you with bites and hickeys like a normal girlfriend, but tonight, she had something else in mind.

Her lips were on your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as she left a trail of possessive marks down to your collarbone. You gasped, arching into her touch, but then you felt something different. Her fingers traced intricate patterns on your skin, and where she touched, there was a faint, almost imperceptible burn. It wasn’t painful, but it sent a wave of heat through your body, leaving you lightheaded.

“Agatha… what are you…?” you breathed out, your voice trembling with a mix of confusion and pleasure.

She smirked against your skin, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Protection runes, darling. Just a little extra something to keep you safe. And to make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

You shivered as her magic danced across your skin, the burn of the runes intensifying for just a moment before settling into a warm, protective glow. Each rune she traced felt like a claim, binding you to her in a way that was both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you trusted Agatha. You knew she would never harm you. The runes were a testament to that, a physical manifestation of her love and possessiveness. And as the last rune settled into place, you felt a wave of dizziness, your vision blurring slightly.

Agatha caught you before you could fall, her arms wrapping around you as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Shh, you’re alright. Just relax, let the magic settle.”

You nodded weakly, leaning into her embrace as the dizziness faded, leaving behind only a deep sense of connection and belonging. Agatha’s marks were more than just physical—they were a reminder that you were hers, protected and cherished in a way that no one else could ever offer.

Agatha’s lips curled into a satisfied smile as she felt you melt into her arms, your body slowly acclimating to the magic coursing through your veins. The glow of the runes, though faint, remained imprinted on your skin, an unmistakable sign of Agatha's love and possessiveness. You could feel their gentle hum, almost like a second heartbeat.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice low and intoxicating, like velvet. "You wear my marks so beautifully."

A small whimper escaped your lips as her fingers trailed over the freshly etched runes. The sensation was overwhelming, the blend of her magic and touch pulling you deeper into the haze of pleasure and surrender. You knew Agatha's magic was ancient, powerful, but she had never used it on you like this before. It was exhilarating, and a little daunting, to feel that kind of raw energy tethering you to her.

"Does it hurt, darling?" she whispered, her breath hot against your ear as her hand slipped lower, her fingers lightly tracing the hem of your shirt.

You shook your head, still dazed. "No… it feels good. Just... intense."

"Good," Agatha purred, pressing another kiss to your temple. "I don't want you to feel any pain, only pleasure. You're mine, and I take care of what's mine."

Her words sent a shiver through you, the finality of her claim sinking in. There was no question about who you belonged to, and you felt a strange comfort in it. The world outside faded away, leaving only you and her, the runes on your skin a constant reminder of the unbreakable bond you shared.

"Now," she said, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, her thumb brushing your cheek. "How about we test the limits of this little spell, hmm? Let's see just how much pleasure these runes can handle."

The hunger in her gaze made your pulse quicken. With a mischievous smirk, Agatha’s fingers slid beneath your shirt, her touch igniting the runes as they responded to her magic, sending waves of heat and pleasure surging through your body. You gasped, clinging to her, completely at her mercy.

And Agatha reveled in it.

#ley writes #ley writes one shots #leys kinktober writing #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader

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seiwas · 1 year ago

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

wc: 8.9k

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

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

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

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

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

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

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

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

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

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

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

Except, he doesn’t.

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

It starts with the little things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A chuckle escapes you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What good is a love unwitnessed?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

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

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

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

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

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

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

“What made him ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

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

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

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

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

“Something like it.”

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

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

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

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

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

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

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

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

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

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

You cup his cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least now he has an answer.

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

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

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

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

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

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

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

Your grip on him tightens.

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

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so in love with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

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

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

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

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

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

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

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

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

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

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

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the train station. In the box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s good.

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

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

(But he knows what you’re doing).

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

(And he loves that about you).

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

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

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

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

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

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

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

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

How can he possibly contain all this love?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you happy with me?

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

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

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

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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

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xanasaurusrex · 11 months ago

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comforting clarisse after breaking her spear

clarisse la rue x reader (any godly parent) a/n: i promise this was supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away (:

clarisse was stomping through the camp after capture the flag. everyone was practically jumping out of her way, no one wanting to face her very clear wrath.

by now, everyone knew what had happened right before the blue team won capture the flag. percy, the new kid, and clarisse had been in a pretty heated fight. the ares kids that usually followed clarisse around had backed off, realizing that the fight was a little bit more heated than they anticipated.

percy and clarisse both had a hold on the spear, and when clarisse threw him over her shoulder, the spear had snapped in two.

nobody had seen clarisse this angry in a really long time.

clarisse knew that she hadn't been this angry in a long time. honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted to rip the world apart half as much as she did right now.

clarisse had spent enough time being forced into therapy by her mother to know that being this angry wasn't good. she was determined, even in her rage-induced haze, to not approach percy jackson right now, because she would only make things worse. yes, she hated the kid more than anything right now, and yes, if the opportunity arose, she would twist his arms right off his body, but again, that would only make things worse.

there was only one person right now who clarisse knew could calm her down enough so that she wouldn't go on a killing spree.

y/n.

clarisse didn't know exactly where she was, but she had a pretty good idea. if y/n wasn't there already, she would be soon.

clarisse completely bypassed all of the cabins and headed straight for the woods. a few people looked at her in curiosity, but a quick sneer from clarisse got them to mind their own business.

the second clarisse had passed the initial wall of trees into the woods, she took a second to take a deep breath of the pine-scented air. just taking a break from practically stomping through the camp, she felt a lot of the tension in her body relaxed. she was here, she was away from the prying eyes and nosiness of the other campers, and most importantly, she was away from percy jackson.

that was a big step in the right direction.

she looked up and to her right, and caught sight of the first tree. it had a circle carved into it. she walked past it, and a few feet later saw another tree with a circle carved into it.

she followed the trail of circle-carved trees into a clearing that she'd found during her first summer here at camp.

originally, clarisse never planned on sharing this area with anyone. it was only hers. it was her safe place from the world, from all the stresses and anxieties that plagued her day and night, an escape from camp.

the clearing was mostly used as her calm down spot, where she came when she was so angry all she could see was red.

like right now.

but then she met y/n, and at the end of their first summer together, clarisse took her here, and showed it to her. and so now, whenever they needed to, they met up here. to just... be for a few hours.

together.

when clarisse finally pushed past the tall grass that was closing off the clearing, and she stepped foot on the grass that clarisse cut every once in a while, she finally caught sight of y/n.

just seeing her made everything feel as if it was going to be okay.

clarisse felt her muscles relax completely, and all the angry thoughts were quieted as thoughts of her girlfriend climbed into her mind, took root there, and made themselves comfortable.

clarisse was okay with that, because thinking about y/n was much more pleasant than thinking about that punk percy jackson.

clarisse stood there for a few more seconds, admiring y/n. the way the sun shone on her hair. the rings that glittered on her finger, every single one of them gifted to her by clarisse. seeing y/n wear them always made her happy, made her feel like she could climb a mountain and barely break a sweat.

she was sure that she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

it was at that moment that y/n turned around. at first, there was a slight look of alarm on her face, but it calmed as soon as she realized it was clarisse.

"clarisse," y/n murmured, and just that one utterance of her name felt like a siren's song for clarisse, immediately drawing her to her.

y/n was sitting on one of the large boulders in the clearing, a thin blanket already spread out over the surface of it so she could safely sit on the rock without burning her legs.

y/n stood up, and walked towards clarisse. clarisse took a step closer to her, and then they were right in front of each other, faces just a few inches apart.

"hi," clarisse muttered.

"hi," y/n smiled.

the two looked at each other for a few more seconds, before y/n opened her arms, and clarisse immediately fell into them. clarisse's face buried itself in y/n's neck, and y/n didn't hesitate to start stroking clarisse's hair in the way that she knew she loved. the way her mother had always done when she would get overwhelmed as a kid.

clarisse let out a heavy breath, one that y/n suspected she had been holding for quite some time.

"do you wanna talk about it?" y/n asked quietly.

clarisse shook her head harshly, and then hugged her arms tighter around y/n's waist. "not yet."

"okay." y/n responded.

the two stood there hugging for a few minutes, clarisse's tight hold on y/n never wavering. clarisse's breathing was labored and heavy, and y/n knew it was because she was holding back tears.

clarisse was the kind of person who didn't like to cry. even though y/n knew that there were probably tears glistening in her eyes, clarisse was going to refuse to let them fall, because clarisse was determined to be as tough as possible.

y/n couldn't even begin to imagine the pain clarisse was feeling right now. her spear, the one gift clarisse had from her father, was now snapped in half and unusable. that spear had been clarisse's prized possession, the thing she regarded with utmost love and care, and never allowed anybody but her touch.

there had been one time that clarisse had allowed y/n to hold it for a few minutes, but even then clarisse was anxious at the idea of not being in complete control of it, even for a small amount of time.

y/n had heard clarisse's scream as her and the rest of red team chased after luke with the flag. she had been so close, ever so close, and had run even faster when she heard the scream clarisse let out.

when she stumbled onto the beach and saw the snapped spear, she immediately knew what happened.

y/n didn't stay to find out what happened after that, she just saw the way clarisse stomped off in anger, and she immediately rushed away to get to the clearing, knowing that clarisse would need to be calmed down.

and now the two of you were here, standing in the middle of your clearing, holding each other.

finally, after a long time of just standing there in an embrace, clarisse whispers, "that was the only thing i ever got from my dad,"

y/n pulled away to look at clarisse, and felt the small patch of wetness that clarisse had left behind on her shoulder. "i know, honey," she whispered. she took hold of clarisse's hand and pulled her towards the boulder that she had been sitting on previously.

once the two were sitting, y/n directed clarisse to lay her head in her lap. she began stroking her hair again, and occasionally stroking her cheek.

"i'm so sorry this happened," y/n whispered in clarisse's ear. "i love you,"

"i love you too," clarisse whispered back.

clarisse closed her eyes, wanting to block out the visuals of the world, and focus only on the way y/n's hand felt when it was stroking her hair and her cheek, and the comfort she felt whenever she was in y/n's presence.

she loved this. she loved that she had a person who she knew she was safe with, safe to tell anything to.

clarisse was sure that she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

#percy jackson #clarisse la rue #clarisse larue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse larue x reader #clarisse fluff #xanasaurusrex #guys i'm literally in love with clarisse #expect sm more clarisse content this is just the beginning

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screaminglygay · 5 months ago

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Was it worth it?

pairings: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: you decided to be a little brat to get natasha´s attention, was it a good idea? depends.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, smut!!!, dom!nat, sub!reader, spankings, the word 'whore' like two times, natasha being a bit rough at the begining, hair pulling, degrading, but also praising, overstimulation, daddy kink, finger sucking, not proofread, if anything else let me know!

word count: 3.3k

an: wrote bunch of fics, so enjoy the first one with natty:) also thank you for still liking my old stuff, i feel really happy about that, i appraciate it so much!!

