#he doesn’t speak so it’s the little things that matter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

formula-ghost · 2 days ago

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Supermodel (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: Franco can’t understand how you, the love of his life, could ever feel insecure—so he goes above and beyond to show you (and the world) how beautiful he thinks his girlfriend is. This can be read within the RYD universe or as a stand alone one shot!

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI. Teasing, light dom reader/ sub Franco at the beginning dom Franco at the end, body dysmorphia/reader insecurity, worship, mirror sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk/mentions of AFAB anatomy (reader has a vagina), use of the word whore, protected sex. Use of YN. Also the song doesn’t match the vibe of the story but I wanted to stick with the Måneskin theme lol.

A/N: Some more Franco content! I need some more time with the Oscar fic, plus I’ll be returning to regular life since the holidays are over soon, so I figured I’d tide you over with a spicy Franco one shot. Since (in my head at least) this is set in the RYD universe, I’ve included the same tag list, and I hope you all enjoy it!

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

Yeah, she’s a master, my compliments

If you wanna love her, just deal with that

She’ll never love you more than money and cigarettes

Every night’s a heartbreak

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Franco panted, his eyes trailing your curves up and down just as his fist squeezed tightly over the growing bulge in his pants.

Your cheeks were flushed red, almost as dark as the wine-colored matching lingerie set you now wore before him, leaving little to the imagination. You couldn’t help it—no matter how long you’d been with the Argentine, you still got bashful when he complimented you.

“I hope you know I mean it,” he began, leaving his spot on the bed to advance toward you. He gently brushed your hair away and kissed the top of your shoulder, looking up at you with his deceptively innocent doe eyes. “You’re the most perfect thing in the world to me.”

You smiled, blissful at the feeling of his touch. “It’s easy to say that when I’m standing in front of you in my new set.”

“I love you,” he said, as if it was as simple as telling the time. “So much. More than words can say. And I want you to remember that when you’re mad at me after I rip this off of you.”

He grabbed the strap of your bra, and you giggled, “You better not!” You playfully pushed him back on the bed. “No touching, not yet. Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, obedient to only you. The grip you had on him was intoxicating.

You climbed up on the bed, straddling him, running your featherlight fingertips up and down his arms and chest.

“Mi amor,” he exhaled, “you are cruel to me.”

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, sarcastic yet seductive.

“Don’t you dare.”

You laughed. If he thought a bit of teasing was cruel, he would not be having fun for the rest of the night.

But, of course, he loved nothing more than ravishing your body, evident by his labored breath, laying next to you when the deed was finished. He stared at you with awe, your eyes still closed. He listened as you tried to catch your breath, placing gentle kisses on the top of your arm and into your shoulder.

You just let out a little noise in response, feeling safe and comforted by his touch. When you two were alone, he always needed to touch you in some way, much to your dismay during the sweltering hot months of summer.

His kisses traced their way up to your neck, chin, and finally to your cheek, where he gently moved your hair out of your face to gaze on the gorgeous image of your face.

“I wish there were better words in English to explain how I feel about you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “Something stronger than I love you. Something more than just beautiful.”

“You know I love it when you speak to me in Spanish,” you said, letting your eyelids flutter open to meet his gaze, only inches from your own.

“Yes, but I want you to understand what I mean.” He smiled softly.

“My Spanish is getting better.”

“It is, you’re doing great,” he joked, nuzzling his nose into your neck, leaving you in a fit of giggles. “You’ll be talking circles around me in no time.”

“I wish. You’re fluent in yapenese,” you joked. You playfully mocked his voice, “Mi amor, you are so beautiful, the light of my life—”

“Oh hush,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “You love it.”

“I do.”

“And it’s true.” He cupped your face, bringing you into a sweet embrace with a gentle kiss. “Join me in the shower?”

“In a minute,” you answered, as he got up from the bed and started the warm water. After a few more moments of rest, you got up, picking up the discarded items of clothing that now dotted the floor, thrown aside in the heat of the passionate moment.

You crossed the room to open the bureau and grab a fresh set of pajamas, before you caught sight of your reflection in the floor-length mirror.

You had gained a little weight. It was normal, you supposed; a natural result of your many nights out with your lover.

But you felt stuck in front of the mirror, your eyes rolling over the curves at the bottom of your stomach, what once was somewhat flat. Little thunderbolt-shaped lines now decorated the dimpled skin. And as you brought your arm up to grip the loose fat, you saw the extra flesh there too.

“Mi amor, you coming?” Franco called from inside the bathroom. You hummed in response.

You turned, noticing how the light caught every imperfection. The puffiness in your face, the roundness of your jaw, the lines and bumps and discoloration. You sucked in your stomach, seeing the surface flatten, then exhaled, watching with disgust how your body shifted.

“Amor?” Franco said, poking his head outside of the bathroom. Seeing you in front of the mirror, he crossed the room, finding his way behind you. He was covered only with a towel, wrapping his arms around your naked form and kissing your neck. But the sight of his flawless, athletic body behind yours did nothing to dismiss your insecurities.

“What are you doing, pretty girl, hm?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’ve gained weight.”

“Did you? I didn’t notice.” His voice was tinged with a genuine confusion.

“I look like I’m pregnant,” you said, gesturing to your bloated stomach.

“No it doesn’t,” he assured. “But if you want to be pregnant, we can arrange that.”

You ignored his attempts at banter. “I look gross.”

“Mi amor,” Franco began, his voice more serious. “Do I need to fuck you again to show you how beautiful you are?”

“Franco—”

“YN.”

You looked away. “You could be with a model.”

“I’m with you. And you’re perfect, and I love you with my entire heart.” You bit the inside of your cheek. He continued, “Look at me.”

You brought your gaze back to his. “Your body has changed a little bit, so what?”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re an athlete.”

“That doesn’t matter. No more of this talk. You’re beautiful. End of discussion. Now, let’s stop wasting water and get in the shower.”

You weren’t really feeling any better. If anything, you felt worse, now self conscious of your nakedness as Franco ran his hands up and down the soapy surface of your skin. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the shower, put on your clothes, and bury yourself so deep under the covers that you’d forget that you ever even possessed a physical form.

And, much to Franco��s dismay, that’s what you did, turning away from him as you laid your head down to sleep. He pushed himself up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He tapped his foot on your leg, initiating you to throw it over his is like you usually did every night.

“You know,” he whispered, “this is when you’re supposed to pretend like you like me.”

“It’s not you, Franco,” you whispered back. “I love you. But it’s not something you can fix.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But that won't stop me from trying.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, and you fell into a tense sleep.

Although Franco hadn’t initially noticed your physical changes, he now noticed your emotional ones. You wore loose clothing more often, as if to hide your body not only from the outside world, but from yourself. You skipped breakfast occasionally when you were having a really bad day. And now, when you made love, you wanted the lights out, preventing him from seeing the shapes of your body.

He knew that what you had said was true—he couldn’t fix this. No matter the amount of love he showered you in, he couldn’t change the way your mind thought when you looked at yourself in the mirror. And it broke his heart knowing that you couldn’t see the same version of yourself that he saw, the perfect girl who he loved so dearly.

Your pain was beyond his fixing, but not beyond his helping. If he had showered you in love before, it was monsoon season now. Flowers every week. More lingerie to model for him. Touching you nearly every second of the day. More sex than your body could handle.

Of course, you welcomed his affection. But none of it helped that wound deep inside of you.

It was at work, of all places, that he got the idea.

“We’ve got a meeting with the new sponsors today,” his manager explained as they quickly trotted down the long hallway to the conference room. “That luxury brand I was telling you about? I’ve sealed the contract, they’re just here to plan the promo materials.”

Now, sitting in the conference room, the brand representative explained it to him. “The idea for the campaign is risque luxury. We want something… elegant, yet dangerous. Formula 1 fans are the perfect audience. Most of the shots for the initial campaign would just be in-studio, and then, we’d need you to wear some pieces we provide at official Formula 1 events.”

“That all sounds fine,” he said.

“Great! We’re still looking for some more representatives for the women’s line, but when we find them, we can set up a date for the shoot.”

“Wait, like a female model? I’d need to pose with her?”

“For the first shoot, yes. And if we can get some shots of you and whoever we choose at official events, that’d be perfect.”

“Uh, well, I have a girlfriend. I can't just…be taking random women to events.”

The rep laughed. “Oh, it’s not like that. The models are all professionals. I assure you that no one would be trying to take you away from your partner.”

“If you all need a female model, why not just use her? We’ll be seen together a lot more than anyone else, no?”

His manager shot him a death glare. Was it highly unprofessional to be suggesting his own girlfriend for a job like this? Absolutely. Did he care at all? Absolutely not.

The rep asked, “Oh, does she model?”

“Eh… no, not professionally. But this could be her big break, no?” Franco laughed, and the rep did too, for obviously different reasons. But Franco was, unfortunately, serious.

“Does she have social media?” the rep asked, and Franco pulled up your instagram as the rep scrolled through.

“Well, first of all, she’s beautiful,” the rep said, clearly trying to be polite. “But, modeling is not just about being pretty.”

“Then why am I here?” The room erupted in laughter, but Franco hadn’t intended the statement to come out like a joke. “No, I’m serious. I drive Formula 1 cars. What are my modeling qualifications?”

“Well,” the rep began, carefully choosing his words, “you have the Latin American market in a chokehold—”

Franco cut him off. “My fans love her, too.”

The rep pursed his lips. “I’m sure they do.”

“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult—”

“Not at all,” the rep said, cutting Franco off as well. “Let me ask, though… is this a deal breaker for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we get a real model, are you saying you wont pose or be seen with her?”

Franco looked at his manager across the table, who was nothing short of fuming. He began, “You said the theme was ‘risque luxury.’ I’m not going to pose for risque photos with another woman, no.”

The rep sighed. Franco continued, “And honestly, I still don’t even understand why you all even want me to model for you. Nobody in Argentina can even afford these outrageous prices—”

“Okay Franco, that’s enough!” his manager said, a false happiness in her tone. She turned to walk the rep outside, saying, “This has been a wonderful meeting, we can’t wait to hear from you…”

Once he had exited the building, she returned, looked at Franco, and said, “I hope you know you just lost us that contract.”

“Did you sign me up to do a photoshoot with a random woman?”

His manager paused. “...It’s business, Franco.”

“C’mon,” he said, “you knew about this, and you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought you’d understand. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“You knew that was too much.”

She sighed. “Yeah, okay, I took a gamble hoping you wouldn’t care and I lost. But that sponsorship money is coming out of your bonus.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to promote this overpriced shit anyway.”

“You’re the bane of my existence, kid,” his manager said, patting him on the back as she walked out of the room.

At the end of the day, all Franco could think about was coming home and collapsing in your arms. When his manager was mad at him—which was often, given his refusal to be media trained—it was his favorite way to destress.

So when he arrived home and collapsed on top of you, interrupting whatever mindless show you had been watching, you just smiled to yourself. As he exhaled, you placed one hand through his soft curls, and threaded the other under the collar of his shirt to scratch his back. He melted into your touch.