You know it is a bad idea, but that won´t stop you from doing it.

Per usual Friday night, Tony is hosting enormous Avengers party and as always your girlfriend, Natasha, decided to go talk to someone else, someone who is not you.

So technically it is not your fault when you decide to have a little fun yourself, little bratty fun to be specific. You´re standing next to a bar stool, waiting for a bartender to make your drink, when you feel a light poke to your ribs.

"Your girl is busy, again?" Her eyes meet yours, her usual smirk on her face.

"Yup," you nod at Carol´s words, while you look away.

She still stares at you, "I know that look, you´re planning something, aren´t you?"

"Yup," you nod once again.

That makes Carol chuckle, "need help with that?" She asks even when she already know the answer.

The bartender finaly gives you the shot you ordered before, you pour it down your throat and look at Carol, "do you have anything more fun to do?"

"No, of course not." The blonde one just shakes her head, "watching Natasha lose it is my guilty pleasure." Carol adds.

"Good," you smile innocently, "let´s have some fun then."

Carol's hand is warm as it wraps around yours, her fingers curling gently but firmly, leading you through the tons of bodies on the dance floor. Her other hand slides to the small of your back, drawing you against her. As the alcohol starts to fuel your body the crowd fades away until it’s just the two of you moving in sync, lost in the rhythm of the music and each other.

Carol’s breath tickles your ear as she leans in, her lips so close you can almost feel them. “Having fun?” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry, sending a jolt of electricity through you. Her hand on your back presses a little harder, guiding your hips to sway in time with hers.

You match Carol's movements, letting the music take over, your bodies moving together, "uh huh."

She spins you around, her hands never losing contact, and you can feel the eyes of everyone around you, but most importantly, Natasha’s, she´s definetly watching somewhere, you can feel it. That only fuels your boldness, so you press yourself into Carol. Until you finally notice, that Natasha is standing in the corner on the other side of the dancefloor, her eyes dark and narrowed, fixed on you and Carol. It’s working. You feel a thrill of satisfaction mixed with the heat of the moment.

“I think it´s working,” she whispers, her eyes flicking to Natasha for just a moment before returning to yours. You nod. In this moment, with Carol’s hands on you and the music throbbing around you, it’s impossible to tell if you´re exited or terrified. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you wanted.

The intensity of the moment between you and Carol is fun, so much fun for a brat like you. But then, through the haze of heat and adrenaline, you catch a glimpse of Natasha walking from her spot, her eyes blazing with a mix of jealousy and determination. You´ve got this, remeber your goal, you can´t back down-

You barely have time to process what’s happening before she’s striding across the dance floor, her presence commanding and impossible to ignore. The crowd seems to part for her, and within moments, she’s right there, standing before you and Carol.

“I think you had enough,” Natasha exhale before she speaks, her voice is smooth, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge directed squarely at Carol. Her hand reaches out, not waiting for an answer, as she takes your arm, her grip possessive.

"Come on, Romanoff. We´re just having a little bit of fun, right (Y/N)?" With a final, lingering touch on your arm, Carol releases you to Natasha.

"Yup." You nod, while smiling at Natasha.

"Someone´s gotta pay attention to her, since you can´t do it." Carol is really poking the bear right now, but you love it.

The redhead tightens her grip around your arm, you´re sure you´re gonna have a bruise the next day, and it most definetly won´t be the only one. "We´re leaving."

"You´re such a party killer, Natty." Oh Carol´s words are way over the edge, but before Nat can drag you away, the blonde one leans in and whispers, "have fun." And that´s the only thing you know, before you´re almost thrown into the elevator.

"I wanted to stay there for little bit longer," you whine at her.

Natasha pins you to the wall in the elevator, thank god everyone is at the party. "Be quiet or I´ll give you a real reason to whine!" Her hand grip tightens by every second you look into eachothers eyes.

Oh she is mad mad.

Even though your breathing gets subconsciously heavier, you feel the shivers running down your spine, you´re not sattisfied with it, you just want bigger reaction out of her… you just want more.

"Oh whatever," you roll your eyes.

You rolled your eyes. Your rolled your fucking eyes at her.

"(Y/N), I'm warning you," Natasha's voice carries a familiar, unmistakable edge, and you know that look in her eyes all too well. Every time she gazes at you like this, it inevitably leads to a week of bruises so intense that sitting becomes a challenge.

Bing.

Natasha´s grip is still tight as it was before, now she´s dragging you from the elevator to your shared room. As she opens the door she push you inside the room, slamming the door close.

"Take off your clothes and kneel infront of the bed, I´ll be there in a second." She let go of your hand and walks to the kitchen.

You slowly walk to the bedroom, closing the door slightly behind you. Your heart is beating fast, the rhythm echoing in your ears like a drum. Adrenaline courses through your veins, making your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the doorknob. The rush of emotions and sensations creates a fog inside your head, a dizzying blend of excitement and nervousness.

It's as if nothing can touch you, not even the consequences of your actions. This invincibility makes you bold, so you decide that sitting on the bed comfortably with your clothes still on is the best decision. The anticipation of what might happen next makes your pulse quicken. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it's no use—the exhilaration refuses to be tamed.

Your mind races with possibilities, each one more thrilling than the last. What will she do when she comes back? How will she react to finding you like this - not listening to her command once again?

You hear footsteps approaching, and your pulse quickens even more. The door creaks open slightly, and you look up, your heart in your throat, ready for whatever comes next. The adrenaline buzzes through you, making you feel more alive than ever, as you wait for Natasha to enter the room.

For a split second, a flicker of doubt crosses your mind. Maybe you’re pushing it too much. Maybe this boldness, this game, is teetering on the edge of danger. An alarm bell rings faintly in the back of your mind, a warning that this might be too far, too fast. But just as quickly as it comes, you push the thought aside. You quickly realize why are you doing what you´re doing. You want to push Natasha as much as you possibly can.

You can take whatever she will give you. At least that´s what you think.

But when Natasha opens the door, you know right away you should listen to her. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She´s holding… a wooden spoon.

"I-" she yanks you by the hair off the bed, all of your thoughts dissapearing from your head.

"Did I gave you permission to talk? I don´t think I did, did I?!" Natasha´s hands basically tore off your shirt and now they are trying to get into your pants.

You try to shake your head, it feels like the brat was never there and now you regret you were ever born.

Why did you think it was a good idea?

"You´re such a whore, letting Danvers touch you, rolling your eyes at me, breaking every rule I gave you and now you´re acting like you´re not capable of taking your own fucking clothes!" She basically growls out as she finally takes your pants off.

She throws them somewhere in the bedroom, "Natty-" you mumble.

"Get on your knees." You imedietly listen, being naked infront of Natasha who is still in her black suit is pushing you further and further into your subby space.

She smiles to herself, noticing your bratty autitude is dissapearing, your big eyes are looking up at her, her hand caress your cheek, your whole body is shaking, goosebumbs all around your body. You´re just waiting for what she will do next.

"Open your mouth," once again you do as your told. It is so easy to listen to her, you don´t even remeber why did you brat in the first place.

Natasha slides her thumb into your mouth, smirking as youre patiently waiting for her to give you permision to do anything further. "Go on, suck."

The way she looks at you, with those intense, penetrating eyes, makes your heart race and your breath catch. There’s a silent promise in her gaze, a vow that she will always be there for you, that she will always protect and cherish you, but there is a list of rules you have to follow all the time. Now you finally realize what mess you did tonight.

You want to make it up to her, so you do everything you can to put out a good show for her, sucking her thumb like a good girl, fake it till you make it right?

Natasha hums, walking away, sitting on the bed, the wooden spoon is still in her hand. You know very well to not move a muscle now. She stares at you - admiring your shivering body.

"For every rule you broke is a five spanks, do you know how many rules did you broke tonight?" At this moment her voice is like a warm hug, even though you know there is a big punishment coming, unlike someone, you still feel safe with her.

You shake your head, thinking it can´t be that bad…

"All of them, except one," she answers. "Althrough I think that, if you´d grind more on Carol, you would cum in a bit. Because you´re just a needy fucking girl."

You open your mouth to reply, but you don´t need more spanks, so you close it right away. Natasha notices it.

"Go on, what is it, brat?" She raises her eyebrow.

"I- I didn´t broke the… no touching rule, so that´s two." Natasha hums and pat her lap for you to lay on, you quickly rush to her lap, laying down so your ass is on display.

"So… you´re telling me that touching your tits while dancing with Carol doesn´t count?" You don´t respond, you don´t even realize you did touch yourself, while you were on the dance floor.

"I- I-" you stutter.

"Such a whore! You didn´t even realized what you were doing." She puts her hands on your ass, massaging you gently. "I guess I´ll have to teach you who you really belong to."

You. Are. Fucked.

"What is your safe word?" Her hand is so soft on your ass, you´re melting under her touch - not for long though.

"Red f-for stopping, y-yellow for slow down and uh- green is okay." You mumble as you try to shift slightly.

"Good girl," she smiles, traicing her finger up and down your back. "How does fifty sounds?"

Fifty?!

"I asked you a question," you can feel that her finger is no longer traicing up and down, it´s the wooden spoon.

"I-" what are you supposed to answer to that? "Okay."

"Okay, what?" She lightly spanks you with the wooden spoon.

"Daddy!" You wince, not because of the pain, but beause you know, this was a light one, "okay, daddy."

"Alright," Natasha nods, "I want you to count, each and every one. Got it?"

"Yes, daddy." You nodd quickly.

Natasha hums softly, and then the hell ride begins. As the wooden spoon makes contact with your ass, you wince sharply. It had only been two weeks since Natasha last spanked you like this—back then, it was just for talking back. This, however, is a whole new level.

"One!" you let out an exhale.

She didn´t wait a second and another contact was made, "two!"

After eight more spanks, tears and more shaking came, that´s when Nat´s voice pulls your from your thoughts. "Color?"

"G-green, I´m okay…" you mumble more to yourself than her.

She leans and kisses your head, "good girl, few more to go."

After twenty spanks you were a mess, absolutely regreting anything bad you ever did. Every eye roll, every single time you talked back at her, every single time you didn´t listen to her or broke a rule.

"Number darling… you don´t want me to start over, do you?" Natasha´s voice is calm, not a single signt of jealousy or anger anymore.

"No! Uh- um… twenty one?" You ramble out.

"Are you asking that or are you announcing it to me?" Her other hand is now carresing your bruised ass.

"Twenty one, it´s twenty one."

"And what´s your color, darling?" Natasha always knew when you needed a break, even when you didn´t feel it yourself. She knows you better than you know yourself. And you’re completely okay with it.