“Hello,” you said, placing a kiss on his head. “Long day?”

“She’s mad at me again,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“What’d you do this time?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

You softly chuckled, “Because I know you.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” he pouted.

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

He sighed. “I fucked up a sponsor contract. But really, it wasn’t my fault! They wanted me to pose with a bunch of models to sell their overpriced jewelry.”

You hummed. “I thought you liked doing photoshoots?”

“They’re fun, yeah, when they don’t want me to touch random women,” he frowned. You could hear the genuine disgust in his voice.

“I think you’re the only man in the world who would turn down the opportunity to be surrounded by models,” you laughed.

He lifted his head up to look at you. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“Why would I want a bunch of random women touching on me when I have a girlfriend?”

You laughed again. “Because they’re models.”

He gave you a look of confused disgust and said, “Oh, hush, YN. You’re the only woman I want within a hundred feet of me at any given time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that other women are beautiful.”

He looked at you sternly. “Um, no. This is when you tell me I’m not allowed to look at, let alone touch, anyone other than you.”

“Franco, you know I’m not like that.”

“You are, though! What has gotten into you, lately?”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m fine.”

Franco sighed. “No, you’re clearly not. What do I have to do for you to understand that you are the only woman in this world that matters to me? I don’t care what you say, you are the only one I want, the most beautiful girl in the world—”

He leaned up to kiss you, but you dodged his affection.

“Hey!” he protested. You got up from the couch, feeling overwhelmed by the whole interaction.

“YN, come back—” you just ignored him as you went back to your shared bedroom, barricading yourself in the attached bathroom and exhaling.

Franco was right. The insecurity had been eating at you for weeks, and somehow, Franco’s commitment to trying to make you feel better had made it worse. Most girls would be happy that their boyfriend (especially their young, famous, athlete boyfriend) wanted nothing to do with other women. But somehow, it just made you fear the worst—when Franco finally saw you as you saw yourself, and you became nothing more than just another one of the many women he ignored.

“YN, come out and talk to me,” you heard him softly plead from outside the door.

“I’m sorry, I just need a minute,” you said through the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“No need to apologize, take all the time you need,” he said. “But when you’re done, promise you’ll come talk to me about it?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you answered weakly.

“Okay,” he said. You could hear how he pressed his forehead to the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your voice was shaking.

You just needed 5 minutes to breathe and calm down alone. That’s what you told yourself as you took another deep breath and wiped away the tears that now spilled over the corners of your eyes.

“I’m okay,” you whispered to yourself. “I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You’d say it until it was true.

When you'd finally calmed down somewhat, you still waited in the bathroom, not wanting Franco to see your puffy, bloodshot eyes, the evidence of your tears. But he knew you were crying. And he knew you’d keep your word and talk to him when you were ready.

He knew you inside and out. So when you silently emerged from the bathroom and found him in the kitchen washing dishes, he knew no words were needed. You slipped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back as he turned the water off and dried his hands.

He turned around and met your embrace, holding your head beneath his chin and enveloping you in his strong arms. His tender touch brought the tears back.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“No,” you corrected. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“It breaks my heart to see you hurting like this. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Just hold me,” you said, burying your head deeper into his chest, smelling the familiar scent of his cologne and the warm comfort of his breath rising and falling.

The next day, Franco woke before you, spending a moment staring at your sleeping form before he had to get up and leave for the day.

He knew you had been struggling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how your mind saw something so much more different than his saw. It broke him to know you thought of yourself so negatively.

But he’d hold you all day everyday if it meant it helped even a little bit. He would do anything.

So, when your alarm began screeching and you lazily turned it off, he let you sleep in, simply pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he went into yet another one of endless meetings with his manager before the season started.

She walked in and slammed a stack of papers on the desk. “I don’t know how you keep getting away with this shit every fucking time,” she said.

Franco raised a brow. Her tone wasn’t angry, as he expected, but rather…frustrated?

“The contract,” she continued. “The rep called me last night. They want you to do the campaign no matter what. They’ll let you do it with YN.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. We’ll have to get her in here to sign the contract, then we’ve got fittings and we still need to set the date for the actual shoot…”

His manager’s voice faded into the background as Franco remembered the previous night. The idea of you, dolled up in designer clothes posing next to him, had excited him at first. Now, he was unsure if that would just make things worse.

He had to be…deliberate in bringing it up. At home that night, as you two ate dinner, he decided to choose his words very, very carefully.

“So, you remember that contract I said I lost?”

“The designer stuff?” you asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. Well, I…actually didn’t fuck it up as bad as I thought I did. They still want us to do the campaign.”

“That’s good. It’ll get your manager off your case.” Your gaze drifted to the plate of food in front of you. The unspoken question lingered in the air.

“Please don’t be mad at me—” he began, but you cut him off.

“Franco, you’re a professional. I trust you.”

“Well, um… they want you to model.”

You looked up at him, perplexed. “Me?”

“I showed them your social media.”

“And they want…me. To model for them.”

“Well, they want you to do the campaign with me, yes. And wear a dress of theirs to a fancy event or two.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a model. And all my followers are just your fans, anyway.”

“Other driver’s girlfriends have done it, why can’t you?” He put down his fork and looked you in the eye. “YN, I think this would be a great thing. I can show you off to the world, and they’ll dress you up and make you feel beautiful. You’re beautiful without it, of course, but you know what I mean. I can’t make you say yes, but I’d love to do this with you.”

You took a beat to think. You couldn’t deny that you wanted the experience of going to lavish galas in designer gowns and seeing Franco grace the covers of magazine and social media home pages. Besides, you thought, if you truly looked bad they could just photoshop you to hell and back.

“Okay,” you answered, “let’s do it.”

So, a few weeks later, you found yourself in one of those cloth chairs that you had only seen in movies, having powder liberally applied to your face by a makeup artist.

“The heavy makeup is just for the lights. They’re warm and harsh, so it’ll drown you out and make you look greasy if we don’t apply this much.”

You hummed in response, afraid to move your face. “I can tell this is your first time,” the artist said. “Just relax and let us work our magic, yeah? When they all say celebrities are fake, this is what they mean.”

You would have chuckled if you weren’t already sweating with nervousness. “Close your eyes,” she said, and you obeyed, only flinching as she generously sprayed setting spray over your makeup.

“Alrighty, off to hair for you.”

Hair was the same—a nervousness that clearly identified you as an outsider to this world of glitz and glamor. You coughed when she nearly drowned you in hairspray.

Then it was time for the final touches, the dress and jewelry.

You gasped as they brought it out. A long silver satin gown, custom measured to hug your curves perfectly. Your neck was adorned with diamonds, your lips blood red, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulders.

When you finally made it into the studio, Franco was already there, clad in a simple yet elegant black suit to contrast against the shiny fabric of your dress. He wasn’t facing you when you first entered, but hearing the click of your heels against the wooden floors, he turned and stopped in his tracks.

“Oh my God,” he exhaled. “You look…” He was, quite literally, speechless.

You let out an awkward laugh, unused to having so much attention on you.

“Amazing!” the brand rep said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

And that, you did. The first shots were simple: you resting your arms on a chair while Franco sat, looking off into the distance, his perfect side profile on display. Both of you staring down the camera, arms placed in dynamic positions.

Then you switched to the more sensual shots. Franco kneeled before you, kissing your hand, allowing you to show off the ring they had placed to contrast your black gloves. Another one, a shot of you holding his cheek as he gazed up at you in admiration.

Then you switched, with him taking the more dominant role in the poses. His hand around your neck, showing off his own ridiculously expensive rings, as you tilted your head upwards towards him and he glared at the camera. A shot of Franco holding you up against a wall; his arm was draped above you to show off a watch, but his other hand found your waist and his head was turned as if to kiss you while you stared at the camera.

“Okay, play with the pose a bit,” the photographer instructed. “Let’s get some candids.”

You turned away from the camera, trying to ignore the incessant clicking and flashing in the background.

He smiled. “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you replied, smiling as well. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Franco leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “I really want to rip this dress off you.”

“Franco!”

“Oh, that was good!” the photographer yelled. “Whatever you said, do it again, her expression was golden.”

You laughed as you both repositioned, standing in front of the dark backdrop.

“How much will it cost if I damage this dress?” Franco asked, looking at the photographer.

“Probably more than quadruple my salary,” the photographer laughed. “So please don’t.”

“But I have an idea. Just hear me out.”

Franco leaned down and gripped the strap of your dress in his mouth, eliciting a gasp from you and a thousand clicks of the camera.

His most bold suggestion, though, was the shot from the floor; he laid down and had you crawl on his chest and kneel above his head, draping his shoulders in the luxurious fabric and showing off your bedazzled garter beneath a silt in the dress. Though the photo would only expose a little bit of thigh, you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that the position gave you.

When the shoot was over, it hurt your heart a bit to have to take off the dress and jewelry. Franco could tell. A sad smile painted your face as they carefully removed the diamonds from your neck and ears. But the one that hurt most was the gorgeous diamond ring, which you gently slipped off your gloved finger with a pang of sadness.

Franco was right; it had been fun to dress up and show off, but it was over now. So you said a silent goodbye to this false world of luxury as you walked off to the dressing room, and Franco went over to the brand rep who was packing up your jewelry.

“A lovely job, both of you!” he said. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first, but you all definitely proved me wrong. These photos will come out amazingly.”

“How much is the ring?” Franco asked, gesturing to the lockbox that it was now hidden away in.

“Ah, I could tell she liked it. Are you thinking of popping the question soon?”

“Ah, well…” Franco said, nervous now. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was an engagement ring.

The rep laughed. “Well, this one’s from the new collection, expertly crafted. Usually goes for around $130,000, but that’s just with the base without any modifications.”

Franco choked on his own saliva. He certainly wasn’t making that much money yet, and besides, he didn’t know if his little working-class heart could ever justify spending that much money on a shiny rock.

But for you? Anything.

The rep could sense his hesitation. “Well, if you decide to go for it, here’s my card. Maybe we can work something out.” Franco nodded and accepted the card, stowing it away in his wallet after he changed out of his suit.

Once you arrived home, the mountain of makeup and hairspray that you were both still covered in acted as the perfect excuse for a shower together.

As Franco lathered shampoo into your hair, he whispered, “You looked beautiful today.”

You smiled. “I felt beautiful.”

The photos were released a few weeks later, sending the internet into chaos.

YN!?!?!?! CAN FRANCO FIGHT?

Does YN know that we’d all kill to be her right now

The hand placement!! The look in his eyes!!! That man is IN LOVE!!!!!

You chuckled to yourself as you read through the comments on your Instagram post.

You saw the most important comment: the one from Franco.

Eres el amor de mi vida <3

You felt butterflies rise up in your stomach as you tapped the little heart to like the comment, as if that same man wasn’t taking you to the F1 Grand Prix Gala in Monaco tonight.

You wanted nothing more than to walk in on his arm, basking in the glow of the photoshoot. It wasn’t just the glamor of the shots or the makeup that made you feel better; it was Franco. The way he looked at you like you were a goddess—you finally understood what he meant when he said he wanted you to see yourself as he saw you.

As you donned the loaned dress from the same brand—less extravagant than the gown from the shoot, but still gorgeous—you were so thankful you had let Franco talk you into this.

Everyone was abuzz at the event, and you were getting kudos left and right from strangers, which was slightly embarrassing, but you soaked in the attention anyway. But the best feeling was your lover’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowded ballroom.

You stepped out onto an empty balcony, drinking in the clear night air, now alone from the crowd. Of course, he followed like a lost puppy.

“Mi amor,” he said as you leaned against the ledge, “I don’t know what’s more beautiful, you or the night sky.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “That’s too much, even for you.”

“Maybe,” he joked. “And, maybe, we should get out of here. I’m tired of pretending to like all these old rich people.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You two sped home, where Franco wasted no time taking off your dress and decorating the floor with it.

“Let me worship you,” he said, grazing his lips over the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Don’t you already?” you joked, evidence of your returned confidence.

“I do,” he said, “because you’re divine. I want to taste you.” He grabbed your panties with his teeth, pulling them down slowly, enjoying the burning desire you both felt as his skin grazed against yours.

But even now that he had you fully undressed, he still teased you, gently kissing your thighs, looking up into your eyes with every kiss. You pushed his hair back, softly inhaling with every inch of skin that his mouth touched.

“Franco…”

“Mi ángel,” he exhaled. “Mi reina, mi cielo, mi vida.”

With a featherlight touch, he brought his mouth to your wetness, kissing your clit before rolling his tongue around the soaked bundle of nerves. Your breath hitched.

He brought two fingers to your entrance, teasing you until you were dripping with want for him. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”

His praise felt like your native tongue, the way your bodies and words naturally curved to each other, fitting together like you were made for this.

He echoed your thoughts, continuing, “You take me so well.” He curled his fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars, eliciting a moan.

“I live to pleasure you, mi amor.” He brought his mouth back to your clit, pointing his tongue and swirling circles around it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

You squirmed under him, overcome by the pleasure of both his hands and his words. As he continued his movements, he never shifted his gaze from you.

But you looked away, to the mirror in the corner that had been moved as you got ready. You had a perfect view of Franco pleasuring you, and God, was the sight beautiful.

Franco saw you looking and stopped, eliciting a frustrated whine from you.

“Come here,” he said, climbing on the bed. “Keep facing the mirror.” He positioned himself behind you, grabbing your chin to keep your face straight as you both gazed at your reflections. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see how perfect you look when I take you.”

You wordlessly nodded, loving the vulnerability of being at the mercy of the man who worshipped you.

As Franco unwrapped and put on a condom behind you, you studied the patches of red that colored your cheeks, flushed from your lover having nearly brought you to the brink of orgasm only moments before.

He spanked you and you playfully yelped. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off this mirror.”

“What if I do?” you asked. “Will you punish me?”

He spanked you again, the other side this time. “Don’t even think about it.”

Then, slowly, he placed his hands on your hips and found his way to your entrance, filling you with a swift but gentle motion. You both let out a low moan.

“Even your pussy is perfect,” he said as he began to move. “Taking every inch of me.”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, increasing his pace and intensity, making you scream. “I want to fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life.”

His words went through one ear and out the other; you couldn’t focus with his fucking you into the mattress with every thrust.

You cried and closed your eyes, hanging your head as you tried to hold back the waves of pleasure that were building in your core. But Franco roughly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back up.

“What did I tell you? Look at yourself, getting fucked like the perfect little whore you are.” You loved it when Franco was a little rough with you, but combined with the praise, it nearly sent you over the edge.

“Now,” he said, slowing down his pace, “since you didn’t do what I told you, you don’t get to cum.”

You whined in protest as Franco pulled out, leaving you feeling cold and empty. “Please,” you begged.

He laid down on the bed. “If you want it, do it yourself,” he teased. “Ride me. If you want to cum, you have to watch as you make yourself cum on my cock.”

You didn't argue, instead just obeying and sinking yourself down on him. You watched in the mirror as he disappeared in you, mesmerized by the way your bodies connected.

His hands found your waist again as you began to bounce on him, chasing your release with an relentless pace.

“Fuck, Franco, I’m close—” you moaned, and you felt his hand come down hard on your ass again.

“Are you watching?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me how beautiful you look.” If he had said this at any time other than in the heat of your passion, you would have cringed. But now, moments away from an orgasm, you obeyed.

“I fit perfectly on top of you,” you began with a shaky voice. “And I look…I look perfect riding your cock.”

“What else?”

“I look beautiful covered in your love bites.”

“Good girl,” he growled, matching your pace, fucking up into you. “My perfect, beautiful girl.”

With his final statement of praise, you shook, letting yourself drown in waves of pleasure as he continued fucking you through it.

He had switched back to Spanish now, babbling away what you assumed to be your praises as he chased his own orgasm, quickly finishing from the heavenly feeling of your walls gripping around him.

When you all collapsed in a pile next to each other, he threw an arm around you, wordlessly holding you in his embrace. His words could never truly make it better, he knew that.

But thankfully, his words weren't needed anymore. Now, you believed him.

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meracyn · 3 days ago

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LOSER ISAGI PLS!!! 🙏🙏🙏 I LOVE YOUR WRITING 🙏

CRANKING UP THE MOTORS LIKE THERES NO TOMORROW 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥‼️

loser! isagi being absolutely whipped for you..sigh.

loser! isagi who can’t get over your beauty. seeing you, even if he just catches one glimpse of you— is the highlight of his days. he eventually decides to get a notebook and just. write every single thing he absolutely adores about you. tends to fantasize a lot—he can’t help it. can you really blame him? you look so beautiful to him that if you looked over, you could practically notice the lovesick daze glued to his face.

loser! isagi and his frequent stammering. if he somehow manages to speak a sentence without messing up what he was going to say in the first place, is a win in his book.

loser! isagi who’s practically like a schoolgirl having a crush. except no, what he feels for you isn’t some short-term attraction or anything of the sort. isagi knows he’s in love, his face heating up every time you’re there says it all.

loser! isagi who dreams about you day and night. before he goes to sleep, you’re the last thing replaying on his mind and the first when he wakes up. an endless, sweet melody of you, that consumes his mind entirely.

loser! isagi staring at you during any classes you share together, getting completely lost at the way you look. it doesn’t matter whether you’re focused or not. to yoichi, you somehow manage to look even prettier than the day before.

loser! isagi who imagines many different clichés in his head of the two of you. holding your hands, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, hugging you tightly in fear that you’ll slip away any moment— it’s like some sort of guilty pleasure he indulges in. but it’s all in his head, he thinks. it should be fine if he daydreams a little. everyone does it anyway, right?

loser! isagi who doesn’t pay attention in class to end up doodling little sketches in his notebooks. writing your initials, hearts,—even drawing a (somewhat) tiny cupid with a bow and arrow striking a heart to the stickman version of himself. however, that cupid is you. since you struck him with that arrow the moment he laid eyes on you.

loser! isagi who blushes at any physical contact you make, no matter how light it is. he could literally be asking for a pencil, and as you hand it to him his fingers brush against your thumb, making his cheeks redden, and you didn’t even say anything. that moment will forever be engraved in his mind for the rest of his days.

loser! isagi who tries to gather the courage to ask you out on a date. but once the perfect moment arrives when you’re alone, the words just don’t come out, and so he fails miserably. but he’ll do it someday, just you wait. for now, he’ll have to stay content with the friendly hangouts you offer, even though he wishes it was more than that. but then again, just you wait. you’ll fall for him eventually—if you don’t already, that is.

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marstonsboy · 2 days ago

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had another evil thought that spiralled out of control. indulge me for a moment:

over the years, people start arriving on a near empty plot of land west of blackwater. it’s uncertain who got there first: bessie matthews, beatrice and lyle morgan, eliza, isaac morgan, etc.— but more and more people show up until it’s something of a community. jenny kirk, mac and davey callander. then soon after, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o’shea, eagle flies, susan grimshaw. more and more in such a short amount of time. arthur morgan is the last, and suddenly the deaths stop.

after a sudden stretch of years with little newcomers, a house starts taking shape. soon enough the house is a home, and peculiar things can be found all over: a dog barking where no one can find it. echoes of campfire songs going late into the night. photos of john and abigail’s wedding, attended by what remained of their family. a taxidermy squirrel that appears back on the mantle no matter how many times you throw it out, wearing a very familiar hat. in just a few years a heartbreakingly young girl comes home, bearing a strong resemblance to one abigail marston.

then, gunshots. john marston and uncle are the next to arrive.

in the next few years, the house is eerily quiet. the residents see it falling into disrepair, but they can’t do anything about it. the dog stops barking, the campfire has gone cold and won’t relight. abigail marston is next, and though they’re happy to see her, the arrival brings up a question. what happens to jack now?

the livestock are gone, and the house is dusty, all but stripped of the knickknacks and personality that built up over the years, like someone found it all too painful to look at. john’s hat and guns, once tucked away inside a box beneath the bed, vanish the night after abigail arrives. newspapers come to the door, announcing the death of former government agent edgar ross.

soon after, a wanted poster, bearing the name “john marston jr.” and a sketch resembling the boy’s namesake so much that it has john himself stumbling back. jack was only a boy when he left, and now he’s wanted dead or alive, with a price over his head that could rival some of his uncles and aunts back in the day.

every year that passes without any sign of jack is a relief. the house doesn’t change much, still abandoned, but letters come in. mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, sadie adler, charles smith— old friends and family, checking in on him. none of them reach the recipient, as he is not home, but they’re filled to the brim with love, letting him know that he isn’t alone. that he always has a home with them, if he wants it.

one day, john spots a book he doesn’t recognize on the shelf by the piano, and he stops. “Red Dead” by a J. Marston. it doesn’t take much to figure out who that could be. he opens it, flips through, and reads it to abigail. the kinder parts get read to their daughter, ecstatic to learn about how her older brother is doing. their son did become a writer after all, even if everything he’s written speaks volumes of his grief, his anger. the loneliness he’s endured since losing his family, and killing edgar ross.

arthur morgan opens his old journal to find several entries and sketches from john, but also many new ones from jack. his handwriting is just as clumsy as his father’s, but his drawings are more refined. little portraits of the gang members that lived and scribbly sketches of what the world is becoming in their absence decorate the pages. war, cars outnumbering horses, and a very detailed drawing of a revolver none of them have ever seen before.

he’s all grown up, and good lord is he angry. he’s mourning, and hurt, and he’s lost so much, but he’s still undoubtedly jack marston. he draws dogs and writes about missing rufus, slipping strays some food from his bag whenever he sees them. sometimes he’ll write a dry, sarcastic joke that speaks of his father’s influence, or mention missing his momma’s cooking, “even though it was hardly edible,” which makes abigail roll her eyes. he hates fishing and prefers to lose hours of the day with his nose in a book. the best maintained part of beecher’s hope is the graves on that hill, which gain new flowers every week. sometimes, if they listen close, they can hear him talking, telling his ma and pa what he’s been up to, though he saves the grisly details for his book.

and when jack marston finally does walk through that door, much older than when anyone he knew last saw him but far too young to die, he is welcomed home with open arms. because no matter what he’s done, and no matter how much he may hate himself, he will always have a home here with people who love him, and who can’t wait to get to know him all over again.