"Yellow." You take a deep breath.

Natasha puts her spanking tool on the bed, so she can but both of her hands softly on you. "I´m so proud of you, baby? Okay? So so so so proud," she kisses your head again, "look at you taking your punishment like a good girl." The warmth of her voice is matched by the warmth of her touch.

Her words carry a gentle power, each one carefully chosen and delivered with a kindness that makes you feel cherished and understood. It’s as if she knows exactly what to say to make everything better. When Natasha speaks, it’s like the world slows down.

"I just need a… a moment," you mumble as your voice is a bit cranky from all the tears tha fell during your twenty one spanks.

"Take as much time as you need, we are in no rush." There it is again, the sweet yet rapsy voice, that makes you feel like everything is alright, "remeber it is okay to stop fully, do not feel ashamed to say it, darling." You though that you can´t feel safer with Natasha, but she proves you wrong every single time.

After you took some deep breaths, you nod to yourself, "I- we can continue, green."

"Are you sure?" Nat looks down at you, her hand traicing up and down again.

You nod again, "green it is."

"Green it is," Natasha repeats your words, she already made up her mind, that you took your punishment like the bravest girl in the world. So her actions shocks you a bit, the next four spanks are light, almost like there are none.

"Twenty five." All of your tears are now away, she help you sit up on the bed, "but what about the rest?" You look genuinely confused.

"You did half of the spanks baby, I think you realized what you were doing is wrong, right?" She smiles at you, her fingers pulling some of your fallen hair behind your ear.

"I did realized that at like the third one," you answer honestly, which makes Natasha laughs.

"Good, I´m glad." She softly kisses your forehead, "lay on the bed, pretty girl." Without a second though you obey.

"You´re so fucking pretty," she mumbles as she towers over you. "All mine."

Under her gentle gaze, a warmth spreads through you, the feeling of being truly valued and admired. God how much you love her. She slowly kisses her way lower, from your pretty lips, to your neck, all the way to your responsive nipples, few kisses on your tummy all the way to your thighs. Until she reaches the part that was craving the most. Your pussy.

Natasha is making sure you feel how much she loves you, by each slow kiss she gives you. Her fingers slowly play with your clit, knowing it will make you needier. As she starts to eating you out, your hand reaches into her hair, pulling her closer to you. Once again… need more.

"Who do you belong to, baby?" Natasha asks in between your thighs.

"Y-you," you arch your back.

"Who, baby?" She knows your close, you´re almost there… you just need the one little-

"You! Daddy!" Push.

"Go ahead baby, let go for daddy." She dives back into devouring you.

"Oh my-" And just like that, everything was worth it at the end. You let out the most beautiful moan for her and only her. After few moments of going down from your high, you try to pull Natasha back to you, for a kiss and cuddle right after.

"Oh baby, we are most definetly not done with you," she smirks, shaking her head in between your thighs and she leans in, teasing you with her tongue

And she meant what she said—you weren't done after the second or even the third orgasm. Because you wanted to please your Natasha so much, you came seven times that night and Natasha looked like she was ready for seven more. But that fun is postoped to some other day. After the seventh most whiny orgasm you had, Natasha pulls you closer to her.

"It´s okay, there you go," she whispers into your ear, "I got you, just breathe for me, alright pretty girl?"

You breathe slowly in and out, taking long inhlaes and even longer exhales.

"Look at you being so good at listetning," she kisses your earlobe slowly, while whispering these words.

"Uh huh…" you nod slightly, closing your eyes to come down from your high.

"Who is my good little girl, hm?" Natasha pulls away so she can look into your eyes, she knows how overstimulated you get, especially after you´re bratting out like this, "I want you to say it, baby."

Your eyes slowly open, immediately melting under Natasha's gaze. "Me"' you mumble softly, feeling suddenly shy.

"Correct, you´re my good little girl. So good and so pretty for me," a wave of shyness wash over you, blending with a fuzzy, warm headspace that she effortlessly creates.

As she snuggles closer, her arms enveloping you, making you melt into her touch. There are some days when your aftercare is quick, since you both share this hectic Avengers life, but not today. So you´re cuddles can last forever and it most definetly feels like it. But after Nat notices that you´re bit out of your fuzzy headspace, she speaks up.

"Care to explain yourself?" Her voice is soft, yet the raspiness is cutting through, oh how you love it.

"You went away and that made me sad, I don´t want you to go to talk to someone else… I hate that actualy." You finally reveal, what bothered you.

Natasha chuckles and looks down at you, while stroking your hair, "now who´s the jealous one, sweetheart?"

"Oh, shut up," you mumble while relaxing on Natasha´s chest.

You can feel her staring at you and you quickly realize what you´ve just said, "sorry."

"That´s what I thought," she playfully slaps your ass and you whine at the touch to your still very sensitive body part.

Thank you so much for reading!:)

#adele writes #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #marvel universe #black widow x reader #black widow x fem!reader #black widow #black widow x you

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cayermann · 1 year ago

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"The heat haze was sneering at me, reminding me that it wasn't a joke." Happy August 15th everyone.

#kagerou daze #kagerou project #kagepro #kagerou days #takane enomoto #ene #mekakucity actors #mekakushi dan #kagepro fanart

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marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

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Angstober (day 10)

Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Reader

Prompt: Humiliation

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Bucky is a jerk (he does have a sense of regret); reader is humiliated; mentions of self-doubt and insecurities; toxic and strict parents; hurt!reader; sad!reader; ending is quite open but not really happy

Angstober Masterlist

This is bad.

This is really, really bad.

You stare at the sheet of paper in front of you - the exam your professor just handed back, corrected. And it seems like there were quite a few things needing to be corrected.

82%

The number burns behind your eyes, but you don’t get your gaze to turn away. It sits there so innocently as if it doesn’t matter. As if there isn’t something at stake here. As if you could be satisfied with it.

Your mouth goes dry. You had studied days and nights for this exam, as you always do, buried yourself in textbooks, flashcards, anything to cram more information into your already overloaded brain. All for 82%.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, your skin prickling with it, like embarrassment and dread decided to team up against you, merging into something gruesome, something you can’t escape.

Around you, students already started to pack up their bags, laughing, chattering, moving on. But you can’t move. You’re frozen on this bench, apprehension sinking into your bones and making them too heavy to lift your body.

Thinking that way over a grade - with it being objectively even a decent one - would perhaps be considered dramatic. Some fellow students had cheered at much lower numbers when the professor handed out the results earlier. And perhaps, you would have even been okay with this. Perhaps you could even allow yourself a tiny flicker of satisfaction if this were about you. But it’s not. It never is.

It’s about your parents.

It’s basically ingrained in them to scrutinize every part of you, every grade, every decision. They keep close tabs on everything you do, everything that may be a hazard for the path they laid out for you a long time ago. But you don’t walk this path voluntarily. You’re being pushed, forced to take steps closer to a dream you never claimed as your own. And that can only weigh a person down.

So maybe you’re not even that surprised about the grade. Pressure is a bitch. Especially when it’s boiling, simmering under the surface, until your mind can’t comprehend the simplest of information anymore. But they won’t consider anything like that when they find out. And they will find out. They always do. It’s like they have eyes everywhere, monitoring you, waiting for you to slip.

And 82%? You may as well have flunked the entire thing.

The last time you fell short of their expectations had been 86%. Funnily enough, it was the exam before this one, so that makes things even worse. Your parents had acted like you dragged the family name through the mud and intentionally smeared it all over just to spite them.

And every word they threw at you was laced with that cutting edge that usually ends up making you feel small, insignificant, stupid. Really, it doesn’t stop there.

You don’t live with them anymore. You took the chance and moved away for college the second you could, hoping for an escape, carte blanche, freedom, whatever the hell people like to call it.

But the distance wasn’t able to cut the ties. They’re still there. Their expectations, their rules, fighting for dominance in the back of your head and hanging over you like a dark cloud. And you know with chilling certainty that this 82% is going to rain hell on your head.

Your hands feel heavy, too heavy to lift, too heavy to even pack up your things like everyone else. You just sit, paralyzed by the weight of their disappointment that hasn’t even happened yet, but you know is coming.

“Y/n!”

Wanda’s voice reaches you through the haze, your thoughts had blurred into. Her voice carries hints of that teasing tone she loves to use on you.

“Pack up, slowpoke! I gotta catch my bus!”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” you mutter, blinking yourself out of that numbness that had been creeping in. You snatch up that exam paper and shove it into your bag, crumbling it in the process but not at all caring. It’s better out of sight. You throw the rest of your stuff into the bag as well and rush to the door of the lecture hall, meeting Wanda there.

You two take different buses to get home every day but always walk to the bus station together after the classes of the day are over. And thank god this was the last one of the day, the last one of the week.

A weekend to drown yourself in your sorrows is what you need.

“Soo…” Wanda sing-songs, a hint of something in her voice. “There’s this party tonight…” she trails off, giving you a sideways glance, eyes wide with expectation and a bright grin on her face.

You sigh. Heavily. Deeply. “Wan-” you start, already shaking your head without turning to her, but she doesn’t let you get far.

“Come on, Y/n,” she practically begs, drawing out the words. “You’ve been working yourself to death for weeks. And now that the exams are over, we don’t have anything due for ages! We’ve got time. And, well, don’t punch me for this, but you need to come out, let off some steam.”

You don’t give her much of a reaction as you carry on with your steps, head turned forward, watching the bus station in the distance grow bigger. This isn’t the first time she’s asked you this and it certainly won’t be the last.

“I’m not-” you start your usual rejection, but she is relentless, already prepared for your banter.

“I’ll make sure you have a good time. It’ll be fun, you’ll meet some new people, let loose a little,” she nudges you lightly, “forget about the dragons for a while.”

At that, a huff of laughter escapes your lips and you make out the triumph in Wanda’s eyes even though you’re still not looking at her directly. At some point, Wanda had resigned to calling your parents the dragons. You took offense at that for them for a while. Or you tried to at least but, honestly, it actually made your situation with them humorous to some twisted extent.

You want to argue. You want to dig your heels in and tell her no like you usually do. But you’re tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of the accusations of your parents - the dragons - you will have to prepare for, tired of that weight that never really moves off your shoulders.

So you really can’t be mad at yourself for this.

“Alright, fine, whatever. But just this once.”

Wanda squeals.

****

Yeah, this was a mistake.

The moment you and Wanda put foot into the room, vibrating with music that leaves you stumbling, eyes move over to you.

Actually, perhaps, it aren’t even many. But receiving attention from a whole bunch of people isn’t something that happens to you on a daily basis, so having those few students turn in your direction, ogling your form as you walk into the life of the party, overwhelms you with an intensity that forces you to halt.