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kinardsevan · 2 days ago

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maybe, someday, love

oh look. i came up with a mini idea and decided to write it instead of sleeping. enjoy!

“Hey, Tommy.”

The room smells of antiseptic and bleach, with an undertone of metal and plastic. It brings up memories of a life before, one no longer lived, left in the past, and is just the slightest bit triggering. But that doesn’t matter right now.

Maddie curls her fingers around the man’s much larger, bandaged hand as she sniffles. Her hand isn’t even big enough to envelop all of his, but that doesn’t matter in the moment.

“I know we didn’t talk much before the break-up,” she states, staring down at his fingers. The dried blood around his cuticles, where it was too tight in the crevices to completely wipe away stares back at her like a bloodstain on a white sheet. Her heart clenches, and she reminds herself that she needs to remain calm for the baby inside of her.

“A-and I’d really like to change that, given the option,” she continues. The rhythmic drone of the ECG and the ventilator keep pace with each other while she tries to tune them out. She chews on the inside of her bottom lip, all too aware of the way the tissue between her teeth has become tough from repeatedly running it between her teeth in the past few days. She inhales a shaky breath as she runs her thumb over his fingers, turns his hand over and stares down at where there coud inevitably be a wedding ring at some point.

“He doesn’t really let people call him Evan,” she says softly as she continues to stare down at his hand. “I think when were growing up, he didn’t really hear it in a loving way a whole lot of the time, and after I left for Boston…” She pauses, sniffling as a fresh round of tears hits her and run over her cheeks of their own volition. She clears her throat as best she can. “After I left for Boston, I think he felt really invisible. I don’t really know that he stopped feeling invisible until he got here. And I know there’s a wealth of weight beneath all of that—the things he did and put up with to feel just a little less invisible.

“I think… I think becoming Buck was a version of himself where he could be someone else,” she comments. She trails her gaze up his bruised, scraped, and bloodied arm to his body, covered by a hospital gown, his neck, and then his face, just as bruised and covered in cuts and scrapes. “He said to me once that being a firefighter is the only thing that he’d ever done that mattered, and how much that drove his determination to get back to it. And I know now that he did that because it made him feel seen.”

She pauses in her speaking, eyes trailing to the ECG and watching the continuous wave of Tommy’s heartbeat. She lifts her free hand to her throat, rubbing the sides of it a few times to try and soothe away the ache formed from the combination of crying so much, and the weight of the emotion still crushing down on her chest.

“Until he met you,” she rasps. “And don’t get me wrong—when he said that you broke up with him, I told him to move on, but I think you know a little bit why I’d just want him to be happy. When I realized just how deep into it you two were, I was the one who encouraged him to go after you…” She pauses again, forcing down another deep breath and soft ‘whew’, squeezing Tommy’s fingers lightly. “Which makes it really hard to feel like this isn’t my fault.”

She feels the familiar popping sensations in her stomach, alerting her that her unborn child is shifting around, and her free hand drifts to the curve, stroking gently.

“I know that in the grand scheme of things for you, I’m basically nobody,” she comments. “But…” She sniffles, not bothering to fight with wiping the tears on her face anymore. “Evan isn’t doing so well, and… truth be told, I don’t know that he would fight to come back to anyone as hard as he would for you. I also don’t know that he would be able to find the fight without you. So please wake up. I know there are people here who love you, and people here who want the chance to get to love you. I don’t want to watch my brother only get months with the love of his life when he deserves decades. You both do.”

She squeezes his fingers once more before releasing them and pushing up out of her chair. She walks to the door and stops she reaches it, glancing back at him and then the ECG again. It continues to beep rhythmically along with the ventilator, and her bottom lip trembles as she opens the door, stepping into the waiting arms of her husband as Hen passes her with a pat on the shoulder before walking into Tommy’s room to hold vigil.

. . .

“I’m so sorry, I got out as soon as I could,” Eddie says, dropping his duffle on the floor as he reaches Chimney’s side. “Any word?”

The older man shakes his head as he stares into the hospital room. He glances over at Eddie, takes him in briefly, before they’re both staring back through the window at Bobby, Maddie, and Evan.

“No change,” he replies wearily. “They’re trying to wean Tommy off sedation, but it’s not going well, and Buck has seized three times. They’re saying it’s not critical right now, but-..”

“This wasn’t supposed to be the result of Buck going after him,” Eddie murmurs.

There’s shuffling behind them and then a ‘hey, Howie,’ that draws both fo their attention. A man taller than both of them but shorter than both Buck and Tommy walks up and Eddie eyes him curiously as Chimney gives the man a sympathetic half-smile.

“Sal, hey,” he greets wearily, extending a hand to the other man.

“I got off shift as soon as I could,” the other man comments. “122’s running thin right now. Have you been down the hall yet?”

Chimney nods. “You should check in with the doctor. They’re not telling us much.”

“I will,” Sal replies. He glances up through the window. “How’s the kid?”

Chimney and Eddie both shake their head at him.

“Does anybody even know what the hell they were doing up there,” Eddie asks. Chimney shakes his head and Sal shrugs when they both look at him.

“He mentioned planning on flying to try and get out of his head, but I can’t imagine this is what he had in mind.” When both Chimney and Eddie keep staring at him skeptically, he glares at them. “No. If there’s one thing I’m sure on, it’s that Tommy would do the opposite of putting the kid in danger. He’d work directly against that to keep him out of danger.”

Chimney looks back towards Evan’s hospital room and Eddie gulps.

“If this is less danger, then I don’t want to know what the worst result could’ve been.”

#bucktommy #mini #sloth writes #my fic #mini fic #tevan #kinley #firepilot #firebeast #kinkley #the ally and the beast

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lucygraysboy · 1 day ago

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“it’s a wonder how they do it, right? i mean, they don’t even speak our language and somehow they just know if you’re a good or bad person, and what your intentions are. do you think they can read it off of our body language? or what’s happening in their heads?” thinking out loud, pale blue eyes fixated on the back of her head as his hand continues to travel across her back. over her shoulder, along the bumps at the nape of her neck, inching closer and closer to her other arm. olive skin covered in suds. “mhm,” he hums softly, praying she doesn’t turn around. he doesn’t want her to see him blushing like a schoolboy. “when i first walked in here, i thought that you’d ran away, but then i saw reva blue and began to wonder why you’d ever want to leave her behind… and started to question my own sanity, asked myself if you were real or a figment of my imagination,” he admits, chuckling sheepishly because it’s embarrassing to a certain degree. “i will never cause you any harm, lucy gray. i just need you to know that, okay?” even if she won’t instantly put all her trust in him. “and if ever want to go your separate way, i won’t go after you unless you want me to.” he’s not his brother. “and your favorite dessert is blueberry pie.” noted, he remembers. but he still leaves enough room for her to correct him if he’s wrong. “but not all desserts make you happy? that doesn’t make sense,” he playfully argues, just trying to provoke her to convince him otherwise. “horses.” what an easy question, he thinks. “i love and respect all animals.” even the squirrel that became their dinner as hard to believe as it may be. “birds and dogs and cats and cows and butterflies, but horses are just so special. my mother’s friend, back at the capitol, had stables bigger than whole neighborhoods in district twelve. plenty of stunning thoroughbreds. most of them had probably been imported from district eleven or something. anyway, there was this one chestnut mare that i really admired, could watch her for hours. she could run so fast…” eyes alight at the memory, but then he realizes that he’s been rambling for a long time and must be boring her to death. “sorry, got a little carried away. um, what’s yours?” he inquires, meaning her favorite animal. too bad there are no horses in district thirteen. it’s been so long since the last time he was near one… “thanks for trustin’ me enough.” to show him the wound on her leg. thank god he had that jar of iodine with him. “and how will that be your fault? don’t blame yourself for things that happened because other people put you in a certain position. what were you supposed to do? grab a brush on your way out? you had more important matters to worry about. it’s really not your fault, lucy gray. it’s not like you’re a slob by nature and let this happen out of laziness. you’ve been through a lot. it’s only natural,” he softly corrects, reaching around her petite frame and handing her the soapy washcloth so that she can scrub her legs and torso. calloused fingertips sinking beneath the surface, getting wet before gathering her long hair with nothing but affection. “we won’t be cuttin’ it to your ears. if we can’t get all the tangles out, we’ll braid it and… well, maybe my mother,” the one who’s most likely sick with worry back in thirteen, “will find a way to help us.” but right now, he’ll focus on combing through these pretty locks with his fingers, careful not to pull too hard.

“i think they can definitely tell, who’s a good person and who’s tryin’ to bring harm. animal’s are intuitive like that.” lucy gray reassures, smiling softly as her arm stays around her bent knees, her free arm tracing circles in the water. “oh…yeah?” brow lifting, looking over her shoulder at him before eyes glance back towards the water. shying up momentarily again. “of course not.” leave him as a single parent. a twitch of amusement pulling at her lips before softening at the thought, thinking how she can’t run. but even it she could, would she? not… exactly. not when she doesn’t have a gnawing fear in her chest yet towards him. just like the animals they speak of… if she doesn’t have a reason or sense a reason, she won’t leave. just like deer and birds, she too has those same instincts. “sort of. i mean, i can choose a favorite dessert. i can choose a favorite month. but i can’t choose a favorite color, animal or flower. all flowers, colors and animals make me happy. hard to choose just one.” a soft laugh emits, gently shrugging her thin shoulders. “what’s your favorite animal?” questioning before hearing the awful story of the man he knew and before too long her face is contorting into disgust and stomach churning, vomit reflexes on the rise when he starts saying thing about smells. “lord, then, i sure am lucky you found me in time. i might’ve suffered the same thing. that’s sickenin’, bless his poor soul havin’ to suffer all through that.” feeling sympathy and disgust, quickly trying to think of something else. she definitely doesn’t want to suffer like that and scared up to keep watching her wounds. “i hope not, i really like my hair. but then again… that’ll be my fault, maybe i’ll learn.” scolding herself— to at least brush her fingers through it and keep it from getting so matted. “it’d be devastatin’ cutting it off to my ears.” that gives her the notion to quickly start trying with her fingers to start pulling some knots out, feeling a little panicky on needing the answer if she’ll get to spare it or not. the rubs on her back feel so pleasant, too. the most soothing feeling she’s felt in awhile but she can’t exactly relax with her hair on the line.

#billysgirllol #PLS SAME NEVER GETTING OVER THIS LOL jksndfs fckin idiot BILLSY DONT BE SO HARSH ON YOURSELF BABY DOLL #also pls falling in love in less than five minutes runs in the family lol #i dont know if they have horses in the capitol but i assume they can have anything they want so if some rich guy wants to play rancher he #could?? they later on have chariots for the tribute parade with horse chariots right? so snjkdsg LETS PRETEND

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sshadow-heartz · 17 hours ago

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I Love You, I’m Sorry

•Squid Game C.AI bots here!

🤍Cho Sang-Woo x Player!Reader

🤍With one more game to go, Sang-Woo doesn’t like your odds. He loves you enough to know that you don’t need to continue suffering, taking things into his own hands…

🤍Word Count: 1.2k

🤍Tags: Angst, Murder, Slight Gore?, Glass Shard as murder weapon, Stabbing,False Hope, Betrayal

•masterlist

‼️If you are sensitive to the tagged topics, please keep scrolling!‼️

It had been a long day. After a dangerous game of glass stepping stones, you had watched player after player fall to their death. Only three of you remained - Sang-Woo, Gi-Hun and yourself.

Retreating to your bed, you looked up at the ceiling, the large piggy bank sending a soft, golden glow over the room. It had to be almost over, right? There were only three of you left, surely there were no more than two games to go.

You sighed, thinking of everything you would be able to do once winning. Pay off your debts, get a drink with your friends…

Start over.

Your thoughts were interrupted by footsteps, and you turn your gaze towards the sound. It was just Sang-Woo, you had grown to become fond of the man during your time. You had been apart of the same team, alongside Gi-Hun, Ali…

Painful memories crossed your mind, Ali was gone. He wasn’t coming back. You had to move on, no matter how tough it felt.

“Quiet in here, huh?” Sang-Woo’s voice speaks up, drawing you away from your own mind. He was stood above you, a few scrapes across his face from the glass tiles exploding. Dark eyes studied yours, his own expression unreadable. You could never tell what he was truly thinking.

“Yeah… it’s weird without everyone else here,” you shrug, the room holding a strange eeriness without the hundreds of players that once resided with you. “How many more games do you think there are?”

He stayed quiet, thinking. “One… maybe two? That’s my guess. Just a little longer and we’ll all be out of here and way richer than we ever were, too.”

You smiles, nodding at his reassurance. “Yeah, you’re right,” you nod, patting the space on your bed for him to sit down.

Taking a seat, Sang-Woo keeps his hand in his pocket, the other reaching forward to rest on your thigh. His thumb strokes your skin through the fabric of your pants, looking down at you with a slight hint of softness. “You’re coming for a drink with me and Gi-Hun, right? When we get out of here?”

“Of course,” you smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Settling into comfortable silence, you allow your eyes to slip closed. You could feel Sang-Woo’s hand on your thigh, a small comfort in such a place. The two of you had grown close rapidly, you admired him. He was smart, and confident and seemed to know what he was doing. All of that lured you in, made you desperate to win his affection. He had seen you during the dalgona round, working ever so calm despite the shootings around you. He knew you would fight to survive, and he wasn’t sure if he loved you for it, or hated it.

Sang-Woo looked down at you, eyes closed and breathing steady. He couldn’t work out if you were sleeping, though it’d be best if you were…

Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Gi-Hun across the room, taking a much needed nap. He turned back to you, sliding his hand out of his pocket. He glanced down, eyeing the object he had been keeping so secretly.

A glass shard, sharp and easy enough to stab someone with. He took a breath, steadying himself and his nerves. Sang-Woo had decided you needed to go nights before, a long thought-out choice. He theorised the final game would be between the three of you, some sort of direct competition against each of you. Sang-Woo knew there could only be one winner, one player who takes the amount home.

You had become a distraction to him, his feelings overriding his logic. You were beautiful, strangely optimistic after what you had been through, and gosh, he… he loved you. He knew that if you faced against him, he would let you win. Let you walk away with the money, and a better life. No, he needed that money for himself. It’d be him and Gi-Hun. He could take down his childhood best friend, surely…

Sang-Woo leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. A sick and twisted act of love before enacting his wicked plan. He watched as your eyes fluttered open, smiling up at him as though he’s the most wonderful man in the world. He wasn’t, not that you needed to know that.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered, trying to make it easier. You wouldn’t struggle, or cry or yell. He didn’t want you to view him as a monster. In a way, he was doing something good for you. What if you suffered in the next game? What if you had to watch him die? No… that wouldn’t be an option for you. You’d have the peaceful way out, all thanks to him.

“Lay with me?” You ask, softly. It was such an innocent request, he couldn’t deny you. Laying down behind you, he wrapped an arm over your waist, pulling you against his chest. “You’re safe with me,” he lied. “Nobody will hurt you.”

Both laying in silence, legs tangled together, Sang-Woo waited for you to begin drifting off. He had to wait for the right moment, he didn’t want you to fight him on this. You wouldn’t realise it was for the good of things. His mind replayed everything you had told him. You were in severe debt, over a million won. You had nobody out there, no family, no friends. Loan sharks were waiting to get you.

It was no life for anyone. Even if you paid off your debts, you’d still be alone. There was no way you’d all make it out alive. He knew that, he wasn’t dumb. He, on the other hand, had plenty to return to. He could get himself out of debt, though his reputation would still be ruined. He could give money to his mother, have enough to live comfortably. Yes, Sang-Woo knew he needed to survive. It’d be better for him than it would be for you.

He leaned down, face nuzzled against your neck. A final moment of comfort, his arm wrapped around you tightly. He had the glass shard ready and waited, concealed in his free hand. Gi-Hun was still sleeping, nobody paying close enough attention to him or to you.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Before your half-asleep mind can process his words, Sang-Woo digs the glass shard into your stomach. He continues to hold you close, your blood pooling on the bed. He strokes your hair, whispering soft comforts to you.

“Shh, just let it happen. Its for the best, you’ll see that.”

You cough and choke, unable to say anything as the light drains from your eyes and blood pools into your mouth. You felt pain, and nothing more than that. A white, hot blinding pain as the room began to dim. You were tired, so… so tired. It’d feel so good to close your eyes right now.

As Sang-Woo felt you go limp in his arms, a small tune played over the speakers, a voice ringing out.

“Lights out! All players must return to their beds.”

As the lights shut off, Sang-Woo closed his eyes. He took a few deep breaths to calm his shaking hands. One more game, he repeated in his mind. One more game…

#squid game x reader #squid game angst #cho sang woo #fanfic #squid game fanfiction #squid game fic #sang woo x reader

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hellishjoel · 2 days ago

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in bloom

599 words / pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

← masterlist | notifications blog | seasons of life challenge masterlist

word: blossom

warnings/information: fluff, frankie has some lingering issues after being sent home from deployment

a/n: thought of this while staring at my boss' orchid blooming and about my failed attempts at keeping a cactus alive. the center picture is from @wildemaven! my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

Frankie imagined that being sent home from deployment would be heaven. However, his life as a civilian was lonely and a little terrifying, if he’s honest.

Often surrounded by a band of his brothers, there was never a quiet moment. He once longed for silence and prayed for a moment of solitude. Being home, everything changed.

He hated the sound of his breathing at night, how it ricocheted off the walls and filled the emptiness. He hated the quiet drives in his truck and fucking despised how there was no one to sing along to the radio. This wasn’t the freedom he had envisioned.

Instead of searching for company in all the wrong places, he found himself somewhere he never expected: the local farmer’s market.

Frankie saw the flyer pinned to the bulletin board at the hardware store, decorated in bright, vibrant colors that listed the spring dates.

Hell, why not?

With his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, he wanders through the market. Golden jars of honey glinted in the sunlight, freshly scored loaves of homemade bread filled the air with a delicious aroma, and vibrant blooms spilled from every corner, painting the scene in vivid color.

That’s when he saw you.

Hair tamed by a red bandana, hands caked in dirt, an adorable smile on your pretty lips that had him in a trance. Truly, he had no idea he was even walking towards your stand until you greeted him.

“Good morning, how are you?”

For a moment, he froze, words failing him as he stared blankly, his brain scrambling to catch up. Finally, he cursed himself inwardly, forcing a smile and managing a simple “Hi.”

You smile softly and nod, turning to speak to another customer who had wandered up. Frankie takes a moment to compose himself and looks around your stand, decorated by a red and white checkered picnic blanket and a chalkboard that displays your prices.

“If you have any questions, let me know.”

He flicks his eyes up to yours, taking in how they’re framed by dark lashes. He doesn’t want to lose your attention, so he points at the first potted plant he sees. “What’s that?”

You gasp softly at Frankie’s apparent good taste, moving to the folding table behind you to retrieve the plant with a colorful blue pot. “This beautiful blossom is actually a cactus. It’s kind of hard to tell because it’s covered in these little pink flowers, but she’s super easy to take care of. Good in small spaces.”

“This plant is prettier than me,” Frankie jokes, his tone light but his eyes searching yours.

Your smile widens, breaking into a laugh so warm and sweet it feels like the closest thing to heaven. He soaks it in, wishing he could play the sound on a loop forever, anything to keep the crushing silence at bay.

Frankie’s never cared for a plant in his life, but he hands you a twenty-dollar bill and insists you keep the change.

"Thank you," Frankie speaks softly, his eyes warm as he sends you a grateful nod. "I'm back home after a while away, and it's been... an adjustment."

"Hey," you say softly, your hand gently catching his arm before he can walk off. You hold out the cactus, your smile kind and warm. "Cactuses are survivors. They adapt and bloom, no matter how tough the environment is. Feels like a good thing to have around, don’t you think?"

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, Frankie wonders if you’re talking about more than the plant in his hands.

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#frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #SeasonsOfLifeChallenge #frankie morales

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mscherub · 14 hours ago

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Courting with Jade(Jade Leech x Reader)

Gender neutral reader, referred to as Perfect or Y/N ✦

Warnings!:

swearing as usual, just in my nature

Jade being…creepy. We like him for that tho ig…

Uneducated reader on merfolk mating rituals

Word count: approximately 2.63k

Exactly how long has it been since jade has been acting weird? Well…weirder than usual. He was a little more out of it, that being the nicest way to explain his actions. This is Jade we’re talking about, Jade, the man who was always pristine in looks and words, well mannered, knew proper etiquette while also being absolutely creepy nice…but the way he was acting now was different, going as far as calling it absurd, even!

Jade was never like this, he had never smiled so wide when you accidentally brushed your hand against his, and you have never ever seen that guy blush before, that is until you yawned while facing him after so graciously helping clean and close the lounge (which you only did for the money). It’s confusing, baffling, bewildering, yea, you get it. What happened to the mushroom obsessed eel boy? Maybe he ate one too many mushrooms and that’s why he’s acting like this. But, who knows why? Well, you want to. Jade, no matter how cynical he appeared to be, no matter how many threats he made that you didn’t quite know were empty or not, you liked him, and all this bullshit that he’s pulling is freaking you out way more than his normal personality!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Grim and you were in a tight situation, as usual. Money was running low, food stock was running low (more so Grim’s tuna), and the recent check from Crowley never managed to disappoint. How many thaumarks did you get, you ask? A whopping $650…again? Shit. It seemed his checks kept dwindling more and more by the month, which evidently caused you to have to score a job at the lounge, which Azul happily took your offer up on. Definitely wasn't just using you because he knew most of the student body liked you, pshhhh...