You had hoped you could use this night to finally forget, to get an escape where no one would notice you. That doesn’t seem to happen. Wanda also doesn’t let you retreat back into the night, and find solace in a bottle somewhere far from here - somewhere quiet.

“Hey!”

You know that voice. You hate that voice and everything that belongs to its owner.

“Took a wrong turn there, sweetheart. Library’s the other way!”

There’s a laugh in his voice, the exaggerated mocking he always uses to taunt you, perfectly edged into it and you pretend not to hear him, only gripping Wanda’s arm tighter. His friends sharp laughter isn’t ignored that easily though, and you feel that well-known shame boil over far too easily.

“Oh, how would you know, Barnes?” Wanda shoots back, her voice mocking, but lacking that same playfulness she used with you earlier. A few more snorts from Bucky’s group follow but you don’t turn around as Wanda pulls you passed them.

You hate this. Already.

Bucky is at every party, so you knew he would be here. And you had tried to mentally prepare for his presence, steeled yourself against the jibes and insults he usually throws at you. Well, at least you had thought you were ready. But no amount of preparation could ever arm you against the venom sneaking into your thoughts at every word of his. How they latch onto the darkest corners of your mind, feeding the doubts already planted there.

It’s always been this way with him. He has always been this way. Since the first semester, it’s as if he has a vendetta against you, and you’ve become his favorite target. It started with him noticing you sitting over a textbook in the library, in the mensa, in study halls, all over campus really, and he made sure to always point it out. To make fun of it. To make fun of you.

Perhaps there is some warped entertainment in your discomfort that he savors. You’re an easy mark - soft-spoken, non-confrontational. You don’t fight back. Instead, you bury your hurt, swallowing the insecurities he rises in you, without showing a soul. Your parents were good at teaching you how to do that.

He doesn’t see how deeply his jokes cut, because you never let him see it. But you don’t think he’d care if he did.

“Does this not ever get boring to you?”

“It’s not like anyone’s going to remember you if you stay holed up in your books all the time”

“At some point, you gotta focus on the right things in life, sugar.”

Once they’re said, they never leave your head, always coming to the forefront of your mind in times you can’t handle them.

Now is one of those times.

“Wanda, I’m leaving,” you say, words holding the determination you needed all day, yanking your arm free from her grip, harsher than intended.

You need to get out of here, need to take a fucking breath, and get a taste of the cool air outside since the heat flooding your blood and skin makes it feel like you’re burning from the inside out.

You make for the door, but his voice finds you again.

“Now, hold on, where you goin'? Can’t leave yet, L/n. You just got here.”

You don’t stop at his bullshit, willing yourself to ignore him. But your fingers start trembling, growing slick with sweat.

“And hey, since I get the chance to talk to you… 82%?”

You freeze.

Your heart stutters, a cold shock icing your veins. It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room leaving you to search for oxygen. You don’t want to turn around, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction, but you’re stuck. Glued to the spot, giving him and his words the power to anchor you in place.

“Really?” Bucky continues, voice still dripping with teasing mockery, unaware of your struggle. “With all those all-nighters at the library? I gotta say, Y/n, that’s actually impressive.”

The rushing sound in your ears devours everything else - the way Wanda jumps in to your defense, as always; the same menacing laughter of his friends - it’s all drowned out by the pounding in your skull.

Your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms. You feel the burn of tears, that familiar sting in the corners of your eyes, and you fight it. You fight it because the last thing you want is to cry in front of him, in front of all these people, all these damn prying eyes.

You turn around without even thinking, your gaze locking onto Bucky’s. He’s grinning that satisfied smirk, a gleam in his eyes but then, in a space of a heartbeat, his expression changes, falters. His smile is wiped off his face in seconds as his eyes widen. Shock enters his features, easing the lines and sucking out the color on his face as his lips part slightly, slowly.

You can’t place his reaction, but you figure it out when your body betrays you. Lips trembling, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth but you can’t do anything for the tears blurring your vision rapidly.

Bucky is still staring at you, frozen, gaping; his face a mix of something you don’t want to concentrate on. He’s not the one allowed to be in pain right now. He’s not the one allowed to feel the rising load of agony. So why the hell does he look like it?

You turn on your heel as the hot tears start gliding down your cheeks and your body doesn’t feel like your own as you hastily make your way to the door. Your hand flies to your mouth, hoping it will stifle the sound of the sob that emerges from deep within, trying to hold onto the last shred of control and dignity you have left as you bolt from the room.

You’ve never left a place this fast before.

Not even your parent's house.

🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁

#angstober 2024 #angstober2024 #day 10 #marvel mcu #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky Barnes x reader angst #bucky angst #college!reader #college!bucky #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader

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toomuchracket · 10 months ago

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and this is how it starts (flatmate!matty x reader smut)

this is quite literally day 1 of the relationship. like, condom-gate was mere hours ago lmao. also, someone said just thinking about flatmate matty and girlie literally just after condom gate and they're sitting on the couch and she's just kissing his neck and making out and he gets all flustered n floaty cos he's waited for this for so long 😕 maybe she teases him for getting hard so quickly and it's just sweet, i love them <3 so it's a bit of that too. enjoy <3

matty's not totally sold on the idea of there being a heaven, but his reasoning against it is weakening with every passing second. after all, what else could the situation he's in right now be, sprawled on the living room sofa with you on his lap and your lips connected? there's no other way of describing it.

he doesn't give a shit about description right now, though. or responsibility, or even time itself. all matty cares about is kissing you, softly moving his hands to rest in previously uncharted places on your body, and getting you to make those little whimpers that draw all the blood from his brain and redirect it to his dick. your hands weave into each other's hair, and an instinctive tug from matty has you pulling back and whining his name. he goes to pout at the removal of your lips from his own, but then you grind down harder onto him and drop your head into the crook of his neck; your lips meet the soft skin of matty's neck, and he can't stop the gasp that rips from his throat (or the hardening in his sweatpants).

holy fuck. in the many (many) dreams matty’s had about your lips, not once has he ever dreamt about them in this location.

what a twat he is.

another choked noise leaves his mouth as your tongue joins the party, and yet another follows when you moan into his skin at the way he clutches desperately at your hips. before he knows it, you're kissing him again, licking into his mouth with such intensity he's half-convinced you're trying to eat him. and he'd let you - his brain and heart have already been consumed by you, after all. why not let you devour him completely?

your teeth sink into matty's lower lip as if you might, and he whines; you giggle against him, and switch your lips back to his neck before repeating the bite, albeit softer on the delicate skin, pulling another wanton moan from him. the pain turns to pleasure in his nerves and ricochets throughout his body so hard that he feels his dick jump, despite the haze of pleasure clouding his senses and brain capacity.

judging by the way you gasp and grind down impossibly further onto your boyfriend, you feel it too. he's aware of your lips peeling from him, and then suddenly your beautiful face appears in his eyeline - your eyes and hair are wild, your lips are swollen from, well, use, and you've never looked more enticing than now. then you smile, and matty has to retract his previous statement. “i didn't know you were so into neck kissing, matthew.”

he's not sure if it's the use of his full name (chiding, teasing, patronising) or the glint in your eye (seldom seen, slightly manic, so fucking flirty) that does it, but matty feels his cheeks flood with colour and heat. you lightly run your thumb across one with a satisfied hum, and matty momentarily forgets how to breathe; when the palm of your hand brushes his throat on its way down to rest on his chest, he almost shuts down completely. but he quickly recovers enough to speak shyly. “isn’t everyone?”

“yeah, but, baby,” you roll your hips slowly against his, groaning quietly as you do, and whisper directly in his ear. “it just got you so fucking hard.”

christ.

matty says as much as he throws his head back against the sofa, and you giggle. he cracks one eye open to look at you, all happiness-glowy and dishevelled in his t-shirt, and he can't help but smile bashfully. “don’t take the piss, sweetheart.”

“i'm not!” you laugh, then smirk. “well, maybe a little bit.”

“fucking knew it,” matty lightly smacks your ass, grabbing the soft flesh and using it as leverage to rock your hips against his. “mocking me for a normal reaction to a kiss in an erogenous zone, you minx.”

“ooh, big word.”

“i’ll smack you again, i mean it.”

“do your worst,” you grin, circling your hips. “although i'll be surprised if you can focus with that - oh, fuck,” your voice trails off into a moan as matty grins and latches his lips onto your neck, sucking a bruise into the lightly-perfumed skin and soothing it with his tongue.

he smirks as he pulls back to admire his work; for all he's dreamed about marking you up as his like this, nothing comes even remotely close to the real thing. “seems to me like someone can't take it as well as she can give it,” matty coos, cupping your jaw and running his thumb over your pouty lips. “that right, baby?”

without breaking eye contact, you flick your tongue against the pad of his thumb - when you hear matty's breath hitch, you slowly slide your lips onto the digit, down to the knuckle, tongue still flicking around it. he swears under his breath, dick harder than he thinks it's ever been, other hand clutching so hard at your ass that he wouldn't be surprised if it bruised. somewhere deep in matty’s mind, there's a little part of him wracked with guilt at the thought of hurting you, sweet, beautiful you, but that part is far overshadowed by just how badly he wants to be inside you right now.

thankfully, you seem to want that too; you release his thumb with a pop and a connecting string of spit, and look doe-eyed at him. he’s not sure if he's ever seen anything so erotic on his life.“no. i can take it, matty.”

something shifts in the air when you say that - it's as if the molecules have gotten heavier, dropping a delicious tension into the atmosphere and knocking all flirty banter to the ground. you're so close he can see himself reflected amidst the desire in your eyes. so close that your breath mingles with his own, hot in the crisp autumn air. so close, and, for the first time, so available for him to touch.

and, god, does he want to touch you.

“you can take it?” matty asks, caressing your cheek and smiling when you nod. “now?”

“please.”

matty groans. “you'll kill me, sweetheart,” he quickly kisses you, smiling into your lips when you moan. “let me take you to bed and you can show me how well you take it, yeah?”

you pout. “wanna stay here.”

“so do i. but we need to go and get a condom, darlin.”

“don't worry,” you lean back slightly and pull the t-shirt over your head in a way matty can only liken to unwrapping a present; he swears when he sees the lacy black bra you're wearing, your tits threatening to spill over its scalloped trim. when you see him looking at your chest, you grin. “like my bra?”

“very much.”

“good. been saving it for you - you know, in case we ever… got to this stage in our relationship.”

matty blinks as the realisation settles in his mind and body. he's so turned on it's almost painful. “really? fuck, baby, that's so hot.”

you shrug bashfully. “got a whole drawer full of pretty underwear i only want you to see. been thinking about this for a while. which reminds me,” you reach into your bra and pull out a small foil square, and hold it up triumphantly. “no need to go to bed!”

matty laughs slightly deliriously. “you had a condom down your bra the whole time? fuck, you really want me, don't you?”

“on this couch, specifically,” you lean in to softly kiss his neck again, then drag your tongue up to whisper in his ear. “dreamt about riding you on it since the day i moved in.”

shit.

his hips buck up at the mere thought, eliciting whines from both of you. “wanna make your dream come true - need it, darlin, need you.”

“fuck,” your hands scramble to pull matty's t-shirt over his head, then pull his face to your own for a searing kiss. it doesn't last long, though, with you soon pulling back to guide matty's hands to the clasp of your bra; he catches on to your ideas quickly, undoing the thing with ease and sliding the bra from your body, while you clumsily balance on one knee at a time to get your panties off. matty huffs out a laugh when you roll your eyes and leave the underwear to dangle on your left calf, and you smile and wrap your arms around his neck. “what?”

“nothing, you're just cute - sit up for me, darlin, so i can lift my hips, thanks,” he replies, shimmying his sweatpants down with a shit-eating grin. “so impatient to fuck me that you can't even properly take your underwear off.”

you raise your eyebrows and tear the condom packet open with your teeth. matty feels his eyes roll back into his head when you finally touch him, pumping his dick three times before rolling the condom onto him - you hum happily at the weight of him in your soft hand. “i don't think i'm the impatient one here, babe.”

you're not wrong. still, disagreeing gives him a perfect excuse to rile you up with a touch, too. “no?” matty tilts his head, sliding a hand across your thigh and between your legs; before you can react, he slides a finger along your slit, catching the sticky arousal and dipping into your dripping cunt. your reaction - a shaky whimper - is incredible, almost as incredible as matty's realisation that it’s him who got you into this state. “oh, baby.”

he smiles when you whine his name, but it drops in favour of a gasp when you replace his finger in your folds with the head of his dick. without breaking eye contact, you gasp too. “matty, can i…?”

“please, angel,” matty moans, hands trailing up to squeeze your tits before returning home to your hips. “put me inside.”

“okay,” you all but whisper. a beautiful smile crosses your face, the sun breaking through clouds. “i love you.”

the way you say that, so giddy… matty thinks his heart could honestly burst. he gently cups your jaw with both hands. “i love you too.”

you giggle, and matty feels your cheeks heat up. “i'm glad i get to love you openly now.”

“me too, darlin,” matty kisses you slowly, passionately, but so sweetly; he wants you to be able to feel how much he loves you through his lips. he pulls back just enough to speak clearly, foreheads still touching. “wanna be even closer to you.”

“hold my hips, then, please,” you murmur against him, smiling and kissing him again when he obliges. shuffling around on your knees for a second, you line matty up with yourself, and slowly begin to sink down onto him. the feeling is mind-blowing for both of you, it seems - matty makes a choked groan at how tight you are, and you whimper as he stretches you further with every bit of him you slowly take. “matty.”

he responds with a moan of your name, rubbing soothing circles into your hips while you take him to the hilt with a series of dazed blinks. despite the pleasure already clouding his brain, matty touches your face in concern. “you feeling alright, darlin?”

“yeah. just full.”

“need a second?”

you nod. “sorry, baby.”

“no, not at all. feels amazing like this, anyway,” he strokes your cheek, relishing the way you melt into his touch. “knew you'd look fucking gorgeous on top.”

at that, you clench around him - he's not even sure you're aware of it, but he has to focus very hard on keeping himself from moving inside you - and speak again. “have you thought about this a lot?”

matty nods, trailing his hand down to your chest. “oh yeah.”

“so have i,” you smile, humming contentedly when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger - when he leans forward to take the bud into his mouth, you whine. “fuck, can i move now?”

“yeah,” matty moans around your tit, before pulling away and leaning back against the sofa. “ride me, angel.”

the sentence hasn't even fully left his mouth before you're obliging; the words trail into a raspy groan as you slowly pull yourself up and sink back down. his eyes want to close from the overwhelming pleasure of you fucking him, but he keeps them open because the sight of you like this is too incredible to miss even a second of. matty has no idea how many times he's dreamt of you doing exactly this to him, alone in his bedroom or hotel or tour bus bathroom, but every single fantasy pales in comparison to the real thing. after all, he couldn't have imagined the way your jaw trembles and your eyelids flutter every time he bottoms out inside you, sending an accomplishment high through his body that makes him feel better than any substance he's ever tried.

he has imagined the way your tits would bounce as you speed up your own bouncing on him. again, though, reality is so much better - not once in his dreams did you whine a plea while he tentatively touched them, or cry his name and clench around him in response to him pinching your nipples. the slight pain spurs you on, makes your hips move faster and wilder and matty's contract in pleasure, and he makes a mental note to remember the effect it has on you for future reference.

like he'd ever forget any of this. matty’s never felt so good in his fucking life.

when he tells you as much, you beam, and speed up yet again. oh. matty smirks as best he can through the intense pleasure. “you like it when i tell you how good you are, darlin?”

“mhmm,” you nod shyly, adorably incongruous with the way you're slamming your hips down to meet matty's. “wanna be perfect for you.”

fuck. “you are, sweetheart. my perfect girl,” matty sits up to kiss you, and you whimper into his mouth at the slight change in angle of him inside you. he smiles, switching his lips to your neck. “what else do you want, gorgeous?”

“want - oh, fuck - want you to touch me,” before matty even has the chance to respond, you suck his right thumb into your mouth again and lead it to your clit. “wanna cum.”

and who the fuck is he to deny you what you want, especially after seven years of also wanting to make you do just that?

“alright, darlin,” matty smiles, jaw dropping at the way you tighten impossibly further around him as he starts working little circles into your clit. “shit, that feels good.”

“yeah?”

he nods. “keep going, angel. actually, just use me to get yourself off. whatever you need to do.”

your eyes widen. “really?”

“really. wanna see you cum for me,” matty lightly bites the inside of your tit. “used to make myself cum thinking about you falling apart on top of me like this.”

a glint of something flickers in your eyes, something matty can't quite name. “so, if i cum,” you breathily begin, still rocking your hips. “you'll cum too?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

you smirk. “alright.”

with that, you brace your arms behind you on matty's thighs, using them as leverage to fuck him as hard as you possibly can. he gasps, nerves beginning to tingle with the orgasm he's been both holding off and craving for a while now, climax creeping closer with every bounce of your hips and tits; he's mesmerised by you, your beautiful body practically shaking above him as you ride your way to ecstasy, and whines of his name and various swear words and “don't stop touching me, please” pouring from your perfect lips.

matty does as he's told, thumb staying put on the bundle of nerves between your thighs. remembering his mental note from earlier, he brings his free hand down on your ass and kisses away the cry you let out on impact. “come on, sweetheart,” he coos against your mouth. “give in. cum for me, my love, let go for me. make me feel good.”

he leans back to look at you - you look utterly fucked, eyes heavy and teary, jaw slack and lips swollen, but you're so beautiful. when you look at him (probably just as fucked-looking, to be honest), you smile sweetly, but it soon drops off your face as you rush ever closer to the precipice of orgasm. “matty,” you whimper, voice cracking from overuse. “i'm gonna cum.”

no four words have ever sounded better to him. matty holds your face with his free hand; you nuzzle into it, and a wave of love washes over him. “do it, angel.”

your head drops onto his shoulder as your hips fall out of rhythm, and you cry into his neck as your body jerks in ecstasy. matty cries, grabbing your ass and leaning back so he can fuck up into your pulsing cunt as his own orgasm hits. he holds you flush against him as he cums into the condom, then lets you gently flop down as you both recover with panting breaths.

matty's so hazy from pleasure that it takes him a minute to register the chaste kisses you're planting on his neck - you lift your head when he giggles breathily, smiling so widely he's sure your face must hurt. “hi matty.”

“hi, baby,” he kisses your nose. “i love you.”

“love you too,” you give him a little smooch. “loved that.”

“fuck, so did i,” matty sighs, grinning at you. “you're really fucking good at that.”

“only cos it's you i was fucking,” you giggle. “my need to make you feel good outweighed the burning in my thighs. would've tapped out, otherwise.”

matty rubs the offending body part. “will you let me take care of you in return, then? after you've endured the pain and climbed off me so i can get rid of the condom, that is.”

you nod, hissing as you pull yourself off matty's dick and flop onto the couch beside him. he kisses you quickly before he stands, slightly shakily, and removes and ties off the condom; you protest when he places it on the coffee table. “matthew!”

“what? i put it on a coaster. and i'm not leaving it there!”

“still! i don't want used condoms on my good coffee table, even if it's us that's used them,” you stare at him for a second, and then collapse into giggles. “new flat rule?”

matty cackles. “all condoms put in the bin immediately after use. right, hold it for a second, then - and don't give me that face, it was inside you!” he sighs as he bends down and scoops you - holding the condom between your thumb and index finger, mildly disgusted - up bridal-style into his arms. your face softens when he kisses your head as he carries you down the hall. “fancy a bath? it'll help your legs.”

“only if you come in with me.”

he hums, nudging the bathroom door open and setting you down on your shaky legs; you chuck the condom in the bin. “i like the sound of that.”

“good,” you lean up to kiss him. “now please leave the room.”

“what? why?”

“because,” you say, turning the bath's hot tap on. “i need to piss. in peace.”

matty pouts overdramatically. “but i don't want to leave you.”

“out, healy,” you point at the door as matty giggles; you kiss his cheek as he leaves, though. “bring a bottle of wine in when you come back?”

“glasses, too? or just share the bottle?”

you scoff. “you were just inside me, and now you're worried i have germs?”

he laughs. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #flatmate!matty #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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toaster-fire-art · 3 months ago

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Another double feature this year to complete the collection!

#my art #toasterfireart #happy heat haze everyone #happy truck month #now featuring the kids that actually got hit by the truck #kagerou daze #kagepro #mekakucity actors #mekakushi dan #kagerou project #august 15th #heat haze days #hibiya amamiya #hiyori asahina #momo kisaragi #marry kozakura #kuroha

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nina-ya · 1 year ago

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Patching up Aces Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo

A/N: I really loved writing this one I didn't realize just how much I love writing Ace until now :') Pairing: Ace x GN!Reader CW: Drunk ace, mentions of wounds and stitching, Ace being a flirt. WC: 905

The laughter and clinking of glasses on the ship seems to blend into a lively symphony. Everyone, especially Ace, had found himself deep in the embrace of alcohol, his lively personality being amplified by the inebriation. The night sky above is stunning. The moon and the stars casting an enchanting aura upon the night.