Azul was always there to lend you a helping hand when you needed it, although you usually never took his hand, physically and metaphorically speaking, but you had to these past few months, all because your little furbaby needs his food or he might just burn down Ramshackle, and you can definitely not afford that catastrophe right now. While working there, Jade grew a little closer to you but never ceased to be a pain in the ass, same with his brother, runs in the family you suppose. You look at the time and realize you have to get going.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hours tick by, the lounge now closed for the night after a particularly busy day, and you just stand wiping the same spot on the table over and over again, zoning out as drowsiness overcomes you in a flash. How long had you been working? Let’s see, your shift started at around 2:00 p.m. which is when classes are usually over and– HOLY SHIT! As realization dawns on you as you look at the clock, you see It’s 1:30 in the morning.

You pause and you take a breath in, looking down at the table which you had been absentmindedly cleaning more than it needed to be. You pick up the rag and you throw it on the cart. Jade and Floyd looked as graceful as ever as they mopped the floor and wiped off the seats, their earrings jingling in sync it seemed. You sit down at a booth and take off your lounge uniform blazer and slip your gloves off…

“Stupid things…fuck my life, fuck this.” you murmur under your breath. You lean back and close your eyes. How did they do this? Did they do this every night? You knew Azul could be cruel, but damn…working them that long every day? You wouldn’t survive that, that’s all you know.

“Done already? Azul doesn’t like slackers, which I’m sure you know.” Jade smirks. You snap your eyes open, jumping a bit. His footsteps were always eerily silent, always catching anyone least expecting him to pop up off guard. You shake your head and sit up again, clearing your throat.

“Uh, yea. I’m done. Sorry.” you huff out, grabbing your gloves off the table. You look up at him, his smile never faltering.

“Ah, amazing job. Shall I walk you back to Ramshackle then?” He tilts his head. You narrow your eyes at him. That’s different. But you nod and grab your blazer, standing up.

Jade takes it right from your hands, holding it open so you can slip your arms in.

“I can do it myself” You sigh. You wait for him to do something, but he shakes the blazer and smirks even wider. What is up with him?

"I insist." He grins. You roll your eyes, and you slip your arms through the sleeves. Jade then gingerly slips his hand to the small of your back, rambling on about whatever it was that he has on his mind as he leads you out of the lounge. You’re way too tired to comprehend anything he says or even notice the hand placement, all you know is that your bed is calling your name.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You slump down on the couch in Ramshackle, kicking off your shoes and running a hand down your face, letting out a small yawn, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

Jade chuckles and watches from the doorway with evident amusement at your appearance and actions. “Difficult day I presume?” he chuckles. You are definitely not in the mood for his antics today.

“You were there the whole time, so yea, obviously. Goodnight, Jade.” you grumble and make a swatting motion with your hand towards him. He simply grins wider.

“Ah, humans are so different. In the deep, staying up long hours is essential to make sure you’re always safe, never let your guard down.” He muses. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the couch.

“Ok, well we aren’t in the deep and I honestly don’t care. Goodnight, Jade.” you say more sternly, slightly harsher than you had intended, but if he would leave you alone so you could sleep, that would be the best thing ever at this rate.

“Ah, ah. How harsh, Y/N, I was simply stating how we are superior as a species, all fun in games.” He chuckles again. “So angry it seems. You should join me for a hike one of these days, it helps to clear the mind, especially after such stressful situations.” he remarks.

“Yea, yea, sure, whatever.” You drawl on as you find your eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

“Would this weekend work then for a hike?”

“Sure. whatever. Yep. good, or whatever. Bye.” your words stumble out of your mouth as you slump down onto the couch more and sleep finally takes over, sending you into a well-deserved rest.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Well…that happened, you guess?

Over the next few days, you forget about what you said in your tired state, more focused and confused on the little trinkets you find in the pocket of your work uniform whenever you arrive back at Ramshackle late at night, each one ranging from something shiny, like a pearl, or something like a scale from who knows who. You don’t know who these “gifts” are from, and it’s ominous in a way…but you don’t have time to question it, and you just throw it in a small box, just keeping the thought of money in your mind to keep the motivation of making bank to continue to have a place to live. Crowley, when you see him, it’s on sight, instantly.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The weekend comes quick, and you honestly forgot about the whole “Deal” you made with Jade, just happily awaiting your check from Azul.

You practically skip your way to the lounge, the only word on your mind being “money.” You hum a tune quietly as you push your way past people waiting in line to get a table and head straight to the VIP lounge.

“Azulllll, I believe you owe me something!” You smile as you push open the door. In the room is the octotrio themselves, Azul scribbling on paper, Floyd looking bored out of his mind, and Jade dressed in– dressed in hiking gear, which jogs a memory in your mind. Your “agreement” to go on a hike with him, which seemed innocent, but knowing him, he was hiding something.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd perks up and instantly stands up, walking over to you and giggling happily. He picks you up and hugs you tight. You let out a short puff of air as most of it is squeezed out of you. Azul clicks his tongue and grumbles under his breath, going to fish through his drawer as you’re being suffocated to death. Jade gets up as well, smiling calmly at the scene before him. Floyd sets you down, bored already, and walks away, although he seems a bit wearier of Jade all of a sudden, which is quite unusual.

Azul then comes over as well and hands you an envelope with what you hope is a thick stack of money inside.

“Thank you.” You smile triumphantly. Jade, finally having enough of being quiet, clears his throat, grabbing your attention.

“Perfect, I thought you would have come prepared with proper attire, but it seems I have been mistaken.” he grins. You feel your stomach sink and you look away from him. You sigh and look down at your shoes. To be fair, you didn’t exactly have proper gear to begin with anyways, but you also weren't trying to go on this little trip in the first place.

“Fear not, the Mountain Lover Club is always prepared for newcomers, which means luckily for you, we have just the correct items.” Why was he using “we?” Only Jade was in the club, ah…whatever, the bigger problem here is that not only will you be hiking, but you will also be hiking alone, with Jade.

You purse your lips and nod. Azul sighs, gaining both yours and Jade's attention. “Discuss this somewhere else, I am a very busy man.” he huffs as he glances over at the door. Jade instantly takes the hint and walks out towards the door, looking over his shoulder to make sure you follow him.

Uh oh.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After getting suited up and getting permission to head off campus, rightfully excused by Jade since he was president of his club, you and Jade hiked up a mountain, a pretty steep one at that.

“Oh. Look, these mushrooms are special to this mountain due to its higher level of humidity. See how it grows along the trees and logs? Certainly fascinating.” He thrums out as he continues to observe the blue, glowing mushrooms. Meanwhile, you were leaning against a tree, heaving in and out as you finally were able to take a break to catch your breath after climbing, and the worst part of it all? You “were not to the desired destination yet,” quote Jade.

You glare over at him, but your gaze softens as you see him so interested in the mushrooms, his facial features softer and lacking that formal facade he’s so perfectly crafted and wore around everyone at NRC. You push yourself off of the tree and kneel down next to him, reaching out a hand to touch the blue thing, but he stops you.

“They are quite deadly. Toxic, in fact. It's better not to touch them, especially to prevent any incidents where you may inhale any spores released.” He schools you, looking down at you with a smile. You pull your hand away and keep it glued to your side, ok, no touching any blue glowing mushrooms, got it, though that should have already been common sense. An awkwardly pleasant silence falls between the two of you. Jade takes one last look before standing up again, holding a hand out to you. You take it and you both continue to hike up again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Jade? I have something that’s been bugging me.” You sigh out, the thought finally being too much to ignore.

“Give me a name and you’ll never have to deal with them again.” He answers firmly. You pause and open your mouth, then close it again, a confused look on your face.

“That’s…not what I meant.” You murmur out. Jade simply smiles and chuckles.

“My misunderstanding, what seems to be the trouble then?” he inquiries. You recall how you kept finding the little items in your coat pockets after work, thinking it had to have been him since he walked you back to ramshackle after working at the lounge.

“The little things in my pockets–”

“Those were from me. Why has it been bugging you, hmmm?” he hums as he ducks under a branch, continuing to move, his long legs helping him easily step over long roots sticking up from the ground. You pause your movements and stick your hands in your pockets, shrugging.

“Dunno, not like you.” you whisper out. He stops and turns to look back at you, quirking an eyebrow as he stares at you. But the look quickly goes away as quick as it came, and he smirks.

“You’ll find out soon. Follow along.” He turns back around and heads up the path again.

“Hey! No, Jade, I wanna know, stop being all secretive–

Jade pushes back a tree branch and reveals an open spot at the top of the mountain which overlooks the entire mountain range. The high peaks in the distance are spotted with snow, and the pine trees in mass quantities spread across the range, fog blanketing the dips and valleys. You stop in your rambling and go quiet as you slowly walk up next to him, your mouth agape at the sight.

“I…Woah.” Is all you can manage to stutter out.

“Truly a most ethereal sight. Things like this don’t exist under the sea, another thing that makes both worlds so different from one another, which evidently brings me to another drastically different aspect of the cultures.” he smiles and looks down at you, watching as the sun hits your features just right, casting you in a sort of golden glow. You turn your head up at him and a look of bewilderment flashes across it.

“I thought you to be smarter, Perfect. But one can only hold another in such high regards for little time.” he sighs, a pout on his face, though as well as you knew him, you knew it was just a ploy. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“I certainly expected you to catch onto my advances. You see, Y/N, I was courting you. Had I been too subtle?” his pout deepens. You’re speechless. You look into his eyes, and damn! That fucking pout, as fake as the meaning behind it was, he was incredibly cute at the moment, and the sun giving him an incandescent look didnt help either. You clear your throat and try to mutter something, anything out, but nothing comes. You glance away, flustered.

So that’s what all this weird behavior has been coming from him? He’s been trying to court you. It seemed unbelievable, but when you look back at him, he’s smiling his well-worn sinister smile, though it seems more genuine.

“You’re blushing, Perfect.” he snickers. “At a loss for words?”

Who knows what comes over you, maybe the past confusing moments finally making sense and you wanting to get revenge on him, but you pull him down by the collar of his jacket and you place a kiss on his cheek.

“Bastard.” You grumble as you pull away. Now it’s his turn to be left speechless, a faint tint of pink to his cheeks, but it quickly fades as he smiles again. His gaze softens again

“Glad you feel the same, Y/N…it’s truly a relief.”