As the night wore on, the more he drank, his movements and his critical thinking skills became more erratic. Ace had been standing on a table, boasting about his accomplishments during the battle, when he suddenly slips and falls, crashing onto the ground in an ungraceful manner, the glass in his hand shattering. Everyone seems to freeze and a sudden hush envelops the room before everyone breaks out into laughter. Ace raises his head with a dopey smile plastered on his face and gives a weak thumbs-up. Marco comes to aid him, but you interrupt, ushering Marco away, “Hey, you're drunk I got this.” Marco nods at you and leaves you with the inebriated ace. You crouch down beside him and let out a giggle. “Hey there, you okay?” He gazes at you with a lopsided grin and replies, “I’ve had worse, sweetheart.”

You let out a small sigh as you run a hand through his unruly hair. “This looks pretty nasty, Ace. Come on, let me help you out.” You say, offering a hand to him. He takes his hand and stumbles slightly as he gets up. “I'm only accepting because it means I get a chance to be alone with you” The words come out jumbled together, giving way to just how much he had drunk. “Sure, whatever makes you happy,” you say with a laugh as you lead him away from the rest of the crew. You lead him to a chair and move his hair away from his face, looking at the bloody gash on his forehead. “You really messed yourself up,” you comment as you start cleaning the cut. “What were you thinking when you got onto that table? Hmm?” Silence. He just stares at you with a drunken haze. “Ah… I see.” you said with a giggle. You continue cleaning the wound when he suddenly breaks the silence. “You’re pretty… Did you know that?

You’re like an angel.” A smile tugged at your lips at the complement, and you let out a soft sigh. “You’re drunk, Ace.” “I’m not drunk… simply… enlightened,” He retorts.

“Ahuh, okay,” you say, smiling at his drunken attitude. “Now hush up and let me fix you, okay?” you say as you prepare to stitch up his wound. “I'm going to stitch you up, now it might hurt but sit still. If you move i'll end up leaving a scar on that pretty face of yours and I don’t think either of us want that.”

He nods at you and has a soft smile on his face. He sits as still as he can as you stitch him up. You’re close enough to see every individual freckle plastered across his sun-kissed face. A constellation of perfect imperfections that just adds to his allure. In the dim light you can see those gorgeous caramel eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. The longing gaze they held, slightly clouded by the effects of the alcohol. You are only drawn in closer. His lips, so plump and inviting, seemed to be begging for attention. The bottom lip, ever so slightly pushed out in a pout, looked absolutely tempting. A heat grows in your body as an urge in you grows, wishing to be satisfied. As you stitch up the wound, you can't help but steal longing glances at the lips, imaging just how warm and soft they might feel. You snap out of your daze as you finish the stitches.

You lightly graze your thumb over the wound. “How does that feel?” you ask.

He ignores your question and without warning, Ace wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in closer. “You know… a good friend once told me that you never know when the best day of your life is going to happen until it is already happening… and well this is in the running for the best day of my life.”

Your heart races as he holds you close. You giggle at his words, teasing, “Really? You cracking your face open in a drunken stupor, and me fixing it up is one of the best days of your life?”

The raven haired man hums in agreement. “Yep, because it means I had an excuse to get close enough to you to do this.” With that, he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. A muffled whimper escapes your lips at the sudden action. You melt under his tender yet passionate embrace. Your heartbeat quickened as his lips moved against yours. The kiss is absolutely electric, a meeting of longing and desire that leaves both of you breathless. You kiss him back with equal passion, your hands finding their way to his bare shoulders, fingers lightly grazing over the muscles.

As he pulls back, his lips still barely brushing against yours, he whispers against your mouth, “Yep, definitely one of the best days of my life.” His warm breath fanned against your lips, and you couldn't help but agree, a dreamy smile playing on your own as you reveled in the shared moment.

#portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece fluff

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thedarlingdearestdead · 8 months ago

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Understanding Pt 2

This took so long... P1 here

Warnings: SMUT, forced marriage, dub!con, R18, etc.

Word count: 1,937

“Do you understand now?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious as you turned towards him, your mascara smudged beneath your wide eyes.

You nodded, it being the only movement you could come up with. You felt like you’d been torn apart. Physically, psychologically. You could manage no words. No thoughts.

This was exactly what he wanted from you, you realized. The look on his face was pure pride, pure satisfaction. You didn’t protest when he approached you with his embroidered handkerchief, didn’t protest as he wiped your cheeks, your eyes. Said nothing when he pulled off your ruined panties completely, said even less as he straightened your skirt.

When he was level with you again, he grabbed your face in his hands, kissing you with a surprising softness. “Your parents will be waiting to do their toast. Come.”

This time when he offered his hand you took it. Still blurry and weightless from the events before. Surprisingly the two of you slip into the party seamlessly, like you had never left. You quickly spot your parents over by the champagne fountain, where quite the crowd had gathered.

Coriolanus put a glass into your hand, taking one for himself as well, and grinned as everyone raised their glasses. You were relieved that you hadn’t had to sit through their speech, most probably focused on the prestige of the match and the converging of wealth rather than either of your personal happiness. Moreover, you were relieved that no one had noted your absences.

He kissed you then, as the people cheered. Soft and quick, nothing like the consuming hard kisses that had bruised your lips moments before. You wondered how nobody had noticed, you dearly wished for a bathroom or even some deodorant to cover up the silky obscene smell of Coriolanus which lingered all over your skin.

You gladly knock back your drink, not even flinching as the hard liquor passed down your throat. It wasn’t as if you could get more drunk, more woozy. It wasn’t as if you could make worse decisions than you already had.

He took your glass after that, and blocked any other that was offered to you that evening. He had frowned when you had chugged back the drink, he would not let you become a spectacle. From then on he watched you closely.

You could see the reflection of desire and possession in his eyes, and it sent shivers down your spine. You tried your best to compose yourself, to hide the lingering effects of his dominance, but you could feel his eyes on you, undressing you, claiming you.

The evening went on, and you did your best to ignore the constant reminder of his touch, the roughness of his hands, and the sharp edge of pain that intermingled with pleasure. Despite the weariness and guilt you felt, you tried to enjoy the rest of the evening. You took part in small talk, laughed at jokes, and kept up all appearances of the dutiful daughter, future wife. You managed to get through the meal, the speeches, and even the first dance with your Fiance, without breaking down. But as you stepped away from the dance floor, your legs felt like rubber, and your thoughts were still lost in the haze of his actions, and your looming marriage.

As the evening came to a close, you had forgotten that you were to move into his penthouse that evening. It only came back to you as you waited outside with your parents, ready to head home, only for them to casually kiss your cheeks and leave you standing in the cold. You stared as your car drove off into the city, stunned by this reality.

Coriolanus materialized behind you, shaking you out of your stupor. The party was dying down in the hall, though some shouts and the humm of music still chimed in your ears.

“I think it’s time we head out.” He said.

You took a deep breath, feeling the unfamiliar weight of vulnerability and fear, but also the lingering heat of the slickness between your thighs. You nodded, unable to look at him. He takes your hand without another word, guiding you into the car, and ordering his driver to go.

His hand rested on your thigh and you didn't dare meet his eyes. Instead, you focused on the familiar sights of the city passing by outside the window. As the car pulled up to his penthouse, he helped you out, his hand at your lower back, showing you inside. It was a strange mixture of gentlemanly display and unwanted touch, you knew his demeanor to be a farce, a display for his staff. You had already experienced your future husband's brutality.

Once inside, he led you to the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. The unspoken tension caused your hands to shake, especially as the lift moved up, each floor like a countdown to some terrible fate.

It was awfully unsettling, you wouldn’t quite call it fear, you didn’t truly believe that he would hurt you? He had a reputation and surely your parents trusted him. But you didn’t know what he would do, he had already proven himself unpredictable, and he had a dangerous spark that you hadn’t quite anticipated.

You think back to your tryst at the party and try to hide your shudder. Because he had been right, it had been so good.

The elevator came to a stop with an all to cheerful ding and Coriolanus guided you out. You recognised your luggage in the hall, though it had not been you who had packed it.

“You can unpack properly in the morning.” He walked you straight through the foyer to a pair of grand mahogany doors.

“I wish I had been told about my moving so soon, I thought it would be improper for us to live together before our wedding.” The suggestion of judgment and impropriety would surely make him pause.

Coriolanus just laughed. “Hardly, the old ways are over. Don’t go all virginal on me. The damage has been done.” He grinned at you but you only scowled and ignored him.

Step by step, you were forced to walk further into the room, away from the safety of the foyer and into the unknown. “I would like to be informed of plans made on my behalf.”

“Why?”

“Why?” You stutter, amazed.

He stops in front of a large opulent bed. “How are you not getting this? I was told you had been well brought up, educated even.”

“What has my education got to do with anything?”

“I thought it would mean you were a fast learner, alas…” He pauses, looking at you with distaste. “As I have already told you, dearest, you don’t need to know anything, you don’t need to do anything except for what I say, what I tell you.”

You gaped in front of him. Was this your fate? Was this all your parents had deemed you worthy of? He left you stunned behind him as he walked off to one of the dressers. He was silent, so casual in his movements as he undressed. First his jacket was laid out on the back of a chair, his waistcoat followed after it. He loosened his tie, and put that on the pile also. He only looked back at you when he got to his cufflinks, seeming to remember himself.

“Come over here.” He asks. And you do so slowly.

He holds his wrist out to you expectantly, but surprisingly gently. Though your hands are shaking, you take his hand and undo his right cufflink, then the left, before looking at his expectantly. "What now?" you asked hesitantly, searching for some kind of explanation.

"Unbutton my shirt," he whispered.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart pound wildly against your ribcage. This was not like you. You were not always so careful, so meek, so obedient. But here you were, standing in a grand penthouse with a man who had already shown you glimpses of the beast lurking within him. And you did exactly as he said.

You mustered up a small amount of courage and reached out to unbutton his shirt. Your fingers trembled as they made contact with his skin. The silk of his shirt was cool against your warmer skin. You unbuttoned his shirt slowly and deliberately, with each movement you could feel the tension in the air grow.

Because as much as you did not want to admit it, the man before you was gorgeous, and he wanted you so badly. The quiver in your touch only seemed to fuel his desire more, a low growl escaping his lips as you reached his waist.

You hesitated for a moment, the last button undone, but his hand came up and grabbed yours, guiding it towards the fly of his pants. Your heart beat wildly in your chest, your breaths coming in short gasps as you realized where this was leading.

You tried your best to compose yourself, to ignore the constant reminder of his touch, the roughness of his hands, and the sharp edge of pain that transformed into pleasure. His eyes burned into you and you knew what to do, you unbutton his pants and let them fall to the ground, and after a moment of pressure on your shoulder, you are guided to the floor with them.