Hope you enjoyed my lovelies! I’ll be posting more soon, I promise, lol. I’m just trying to get all my works over to here, but two other ones I have not posted are on my Ao3 —> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_cherub

I was editing this on the bus so mb if I missed any spelling mistakes or anything like that! That’s it though <3

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, repost if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

#twisted wonderland #jade leech #octotrio #floyd leech #jade leech x reader #jade leech x you #gender neutral reader #x reader #<3 #x y/n #y/n

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twilightakiishi · 16 hours ago

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FEED ON MY DESPERATION — C. TAKIISHI

cw: fluff. gn! reader. mention of sex but no sex. implied poly with endochika. synopsis: what romance looks like with takiishi; the first kiss you share and how he's grown fond of you without you really knowing. wc: 1.1k.

chika takiishi takes your breath away in the most mundane of moments. he doesn’t really understand it.

when you’re standing near him and you catch a glimpse of the way the light reflects off his cheekbone and the curve of his upper lip, you get a quick side eye from him. he huffs under your stare that bores into him out of his peripheral.

you just don’t look away. so he meets your gaze, expectantly. what do you want.

a smile twitches at the corner of your lips. he’s learned to communicate more softly with you— still in a way that caters to someone who doesn’t care much for speaking, but with a newfound curiosity. it’s his own selfish desire to know why you are intrigued by him. interest is interest, you think. take it or leave it.

slowly, you lift a hand to his jaw. his eyes follow it carefully, staying locked onto it for a few moments before his brow twitches, unsettling gaze once again falling on yours.

your eyes flicker between his to gauge his reaction— chika isn’t so used to random displays of affection. it’s surprising that he even allows you to share his space. the last thing you want is to scare him off, and that means doing everything thoughtfully. however, sometimes, in an effort to give him time to adjust to something, you end up being brushed off by his impatience.

a tense of his jaw and a twitch of his brow, and he’s turning his head, returning his attention to the broken clasp of his earring endo told him to stop touching an hour ago. (he breaks things in his impatience, whether he’s trying or not. it’s the reason it broke and the reason he can’t fix it.)

a lot of your relationship with takiishi is hit or miss. you are learning him as he is learning you. there is bound to be rejection. so you sigh, returning to your side of the couch and picking up your book, as both of you sit in each other’s company. it’s enough.

the next morning, endo sweeps into the kitchen to say goodbye before heading to the gym. takiishi watches curiously from behind the counter as you reach out to pull endo’s face down to your level, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. you feel eyes burning into you as endo giggles, pulling away to give you a proper kiss.

takiishi’s eye twitches, unbeknownst to you as he chews his waffle. he notices that the way you held his jaw the afternoon before is the exact way you hold endo now, but you waited much less time to lean in. as soon as endo is out the door, he pipes up.

“you wanted to kiss me yesterday.”

you turn to face him. “i did.”

“you hesitated.”

“i wasn’t sure you would be comfortable with it.”

he blinks. “we have sex.”

you stifle a laugh. he isn’t intending to make a joke, and it’s all the more amusing to you.

“yes, but a kiss is a different type of intimacy that i know you aren’t accustomed to. endo craves that kind of attention, so i don’t hesitate with him.”

he stares at you as he takes another bite. you can see the gears turning in his brain as he chews again. you sip your coffee and stare back, leaning against the counter as you wait for his response. it may never come. you know this.

and then he stands, tendrils of hair swinging as he moves. the light streaming in from the kitchen window sets him aglow, little particles of dust in the air rising like embers around his figure. in two short strides, he’s in front of you, a lock of red and yellow loosely falling over his shoulder as he leans in.

his lips are syrup sweet and enticing, encouraging your tongue to glide over his bottom lip. you don’t see the way his own hand hesitates to come up to your jaw, but it does. with much less gentleness than you, but what matters is that it does.

takiishi’s been mimicking you, you’ve noticed. in the way that a robot or an alien would collect data, he copies; tries to understand by following your lead before he decides it’s not exactly his style. so his fingertips trail down until his palm wraps around the base of your throat, thumb resting in the dip of your collarbone. you’re warm where his other fingers rest over your pulse, and he squeezes ever so slightly.

chika’s found that his favorite part of physical affection is the feeling of another being alive. the sound of a beating heart, warm panted breaths, the steady thrum of pulse points scattered around your body. he especially enjoys when he is the source of these bodily responses, but he’s still getting used to you being the cause of them for him.

he remembers the way it felt the first time his heart beat for you.

his body betrayed him— gut writhing and skin broken out into goosebumps under a gaze with intensity that could rival his own.

the day will never come that he’d admit it, and it took months for him to accept what it was. but it’s why he never kicks you out when you show up, lets you sit a few feet away from him while you both do your own thing. it’s why he even seeks you out on days that endo drives him up a wall— your presence is peaceful, comforting, welcomed.

you’ve communicated so much to him without words, learning the complexities of him day by day. like the way you’re touching him now, the way you’ve discovered he likes— hands gently pressed to his lower back, because he feels caged in with arms around his neck and the distance between your bodies with a hand to his chest irks him.

you nip at his bottom lip, sweet and sticky, remembering the way he recoiled the first time you ever tried it. the memory of his expression– completely bewildered, defenses up– flashes in your mind, and you can’t help but smile. the two of you have come so far since then; sharing a random kiss in the middle of the kitchen for the first time, partly initiated by chika.

the thought increases your heart rate, and he notices the instant your breath grows more shallow. his calloused hand moves down to sweep over your chest, stilling at the sensation he’s grown so fond of. takiishi pulls back, taking in the way you pant through parted, glistening lips.

“just do what you want.” like you always have. his hair covers his face when he turns away, murmuring his own declaration of love, “I don’t mind.”

dividers by cafekitsune ! <3

#chika takiishi #chika takiishi x reader #chika takiishi wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #chika takiishi fluff #chika takiishi x you #welp. i like him #i've been scared to post this one #its not that polished and very self indulgent #as is everythign i write. so whatever i guess #love u all hope u enjoy #venus writes <3 #takiishi <3

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paperstarwriters · 2 days ago

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Ugh I’m not great at just randomly posting without like planning and structuring the fic beforehand but I NEED to talk about him. To soothe my soul really.

Just—Muriel. Muriel and sitting not on his lap, but between his thighs, thick and meaty, bracketing your own hips as he leans his chest against your back and head. Maybe he’s settled down behind you to read what you’re reading. Maybe he’s opted to sit like this while e carves rather than sitting back-to-back. Either way, the habit starts as many do with warmth radiating from Muriel’s cheeks, but maybe less so than usual, less so than before, because he’s been with you long enough—long enough to be comfortable like this at least. To just… bracket you—blanket you. Lean atop your shoulders and wrapped around you like a child hugging their favourite plush. Maybe you’ve done that to him before, while you sit on the bed and he sits on the floor, or perhaps while he’s in a seat while you’re standing, just leaning over his shoulders. And maybe this is him returning the gesture.

Either way, as many cozy cuddly things do, this becomes habit. Ritual even. That if you ever sit down on the floor or on the bed in Muriel’s proximity, he’ll drape himself over and around you to cuddle as you work or read or whatever really.

He talks to you like that sometimes. Mundane things really. Like how he enjoyed his day with you, or how it’s really important for you to drink water—please stop forgetting, no coffee doesn't count. And sometimes he rests with his chin atop your head, and other times he leans in to say the things to your cheek, or even whisper it in your ear. He doesn’t mean anything by it most of the time, just whispering because he doesn't want to so harshly break the comfortable silence around you, but sometimes, just sometimes, he does like watching you squirm.

It sends something electric to his chest. Makes his face grow warm from the combination of shame and delight. Shame that he’s trying so selfishly to poke and prod at you like this to make you embarrassed just for his own enjoyment, that he’s still so anxious that he feels the need to test and see if you have the same reaction as he does to your mere presence. And of course delight every time it’s conformed—every time you squirm against his chest almost making him grin at the notion that for once he’s embarrassing you by doing nothing but cuddling a little. He’s still red faced when he does it, still averts his eyes trying not to be too happy at tormenting you, but so long as you don’t turn it back on him—don’t call out his obvious delight, he won’t pout.

Then again, even if you do he’ll smile eventually anyways, your own affectionate glee too infectious not to.

But like I can’t help but imagine how one day you might just be sitting between his legs like that, him draped over and around you while you chat. He interjects occasionally giving input when in short sparse bursts and the occasional thorough explanation, but at some point the conversation comes to a lull, a soft cozy silence that isn’t loathed in such comfortable company, but you still choose to break it regardless, not even trying to turn when you speak to him.

And maybe it’s a confession of love for the umpteenth time (though he'd never tire from it), maybe it’s a worm of some tender insecurity rearing it’s head, or maybe it’s Muriel, who’s had a bad day or a bad week, feeling shitty and horrible and loathing himself in that silent way he sometimes does, and you tell him that you can see him. That you know that it’s hard, that it’s awful, but you see that he’s trying too, and you’re so proud of him. So proud that he’s trying. That he cares for himself enough to try instead of shutting down and letting the hurt just consume him, and that you're always around if he needs some help, that he needn't shoulder the burden all by himself, no matter how much his broad shoulders can carry.

And either way the reaction is the same. He pulls away just for a moment, struck by your words—either appalled that you think so lowly of yourself or awed at such a blatant and earnest display of your love for him—before he presses a kiss to your neck. Once, maybe twice. Three times or even more if he's feeling particularly greedy, or if it seems to make you happy (so often three or more times lmao) And it's not just rapid little fluttery kisses, though it often devolves into that. But he'll start slowly, lovingly. Devoting his kisses to some tender spot along your neck that he's long since memorized, perhaps the ridge of your spine, or the soft column of tissue between your neck and your collarbone, or the tender patches of skin just behind your ear. And each kiss he gives with such reverence, such adoration and love—the same way he loves to do when he presses his lips to yours.

And at some point he curls against you, brushes his lips to your ear, and with that low rumbling voice, that you can feel as you rest your back against his chest, he'll say, "Thank you" if your words had been loving, or "I disagree." if it was something cruel to yourself. Either way, he's squeezing you tighter between his arms and legs, like he's worried you might leave him somehow. That you might try to squirm from his grasp even as you make your delight so blatantly clear. And while there is a thread of that thought that ties itself round his chest, it's more that he needs you to stay in place. So long as you stay where you are—so long as you you don't turn around, so long as you don't call him out for how red his face is, how embarrassing it is that he's so affected by you, so delighted when you show how much you love him, how upset he feels when he hears you don't view yourself the same way he sees you... so long as you don't look at him it's easier to tell you. Not to mention, it's so much easier to be honest when no one is watching him, when he isn't worried that he'd disappoint you somehow or make a fool of himself.

Most importantly though, it keeps him from getting distracted. Because it is. Distracting, that is. So very distracting to watch you watch him, eyes narrowing in on all those spots on him that he once might have hated, but now appreciates if only because you so vehemently adore. His chest and stomach for one; once markers of how large he was—how large he is—have become a point you often like to stare at. Eyes trailing down when his shirt is off, igniting in him that familiar, embarrassed, delight. And in the same way coals still able to start a fire anew with the right kindling, the thoughts set his mind alight with thoughts of what you'd so eagerly love to do to him if he let you. What he'd so eagerly let you do if you were willing.

The mere memory of your kisses all over his stomach and chest—and the one bite you pressed to his chest, right atop his heart, like you were trying to swallow what was already yours—oh it made his mind swirl, made his face grow beet red at even the vaguest memory.