Face to face with his crotch you swallow, remembering his size and fearing what this position would lead to. His hand moves to your chin, gripping it to bring your eyes up to his. You felt a heat between your legs again, a brewing need that matched his own. You took a deep breath and reached out hesitantly for his underwear, you gripped the fabric, pulling it down slowly, revealing his arousal. You watched as his proud erection sprang free, and as you looked up at him, he nodded. You knew what to do next.

Opening your mouth wide, you envelop his tip and suck, slowly at first, tasting him, feeling his cock fill your mouth. Your lips glide effortlessly up and down the shaft, causing him to moan in pleasure. But it’s still only the tip, and the more you move, the more he reacts, forcing himself further and further down your throat. you can feel his hands in your hair, gripping tightly but not too rough, guiding your movements as you take him deeper.

As you suck, you feel his erection grow even harder in your mouth, and you know that this is exactly what he wants. You begin to move your head up and down, sucking and licking, taking him as deep as you can. Your throat burns, but you push through it, wanting to please him, wanting to make him feel good.

The heat between your legs grows stronger, and you know that if you don't satisfy him soon, you'll be lost in your own desires. His hips start to move, pumping into your mouth, and you know he must be close. You readied yourself for his cum, understanding now that he was not a man to pull out. He got rougher and rough, pushing your head hard into the dresser behind you, you made a noise of protest and the vibrations had him spilling down your throat. Your mouth is so full of him it acts like a plug, and so you swallow.

He pulls out a few moments later with a sigh, he combs his hands through his tousled blonde hair as he looks down at you.

“Seems like you’re learning.”

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow marriage #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #hunger games #songbirds and snakes #coryo smut #coryo x reader

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k-dokja · 9 months ago

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Woe, Eli's smut be upon ye.

"I don't think I like that smile on your lips," you cross your arms, arching an eyebrow at Eli. It wouldn't take a genius to know what he has in mind, not when the heat in his eyes is evident.

The smile doesn't fade even in front of your defences, Eli only steps up to you, "I'm just happy to be with you..." He says, stopping mere inches away from invading your space completely. "It's not often that we have the whole house to ourselves, that's all."

"We don't exactly have the house to ourselves," you roll your eyes, taking a step back, "Max and Derrick are downstairs."

"Yeah, but..." Eli traces a knuckle over your cheekbone, his gentle smile curves on one side, "Max and Derrick won't care about what we do."

Unwilling to submit to him just yet, you ask. "And what are we doing, exactly?"

"This and that," his eyes turn soft, his hand cradles the side of your face, "I won't force anything but... it has been weeks and I missed you."

"Whose fault was that?" You sigh, glancing downwards. While it's true that you've forgiven Eli for leaving, the two of you remain awkward regarding your relationship's whereabouts.

You know he wants you, he always does. In a way, you feel the same about him, but that doesn't mean it would be easy to be close to him again. Yet, when he looks at you with those earnest eyes, you struggle with putting up resistance at all.

"I'm sorry," he brushes his thumb over your cheek, "I'll spend however long it takes to make up for what I've done, but if I understand if you don't—"

You silence him with a kiss, closing whatever distance is left between the two of you. He goes rigid with surprise at first, but soon, he meets your touches with his own. Eli deepens the kiss, hungry and desperate to feel more of you.

His free hand squeezes your waist, pulling you closer to him until you can no longer ignore the heat of his desire for you. "I missed you so much," he whispers against your lips, before diving in for another kiss, unable to get enough of you. "it hurts me to leave everyone behind, but it drives me crazy knowing that you might not forgive me for it."

You hum, "Stop talking," you murmur as you fumble with the buttons of his shirt, "If you even think about anything but us, I'll take offence to it."

Eli chuckles, shucking his shirt to the side as soon as you're done unbuttoning it. Before you get the chance to reach his shirt, however, his hands trail down to your thighs and duck under your dress. He gets down on his knees, gazing up at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

Your heart would've been warmed by his affection had it not for how his hands distracted you, flushing your skin with arousal. His fingers hook on your panties and drag them down slowly. There is reverence in his touches as he runs his fingers over your smooth skin, marvelling at how soft you feel in his hand.

Without warning, he goes under your dress, tracing kisses on your inner thighs, inching higher and higher until he reaches your core. "I've missed this," he says, voice rough with need. It's the only sign you get before he runs his tongue over your clitoris. You breathe out a soft moan, spreading your legs further for his easy access.

For all of his softness and gentle smiles, Eli eats like a starved man. Hearing the pleasured sounds you make is more than enough to spur him on. He lavishes you with kisses and licks, working his way to bring you over the edge.

"E-Eli..." You shudder from the intense arousal he's bringing you. As the lustful haze clouds over your mind, you don't even get the chance to notice when his fingers begin to tease your sensitive flesh. By the time you are aware of what he's doing, Eli's already massaging your tight entrance.

You don't get so much as a chance to brace yourself before he enters you with two fingers. It's impossible to find something to focus on between his tongue flicking around your clitoris and his fingers inside your warmth, pumping and curling until he finds your g-spot.

A choked moan escapes your lips when he succeeds in his search. You can't see Eli's face like this, but you can feel his smile as he doubles down on his effort to please you. His fingers rub against you until your wetness trails down the back of his hand. Eli hums in contentment, sucking softly on your clitoris. "Come for me, sweetheart."

As if waiting for his command, your orgasm crashes over you as your walls clamp down on him. Eli groans in pleasure, continuing to lick and suck you through your orgasm, wanting deeply to prolong your ecstasy. He waits until the moment after your tremors subside to pull away from you.

His hair is mushed and his eyes glaze over with need when they meet you. Eli licks his lips before getting back on his feet again, staggering a little from staying kneeled. Once he's standing up straight again, Eli wastes no time to pull you in his arms again. He claims your lips without a moment of hesitation, letting you have the taste of you on his tongue.

His tongue caresses yours in a familiar embrace, only letting go once he remembers the necessity of oxygen. His hand reaches up to cup your breast, squeezing the soft weight in his palm. Eli's thumb brushes over your nipple over the layer of clothes, emitting a soft sigh from your lips.

"I don't think that was quite enough," he murmurs, pressing kisses on the side of your jaw until he reaches down the side of your neck, "let me have more."

Eli leaves fervent kisses on your skin, sucking and nibbling until the marks of his love bite mar your complexion. "I want all of you," his hot breath fans against your ears, sending delicious shivers down your spine. "Please."

And like before, you don't find it in you to deny him of anything.

#eli jang #eli jang x reader #lookism #lookism x reader #fics

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whimsicalpolitical · 3 months ago

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Night out - Ross Macdonald x Reader

in which ross and you are out and drunk and only have one thing on your mind

content warning: 18+ mdni, public filth, alcohol obv, smut, p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), public make out, teasing

You and Ross are crammed into a booth with Polly, John, and some of their friends. The bar is loud and dimly lit, with the kind of buzz that comes when everyone’s had a bit too much to drink.

You’ve definitely had too much to drink, because Ross‘ arm around your shoulder makes you feel more than normally.

His fingers lazily play with your hair. He’s warm, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath. Polly’s telling some wild story, and everyone’s in stitches, but you’re too tipsy to follow. You just keep giggling, feeling light and happy. Ross looks at you, his eyes half-lidded and smiling.

“You alright, love?” he mumbles, leaning in close.

“Mhm, perfect.” You turn your head so you’re face to face with your boyfriend. You can feel his beard scratching your chin and cheeks and if you just move one tiny bit forward your lips would be on his.

But you don’t only want his lips on your lips, you want to feel him everywhere.

“Scoot closer,” you say, which is ironic cause your thighs are already sticking to one another.

“Closer?” Ross chuckles, his breath warm against your face. “I don’t think we can get any closer, love.” He shifts slightly, pressing his body more into yours, his knee bumping against yours under the table. The closeness makes your head spin in the best way, like you’re melting into him.

You grin, feeling playful despite the fog of alcohol in your mind. “I think you can try.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.” You tug at his shirt, pulling him even closer until his lips brush against your ear. His beard scratches your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re dangerous when you’re drunk,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “S’ dangerous.”

You laugh, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging gently. The bar and everyone in it seem to fade into the background, the sounds blurring into a distant hum. It’s just you and Ross, wrapped up in this bubble of intoxicated warmth.

“Now what?” He asks, “any requests?”

You turn your head back to the round realizing that no one cares what you do, so you don’t even think when you grip Ross’ wrist from his knee to yours.

“Kiss me first,” he murmurs.

So that’s what you do, but it’s a gentle generous peck, your hand finding his cheek and then as fast as it begins it’s over.

“That wasn’t a proper one.”

“I can’t give you a proper one, MacDonald. M’ gonna give you proper ones the second we’re home.”

Ross groans softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. “You’re gonna make it real hard to wait, you know that?”

You smirk, feeling bold. “That’s the point,” you tease, letting your thumb trace the line of his jaw.

He narrows his eyes at you, his grin widening. “Two can play that game, love.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you even closer.

From the other perspective it would just look like he’s whispering something in your ear.

However his mouth finds that spot just below your ear that drives you crazy. You shiver, your grip tightening on his shirt as he kisses you there, slow and deliberate. The room spins, but all you can focus on is the heat of his mouth on your skin and the way his hands feel as they slide up your back.

“Ross,” you whisper, a plea hidden in the sound of his name.

“Mhm?” he hums against your neck, not stopping for a second.

You’re both startled by a loud voice cutting through the haze.

“Another round!” one of Polly’s friends shouts, and the table erupts in cheers. A tray of shots appears as if by magic, and before you know it, someone’s pressing a glass into your hand.

Ross raises his glass to yours, smirking as he looks at you over the rim. “Cheers, love,” he says, clinking your glass with a playful wink. You both knock back the shots, the burn of the alcohol warming you from the inside out.

Polly starts talking, something about a crazy night out she had last weekend, her words blending with the noise around you. You try to focus, but your attention quickly shifts as Ross’s hand finds its way to your thigh. His touch is light at first, but as Polly continues, his fingers start to slowly inch their way up under your skirt.

“You up for having a bit of fun then?”

You glance at him, your breath catching, but he’s just sitting there, smirking into his empty glass like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s almost impossible to keep a straight face, your heart pounding as his hand moves higher, teasing and deliberate. The conversation continues around you, but all you can think about is the way Ross’s fingers are tracing patterns on your skin, making it harder and harder to sit still.

“Waiting for an answer,” he raises an eyebrow.

You nod but it makes him shake his head, “words or I’m not doing shit.”

“Yes,” you reply, “please.”

“There we go.”

He hums and brushes the back of his index over the fabric covering your cunt where you’re already hot and aching.

His fingers keep skimming over where you want him, and you can’t help leaning back to spread your legs wider.

“You’re gonna be quiet for me, aren’t you?” He asks, slowly pushing your underwear aside.

You hum your assent.

“Good girl,” he praises and nips at your earlobe before putting a decent amount of distance between your faces to engage in the conversation.

Ross slips his finger into your slit, between your lips to easily find your clit. You let out the quietest whimper as he first makes contact with you. Ross chuckles darkly with pride and gathers some of the arousal pooling in the seat of your panties to drag it up and coat your clit.

“Shit, Ross,” you hiss.

“Relax for me, I got you.”

He slides another finger under the fabric and slowly massages your lips, your clit, toys at your opening while your breath steadily picks up. You squirm in your seat, trying to stay still and quiet, but you feel the need and the tension start to build in your toes.

“Darling, are you alright? You look a bit flushed?” John squeeze your arm slightly which grips the glass on the table, you didn’t notice and you let the glass go quickly.

Ross turns towards you, “yeah, darling, you alright?”

You smile at John while internally cussing Ross out, “I’m fine, it’s just the alcohol.”

Everyone is content with your answer and don’t pay much attention to your fast breathing or white pupils.

You look at Ross through hooded eyes and he smiles at you, all warmth and fondness. He leans down to kiss you softly licking along the seam of your lips and you melts against him. He presses his thumb down hard against your clit and you gasp against his lips, sitting up straight.

“You’re doing good, love.”

Ross slides a finger inside you without meeting an ounce of resistance. He pumps once, and then adds a second.

He crooks his fingers inside of you, scissoring them and thumbing at your clit. You feel your heart start to flutter, the familiar feeling of an orgasm working its way all too fast down the length of your spine.

“So close, aren’t you, love?” he says as he walls start to contract around his fingers.

“Um-hmm,” she moans.

He shushes you and pulls you into him so you can hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Come for me then.”

You bite into the collar of his shirt to muffle your moans as you look out the window, feeling your orgasm coat Ross’ hand as he continues to pulse through the aftershocks. He doesn’t let pressure off your clit until your over-stimulated and whimpering, crossing your legs to get him to let her go.

“Wasn’t that quite alright?” he asks, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean.

You roll your eyes at him trying to act modest and grab his glass with whiskey to take a sip.

He watches you as you drink and set it down again and then when you lick your lips and laugh into the conversation.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers into your ear before he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, “let me show you how gorgeous you are.”

“Let’s get out of here?”

“Don’t fuck me about, I’ll leave right now.”

“Me too.”

Ross grins from ear to ear at your eagerness to go home, because honestly he cannot wait another 10 minutes. So he just exes his drink and speaks into the round “I think we’ll call it a night, we’re both knackered.”

“Fair, I think hangover tomorrow is going to be shit,” Polly laughs, “we’ll just finish up.”

“Alright, we’ll see you soon then.”

You hug all of them as fast as possible and when you’re finally at the fresh air you stumble against a wall kissing, gripping each others clothes and slamming your mouths together.

“Need you,” you mumble against his mouth but don’t leave him any time to respond.

It is hard to control your hands as they run over Ross’ back. They yank and pull at his clothes of their own accord, begging for more contact. You want more. You can’t get enough of him no matter how much he gives you; your desire for him is like an empty cup that never gets full.

When he inevitably pulls away and the two of you catch your breath, you are floating. It is as if you are drifting through the sky, unable to take in a deep breath in the thin atmosphere. Your eyes flutter open and you take in Ross’ flushed face. His wet lips are tempting and so close.

“C’mere.” He chuckles.

His hands are at your waist tugging you closer to his own body, not standing the pressure in his boxers.

Pulling your hands from his back you reposition them around his neck and return your needy lips to his.

“We should get home,” he mumbles against your lips however his actions show no sign of him taking the initiative to leave.

“Mhm,” you agree, whining into his mouth when he lifts one leg and grinds his bulge against the thin fabric of your skirt.

“Fucks sake,” he groans, throwing his head back and stepping away, “not here, love. Let’s start walking.”

You nod and fix your shirt and skirt- not that anyone would care- and take his hand into yours.

You practically drag Ross down the street. The cool night air does little to calm the heat between you, every step feeling like it takes forever.

“Can’t get there fast enough,” Ross mutters, his voice low and rough with impatience. He glances at you with a look that sends a thrill down your spine, his eyes dark and full of intent.

You break into a giggle, the alcohol making everything feel funnier, lighter. “You’re the one who said we should start walking,” you tease, though your own steps quicken as you head towards the apartment.

By the time you reach the front door, you’re both breathless, more from the tension between you than the walk. Ross fumbles with the keys, cursing under his breath as his fingers slip, the two of you laughing at how ridiculous it all is.

Finally, the door swings open, and you barely make it inside before Ross is on you, pressing you against the wall just inside the entrance. His mouth finds yours again, desperate and hungry, as his hands roam over your body like he can’t get enough.

“Wait, wait. Need water first,” you manage to gasp out between kisses, tugging him in the right direction.

Ross lifts you off your feet, carrying you the short distance to the kitchen counter, where he sets you down near the sink.

He hurries to grab a glass of water, then he lets it overflow with water and then he presses it into your hand. “Here, don’t want you to die of thirst.”

He jokes and you giggle into the glass.

Ross’ hair is a mess, the hair tie barely holding them. He throws his black coat onto a chair behind him and when you think his shoes are next because he crouches down a bit you’re wrong.

He grips your thighs and pulls you closer to him. Your dripping pussy right in front of him.

“Need a taste of my own, yeah?”

You nod and watch him but most of all you feel him. First his fingers slide under your skirt to pull your panties down your legs.

“Don’t need them anymore.”

Then he lifts your skirt before he nips at your thigh a bit. “Absolutely fucking perfect, you know that right?”

“You tell me everyday.”

“As I should. A gorgeous woman like you should be told everyday.”

Your heart melts and he really does tell you everyday, the sweet feeling is spreading and you focus on his chocolate brown eyes until he’s looking away from your face.

“Take off your top for me, darling.”

You do as he says, not once feeling embarrassed or uneasy. He makes you feel at ease and safe.

“Thank you, love.”

His mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his beard scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. His tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but you don’t think about it, getting swallowed by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the counter and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile.

He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Fuck me, darling. Wanted to taste you the whole night,” he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fucking divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it.

The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You untie his hair and throw the tie somewhere across the room, tugging at his hair stronger but still not hurtful.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and- one hand stroking him over his pants.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His other hand leave your thigh and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still. His selfish hand decides to stop getting him off and finding the spot inside you that makes you crazy.

"Fuck, Ross, please, oh my god, I'm so- please" He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. He continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.

“My gorgeous girl, you alright?”

“Mhm.” You hum, your head falling forward to kiss his lips tasting nothing but you on them.

You let your head fall onto his shoulder, suddenly everything is spinning around you.

“You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

“No, need a second.”

“Course, love. Come on, bedroom.”

He wraps your legs around his torso and carries you into your shared bedroom, then he lets you fall onto the bed.

He reaches behind your back to unclasp your bra before he throws it behind him, the eagerness making you giggle.

“Funny,” he smiles.

You sit up a bit, your hands reacher for his shirt to pull it off of him. “You’re so handsome.”

You attach your lips to his chest, stomach, hips, neck and then back to his lips. “Fucking hot.”

“Not as hot as my girl, hm.”

You’re back in your back and he’s on top of you, trying to fight the urge to grind against everything like a teenager.

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other.

You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You're already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Ross," you whisper.

"I know, darling," he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Let me make you feel better.”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of both his jeans and boxers, pulling them both down simultaneously, then throwing them to wherever your bra is.

He drags his hand up and down his cock a few times before lining himself up at your entrance.

“I never thought I would want to shag you any more than I already do.” He whispers.

“Ross,” you laugh.

“I mean it,” he leans down and captures your lips in a kiss, “you’re everything.”

“Sap,” you joke.

You run your hand through his hair, feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance. You suck in a soft breath of air as he slowly begins to fill you up, allowing you the time to grow accustomed to the way he feels inside you.

"Fucks sake, fuck.”

You groan softly, wrapping your arms around him as you hold him to your chest, smiling up at him softly. "Feels so good."

Ross buries his face in your neck, slowly moving his hips. "You’re so good. So fuckin'.... so fuckin' good for me. A dream." His words are hot, guttural, melding in to your skin.

You shudder, dragging your nails down the length of his back, resting them on his ass. His movements grow harder, wilder, every inch of his throbbing cock deep within your walls.

"Christ, Ross."

He groans against you, propping himself up on his palms to watch your face. His nose brushes against yours as he leans forward, lips pressing to yours in a burning kiss.

"Love how you say my name." He whispers as he pulls away from your mouth.

"Ross." You mumble, a teasing grin cascading on to your face.

With a smile of his own, Ross’ hand traces across your neck, down your shoulders, fingers tickling the skin of your arm before he reaches your hand. Ross holds it in his own, lacing your fingers tightly within his, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

His thrusts are steadier now that your are were on each other, hand held tightly in his own as he takes the feeling of you in. The way your pussy clenches around him, the way your body feels tight on his.

His fingers go to your clit which makes you shudder, feeling overwhelmed because of your first two orgasms.

“You can come for me one more time, can’t you?”

“Y-yeah.”

You both look into each others eyes, savoring the moment even though there’s a high chance you won’t remember anything tomorrow.

He resumes his movements, rubbing your clit as he thrusts in to you.

"I- fuck," he moans, eyes glossed over with desire. You know he’s close but he won’t come unless you do.

"Ross, Ross- I-“ your hips are bucking with his.

"Yeah? Come for me.”

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your back arches off the mattress as your third orgasm washes over you, vision blurring white. Ross grabs ahold of you and pulls you up, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you, pumping up into you as you shiver and shutter against him. You chant his name like a mantra, crying out against him.

"Fuck,”

Ross groans, primal noises filtering out as his dick convulses inside of you, his hot cum painting the inside of your cunt. You moan at the feeling of being properly full, grinding against him gently as you sit on his lap, your arms holding each other close and tight.

“I love you,” you giggle when you fall back into the mattress, goosebumps filling you skin when Ross pulls out of you.

“I love you.”

You stare at one another as though you had never known anyone else, eyes searching, reaching for the soul, sparkling with love, swimming with adoration.

His fingers trace down your back, humming softly against your head.

“You still fit, love?”

“Depends,” you groan.

Ross laughs and presses apology kisses against your shoulder, “let’s take a bath? How’s that sound, hm? Helps with the soreness.”

You think for a second, staying quiet and nuzzling deeper into his skin. “alright.”

“Alright,” he chuckles. “Come here then.”

#ross macdonald #ross macdonald smut #this is just filth #ross macdonald x you #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald blurb #ross macdonald one shot #ross macdonald imagine #the 1975 #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic

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