So as long as you couldn't so easily reciprocate. So long as your back was to him. He finally would get to give back to you. To litter loving longing, dizzying kisses of his own against your skin. Against wherever he could reach, against whatever you would expose for him. Make you shiver and squirm in the way he often did for you. Make you keen or gasp or whine when he bit you, teasingly perhaps, or longingly, when the urge to carve a place for himself beneath your skin—safely tucked beside your heart—grows far too fierce. Never enough to hurt of course, every bite always followed with more kisses to your skin like an apology for even leaving the imprint of his teeth on your flesh.

Ah, but as much as he wants to keep you from watching him, to keep you from distracting him with your loving wandering eyes, he still will always crave the chance to kiss you, to feel you kiss him. To press his lips against your own, and cling to you like you were the very air that would fill his lungs with life. And whether that happen when you finally turn to peer at him, or when he tilts your head back guiding you with a warm hand against your cheek, he all to eagerly slots himself in the slight part between your lips, all too eager to just kiss.

Just for a second perhaps, or however many minutes it takes for you to loose your breaths, he doesn't care how long it lasts, so long as he gets to hold you after, so long as you let him bask in the glory of getting to love you, of getting feeling what it's like to be adored from the bottom of your heart.

Just stay here, with his arms wrapped greedily around you, and his thighs bracketing your hips. A full body embrace.

Ah, a Bear hug really.

#posted this last night but I guess it didn't post properly the first time :(#anyways trying again #x reader #reader insert #Muriel x reader #Muriel the arcana #Muriel #the arcana muriel #the arcana muriel x reader #the arcana #Muriel the mountain man #Muriel the hermit #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel arcana #muriel the hermit #Paper Tells Tales

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revelboo · 3 days ago

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any updates on our prehistoric friend?

being kidnapped by a metal dinosaur is the dream of some, nightmare of others I'd assume XD. and an induced fever dream for the Grimlock fans. lol

Sure! Yeah, his human isn’t loving it right now

Shiver Pt 3

Grimlock x Reader

• That soft voice chains the confusion and anger, making him feel more like himself. Like before. Venting against you, he tips his head and carefully grips your leg in his jaws to tug you closer. And no matter how careful he is, you start screaming again and kick him in the face with the other leg. Growling a warning, he ducks his head and gets a better grip on your torso and carries you to the door of the cabin, head lowering to gently drop you as you scramble away until you hit the door. Nudging you gently, he vents again. “Run, Grimlock chase,” he warns, tail swaying behind him. Because there’s an appeal in that, in running you down and catching you again. Backing up slightly, he watches you stand and fumble at the door. Yelping when you get it open and nearly fall inside, the door slamming behind you. Huffing, he curls himself about the cabin.

• Foot sliding, you stagger and almost fall. There’s enough light filtering in from the holes in the rotten roof to see that you stepped on a handful of spent shell casings. Heart racing, little details snag at you. The little table overturned near the door. Sheets dragged into the floor near the army style cot in a corner. A dropped box of shells, unused ones littering the floor. Shuddering, you make your way to the cot. Who’d been here before you? Did they get away? There’s not much useful left behind despite the previous owner leaving in a hurry, but you do find a battery powered lantern and turn it on. Skin prickling as you catch a glimpse of Grimlock outside the one window, those baleful yellow optics staring while you drag the cot into the very center of the room and cover the thin moldering mattress with the sheets so you can sit on it. Staring at the closed door and wondering how far you’d get. He has to sleep sometime. Right?

• Drifting in and out of recharge, he’s dimly aware of a branch cracking in the woods. A distant crash. Those spindly four legged things running from another hunter? Lip lifting to show sharp denta, he rumbles. He’s chased them sometimes, always letting them escape. Fun, but they can’t speak to him like you can. Knows you’re frightened, but he just wants someone to talk to even though it’s so hard for him. Someone who doesn’t only see a weapon to be wielded in an endless war.

• A scream rings out in the night and your breath catches. A cougar or panther? You’ve always heard they sound like a person screaming. But then you hear someone scream for ‘help’ and your heart races. Dust rains down on you as Grimlock moves against the cabin and then roars to make you clap your hands over your ears, the lantern hitting the floor and rolling. There’s a crash from outside. Screaming, roaring, and explosions. The military come to the rescue? Except the sounds eventually die down and you shudder as Grimlock’s optic appears at the window, searching until he finds you. Did he just eat someone?

• Good. Still there, staring up at him with wide eyes. Venting, he rubs his muzzle against the side of the cabin to make it creak. Still irritated at the Insecticons invading his space. They’d been chasing a little human, but he’d let them take them, unwilling to pursue and possibly lose his own. Tries not to think about what might become of that human, because there’s something very wrong with the Insecticons. A ravenous hunger and willingness to devour anything and everything. Not just energon. Saving that human might mean losing you, though. And he needs that soft voice of yours to help him think. Keep him calm.

#transformers x reader #grimlock x reader #grimlock

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fruityangelguy · 2 years ago

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me x discoball fr

#he doesn’t speak so it’s the little things that matter #like sometimes he’ll make the bed for us or vacuum the carpets #and sometimes i’ll fold all the laundry and take care of his plants and bake him cookies #he gives me such soft little kisses <3 #heart eyes fr #thinking of him <3333 #also i missed his birthday… sorry hon :\#i love you!!! happy late bday honey bun!!#gbd — discoball #discoball x kel

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mars-ipan · 3 months ago

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god i cannot wait to be off these steroids…

#marzi speaks #marzivents #<- it’s late n i’m kinda pent up abt this #i’m so TIRED of themmmm #i’m probs gonna be on them for the rest of the year. which SUCKSSS #i don’t like how many ppl comment on the moon face #i don’t mind it. like i look in a mirror and i’m okay.#it’s a little weird. but like. just because it’s different. like getting used to a new haircut #but every time i see someone for the first time in a bit it’s ‘woah your face got rounder’#and i have to go ‘oh yeah it’s water retention- steroids thing it’ll go away when i’m able to go off ‘em’#and they go ‘oh alright :) you still look good btw don’t worry’#and i just. i HATE how people talk about it!! like jfc. it’s so clear that they think it’s like kinda sad #my dad said he thinks it’s cute and he’s the only one i actually think is telling the truth there #my mom and i agree that it doesn’t matter. but even then she tries to tell me not to panic #like a little extra squish in my face is something to panic over #it’s so clear that so many people see it as another thing to pity #oh poor thing. has that chronic illness for the rest of her life. and the steroids made her jaw look rounder :(#like jfc i knew fatphobia was prevalent but come the fuck on. literally i’m like barely retaining water for steroids too #like. i’m still very much skinny (i JUST finished being malnourished ffs) but bc i’m retaining water in my face #now ppl feel the need to comfort me. over this tiny cosmetic thing that does not matter #like. i wouldn’t feel weird abt it if it weren’t for everyone else making it such a THING. why is everyone so weird about it #i’m not insecure about it but when ppl try to comfort me or go ‘it’s not that bad’ it makes me feel like i’m SUPPOSED to be insecure abt it #and it drives me NUTS. bc there are things about being on steroids that i would love to be comforted about #but the water retention is not one of them. i couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the water retention #y’know what i’d like to be comforted over? the mood swings. the irritability. the insomnia. the appetite fluctuation #the slow healing of skin. thinning and dryness in the skin. having to take like 3 other medications alongside the steroid #bc taking the steroid causes side effects that need to be medically treated or prevented #even outside of the steroid! i’d like some comfort about having to build back my stamina from scratch #i’d like some comfort about having the worst balance i’ve had in years #there’s. more to this. but i’m out of tags. maybe i’ll make some replies idk. i’m just. UGH

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obsesssedblerd · 6 months ago

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You look up from your book to see your husband standing over the bassinet with his arms crossed, his brow raising as he looks down inside of it with a tiny scowl. He stays like that for about a minute. You sit up in your shared bed, then call out to him. “Ryo.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t look up.

“May I ask what you are doing?”

“The little brat is staring,” Sukuna says matter-of-factly. “I am simply staring at her in return.”

Inside of the bassinet, your baby daughter coos. Her scarlet eyes—exactly like her father’s—glitter with interest. You hear her giggle, and you scoff lightly and return your gaze to your book. “She thinks you’re playing a game.”

“I am doing no such thing.”

You flip a page. “Put a hand over your face for a few seconds.” He doesn’t respond, but you know he listens. “M’kay, now lift.” There’s silence for a few seconds, then your daughter bursts into a fit of giggles.

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “I do not understand what is so entertaining about that.” When you look up again, you see that he’s covering his face again, then revealing himself to get the same reaction from the baby.

“It’s called peek-a-boo. It’s a game most babies love to play.”

The little princess babbles as she lifts her arms up, and Sukuna tilts his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You snicker. “One: You’ll figure out what she’s saying the more you talk with her. Two: She wants you to pick her up.”

He sighs dramatically, then reaches into the bassinet to pick up the small girl. Though she has her father’s eyes, she has your hair, the shape of your nose, and your ears. She also has your fearlessness, because she smiles directly in the face of the king of curses. Now at his eye level, she reaches her arms towards him excitedly. “What is it now, you brat? I’m already carrying you.”

He looks over at you in question, and your smile grows. “She wants to touch your face,” you say.

“Why?”

“Because she’s a baby, and she’s curious.”

Sukuna pulls her closer, and once in range, his daughter lays her tiny hands against his marked face. She giggles more, and you can see his eyes soften. “Hmph. You have your mother’s smile.”

— — — —

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen where you hear Sukuna speaking with someone. When he turns to the side, you see your daughter nestled in the crook of one of his muscular arms, staring up at him as he concluded whatever story he was telling her.

“...At the end of the battle, only I remained. Victory was mine.”

The baby babbles excitedly, and Sukuna scoffs. “Ha, you will do no such thing. How do you expect to join me in battle when you aren’t even a year old, brat?”

Her face scrunches in what looks like annoyance, and she repeats to him what he taught her the night before. “Hmph.”

You burst into laughter, and Sukuna raises a brow at the little girl in his arms. “Great. Your mother’s smile, and her attitude.”

#more sukuna fluff bc why tf not #lol I just love making this evil villain a big softie #girl dad sukuna #sukuna fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x y/n #written by rey <3 #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you

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tonycries · 7 months ago

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Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too.

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room.

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this.

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle.

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already.

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked.

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them.

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious.

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

A weighty beat passes. One. Two.

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this?

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What?

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face.

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity.

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better.

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word.

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually.

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth.

“Out.”

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now.

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?”

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him.

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him.

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but.

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw.

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar.

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal.

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away.

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan.

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his.

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this.

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth.

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended.

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast.

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers.

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants.

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth.

And Gojo keeps going.

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily.

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good.

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?”

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs.

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit.

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous.

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together.

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute.

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone.

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife.

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch.

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly.

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance.

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you.

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there.

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least.

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.”

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear.

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side.

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?”

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him.

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find-

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted.

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles.

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are.

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices.

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper.

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you.

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes.

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his.

“Clean that room up.”

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie.

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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